The Red And The Black

[Finland]

Montesinho Plantation, 35 miles east of Beira, Southern Mozambique
10:30, 2nd February

The still mid-morning air was suddenly filled by the sound of gunfire and shouts of triumph or despair as one by one, a number of straw targets ranged from fifteen to two hundred yards away fell down. There were approximately thirty men out on the firing range with a further fifteen milling around some fifty yards away; their attention was occupied by four off-road vehicles. The two groups were of varying ethnicities and builds, although the majority of them were black or mulatto.  A few other men were placed around the plantation, seemingly monitoring the progress of the others. 

Strolling along behind the men on the range, was another man; this one carefully noting each man’s firing technique and accuracy, occasionally commenting on the style, more often than that he gave advice on how to perfect their skill.
“Try aiming for either the head or the centre of mass, that way you are sure of a kill, Rodrigo,” he said, speaking to a mulatto man, obviously from Mozambique. The man known as Rodrigo nodded and fired again, this time hitting the straw target directly in the centre.

“Much better,” the first man responded.

He turned and moved slowly back towards the main building, pleased with the progress the men were making. Suddenly from behind, a tall, English-speaking man called out to him:
“Joubert! How are the men progressing? My group is nearly finished with their vehicle proficiency. They can repair and operate most types of civilian vehicle and a select number of military ones too.”

Joubert stopped and turned to speak to the other man, “Good to hear, Webb. My group has mastered mid-range firearms including sub-machine guns and pistols. We’ll be ready to progress to assault rifles and urban combat soon. It is imperative that all three groups are ready in the next two weeks. I have orders from Malan to proceed then.”

“Got it – I think Floyd will have his group set for the operation first though – they have nearly finished all the courses.” Webb replied.

“Good – you can tell Malan we will be ready ahead of schedule,” Joubert said, turning back towards the main building, leaving gunshots to fill the silence between the two men.   

[Finland]

The yacht, Inkanyamba, 45 miles west of Madagascar
12:30, 6th February

Despite it being February, it was in fact summer in the Southern Hemisphere and as a result, perfect weather for all manner of outdoor activities including sailing. Hence, no one noticed the 150-foot long yacht sail gracefully out of the harbour at Beira earlier that morning. It had two above-water decks with the capacity for one small motor launch at the rear; painted all in white, the sunlight reflected off every smooth curve of the vessel. The flag of KaNgwane fluttered at the stern, indicating where she was currently based although her registry was unknown. The Beira harbour master unusually did not ask for any paper work relating to the vessel, something about which the passengers were pleased.

 As the Inkanyamba stopped in the clear waters of the Mozambican Channel, the passengers came out from their cabins and assembled on the deck. There were five onboard, two men, a woman, and two teenagers. Once confirmation that the boat was safely stopped, the two teenagers quickly ran back into their cabins and returned clad in their bathing suits, jumping into the water below.  The woman went towards the bow of the ship, leaving the two men standing near to the railings, looking out to sea.

“Do you think he’s coming?” one asked, this man older than the other, carefully taking a cigarette out of the packet. Placing it in his mouth, he lit it and drew in deeply.

“Of course,” the second said, “He will be here soon.” No sooner than those words were uttered, the sound of a motor boat, travelling at speed was heard. At this, the two teenagers quickly clambered aboard, waiting until it was safe to return to the water.

“Here he is,” the second man said. Pulling along the port side of the Inkanyamba was a sleek 30-foot long speedboat, open-cabined and with two men onboard. Both were well dressed considering their nautical journey. Only one man though embarked on the Inkanyamba, leaving the other to sharply turn the speedboat away and speed off back the way it came.

“Eusèbe Jaojoby,” the second man said, “Welcome onboard. Can the crew get you anything to drink or eat?”

The new arrival, Eusèbe Jaojoby, was an infamous figure in an earlier war KaNgwane had embroiled herself in during the invasion of Madagascar. He was the head of the newly reformed Sakalava Liberation Army (SLA), young and charismatic; he based his ideology on populist nationalism drawn from the right of the political spectrum. His militia had been responsible for severe crimes during the war, but amongst the Sakalava, he was renowned as a hero.

“Ah,” Jaojoby said, looking around the yacht, “You’ve done well for yourself Webb. To think that the Bureau is paying for this! But no, I shall not eat now, maybe once we’ve finished our dealing though.”

“Never one for small talk,” the second man, Webb, replied, “Very well, take a seat and I will tell you what we want.”

The three men sat down at a small table, shaded from the sun by an awning erected by the crew in the meantime. Laid out on the table was a small map of Madagascar and nearby a briefcase.

“As you know the situation in Madagascar is very important to the men in Charlottesville. We cannot have either an unfriendly regime there, as now, or a regime backed by another nation” – the men gathered seemed to know to whom Webb was referring despite the ambiguity – “therefore we see your SLA as the vital link in our new operations vis-à-vis Madagascar,” Webb began, watching Jaojoby’s face for any hint of emotion.

“I see,” Jaojoby said disdainfully, “You’ll use me and then once the heat is on, abandon us to whoever fills that power vacuum.”

Webb remembered what happened once the KaNgwane forces withdrew from Madagascar that time but now, a different plan was envisioned. He explained: “Not this time my friend. What happened then was catastrophic and set us all back many years. Now though we have a new plan with which to aid you. As I speak outside of Beira, a number of battalion-sized groups of men are being trained. Coupled with your militiamen, whom we will train, arm and finance, and the advisors we will send you, your SLA will be a formidable force – easily able to defeat whatever remnant is left loyal to Antananarivo.”

Jaojoby’s eyes lit up at this but still Webb could detect a hint of reluctance in his speech, “How much is the Bureau willing to pay? This could be a long fight, that’s even if I sign on now. There’s so much to discuss.”

“Now?” Webb replied, “Five million guilders which I have here” – he picked up the briefcase and laid it on the table. Unlocking it, he opened and turned it towards Jaojoby. Inside were five million guilders, fresh, unmarked, and in medium denominations – “We will pay more as you require it.”

Jaojoby was momentarily speechless. His mind was suddenly filled with all the possibilities that this money could achieve yet he knew now how much Webb needed him. He sighed briefly before responding: “That will be more than enough to get the SLA going again, I can recruit many more men with this. Yet there is still the question of arms. We’ll need more than what we have, that’s for sure.”

Webb knew now that Jaojoby would hound him for all he could get but Webb had no choice. The Bureau’s Unit 2 was breathing down his neck to get the SLA onboard for the upcoming operations.
“We can start arms shipments into Tuléar tonight at the earliest. That’ll consist of small-arms, rifles, machine guns, RPGs, mortars, grenades et cetera. If you want vehicles or” – Webb sighed – “aircraft, then I’ll have to speak to my superiors, but probably you’ll get them.”

Jaojoby was pleased now. He had all that he needed – arms, money, tacit KaNgwane political support, and the promise of more of each to come.
“I,” he said, “Will accept your offer. My men will need time to train and to receive the arms and the advisors you promised but within the next month or so, we’ll be set. I’ll need to see who you’ve selected as part of your battalions too.”

“Of course, of course,” Webb said, pleased that the deal had been struck, “Now won’t you stay for dinner? We’re having swordfish.”   

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
00:30, 8th February

The day had only just begun but to practically everyone in the town of Toliara on the southern coast of Madagascar, it was still the dead of night. The full moon shone brightly, masked only by thin wisps of cloud. The stars arrayed in brightness shone too, the constellations clearly visible. The reflection of the moon danced off the water, scattering in droplets, as a fast-moving speedboat headed straight for the town.

Guided not by the harbour lights, themselves dim owing to the unannounced visit this vessel was paying, the speedboat led two others in formation as they slowed their approach before gently beaching on Itafy Beach, a short distance from the main town.  Standing on the golden sands, beneath a palm tree, Eusèbe Jaojoby watched eagerly as the crews began to unload several crates from the speedboats. The men heaved and cursed softly under their breath at the weight and number of crates as the waves gently lapped against the shore.

Stepping out from the shadows, surrounded by three other men, each of whom carried a searchlight, Jaojoby said with a touch of derision, “Webb! You have made it, I see!” He left the three men with whom he came and strode over to the middle vessel, a sleek, dark blue speedboat, and shook a man’s hand. That man was Eustace Webb whom Jaojoby had met earlier on the yacht in the Mozambican Channel and had promised him the first shipments of arms.

“Jaojoby,” Webb began stepping clear of the water and the crews, “Although we are a little later than expected, you should be pleased with what we bring.”

“I was beginning to think” – Jaojoby replied – “That you’d forgotten about our deal. Yet now I see that was not the case.”

Webb signalled some men to bring a crate over to where he was standing, whereupon he opened it and took out several R4 assault rifles, handing them to Jaojoby and his associates.
“These are what the other crates contain – except two which have SS-77 GPMGs and R5 carbines in respectively. You should like the R4 – in many ways it is similar to the AK-47. Besides these will not be the only weapons you will receive. Within the week, you will get several more shipments. Look out for a coastal trading vessel within the next few days – it’ll come in under the name Komoriya.”

“That’s good to hear. I trust that the first of the advisors will soon arrive?”

“They will,” Webb replied, “Again within the week. Get used to these weapons before we start the actual training.”

“As always, Webb, you never fail to disappoint. I look forward to meeting with you again,” Jaojoby said before signaling to those presents that it was time to leave. As Webb climbed aboard the speedboat alongside the crew, Jaojoby’s men took each crate away one by one up to the nearby road where from the sound of it, Webb deduced, a truck was waiting. Webb was pleased thus far with the progress the SLA were making: he had heard good things relating to their reformation and attempts at coördinated training. He knew therefore that when the Komoriya arrived in Toliara, he would be on board.

Communications Room, KNV Suiderkruis, 100 miles south-east of Madagascar
00:35, 8th February

“Commander, I’m picking up a lot of traffic coming out of southern Madagascar – too small to be military but maybe smugglers?”

“No reason to worry, Ensign, it’s probably a very early fishing run.”

[Finland]

Isalo National Park, Madagascar
11:20, 14th February

The sun continued to shine down, its rays gathering in intensity as it approached midday. The heat of the sun had muted the usually vibrant animal life that called Isalo National Park home, or at least until the midday heat had subsided into the cool of dusk. Only a rare lemur would occasionally sound, signalling to its troupe where it was and whether it was still safe to forage for food. The park itself was comprised of various terrains from sandstone cliffs and deep canyons to oases and vast grasslands.

Secluded in the bed of a deep valley, surrounded on two sides by towering cliffs, Jaojoby and approximately forty-five men of the SLA fanned out over about one thousand yards. Each man wore a similar uniform of combat trousers and a tee shirt, some with light body armour over their chests. Some chose to wear hats mainly boonie hats though there were a few dirty but unmistakable kepis.  Despite the lack of an officially formal uniform, Jaojoby was pleased thus far with the men. Having received a large quantity of arms from Webb and the rest of the Bureau, it was now time to start properly training the men in their use.

Jaojoby took a crowbar and prised open one of the crates nearest to him, and begun handing out several R4 assault rifles. As each man who received a rifle took his place opposite a target, shots rang out and echoed off the cliffs that surrounded them all. It did not take them long to become accustomed to the R4, for as Webb had remarked earlier, it was similar to the AK-47 – a staple of any army in Asia or Africa. Soon all men present were hitting targets at range although it took a little longer to hit the target squarely in the centre.

“Looking good, guys!” he shouted encouragingly to those present, who responded with cheers and more determined effort.  Jaojoby could see that it would not take long before the men here would be able to train others like them. With arms shipments coming in daily now, and the central authorities none the wiser, it would soon fall upon Jaojoby to launch the opening assault.

Each day new reports came to him of the growing recruitment the SLA experienced or of the tacit support that the organisation would have from officials tired of governmental mismanagement and corruption. The Sakalava had been oppressed for too long, Jaojoby thought, and now was the time to rise up. He had to thank the gods that now the KaNgwane authorities were aiding them, though he had to admit he knew not what they expected to gain from his work.  Nevertheless, with the aforementioned arms shipments and soon the arrival of the KaNgwane-trained brigades, the SLA would be ready to strike. It was only up to Jaojoby to decide where.

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
08:30, 26th February

Jaojoby had been in sitting in this backroom of a convenience store for the better part of two days, awaiting news from Webb and the suits at BOSS regarding the next phase of the plan. He had last seen Webb two weeks ago when he arrived onboard the Komoriya bringing over forty-five heavy crates of armaments and munitions. Then Webb promised the start of air supplies as soon as the signal was given, though that signal had not come. Whilst Jaojoby did not doubt that Webb was up to something suspicious, other members of the Sakalava Liberation Army and its political wing, Sakalava People’s Movement for Liberation and Union were restless.  They wanted to go ahead and start fighting despite the lack of KaNgwane support that had been promised, seeing it as a hindrance.  Jaojoby’s patient assurance had placated them for now but if news were not heard within the week, trouble would start particularly from the left wing of the party under party veteran and stalwart, Rajakoba. His friendship with Jaojoby notwithstanding, he was the only one able to control the leftist elements of the SLA and SPMLU.

The sun was slowly climbing in the sky and casting thin rays through the bars on the sole window that let minimal light into the darkened back room where Jaojoby was seated. To make the small room even more crowded, with him were five more men who comprised the Central Committee on Military and Political Affairs. All were staunch supporters of Jaojoby, even Rajakoba whose leftist tendencies were known.   Rajakoba, although not Sakalava, was a Vezo – a semi-nomadic group of sea-fishermen who had cast their lot in with the SLA, had joined during the early years of the resistance struggle when the Zulu Nation was first showing signs of collapse. He was an advocate of greater power to the unions and tradesmen, and was instrumental in gaining their support.

“We’ve got to strike soon, either with or without KaNgwane support – the time for action is at last upon us. With the world’s attention turned to Europe, we’ll be able to triumph swiftly. Besides, we can always accept KaNgwane aide once we’ve begun,” Rajakoba explained, trying to keep his gestures minimal so as not to hit anyone.

“We can’t!” another member of the Committee replied, agitated, “We just can’t – we have neither the arms nor the backing to resist against the central government without full support.” This was Cécile Manorohanta, a determined member of the SLA again from its establishment, although known for his studious and cautious nature.

Jaojoby sighed heavily, bringing a pause to the agitated discussion.
“We have two more days to await a reply from Webb. If we do not here from him or from BOSS, then we will launch our attack. We will send a telegram to Webb before we do so, ensuring his continued support, otherwise we wait,” he said, his tone indicating that was settled.

Suddenly, a young man burst into the crowded room, panting heavily and sweating profusely.
“What is it?” practically all who were present said in unison.

“I have a telegram from Webb and the men at BOSS,” the young man replied, “Here you are!” He then handed it to Jaojoby who in turn read it aloud:

“Armed support en route comma all clear given to launch assault stop will send trained battalions by next week stop repeat all clear given.”   

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
10:30, 26th February

The arrival of the telegram signalling the start of operations sent shockwaves through the men assembled in that cramped back room. Minutes ago, Manorohanta was arguing against launching attacks without KaNgwane support but now, the telegram had changed everything. His voice strained against the others in the room as all present scrambled to telephone their respective district commanders and commissars to organise an attack. Jaojoby was ecstatic – Webb had kept his promise and now the full extent of KaNgwane’s support could be counted on.

It was now two hours since the telegram had been received by Jaojoby and the Central Committee. In that space of time, orders had gone out to key members of the SLA and the SPMLU that now was the time for action. The police station, post office, telephone exchange, harbour, and airfield were the first targets that had to be taken in order to establish control against the government forces. Jaojoby was now with just two members of the Committee, they sat in silence listening to the shouts and occasional gunfire that came from outside.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing a song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!” Jaojoby said, a hint of melody in his voice – made all the more dramatic by the gunshots at the end that served as an exclamation point.

“Their voices are getting louder, soon the world will hear what we have to say. Jaojoby my friend,” said Rajakoba, “This is by far your most splendid achievement. I admit I doubted it before a few times but seeing the response – the people want what we want: freedom!”

Outside the backroom, on the streets of Toliara, members of the SLA had taken to the streets in armed gangs, roaming at will. The Sakalava population of the town had risen up alongside the SLA and were openly supporting them: singing and chanting as SLA militiamen advanced on the police station.  Inside remained about twenty men ranging from police officers to convicts who were either Merina or another Malagasy ethnic group. Any attempt to contact the outside world was to no avail, the phone lines had been cut as had the power, leaving the men inside in a precarious position.

Outside the station, were fifty to sixty SLA militiamen and over seventy civilians. The door had been barricaded shut from the inside but all the ground floor windows had been smashed in. Suddenly from the back of the crowd, came three hand grenades that landed outside the door, blowing it open and sending shards of wood everywhere. Two people outside as well as an unknown number inside were injured.

“Attack! Storm the building and take no prisoners!” a shout from the self-appointed leader of the militiamen. The crowd responded in kind and attacked the station supported by sporadic gunfire from the SLA men. The police officers inside returned fire, not at the civilians but instead against the SLA men. Shadows at the windows received the most concentrated fire – ranging from small arms to a heavy BAR. However no matter the resistance offered by those inside, it was futile against the anger of the crowd and the sustained fire of the SLA men. Within fifteen minutes, all fire from the police station stopped and it fell into the SLA’s hands. Joyous civilians looted the armoury, taking revolvers and truncheons that were turned on any Merina that could be found.

Back inside the room at the rear of the shop, Jaojoby had received news of the fall of the police station and of the post office where fighting had been difficult against determined employees, fighting which descended into hand-to-hand by the end.

“The town is nearly ours,” Jaojoby began, “I propose that as soon as word reaches us of the fall of the airfield, we shall proclaim the Sakalava People’s State.”

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
13:40 1 March

A few weeks had passed since Toliara had fallen to the SLA and its associated paramilitary groups. Throughout the Atsimo-Andrefana Region and Toliara province, the SLA had spread, inciting the locals to rise up alongside their fellow brothers in Toliara. Toliara I, Toliara II, Betioky, Sakaraha, and Morombe districts had all fallen since the successful uprising in late February. Now the revolution was gathering momentum as SLA forces fanned out from these districts into the centre of the province. Resistance, provided by central government forces continued to be a problem though, and the attack on Benenitra district had been beaten back with casualties.

Despite this minor setback, Jaojoby and the Central Committee were still positive that the continuing advances made particularly in Ampanihy district would result in another substantial region falling under SLA control. The SLA had been continually supported by KaNgwane arms shipments that with increasing frequency were arriving bringing all manner of weapons including now 4x4s and motorcycles, which would enable the SLA to motorise the offensive and not travel by foot or on horseback. Whispers that the central government were planning some sort of counterattack continued to echo around Toliara, both civilians and SLA men were confident in the progress made thus far.

Jaojoby, Manorohanta, Rajakoba and two other men who made up the Central Committee; they being Delphin Enjolras, a Frenchman but Malagasy by birth, and Gérard Tsapalôko, the newest member to the Committee; were standing on the first floor balcony of the Central Hotel in downtown Toliara. Before them, there was a crowd of maybe 4,000 people many of whom were civilians while some were SLA militiamen. They held aloft banners proclaiming the Sakalava People’s Republic and waved a mixture of solely red flags and red flags with a black saltire. They waited patiently as Jaojoby stood in front of the other committee members, now lined up, and cheered as Jaojoby began to speak.

“Friends, brothers, sisters, all of you united in the struggle for Sakalava freedom, I salute you all! Today I announce a new and exciting chapter in the revolutionary struggle for freedom – the foundation of the Sakalava People’s Republic here in Toliara. With this bold and decisive manœuvre, the nations of the world shall look upon our struggle for freedom and cry, ‘To arms, comrades! For Their freedom and ours!’ No more shall we labour under a corrupt and distant central government whose inaction has forced my hand. Yes, overtures for peaceful secession or regional autonomy were made and no, they did not care to answer! So that leaves us with but one choice – to take up arms and fight the eternal struggle for freedom!

It is time now to decide who we are. Have you asked of yourselves what price you will pay? The colour of our world is changing day by day! Red, the blood of angry men; Black, the dark of ages past! Red, a world about to dawn; black, the night that ends at last! 

Therefore, as the struggle for freedom continues at this very moment, I say to you all here: what price will you pay for freedom? For that freedom is brought today by the blood of those who saw a new era where we were free. I can proudly say to you all that if the moment came at the barricades, I would gladly lay down my life to ensure the Sakalava remain free!” – at this, a mighty cheer came up from the crowd – “So let me hear the people sing! Singing for freedom, let us take to the streets and proclaim that we stand free – all of us as citizens of the Sakalava People’s Republic!”

The crowd cheered louder than before as the five other members of the Committee applauded wildly, all of their faces showing euphoric joy. The red flags in the crowd were hoisted up on poles and out of windows, as more and more people joined the crowds already on the street. Jaojoby gave one last dramatic salute to the crowd: his right hand at his breast and then extended outwards drew cheers of joy before him and the committee withdrew inside.

“They are truly behind us now,” Tsapalôko said, taking a seat on a low couch, “If this reaction is repeated across the province, we are assured of victory.”

“Not mention our superior firepower and new recruits,” Enjolras said, smiling. He had seen the arrival of the first KaNgwane-trained brigade a few days ago and their training and arms outclassed even the best of the SLA not to mention the central government’s forces. A new attack against Benenitra could be launched within the week.

Jaojoby sat down at the desk, sighing slightly. He was sweating profusely, having given four speeches in less than two days across the new territory of the Republic, not to mention three troop inspections and a visit to a Vezo delegation. Yet despite all of this, he remained in good spirits.

“Come now gentlemen,” he said, “We must prepare ourselves for the world’s response. Help me draft the first constitution will you?”

[Finland]

Benenitra, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
8:49 11 March

The early-morning mist still cloaked everything in a fine swathe of dewy droplets as the sun’s rays filtered down through the trees and illuminated the soft ground below, still damp from last night’s rains. The ground was marked with footprints of both men and horses and the occasional tire treads of a few jeeps but silence was the only sound. Even the birds and insects that routinely welcomed the dawn each new day were oddly mute.

Walking along a dirt track that went west towards Ehara there were approximately thirty-five men, five of whom were on horseback, and two light jeeps – part of an SLA battalion that was tasked with scouting ahead for government soldiers. The commanding officers and a few of the older men had combat experience from the first Uprising against the Zulu Nation and knew these parts well. The rest were new recruits from Ianapera and Benentira and despite their inexperience were eager to learn. The column was organised so that the two jeeps drove ahead of the men who were in front of those on horseback.

Fresh from a victory near Ianapera that led to the capture of the town and the winning of the populace to the SLA’s cause, the men were hoping that the road to Ehara would be quiet and empty. However, this was not to be the case as a scout further ahead noticed coming towards the column were a small group of government soldiers, no more than twelve though. These were not the usual band of rag-tag men who had faced the SLA in Benenitra district so far, but professional soldiers from the central army.

Just as the scout ran back to warn the approaching column, the government soldiers attacked. The SLA column quickly scattered into the trees and bushes surrounding the trail as the men in the jeeps opened fire with heavy machine guns. With a shout, a number of SLA men leapt up from their cover and returned fire, their R4 assault rifles giving suppressive fire allowing a counter-attack by the mounted soldiers. This scattered the government soldiers but as they fled, they wounded two of the mounted militia and shot a third one’s horse out from under him.

Despite this setback, the government forces were not beaten yet. Though suffering five casualties, three of whom were wounded, they still offered strong resistance. Then suddenly, overhead, came the unmistakable sound of an aeroplane’s engine. A Malagasy Air Force BN-2 Islander flew overhead, scattering in turn the SLA except for those in the jeeps who angled their machine guns skyward and returned fire. The BN-2 attempted evasive manœuvres, avoided the gunfire, and wheeled around for a second over flight.

During this time, the government soldiers had successfully regrouped and attacked once more. Though their bravery was noted, they did not have the numbers to face the SLA at this point. A few SLA men were carrying Milkor MGL grenade launchers, offering rapid grenade fire and quickly destroyed any hopes of the government soldiers.  It was not long before the SLA were  victorious, leaving all fourteen government soldiers dead with the loss of one of their own and three wounded. The BN-2 had decided not to fly over once more and soon it faded from view.  The SLA men cheered loudly once knowledge of their victory was clear to them and no more government soldiers were discovered in the vicinity.

“Send word back to Toliara that the road to Ehara is now clear of enemy forces!” one of the commanding officers said, as a younger soldier quickly spurred his horse onwards, heading back east to the coast.

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
11:30 15 March

The main hall of the Central Hotel in Toliara, normally reserved for formal functions and parties, was today witness to a far more rowdy and altogether different scene. Today was the Third SPMLU Party Congress and the first since seizing power in the daring revolution that was still ongoing.  The main hall was large enough to accommodate all sixty delegates elected by the regional party members and by the various ethnic groups that had united with the Sakalava.

The hall had been transformed now into a suitable venue whereby the Congress’s business could take place. In the north of the room was a large daïs with five chairs behind a long table on it. Each chair had a microphone and a pitcher of water in front of it. Seated in each chair was a member of the Central Committee with Jaojoby in the centre. In front of them stretched six rows of chairs where the delegates would be seated. All seats had been filled and the delegates were anxious to get things started.

Jaojoby stood, his mere action silencing the room and he began to speak: “Gentleman and of course our esteemed member, Mialy Rajoelina” – the only woman thus elected to the Congress and held in high esteem by the others -  “we are now to call this, the Third Party Congress of the SPMLU to order. Our first act is to four members of the Central Committee in their roles on that Committee. All in favour of Delphin Enjolras, Gérard Tsapalôko, Cécile Manorohanta, and Daniel Rajakoba being sustained as members of the Central Committee, please rise.”

At this, the entire room stood, casting their vote affirmatively and once the result was noted by the clerk, the room erupted in applause.  Jaojoby then sat down as Rajakoba stood. He graciously thanked the Congress for his and the other’s sustainment before clearing his throat and saying, “With the continuation of mine own and that of the three other Committee members assured, we now ask the Congress to sustain Eusèbe Jaojoby as General Secretary and General of the SLA.”

Again, all the Congress members stood as did Rajakoba and the other members of the Committee, clearly demonstrating their support for Jaojoby and the continuing of the Revolution. This approval was once again met with resounding applause from those present.  With the first and most pressing order of business thus dealt with, there were now other matters to which to attend. The first of these was, as Rajakoba explained, was the renaming of the Party to the Revolutionary Sakalava Liberation Party or RSLP; this motion carried with fifty-seven for and three against. A proposal of solidarity with the Party of the Independence Congress of Madagascar was thoroughly defeated and its members branded “counter-revolutionaries in the struggle for Sakalava freedom” by the Vezo delegates.  Jaojoby too condemned the Party of the Independence Congress in a bombastic speech, claiming,

“That the Party of the Independence Congress has perverted its revolutionary heritage and now serves merely as a prop in the continued oppression of the Sakalava people and their allies. We cannot afford to consider even talking with them and instead must deem them enemies of our Revolution. Toliara for Sakalava! Madagasikara for Sakalava!

“We must continue our armed struggle against the oppressive rulers of this land – our blood will water the hills and valleys of Madagascar and then, only then, shall we ever be free. The rest of the world stands impassively by, not caring, nay! Not even knowing that today, today my friends, a revolution was forged in the fires of men’s spirits – that today the blackest night of our people ends with us – the Revolutionary Sakalava Liberation Party – the dawn that begins at last! Black, the night of ages past; red, the day that dawns at last! The people are behind us! They rally behind that shining red flag that flies atop this hotel and that flag shall soon fly over all Madagascar – a Madagascar for Sakalava, paid for by the blood of the very same!

“Red, the blood of angry men; black, the dark of ages past! I feel  my soul ablaze, ablaze with the spirit of the revolution that had been forged by you here today, a day that sums up our struggles thus far. I am honoured to have such a Committee alongside me and a dedicated Congress behind me and yet, our lives do not count at all as long as there are still Sakalava, with revolutionary blood coursing through their veins. Do you hear the people sing my friends? The people are behind us! They rally to our cause! Let us not disappoint them and ensure the revolutionary struggle continues until each one of us is dead, our very life expended in the cause we so hold dear. Will you give all you can so our banners may advance?”

When Jaojoby had stopped the room was overcome by a strange silence until, rising from her chair Mialy Rajoelina, a young Sakalava woman from Manja said in a voice that was charged with emotion, “I give all that I am, all that I will be, to this, the glorious Revolution and liberation of our people!” Suddenly every other delegate leapt to their feet, echoing what Rajoelina had just said until the room was overwhelm by the jubilant shouts of men and those outside wondered what was taking place.

[Finland]

Dateline (AP) Toliara Province, Madagascar
19 March

The fledgling Sakalava revolution continues to gain momentum as the lack of response from any central government authority remains lacking in the extreme. Already six districts in Toliara Province have fallen to the Sakalava Liberation Army over the last month and a further three have fallen since the 15th: Benenitra, Ankazoabo, and Ampanihy. In each district that fell to the SLA, any Merina is swiftly driven out at gunpoint or executed if resistance is offered.

The sole man holding the Revolution together and guiding it onwards is Eusèbe Jaojoby - a Sakalava by birth and a known intellectual radical. Born in Toliara and educated in both France and South Africa, Jaojoby soon entered the world of radical student politics, leading the Student Communist Party at the University of Paris 1 Pantheon-Sorbonne. However despite his obvious left-leaning tendencies, Jaojoby’s revolutionary philosophy is a curious mixture of both standard, bombastic leftist thought but with considerable influence from the Right - including a strong fascist streak. It is even said that Jaojoby keeps with him at all times a copy of Frédéric Bastiat's The Law and a copy of Das Kapital. Ruling with him over the de facto though not de jure Sakalava People's Republic is a Central Committee of four other men, again all known radicals, many of whom studied with Jaojoby in Paris.

In the Sakalava-governed regions, life for the majority of the people is good with land redistribution common and the liberation of women. While not pursuing the great cultural modifications that typify a Leftist state, it is clear that indoctrination is utilised as a weapon. Jaojoby frequently talks at length on Sakalava nationalism, distinct from Malagasy nationalism and his Central Committee have produced a pamphlet of Jaojoby’s speeches and apothegms to be distributed in schools. Many speak of Jaojoby-thought as a unique political ideology.   

 As the Sakalava revolution continues to expand and threaten the central Antananarivo Province, the capital of Madagascar, it remains to be seen whether the international community will take this unique revolution seriously. 

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
14:10 21 March

The sun beat down on Toliara, now lulled into a mid-afternoon rest by the combination of high temperatures and a cooling sea breeze that blew in from the west. The streets were deserted save for the occasional SLA militiaman on patrol or eager children running and playing together. The only part of the town that was at all bustling was the harbour, where the late-morning fishing fleet had just returned. The numerous fishing vessels were today joined by two cargo liners, the MS Sultan Alawi bin Husain and the MV Koungou, which easily overshadowed the smaller fishing vessels. Fluttering from their sterns flew the merchant ensign of KaNgwane, alongside several smaller pennants that adorned the rigging. Since vessels this large were not often seen in the harbour, a large crowd of mainly excited children had gathered to watch – obviously, they had all skipped school to attend.

 A short distance from the crowd of onlookers was a smaller group of people surrounded by a number of armed guards, wearing the armband that characterised them as SLA members. They were protecting Eusèbe Jaojoby and the Central Committee of the Revolutionary Sakalava Liberation Party.
“It’s about time that Webb delivered on his promise,” murmured Enjolras, a French Creole by birth and a hardened radical by nature.

“But he had,” Manorohanta replied softly, “We’ve been receiving high-quality arms and parts since Webb sent that telegram. Without his support thus far, we’d have been stopped at Sakaraha.”

“I know,” Enjolras said sharply, “Without the arms received thus far we would have been stuck but Webb promised men – men to take the fight to Antananarivo and it’s about time they came.”

Both men were silenced as suddenly, from the gangplank the sight of the first man disembarking from the ship came.  From four gangplanks from both ships, now a steady stream of men and equipment was disembarking. Coming down from the Koungou now, wearing a pastel suit and open collared shirt, came Webb. His hair was slicked back and he wore large sunglasses that obscured his face yet still he was instantly recognisable to Jaojoby. He jogged briskly over to the Central Committee and shook Jaojoby’s hand firmly.

“It’s good to see you, my friend,” Jaojoby said warmly, “These are the other members of the Committee whom you must meet.”
 
“Pleased to be working with you,” Webb replied, removing his sunglasses, “I look forward to hearing your progress.”

Manorohanta interrupted here, saying, “We have progressed well thus far with the aid KaNgwane has given us yet there were some” – his emphasis clearly noticeable at least for Enjolras – “who doubted that your men would come.”

“My word is my honour,” Webb said, “I have brought with me two companies of men numbering 400 men. A further two companies will be arriving within the week.”

“How soon will they be able to commence operations?” asked Rajakoba, silent until this point.

“Pretty much immediately,” Webb replied, “All they need is a good commander who knows the land well and they’re set. The training they have received is excellent.”

At this point, a young man no more than twenty-five, a tall, swarthy Arab from Mayotte came up to Webb and said, “All the men have disembarked and we await our directions.”

Jaojoby interjected, “Good – I will confer with the Central Committee and we shall decide on which front your skills will be most useful. I’ll send for some men to guide you to the barracks where you’ll receive your instructions.”

The young man nodded and went back to pass the message on.
Enjolras then said, “I think they’d be best used on the Antananarivo front, if we want to force the government’s hand we’re going to have to launch a big assault.”

“I think we should focus on the Androy region,” Manorohanta said, “We should focus on capturing and holding all of Toliara Province before any assault is made on the capital region.”

“I agree,” Jaojoby said, “But Enjolras, I will authorise further incursions into Antananarivo Province but only for skirmishing. We cannot afford it yet.”

“I understand,” Enjolras replied – he knew to follow the direction of Jaojoby and he could see the virtues of holding the entire province before other gains were made, “I shall return with the men to prepare for an assault on Beloha and Bekily districts immediately.”

“Excellent,” Jaojoby said as he turned to the other members of the Committeee, “As Enjolras has demonstrated, we must prepare new offensives for next month. Manorohanta, I want you to begin preparations for the attack on Beroroha and Betroka. Come now everyone, we have much to prepare and much to show you, Webb!”

[Finland]

Toliara, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
10:30 23 March

The Central Committee, Jaojoby, and Eustace Webb met in the lobby of the Central Hotel in downtown Toliara, the hotel now commandeered as the headquarters for the RSLP, meaning that the six men were alone and undisturbed. Of course, though, a number of armed sentries were posted outside.

 The chairs and low tables had been cleared aside, and standing in the middle of the room was a large high table with a map of Toliara province on it, and a mobile blackboard. Small figures represented military units, both SLA and hostile, and their positions on the map corresponded to their actual locations. Thanks to insiders in the government forces, the SLA now had accurate intelligence placing several government units in Beroroha district, which is where the next SLA offensive would be launched.

“With the two companies that Webb has brought,” Jaojoby said, “And the further seven hundred men we have at our disposal for the Beroroha offensive, that gives us nine hundred men.”

“How many government forces are in the district?” Tsapalôko asked, noting down the SLA order of battle on the blackboard.

“Approximately six hundred men and an airfield where about five light aircraft are stationed,” Rajakoba replied, “Our intelligence is solid on that but I do not know whether the government forces have any armoured support.”

Tsapalôko nodded and noted down what Rajakoba had detailed, while Webb said, “If armour is a problem for the SLA then perhaps I can obtain several Rooikat 105s – they serve in an anti-armour role and could prove useful.”

Jaojoby nodded, “Very well, place an order for armoured combat vehicles – Casspirs, Mambas, and Rooikats – we’ll take them all.” He turned to Rajakoba and asked, “Are you positive that there are only six hundred men in Beroroha?”

“As sure as I can be with the intelligence we have,” he replied, “Our sources have not let us down yet. If necessary we should send a further company to keep in reserve, giving us a total of one thousand-one hundred men.”

“I propose that Monja Jaona should lead the assault,” Manorohanta added, “He proved himself a competant commander both militarily and politically in capturing Ankazoabo. He has the trust and respect of his men and I can personally vouch for his revolutionary credentials.”

“I agree with Manorohanta,” Tsapalôko said, “But will he be able to command the new KaNgwane-sent forces as well?”

Jaojoby nodded and said, “Webb and Manorohanta will be in overall charge of the Beroroha Offensive, but yes, Jaona will be in charge of the troops on the ground. I trust he will be able to lead the newly-arrived soldiers.”

Manorohanta saluted Jaojoby, beating a clenched fist against his breast before raising it, and left the room along with Webb.  It would be a day or two before all the necessary men, supplies were stockpiled in Ankazoabo, and then, the assault could be launched.

[Finland]

Beroroha, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
12:40 26 March

The constant sound of machine gun fire, the shouts of men, the smell of acrid smoke, the whinnying of horses, the whine of engines – this was war. Bright flashes followed by ear-piercing explosions marked each grenade or bomb that fell on this stretch of land. Here on the banks of the Mangoky River, that flowed through Beroroha district, the five companies of SLA militiamen and the foreign ‘volunteers’ sent under newly-appointed Colonel Eustace Webb fought against approximately two battalions of government soldiers sent from Antananarivo.

A short distance from the riverbank was the command centre where Webb, Manorohanta, and the officer in charge on the ground, Lieutenant-Colonel Monja Jaona sat, carefully planning out the next stage of the battle. If the bridge over the Mangoky that led to Beroroha could be captured, then the odds were that the entire district would soon fall. It seemed to Jaona that the government forces had been ordered to hold the line here at all costs, which played right into Jaona’s hand.

“The men you have sent are performing admirably,” Jaona said, “They have secured the southern bank of the River via pontoons and we expect to surround the forces on the bridge before long. Anyway, we cannot get a good view of the action here. The radio is prone to static and the video links are not working” – he stood up and went to the tent’s entrance – “I propose we head towards the battlefield.”

Manorohanta and Webb exchanged looks momentarily before following the military commander outside and into a waiting jeep. It took only ten minutes to drive towards the main battle site, whereupon the men were greeted by Captain Calas, who explained the situation:

“Two of our companies of SLA men have taken the main bridge across the Mangoky without suffering heavy casualties. This has paved the way for the rest of the men to cross, opening up the road to Beroroha. The town itself does not seem to heavily fortified, according to intelligence reports and an aërial reconnaissance flight. If we commit our reserve companies in at the last minute, just before we attack the town, I think we can overwhelm its defences.”

Jaona nodded and thanked the Captain for his service, sending him and his squad over the bridge, their shouts of “Sakalava Revolution Onwards!” echoing over the river. He then ordered his driver to follow the men across the river, wanting to see the action first hand. As the jeep drove quickly across the river, overhead could be heard the droning engines of a BN-2 Islander, this one captured by the SLA, and outfitted to carry bombs. It descended quickly before levelling out five-hundred yards ahead, over some enemy positions onto which it dropped its deadly cargo of bombs, the explosion being seen clearly by Webb and the others.  Meanwhile, across the river the resistance offered by the government forces had increased necessitating the earlier-than-anticipated deployment of the reserve companies. The arrival of new men and the return of the lone BN-2 reinvigorated the SLA and allowed them to overcome the resistance the government troops offered, though at a higher casualty rate than imagined.

By now, the first elements of the SLA and their attached volunteer companies had reached the outskirts of Beroroha yet instead of gunfire; they were greeted by an eerie silence.  The government forces had abandoned the town, fleeing north into Mahabo and east into Ihosy. 
“Quick,” someone shouted, “Send word to Commander Jaona that Beroroha is secure!”

Now trapped between the SLA in Beroroha proper and the advancing soldiers coming up from the Mangoky River, the government soldiers remaining soon descended into panic, exacerbated further by the news that the rest of their fellow soldiers had deserted them. With all escape cut off, it fell on the most senior officer remaining, a young adjunct captain to formally surrender control of Beroroha District to the SLA and Jaona.

[Finland]

Beroroha Airfield, Atsimo-Andrefana Region, Madagascar
14:50 28 March

The small airfield five miles northeast of Beroroha did not normally receive much traffic except maybe a few sightseers or a routine military flight. The windsock indicated a brisk westerly breeze and the flags atop the control tower fluttered cheerfully. Aside from the control tower, which faced east along the north-south orientated runway, there were three hangars each of which housed one Cessna 172. Originally painted in Malagasy Air Force colours, workmen were busy repainting them with the roundels of the newly-inaugurated Sakalava People’s Air Force (SPAF), a red star with a black outline. 

Parked on the runway and undergoing the same treatment was a BN-2D Islander and two Atlas Oryx helicopters. Alongside the aircraft was a military motorcade in which the Central Committee had arrived.

“And what will the range of the Oryx be?” he asked Webb, who had accompanied him and the Committee here.

“360 miles, but that can be extended with external fuel tanks,” Webb replied, “And before you ask, I am still trying to obtain Rooivalks. The men in suits are proving harder to budge than I realised.”

“No fear,” Jaojoby said cheerfully, “With what you have already given us we have achieved so much. Still…it would be nice to have at least one Rooivalk.”

“I’ll see,” Webb replied, playing along with Jaojoby’s lively mood. Jaojoby had been interested in aircraft for many years and with the creation of the SPAF, he was able to relive some of his younger days.

Yet that enthusiasm for flying was soon interrupted by more pressing concerns, as Rajakoba began to propose an aërial assault on Manja.
“With the two helicopters, not to mention the Islander, we’ll be able to rapidly deploy a platoon of our elite forces to Manja airport and thence directly to the town. With motorised support, we’ll be able to capture the town and overwhelm its defenders within a day,” Rajakoba explained, pleased also with the formation of the SPAF, “This fledging air force gives the Revolution a whole new area in which to exploit. Think about it – with aircraft, remote are now within reach of Toliara and more importantly, won to our cause. We must act quickly and procure more aircraft; I suggest placing an order for light ground-attack aircraft.”

Jaojoby was impressed by how quickly Rajakoba envisioned uses for an air force only hours old, saying, “Very well, I shall authorise the aërial  assault on Manja jointly with a ground offensive of which Webb and Jaona will be in command” – he paused briefly – “As to the new aircraft procurement, I shall leave Webb to pull the strings in Charlottesville.” 

[Finland]

Manja, Menabe Region, Madagascar
02:00 30 March

There were few clouds tonight, ensuring the moon illuminated the path of the approaching aircraft.  The soft twinkling of the stars gave the night an almost poetic feel, something Webb who was sitting in the cockpit of a Sakalava People’s Air Force BN-2 Islander, felt was at best ironic, considering his mission.  The moon hung low, but was nearly full, it was bright enough to fly by, and thus Webb switched off all exterior lights on the plane – now it was practically invisible. The light of the moon guided the aircraft along Highway 9 – the way into Manja from the east and the BN-2 descended slightly, the two helicopters following closely behind did likewise. 

“How much longer?” Webb asked the pilot, a young, English-speaking man who was part of the soi-disant volunteer force.

“About ten more minutes,” the pilot replied, subconsciously checking his hip holster in which was a pistol, his gaze then flicked to an R4 rifle that was at his side.

“Good.”

In the passenger compartment sat nine men, again all members of the self-styled volunteer force. All were calm, carefully running over the mission in their heads. Few words were said, the only noise was the hum of the propellers. They knew as soon as the plane touched down, they would seize the control tower and any outlying buildings while the two helicopters would turn off and arrive at Manja, coinciding with the arrival of the motorcade carrying reinforcements.

Back in the cockpit, Webb asked the pilot, “Any word from those on the ground?”

“Not yet.”

At that moment the radio came to life, crackling briefly before the crisp English of Jaona came through,
“Less than ten minutes until arrival. Progress? Over.”

“Roger, ETA 02:09, over.”

“Copy, will rendezvous in Dundee at 02:30, over and out.”

Then the familiar sound of silence returned – the tension palpable. Webb decided to check his weapons were fully ready – his pistol was holstered, and ammunition chambered; his rifle was by his side, and he had a knife in his belt. He was ready, he reassured himself, he was ready.

The plane slowly turned to the north and then levelled back out, beginning its descent.

“Manja Tower, this is November Hotel Zero Two, over?” the pilot said into the radio, earning a puzzled look from Webb.

“So we know who’s there,” the pilot whispered, Webb nodded knowingly.

Silence for what seemed like an eternity then: “Roger, November Hotel Zero Two, this is Manja Tower, you are cleared to land, over.”

“Wilco, out.”

“Looks like we’ve got trouble,” Webb mused, as the plane prepared to land. The sound of the landing gear extending and locking into place was heard.

“Here we go!” Webb said almost inaudibly as the BN-2 touched down, taxiing towards the control tower.