The news of the second, more formidable group of sun-haired men advancing from the south fell upon Jabari's ikulu like the shadow of a circling vulture. The brief season of confidence following Steiner's defeat, the quiet satisfaction of a harvest well-gathered and a kingdom expanding, evaporated in an instant, replaced by a cold, gnawing anxiety. Kaelo, within Jabari, felt a grim certainty: this was no errant trading company, no freelance adventurer. The mention of "red coats" by the terrified Nyamwezi villagers who had fled before them resonated with ominous clarity from Kaelo's twenty-first-century historical knowledge. This was likely the British, methodical, relentless, backed by the power of the world's largest empire.
Jabari convened his war council in the pre-dawn gloom, the flickering oil lamps casting long, dancing shadows on the grim faces of Hamisi, Mzee Kachenje, Lبانجى, and Kibwana. Juma, the young scout who had brought the tidings, stood before them, his usual youthful confidence replaced by a haunted look.
"They are many, Ntemi," Juma recounted, his voice hushed. "More than twice Steiner's numbers at his strongest. Their warriors march in straight lines, their red coats like a river of blood moving across the land. They carry rifles that gleam even in dull light, long and slender, with sharp knives of shining iron fixed to their ends." Bayonets, Kaelo's mind supplied. "And they have more of the wheeled thunder-sticks, larger than Steiner's, pulled by oxen. Their leader, a tall man with a voice like a bullfrog and hair the color of drying straw, is called 'Meja Harriseni' by his Swahili askaris. He does not burn villages indiscriminately like Steiner in his rage, but he speaks with the authority of a great king, demanding chiefs come before him, offering them paper 'treaties of friendship' while his red-coat warriors stand with their rifles ready."
Kaelo processed this rapidly. Major Harrison. British. Disciplined infantry, likely with modern breech-loading rifles like the Snider-Enfield, which would far outrange and outpace their own collection of trade muskets and captured German pieces. Field artillery. This was a professional military force, not a ragtag corporate expedition.
"Do they demand slaves, or only ivory?" Lبانجى asked, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his Nyamwezi sword.
"They speak mostly of 'peaceful trade,' of 'protection,' of 'opening the paths for honest commerce'," Juma replied. "But the old men in the villages they pass say their eyes are hungry – hungry for the land itself, for the rivers, for whatever riches lie beneath the soil. They ask many questions about the powerful Ntemi to the north, the one who 'ate' the Germans."
A heavy silence filled the hut. Mzee Kachenje was the first to break it. "This is a different kind of storm, my sons. Steiner was a bush fire, quick to rage, quick to be extinguished if one was bold enough. This… this feels like the rising of the great eastern water itself, slow but unstoppable."
Hamisi, ever the warrior, bristled. "Unstoppable, old father? We stopped Steiner. We have more guns now, more warriors who have tasted victory against the sun-haired men. Let this Meja Harriseni come. We will show him the same welcome!"
"And what if his Queen sends ten more like him when he falls?" Kachenje countered gently. "Or a hundred? Their kraals are across the great water; we do not know their numbers or their full strength. We fought Steiner with spears and a few muskets. These men wield the true thunder of their tribe."
Kibwana, who had been rocking slowly, his eyes closed, finally spoke. "The spirits of the land are deeply troubled. They cry out against the iron boots that march without respect. But they also whisper of a vast, interconnected web… these red coats are but one thread. To cut it here may only draw the attention of the great spider that spun it."
Jabari, letting Kaelo's analytical mind guide his response, raised a hand. "Your counsel is wise, all of you. To rush into battle with such a force, without understanding their true purpose or their full strength, would be folly. To appear weak or fearful would be to invite their contempt and their aggression. We need more than courage or caution alone; we need cunning, and we need knowledge."
His first order was for an even more intensive intelligence operation. Juma and Lبانجى were once again dispatched, this time with a larger, more experienced force of Batembo and Wanyisanza trackers. Their mission was not to harass, not yet, but to shadow Major Harrison's column with extreme stealth. "I want to know everything," Jabari instructed them, Kaelo's words precise. "His exact numbers – red coats, askaris, porters. The precise nature of all his weapons, especially his thunder-sticks. His marching routine, his camp discipline, how he treats the local chiefs he meets – does he negotiate in good faith, or does he dictate? What are the exact terms of these 'treaties' he offers? And most importantly, what is his ultimate destination? Does he truly march for the Batembo heartland, or is his purpose elsewhere, with his inquiries about me merely a precaution?"
While they awaited this critical intelligence, Jabari turned his attention to his own realm with a feverish urgency. The news of this new, more formidable European threat had to be carefully managed. He summoned all his tributary headmen and the leaders of his allied clans to the ikulu. He did not hide the gravity of the situation, but Kaelo helped him frame it as a challenge that, if met with unity and resolve, could be overcome, just as they had overcome the Wasumbwa and Steiner.
"A new pride of lions approaches our lands," Jabari told the assembled leaders, his voice resonating with authority. "More numerous, perhaps, with sharper claws than those we have faced before. But we are Nyamwezi! We are Batembo! We are Wanyisanza! We are a new people forged in fire and victory! Alone, any one of us might be scattered. Together, we are a herd of buffalo that even the greatest lion would hesitate to charge!"
He called for a full mobilization. Each allied chiefdom was to send its quota of warriors to a central rallying point near the southern Batembo border, a place Kaelo had identified from Finch's maps as strategically defensible. Hamisi was dispatched to oversee this massing of forces, to organize them into larger units, and to drill them relentlessly in the new tactics. The Nkonde sya Ntemi, now numbering over a hundred well-armed men, would form the elite core of this new army.
Seke's forge became the heart of the war effort. Every available piece of iron was requisitioned. The captured German rifles were stripped, studied, and painstakingly repaired if possible. Kaelo, drawing on his fragmented memories of nineteenth-century firearms development, tried to guide Seke's experiments with gunpowder, focusing on achieving a more consistent granulation and a better balance of charcoal, sulfur (still scarce), and saltpeter (which Kibwana's foragers were now diligently collecting from bat caves and certain types of soil). Progress was slow, frustratingly so, but every slightly improved batch of powder, every mended rifle, was a small victory.
Boroga, given the monumental task of logistics, rose to the occasion. He organized systematic collections of grain, dried meat, and other supplies from all territories under Jabari's influence, establishing depots along the likely routes their army would take. He even managed to acquire, through shrewd trade with a passing caravan from the south (which had nervously skirted Major Harrison's column), a consignment of sturdy copper wire, which Seke immediately began to experiment with for reinforcing musket barrels or creating more reliable firing mechanisms – a desperate, unorthodox attempt at innovation.
As reports trickled back from Lبانجى and Juma, a clearer picture of Major Harrison's expedition emerged. He commanded approximately two hundred regular British infantry, likely from a colonial regiment, and another three hundred locally recruited askaris, well-armed and disciplined. They possessed at least four light field guns, probably mountain guns, capable of firing explosive shells. Harrison himself was a veteran of colonial campaigns in India or perhaps the Cape. He was methodical, not given to Steiner's erratic brutality, but with an unshakeable belief in British superiority and destiny. His "treaties" were standard colonial documents: offering "protection" and "friendship" in exchange for exclusive trading rights, promises not to ally with other European powers, and often, vaguely worded clauses that allowed for future British administrative oversight. He was indeed asking about Jabari, referring to him as "the Nyamwezi chief who has caused trouble for legitimate traders and allies of the Sultan."
The critical piece of intelligence came after nearly three weeks: Harrison's main column, after securing a series of "treaties" with chiefs far to the south of Batembo lands, was now turning directly north, his scouts already sighted within a day's march of the villages that had most recently pledged allegiance to Jabari. His intention was clear: he was coming for the Batembo, to neutralize the one native power in the region that had successfully defied European encroachment.
Jabari convened his grand war council, the air thick with anticipation. Representatives from every allied clan were present. Lبانجى and Juma delivered their final, sobering report.
"He is strong, Ntemi," Lبانجى said, his usual bravado tempered with a warrior's respect for a dangerous foe. "His red coats fight like a single beast, their fire like a hailstorm. His thunder-sticks can break a stockade from afar. A direct battle on open ground would be… costly."
The debate was fierce. Some younger war leaders, emboldened by the victory over Steiner, still clamored for a decisive ambush, a glorious battle to drive the invaders out. Older heads, including Mzee Kachenje and Ntemi Gwala of the Wanyisanza (who had come himself, such was the gravity of the moment), argued for a strategic withdrawal, a scorched earth policy, to deny Harrison supplies and draw him deep into unfamiliar territory where his cannons would be less effective.
Kaelo listened, his mind a whirlwind. He knew the British military machine. He knew their tenacity, their discipline, their overwhelming firepower when properly deployed. A repeat of Makuyuni against this force was unlikely to succeed; Harrison would be warier, his troops better. Yet, to simply retreat and burn their own lands would be a devastating blow to the morale of his fledgling kingdom and the loyalty of his allies. It would be an admission of weakness that Harrison would exploit.
Finally, Jabari spoke, Kaelo's voice a calm center in the storm of debate. "We will not offer Harrison the pitched battle he likely desires, where his cannons and disciplined rifles can reap their harvest. Nor will we abandon our homes and fields to be devoured by his locusts without a fight. Our strategy must be one of layered defense, of attrition, of making his advance so costly, so frustrating, that he questions the value of this venture."
His plan was complex, drawing on everything Kaelo had learned about asymmetric warfare and everything Jabari knew about his land and his people. They would not defend a single line, but trade space for time and blood. Lبانجى and the Wanyisanza, along with Juma's scouts and light skirmishers, would conduct a relentless campaign of harassment against Harrison's flanks and supply lines as he advanced. Key villages would be fortified, not as impregnable fortresses, but as strongpoints designed to delay the British, inflict casualties, and then be evacuated before they could be overwhelmed, their granaries emptied or burned. The main Batembo army, including the Nkonde sya Ntemi and the warriors from allied chiefdoms, would remain mobile, avoiding decisive engagement but always threatening, ready to strike at any isolated British detachment or exploit any mistake Harrison made.
"We will be the water that wears down the stone," Jabari concluded. "He may advance, but every step will cost him. His men will grow weary, his supplies will dwindle, his askaris may desert. We will choose our moment, if such a moment comes, to strike a harder blow. But first, we will make him understand that Unyamwezi is not a land that can be easily tamed."
He then proposed a bold, almost audacious diplomatic move. "While our warriors prepare this welcome for Meja Harriseni," Jabari said, a glint in his eye, "I will send a delegation to him. Not as supplicants, but as the voice of a united Nyamwezi nation under a single paramount chief. Mzee Kachenje, you will lead it. You will carry my words. We seek peace, but we will not yield our sovereignty. We will offer him regulated trade, but not domination. We will speak of mutual respect, but we will make it clear that our lands are not his for the taking."
It was a strategy designed to buy time, to test Harrison's true intentions, and to rally his own people for the struggle ahead, while simultaneously preparing a deadly reception for the advancing red coat tide. Kaelo knew the odds were still overwhelmingly against them in the long run. But for now, they would fight, with cunning, with courage, and with the desperate resolve of a people determined to forge their own destiny. The crossroads had been reached, and Jabari, guided by a soul from a distant future, had chosen his path.