South African Coast off of Longbeach, Noordhoek
As the hot sun beat down on the South African waters, the British navy cruised through, making it's way for Cape Town. As it began to near the shore, many onlookers began to gather, staring out to sea. Many were confused, and a few were scared, but each and every one of them was simply curious. Not a single person alive in the nation had seen such a large navy before, and nobody knew exactly what it's intentions were. There was a visible difference between those who felt scared or threatened, and those who were confused, or simply thought the ships were passing by. Some, however, instantly fled, reporting the sighting to local authorities.
Within minutes, police began escorting civilians away from the beaches, while a few coast guard patrol boats began to appear to the South. Local armed forces and militia members began to make their way to the Western shore, while civilians moved inland. The second the British flag atop the ships was visible, however, a noticeable change in attitude could be seen.
Meanwhile, on board the HMS Titan, the flagship of this particular fleet, officers had already began to dish out orders across their radios, and among all the ships following, soldiers were preparing to storm the beaches of Cape Town. One officer in particular, an older gentleman sporting a mustache that looked more like the end of a broom, had walked out onto the deck, binoculars in hand. As he looked at the Africans gathered on the shore, he let out a small sigh of pity.
“Sir?” Inquired a baby-faced young man who barely looked old enough to have enlisted.
“I don't know why they don't just surrender” said the officer, as he looked out over the people gathering on the beaches with old, tired green eyes. “I don't think they can expect to even last half an hour with what they have there.”
“Well, sir” piped in the younger officer. “I think-”
“That was a rhetorical statement, lad.” Said the officer, handing him the binoculars. “Of course they are going to fight. Just as we would if somebody attacked our home. I simply meant to convey that it's pointless.”
Shaking his head at the young man, the officer retreated inside the belly of the ship, where a few other high ranking officers greeted him with a salute. He quickly waved them back to work, and sat down on a cold steel chair, taking a radio into his hand. Giving a nod to a younger man next to him, the old officer began to speak to every ship in the fleet.
“This is Admiral Fletcher speaking. In less than ten minutes, we will began our mission. Before then, I wanted to give all of you a few words of inspiration.” Taking a small break, the Admiral gave enough time for everyone aboard the ships to be quieted enough that his message would be heard clearly.
“Since the Great Anarchy that threw Britain into despair, we have become a shadow of a nation. We had lost so much because of the Great War, we couldn't even manage to keep our territories under our control. For years, we suffered together, humiliated, while the rest of the world laughed at us. I don't know about you lot, but that is not what I want to be remembered for. It is for that reason that our King has decided this course of action for each and every one of us. We are going to prove that Britain is not the laughing stock that the Great War had tried to reduce us to! With this first step in a larger plan, we will prove that the British Empire is still alive and strong! When you storm that beach today, do not think of it as conquering some innocent, foreign land! The people you are fighting today are people who took the name of our King, and tried to tarnish it! They, in a rash act of rebellion, broke the trust of the monarch, and may as well have spit on his face directly! I don't know about any of you, but I think that is reason enough for this war. Reason enough to kill these traitors to the crown! However, before I send you off, I want to make something very clear. I will not tolerate unjustified killing of civilians. The women, children, sick and elderly have nothing to do with this war. Unless they stand in the way of your own safety, they are not to be injured, by order of the King.”
Taking a heavy breath, the Admiral seemed to pause for thought. With another heavy breath, he spoke one last time.
“Upon clearing the city of any and all armed individuals, you will secure a building suitable to serve as our forward operation base. I believe in each and every one of you, and expect to see all of you once this is over. Now, onward, men. Kill these traitors, and restore the honor of your king!”
As landing crafts hit he water, men began to fill into them, and began making their way towards the beach. Sitting in one of the very first ones was a young man with a round face, wearing a small pair of glasses, and shaking like a leaf. Beside him was a much taller, older male, with features like a rock and an expression to match, who was also trembling, possibly even more so than the smaller male. Looking at each other at nearly the same time, the two tried to calm themselves by trying to laugh at the other, but it was to no avail. In fact, just about every single person aboard was terrified in one way or another. After all, the generation before theirs had never seen war, and the generation before that one seldom spoke of it.
In order to break the high amounts of tension and fear, an older male at the front tried to get the younger men behind him to relax a bit.
“What's with the long faces, everybody? This is what we joined the army for! Not only that, we get to take part in a major historic moment! Do you really want the story to be 'we all sat in a boat nearly wetting ourselves while going to fight people a lot weaker'? I doubt it! Come on! Raise those spirits! We're on our way to win a war! Not lose one! Have confidence that we will win!”
After a brief moment of silence, the younger man in glasses shouted out in agreement, which seemed to be all that was needed. Soon enough, the landing craft was filled with all kind of cheering, as the soldiers began to realize how right the officer was. However, just as fast as they had gained their confidence, they lost it. In the middle of all the cheering, it seems they had entered a close enough range, as the South Africans began to fire at the approaching landing crafts. While the bullets whizzing over and around the small craft were enough to terrify the men back into silence, the moment they had all feared was to follow seconds after.
Right as he was about to speak again, the entire craft watched in terrified silence as a bullet managed to land, hitting the officer in the throat, spraying the four or so men behind him in his blood. As he collapsed to the floor clutching his throat, not a single person moved; not even to help. For them, time had seemed to stop completely until somebody finally reacted, pushing their way to the front of the craft and screaming while raising their rifle, and firing blindly at the shore. By the time everyone else had come to their senses, a dull thud was heard, and somebody opened the front of the craft, and they began to get ushered out of the safety of their boat.
While everyone else had left, the young soldier in glasses was still standing at the back of the craft, legs shaking, and eyes still locked on the spot where the officer had been shot. Noticing the soldier still standing there, the naval officer who had steered the craft to shore quickly pulled on the soldiers arm, which seemed to finally snap him out of his trance. As the sound of gunfire and shouting rushed into his ears, the soldier noticed a voice, and looked at the naval officer with wide eyes.
“Did you hear me? I said you need to get onto the beach, so I can go pick op the next round of troops!” shouted the officer over all the noise, giving the soldier a small push forward.
“R-right! Sorry!” Shouted the soldier, getting off the craft, and finally joining the rest of his companions on the beach, avoiding fire from the few South African soldiers who had gathered up ahead.
Instantly, he was being shouted at by the highest ranking person there. “You there! You're a medic, right?”
“Yes sir!” The small soldier in glasses replied.
“What's your name?” Barked the officer, as a bullet whizzed over his shoulder.
“Neville Bishop, sir!”
“Well, Bishop, you're not a medic anymore! If you try that here, you'll just die. We've already lost three others because they tried to help the injured. Get up here, and join us in this firefight!”
Nodding, Neville made his way up to the front line, and joined the rest of the British soldiers in trying their best to advance up the beach without getting shot.
Despite the fear that many of the soldiers had, they were able to make it off the beach relatively quickly, managing to drive the South Africans back inland without taking nearly as many casualties as they had originally expected. Since it wasn't much more than a militia and law enforcement, the British military was able to capitalize on their intimidating presence more then anything, by scaring most of the South Africans away following a barrage from the naval forces.
After completely securing the beach, and once all armor and men were landed, two companies were formed to take the small town to the North and South of the beach, in order to fully secure the area before moving onward to the first target to the East: Fish Hoek.