Location: Rorke's Drift, South Africa

Unit: Scots Guards, British Army

Date: 21st April 2025

Gillie's vehicle descended the hillside, revealing a small settlement with its distinct red-roofed buildings. Surrounding the area were multiple lines of entrenched soldiers, predominantly South African forces supported by the remaining British platoons in the sector. Each soldier lined up along the trenches, rifles at the ready, some even aiming behind them. With their service rifles in hand, they stood prepared to open fire should the Oceanic Empire advance this far.

As the gate swung open for the front vehicle, the entire convoy entered, manoeuvring through the streets of the settlement.

Gillie hopped off his vehicle and noticed a group of officers saluting each other in the distance. He sighed, briefly checking on the convoy. A squad of Scottish soldiers emerged from one of the Husky TSVs, prompting Gillie to remark, "No Scotland, eh?"

One of them chuckled, replying, "Aye, Sergeant. But I'd rather have this weather than the constant rain back home."

Gillie joined in the laughter, nodding. "Aye, I suppose so. Let's stick close to the trucks. I'm sure the Lieutenant will have something for us soon."

***

Gillie made his way through the camp, climbing a hill to gain a vantage point overlooking the last of the civilian vehicles as they departed from the drift. The cars bounced along the slightly damaged roads, disappearing behind a mountain. Letting out a sigh, Gillie turned his attention back to his fellow soldiers. He observed them intently as they set up machine gun nests, and anti-tank positions, and placed tank traps in the surrounding fields.

They all knew their duty, their resolve unshaken. They were to stay behind, covering the escape of any remaining civilians and holding the line until reinforcements arrived. This had been the pattern ever since the NZA forces were pushed out of North America. Run, hide—those were the actions humanity had been reduced to. Gillie despised being pushed onto the defensive. It gnawed at him, the inability to actively fight and make a difference driving him to frustration.

Shaking his head, Gillie's gaze fell upon a figure standing at the edge of the defences, looking out as well. The man had a mixed-race background and possessed a remarkably well-built physique. He held an old Vektor R4 assault rifle, its position firmly gripped between the magazine well and the grip.

Carefully descending the hill, Gillie approached the figure. He noticed the man wore British army MTP camouflage with a South African flag affixed to his shoulder. Gillie tilted his head slightly, speaking up, "Can I help you, sir?"

Instinctively treating the man as an officer, Gillie had addressed him as "Sir." He anticipated a lighthearted response or a quip about a promotion if he had made a mistake. However, the atmosphere around the man suddenly turned dark, accompanied by an aura that sent a shiver down Gillie's spine. The man's reply was cryptic, "No, I'm just wandering."

Gillie swallowed, quickly regaining his composure. He felt the need to confirm the man's identity, "I don't see your unit badge. Can I see some identification, Sir?"

The South African let out a sigh, "That's classified. Just call me Safari."

Gillie scrutinised him, his grip tightening on his rifle. He persisted, "Don't make this difficult. I just need some form of identification."

Safari sighed again, seemingly resigned to the request. "Fine, Sergeant," he reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to Gillie. "You want to look through it? Go ahead."

As Gillie examined the envelope more closely, he noticed that it was already open, with various stamps adorning the back. The stamps represented different countries, including British, American, Swiss, South African, Indian, Chinese, Russian, Ukrainian, and many more. The list seemed endless.

Gillie gulped, slowly reaching inside the envelope and pulling out a letter.

Startled by the words "TOP SECRET," Gillie hastily slammed the piece of paper back into its envelope. He returned it to Safari, his voice filled with hesitation, "Everything's good, Sir," he said, his hand trembling as he handed the letter back.

Gillie quickly turned on his heels and left, his mind racing with questions about why the officer possessed such a highly classified document. Jumping into a nearby trench, he came to a stop. He examined his right palm, which was shaking violently as if it could shatter under its own force. He muttered to himself, "Why the hell did he have that document?"

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Just ahead of him, another officer, Lieutenant Kieran McDonald, stood watching him. Gillie instinctively composed himself, lifting his head to meet McDonald's gaze. "You okay, Sergeant?" McDonald inquired.

Gillie quickly nodded, trying to regain his composure. "Yes, Sir, was just wandering, Sir."

McDonald, a commanding officer known for his subtle Scottish accent, nodded in acknowledgement. "Well, whatever tactical information you may have gathered, we're going to need it. This is going to be a challenging battle," he said. "Before you go off again, get everyone lined up. I have something important to announce."

Gillie turned around, walking down the trench, and shouted, "Oi, listen in!"

The platoon sprang to their feet, gathering around as Gillie stepped to the side, making way for Lieutenant McDonald and another figure to enter the centre of the group. McDonald addressed the troops, "Good afternoon, troops. After that 6-hour drive, I'm sure you all got some well-needed rest... and command assumes the same."

Murmurs spread through the group as McDonald continued, "As you can see, we will be at the forefront of this battle. We are the first line of defence. Our job is to win here or hold the line until further orders. If we are forced to push back, we will reinforce the next trench line and defend it with our lives. Beyond that lies command, and we have someone here who will ensure this line does not falter. He brings extensive tactical knowledge, strength, and a decorated record."

The second figure stepped forward, raising Gillie's eyebrow. "From now on, you will address me as Sir or Safari. I don't care which, just pick one," he said firmly. "I won't pretend that this battle will be easy. Command has reported the complete destruction of several enemy artillery units, rendering them inoperable, as well as the decimation of the NZA fleet off the coast of Durban."

The soldiers looked on in awe at the news.

Safari swallowed hard, his tone serious. "However, we still face thousands of enemy troops, primarily androids, supported by armoured vehicles and tanks. This battle will be a fight for every inch. We must be prepared to give everything we have."

Gillie nodded, his eyes scanning the document, "And we have to repel all of that?"

Safari shook his head, his expression determined, "Our primary objective is to hold out. Armoured and air units are en route with my unit. We will reinforce your position and provide the necessary support."

Gillie's eyebrows furrowed, "Why is your unit so special?"

Safari reached into his bag and pulled out the same envelope from earlier, the air around it still filled with an ominous aura. Gillie sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

He took the envelope and extracted the note inside. The words "Top Secret" were imprinted at the top, commanding attention. Gillie began to read aloud, "As of now, [Redacted] 'Safari' [Redacted] has been assigned to the Scots Guard from the Global Operations Unit for the second defence of Rorke's Drift."

Mabasa nodded, urging him to continue.

Gillie continued reading, "For any commanding officers reading this, codename 'Safari' has the authority to override any command if it does not align with the situation at hand. Attached below is his service record, including operations such as Formation, Terminator, Judas, Delta Priority, Stars, Sharks Jaw, Stripes, Wingless Dragon, Icicles..." He trailed off, realising the extensive list of operations Safari had been a part of, most of which were unfamiliar to the soldiers, their details shrouded in secrecy and covered in black ink.

Gillie's eyes widened as he read further down the document, "Capabilities: All weapon system proficiencies." He looked up, his gaze fixed on Safari, disbelief evident in his voice, "How is that even possible?"

Safari shrugged nonchalantly, "Once you understand the fundamentals of firearms and train extensively with various weapon systems, you develop a proficiency that transcends specific models or makes," he explained. "It's a combination of knowledge, skill, and adaptability."

Gillie's mind raced with questions, but Safari interrupted, his attention drawn to the sound of gunfire from above. A small drone exploded, and Safari scanned the sky. "They were watching us. We don't have much time. Get the troops to their stand-to positions. We're likely to be engaged within the next half an hour."

Nodding, Gillie swiftly organised the soldiers, guiding them in constructing defensive barriers using sandbags and rocks.

Exiting the trench, Gillie followed Safari into a nearby bunker. Once inside, he approached Safari, pointing at the mysterious piece of paper. His voice trembled with urgency, Sir. What the hell is up with that paper?"

Safari looked momentarily puzzled, and then realisation dawned on him. "Ah... I see," he nodded, his expression cryptic. "You'll find out soon enough, Lachlan," he said, his tone laden with an air of foreboding. "When the time comes, make sure you're ready to make a choice."

Gillie's blood ran cold. He had never revealed his first name to Safari. A shiver crept down his spine. Safari glanced up, his eyes piercing Gillie's, and ordered curtly, "Get out."

Gillie took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He pressed himself against the wall, feeling the coldness seep through his uniform, and ran his hands over his face, trying to clear his mind. Each breath he took was shallow and rapid, a result of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He forced himself to focus, to regain control over his emotions.

As the urgent cries of "Stand To!" filled the air, Gillie pushed off the wall and sprinted towards the front lines. His footsteps echoed in his ears, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat. He swiftly chambered a round in his rifle, readying himself for the imminent battle that lay ahead.

Gunfire erupted, mixing with the thunderous explosions of launched missiles. The chaos of war engulfed the battlefield, drowning out all other sounds. Gillie joined his comrades at the front lines, their determined expressions mirrored in his own. The Battle of Rorke's Drift had begun, and he was prepared to fight with every ounce of strength and courage he possessed.