The Afghan winter was bitterly cold, but the severe chill did not stop the march of war. It was hard to tell whether the British were too incompetent or the Russians too formidable. In the final month of 1889, the Russian army seemed unstoppable, capturing Mazar-i-Sharif, Kunduz, and Chaghcharan one after another. One-fifth of Afghanistan’s territory changed hands. Even the heavily garrisoned Wakhan Corridor and Herat, fortified by British forces, were on the brink of collapse and could fall at any moment. Opening the window, a gust of wind howled through. Watching the snowflakes swirl outside, Lieutenant General Patrick shivered. Weather of more than ten degrees below zero was simply too harsh for the British army, which had never experienced such cold in Britain. Forget about going to war, even sitting inside the command post with a burning stove, Lieutenant General Patrick still felt the cold wind piercing through his bones. The bureaucrats back home had misjudged the situation. The winter uniforms they provided were made to suit the British climate and were practically useless here. Fortunately, the logistics department upheld its usual traditions and had issued winter clothing based on the original troop numbers. Soldiers who had died or gone missing obviously didn’t need them, so those still on duty could wear two layers of the cotton-padded uniforms. Even with that, since the onset of winter, non-combat casualties among the British troops rose dramatically. In some areas, non-combat losses even exceeded the number of battle casualties from fighting the Russians. It would be more accurate to say that the British army was losing to the Afghan winter rather than to Russian strength. For Indian soldiers used to tropical climates, the Afghan winter was nothing short of hell on earth. Hands, feet, ears, faces—any exposed part of the body ended up frostbitten. By contrast, the Russian army was doing far better. Although they also suffered non-combat casualties, the numbers were minimal. With few exceptions, the Afghan winter was far milder than that of the Russian Empire. The Russian soldiers, in this environment, thrived like fish in water, while the British troops felt like every day was miserable. The roar of artillery fire continued. The battle for Herat had begun again. Lieutenant General Patrick, now commanding from the front, was starting to panic. He finally understood why the Russians dared to launch a war just before winter. “When will reinforcements from home arrive?” Indian reinforcements were out of the question. In the past three months of war, the Viceroy of India had already sent 150,000 troops. The number seemed large, but their combat effectiveness was sorely lacking. They could hold fortifications at best, but in field battles, they were just cannon fodder. Especially after winter set in, many Indian soldiers who had lived their whole lives in warm climates suffered frostbite, and nearly one-tenth lost all combat capability. By comparison, British soldiers from the homeland were much better off. Not only were they more capable in combat, but they were also far more resistant to the cold. The British Isles also had winters. While not as severe, temperatures still dropped below freezing. In this context, the general adaptability of British troops was far greater than that of Indian soldiers who had never even seen snow before. A middle-aged officer behind him replied, “If nothing goes wrong, the first batch of reinforcements from home should arrive in a month and a half.” From the outbreak of fighting to the arrival of reinforcements, it would take just four and a half months. This was already a qualitative improvement for the British Empire. In the past, getting reinforcements within six months was considered a bold achievement by the domestic bureaucrats. Of course, this efficiency was also forced by circumstances. The enemy was the overbearing Russians, and their objective was clearly India. The British government could not afford to stay calm. Even so, Lieutenant General Patrick was not satisfied. The situation on the front was critical, and the longer the delay, the harder the war would become later. “Send more messengers to urge them, and tell them to prepare proper winter gear. The Afghan winter is no joke.” Though it might already be too late to say this, Lieutenant General Patrick still chose to give the warning. Being a commander of an expeditionary force was no easy job. Losses among the Indian colonial troops were acceptable, but if the main British forces suffered heavy casualties, Lieutenant General Patrick would be in serious trouble. The home front could not be counted on in the short term. Although the problems faced by the expedition had been reported, by the time those lords back in the country made decisions, organized production, and sent the materials over, winter would likely be over. Telling the reinforcements to prepare for the cold was, in reality, a way of telling the troops to find their own solutions. The British army would pass through many areas along the way, and in theory, some winter supplies could be purchased locally. After all, their lives were their own. Whether they wanted to spend money to increase their survival chances was up to them. … Braving the cold wind, a supply convoy slowly departed from the city of Jeman. Judging by the direction of travel, they were heading toward Afghanistan. “Stay alert, we’re about to enter Afghan territory. It’s dangerous over there, one wrong move and you’ll be meeting God early.” The loud voice of a middle-aged officer echoed through the convoy. Everyone’s expressions turned serious. Afghanistan was far from peaceful. Russian troops threatened from the outside, while guerrilla fighters raged within. Even seemingly honest farmers could launch surprise attacks on supply convoys at any time. In less than a year, British convoys had been attacked 476 times. Forty-six attacks caused serious losses, and five convoys were completely wiped out. A total of 1,371 escorting soldiers and 3,476 laborers were killed. The value of lost supplies was impossible to count. High risk meant high reward. Escorting supplies was dangerous, but also lucrative. Loss of supplies during transport was allowed within a set limit. That allowance became a source of profit. As long as losses didn’t exceed the upper threshold, superiors wouldn’t interfere. If a convoy was attacked by guerrillas, they could report the losses and make a little extra. As long as they didn’t go too far, superiors would turn a blind eye. Naturally, the necessary shares for higher-ups had to be paid. If it weren’t for the rampant guerrillas in Afghanistan, supply escort duty would be a cushy assignment. With good profits and limited danger, convoy teams shared credit for victories and bore no blame for defeats. It was usually the post of choice for officers seeking quick promotions. Unfortunately, Afghanistan was an exception. In terms of casualty rates, convoy duty was just as dangerous as frontline combat. Those with connections stayed behind in India. Those sent to escort supplies into Afghanistan lacked powerful backing. A young officer responded, “Don’t worry, Lieutenant Colonel. We’ve taken this road a dozen times. We only ran into trouble once. The really dangerous section is ahead.” This was true. The deeper into Afghanistan, the more dangerous it became. This was well known among the British troops. Most ambushes happened inland, especially in mountainous areas. After long experience with ambushes and counterattacks, the British developed their own strategies to deal with guerrillas. One was to retaliate against nearby locals after an attack, forcing them to oppose the guerrillas. To instill fear, the British often massacred entire villages or towns. While this inflamed hatred, it also spread terror. Human nature is complex. Not all Afghans were willing to die for their cause. Some were willing to betray guerrillas and side with the British for personal gain. The more densely populated an area, the harder it was for guerrillas to hide. After an ambush, retreat was difficult, so most attacks moved to the outskirts. “Shut up, Will! Your so-called experience is worthless. The key to surviving the battlefield is caution…” Before the middle-aged officer could finish, a bullet whizzed through the air and struck his right arm. Then, a chaotic barrage of gunfire followed. Everyone knew the guerrillas had come. The supply workers panicked. Some wagons even broke off and sped away. The escort troops scrambled to return fire. Though wounded, the middle-aged officer gritted his teeth and continued to command. Sensing the convoy would not be easy prey, the guerrillas retreated after about fifteen minutes, leaving a few bodies behind. Such ambushes occurred almost daily in Afghanistan. For the guerrillas, it was routine. Regardless of the odds, they would attack British forces and then withdraw swiftly without hesitation. As the guerrillas retreated, the wounded officer breathed a sigh of relief and shouted, “Don’t pursue. Check casualties and move out.” Their mission was to deliver supplies, not hunt guerrillas. Taking out the attackers was a bonus. But if they lost the cargo because of it, a military court awaited them. There were plenty of cautionary tales. Some fell for diversionary attacks and chased guerrillas, only for the main convoy to be destroyed. Others chased the guerrillas into the mountains, only to be ambushed and driven back in defeat. The outcome was truly miserable… This convoy had only around 800 laborers and a battalion-sized escort. Casualty counting was quick. Soon after, the young officer Will reported, “Lieutenant Colonel, we’ve suffered heavy losses. Total casualties are 184, including 27 escort soldiers wounded, 11 killed, 127 laborers wounded and 19 killed. Seven wagons of supplies lost…” The middle-aged officer waved a hand, wincing in pain. His face went pale, but he endured it and ordered, “Send word to move on. We must reach the next post before nightfall. It’ll be dangerous if we’re caught outside.” This was Lieutenant Colonel Jack’s hard-earned wisdom. A convoy targeted by guerrillas rarely faced only one attack. Even when guerrillas knew they couldn’t win, they would keep harassing like moths to a flame. Jack dared not stop even for solo attackers. Seeing Jack’s injured arm, Will expressed concern, “LieutenantColonel, we should treat your wound. Delaying treatment could lead to infection.” Gunshot wounds were often fatal. Even a hit to the arm could lead to death if infection sets in. Many amputations came not from blown-off limbs, but from untreated minor wounds that festered. Lieutenant Colonel Jack shook his head and said, “What treatment? We have no medic here, and we can’t afford to waste time. I’ve already bandaged it. Besides, it’s winter. Less chance of infection. Take the wounded and move out. Leave the dead. We’ll collect them when we return.” Reality was harsh. Even mid-level officers were not safe on the battlefield. British medical resources were limited and certainly not provided to escort teams. Even if a medic were present, Jack wouldn’t accept treatment now. As the convoy commander, Jack knew what kind of men he led. Though they had just repelled one ambush, it was uncertain if they could survive another. Not because the troops lacked strength, but because morale was shattered. Transporting supplies through snow-covered wilderness already filled them with resentment. If morale broke, desertions could follow. This had happened before. To avoid another ambush, Jack pressed on. There was no time to bury the dead. Everyone knew the promise to return and bury them was just an excuse. By the time they came back, the bodies would be long gone. People are selfish. Even setting the mission aside, no one wanted to camp in the wild. Not because they feared hardship, but because it was simply too dangerous. As the convoy moved on, the land returned to silence. Only the scattered corpses remained to show that a battle had taken place. At nightfall, the British convoy finally reached the small town of Takar. Their dangerous journey had temporarily ended. In the wilderness, around a campfire, several men whispered among themselves. A bearded middle-aged man snapped, “I do not agree with your plan. Now is not the time to fight the British head-on. Attacking the town of Takar will only bring unnecessary losses. The Russians are only temporary allies. You’re not foolish enough to think they truly came to help us drive out the British, are you?” A hand that takes is bound, a mouth that eats must hold its tongue. Since receiving Russian weapons, the Afghan guerrillas had significantly improved in combat, as seen in their recent success. But no matter how much progress they made, it was still dangerous for a few hundred fighters to attack a town held by British troops.
*** https://postimg.cc/gallery/PwXsBkC (Maps of the current territories of the countries in this novel made by ScH)
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These soldier pov's always feel like skippable filler, thanks for translating this story in general tho.
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