African Entrepreneurship Record

Start at dawn and arrive at dusk.

In the dead of night, in the Kingdom of Kazemb, a ghastly pale moon hung in the sky, providing a faint light that shone on a clearing in a dense forest two kilometers away from the royal capital.

"The troops will rest for three hours first. After a day's march, both people and horses are exhausted. Feed the horses well with forage. In three hours, we will advance towards Kazemb's capital. At dawn, we will launch a direct attack."

"Yes, Commander!"

"There are many mosquitoes in the wild, and the ground is damp. I think we should let everyone gather in one tent to keep warm," the camp staff officer said.

"Hmm, let them share tents then!"

After a day's journey, the warriors of the East African First Cavalry Battalion were already physically and mentally drained. They quickly set up a rainproof tarp, creating a simple tent.

They gathered some dry wood and straw, tossed them on the ground, and a few men huddled together and fell fast asleep.

The grooms couldn't sleep yet. To ensure the smooth conduct of the next day's battle, they lit some special outdoor mosquito repellent, sat on stools, and began packing horse feed, alternating between corn and soybeans as they stuffed them into the horses' mouths.

...

The camp staff officer Rols took out his pocket watch and checked the time: it was already three twenty-five, and it was still quite dark. He shook the camp commander, who was sleeping soundly beside him.

"Andrew, wake up, it's time to move!"

Andrew rubbed his drowsy eyes, yawning.

"Rols, what time is it?"

"It's East African time, three twenty-five."

"It's a bit later here than in First Town, so the sun should rise a bit later too. Let's control the march speed, add an extra twenty minutes, and we should reach the center of Kazemb kingdom just before dawn."

"No problem, let's wake everyone up now. They can clear their heads while on the road."

The cooking team had already prepared hot porridge in the field pot, adding dried chili, salted meat jerky, and some unknown wild vegetables.

The African nights get bitterly cold, and after a night of torment, the warriors' bodies were cold and sluggish. A sip of hot porridge sent a wave of warmth flooding through them instantly.

"If only they didn't add chili! It's so hot, ha... hiss..."

"I actually like it. The spicy taste wakes me up completely. I feel alive all over again."

...

Leaving the grooms and cooking team to rest here, the East African First Cavalry Battalion set off lightly equipped. A two-kilometer journey, just four li, wasn't considered far. They led their warhorses with the aid of the faint moonlight, heading leisurely towards Kazemb's capital.

"Report, Commander. About five hundred meters ahead is Kazemb's royal capital!" The scout returned and reported.

In the age without electric lights, Kazemb, an African kingdom's capital, melded seamlessly into the darkness. Without careful observation, it was truly hard to notice.

Rols took out his pocket watch and, using the moonlight, checked the time.

"Four nineteen."

"Prepare for battle! Make the last technical adjustments, check the horses and firearms, and launch the attack in eleven minutes," Andre ordered.

Four thirty.

"Everyone, mount up and prepare!"

"Attack!"

At four thirty, a hint of dawn was already rising on the eastern horizon, but the people of Kazemb were still dreaming.

Rising with the sun and resting at sunset was typical of East Africans, but it was challenging for the natives. Most of them wouldn't wake up unless the sun was well up in the sky.

Why get up so early, to count stars, watch the moon? Even at sunrise, there were no fields to tend to, so it's better to keep sleeping.

"Rumbling..." The sound of hooves suddenly erupted.

"Enemy attack?"

The East African cavalry had already swept through the streets, charging straight towards the royal city. The so-called royal city had a low stone wall, and Andrew shot at the guard standing by the barricade.

The Kazemb guards had already begun to panic, shouting, "The Portuguese are attacking, the Portuguese are rioting!"

Kazemb's civilians huddled in their huts, afraid to go out, having seen the power of firearms, which the Portuguese caravans mostly carried.

"Mr. Santos! Something terrible has happened, there's unrest in Kazemb's capital," a subordinate hurriedly came to report.

Santos was just putting on his clothes.

"Do we know which faction did it?"

"It's unclear, but I heard the Kazemb people shouting it's our own actions."

"Our own people?"

"Yes, they said it was a riot stirred by the Portuguese."

Santos's face turned grim, saying, "Such a major action without notifying us, how can they act on their own? Do they not consider us their own?"

"Mr. Santos, since we are newcomers, could this be part of a prior plan?" his subordinate said uncertainly.

"Nonsense! Fighting some natives isn't that hard! Even notifying us would be fine, but there's no word at all. I think they want to keep everything for themselves!"

"Mr. Santos, what should we do next?"

"They want to keep everything for themselves? No way. If we don't step in, when it's time to divide the spoils, they'll throw us out first."

Santos clasped his hands behind his back, paced around, and said, "Gather our men. If they want to keep everything, we'll make sure they don't succeed. When it's time to carve up Kazemb kingdom, we must have our share."

"Yes, boss."

Soon, Santos' men, over eighty guns, were gathered.

"Brothers, fortune is upon us today. For the benefit of Kazemb kingdom, follow me!"

...

By this time, Andrew and his men had already stormed the royal palace. The pitiable King of Kazemb was like a chick held by Andrew in his arms.

"Bang, bang, bang..."

"What is going on, why is there suddenly a burst of gunfire?" Rols asked.

A young soldier suddenly rushed in: "Report, Commander, an unidentified armed group has suddenly attacked us. Our men have engaged them!"

"How many enemies are there?"

"About a hundred or so, and they're well-armed. They don't seem to be Kazemb kingdom's natives."

"They have nerve, all right. Relay my order to annihilate this group and capture their leader alive. I want to see who dares attack our unit with just a hundred or so men."

"Yes, sir."

...

"Bastards! Why are they firing at us? Do they intend to double-cross?"

Because it was still dark, the realities inside the city were unclear. Santos fired back while shouting, "Brothers, it's our people, don't shoot!"

"What gibberish are they spouting?"

"Who cares what they say, they're natives! If they come to support, they're probably Kazemb kingdom's elite forces. Just hit them hard."

The only response to Santos was the relentless gunfire. Watching his subordinates falling one by one, his eyes turned bloodshot; those were all his assets!

"Devils? I'll fight you to the end!"

Santos left his cover, took aim with his gun, only to be shot in the right leg and fall in agony.

"Ah!"

The battle unfolded overwhelmingly in one side's favor, and soon dawn broke, with the East African cavalry beginning to clear the battlefield.

Santos, disheveled and downcast, was escorted to Camp Commander Andrew.

"Report, Commander. This is their leader."

Santos looked at the familiar Prussian uniform and a mix of emotions overwhelmed him. He muttered incoherently: "Fake, haha, all fake, Prussian barbarians, allies, greed, I'm just a joke..."

Andre squatted down, slapping Santos's face, "What's your name? Which faction are you from, and who sent you?"

Santos's eyes were unfocused, repeating to himself: "Fake, barbarians, allies..."

Poor Santos had gone mad.