July 1905: The First Shots
Bandar Brunei, Brunei Sultanate (Italian Borneo), late July 1905
It was barely past lunchtime, and the world had gone mad.
At least, down here we are, mused Emilio Chiovenda [1] as he watched the unfolding maelstrom. The Residency Hall in Bandar Brunei was primarily a place for social events between the staff and the travelling cognoscenti, and the rattan furniture has played rest to a myriad of local and foreign bodies. Now, chaos ruled. Aides were rushing back and forth with important papers clutched in fists while the Resident himself seemed like a possessed man, barking orders while simultaneously hauling precious belongings to and from the office.
“–Cazzo! Get a cable to Sandakan and tell them of an attack by the Tuesday! We’re already expecting one here by nightfall – Oh there you are, Emilio! What took you so long?!”
Because I want no part in whatever you’re planning? “My apologies. I was hampered by the commotion outside.” Given how the city is reacting to the war declaration from Sarawak, it was a good defence. Even from the compound, he could hear the hollering from the water-villages outside.
“Alright, come here.” The Resident reached out and yanked his hand, pulling him straight into the office with surprising force. The place seemed to have been bit by a bomb, but Emilio found himself spun bout and shoved into a chair before he could place more details. “I need you to come about and join an expedition up into the mountains.”
Wait. “What?”
“I have word that some of these head-hunters up the Baram and Limbang highlands are frustrated with Sarawak, that the White Rajah is messing up their communities or how they lived or whatever. I want to get some men up there and help plan an insurrection to kick his arse. You’re the only one who knows the mountains, and you aren’t too bad at hiking yourself. What do you say?”
For a moment, Emilio said no word. Then, the implications become clear. “Forgive me, but I’m a botanist, not a rabble-rouser. If you want someone to guide up the rivers, there are plenty of Bruneians that can help you.”
“But I want someone that I can trust up there! And you are the only person I can see lying to those savages!”
Yes, but I’d rather throw myself to the crocodiles than spend a night with your sanctimonious arse and plans, which is why I haven’t answered your requests for the past week. “I’m a botanist,” he repeated, “not a guide or captain. I know more about orchids than how to deal with tribal wars. Now if you excuse me, there is a ship I need to catch and I wish to declare my-”
“Stop right there! Refusing demands from an official during an emergency is treason!!”
But Emilio found himself focusing on one of the papers that was strewn about on the desk. Though the writing was small, he could read out the heading well enough: Note of Concession to the Borneo-Caligari Petroleum Company.
Good luck getting that now. “I think I have had enough of stooping to higher authorities,” he responded, rising from his chair. The botanist glowered, hoping his posture would intimidate the other man. “And if you try to manhandle me again, I’ll try and make sure you won’t leave this office by the time they arrive.”
And with that, Emilio backed away from the room, his eyes fixed on the Resident’s snarling face.
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At the mouth of the Seria River, 70 kilometres away, three nights later
At the mouth of the Seria River, 70 kilometres away, three nights later
The fort overlooked the mouth of the watercourse, and that was its fatal mistake.
Clayton Brooke motioned to his men, laying low in their Prahus as they slowly snaked down the murky Seria. The night was clear, and the force stayed within the shadows to avoid detection. Alongside, the coastal forest seemed to envelop the silent party, the cries of insects and animals muffling their oars and silencing any creaks.
Along the way, the Brooke twin planned. Attacking the Italians from many sides was a good plan, and his father wanted to bring the big gunships along to ensure total victory. But the oil fields needed to be unharmed, and as the British naval commander at Miri noted, “Collateral damage is too great a danger to ignore”. At least they agreed with our multi-pronged approach.
As they silently made their way downriver, Clayton briefly wandered his mind elsewhere, to the forts he quartered back in Krian, and the crocodiles that gaped under the hot sun, of the men he found himself secretly comfortable with on the moonlit nights [2]. Then a memory flitted, and he saw himself back in the lounge of the family yacht and the shouts that rang from them, “…the last thing I want to hear are my sons squabbling while under fire!”
Sorry Mother, but some things are too much to be–
“Tuan, we are close now.” His aide shook his shoulder.
Clayton shook himself and glanced upwards as la Fortezza Seria came into view. Immediately, the Rajah Muda saw more guards stationed on the wooden palisade than expected, and even more patrolling the grounds. From what he could see of the river mouth, the coast was ringed with a fleet of ironclads, forming a floating wall around the estuary.
They know this place is precious. In an effort to throw off the Italians, his father had signed the war declaration while they were already halfway to Brunei. The larger contingent of soldiers here answered whether that helped in catching them and the oil wells off-guard.
Still, with his dark-adapted eyes, Clayton could see many blind spots in the Italian defence, as noted by his informants; almost all the cannons were pointed to sea, the front palisade was too open for any defensive cover, the outer wall seemed to be made not of ironwood, and there looked to be few torches or any far-lighting equipment. They really do not expect an attack from upriver. Then again, given the ocean-fronting course of the Seria, and the lack of any troublesome tribes around, perhaps they never thought such an attack merited discussion, or the possibility that an enemy might land beyond their eyesight, decamp, trek through the coastal forest, and attack from behind.
Closer… a little closer… NOW. “S’karang, api maxim!”
The air burst with the sound of a thousand bullets as the leading Prahus let loose their jerry-rigged Maxim rounds while Clayton and his Dayak force split-off and head for the riverbank. Already he could see many ground troops falling, but the ones by and up the wall are now shooting back. The shots strayed far, not least because he and his men hugged the shadows. Another order was sounded to the sub-leaders, and the fleet of remaining longboats let loose their Enfield rifles, silencing the Italians up the palisade.
Then, the night echoed with the sound of deep booms, originating southwest. Abang. The British-Sarawakian sea fleet had been waiting for the right moment, and the shouts and commotion must have alerted the leading sentries of the attack. Thank God for sharp ears and pocket watches. A larger boom rent the tropical air, and one of the floating hulks in the estuary blossomed into flame, tearing itself apart. Twelve seconds after, and another ironclad went the same way.
The fort was now in chaos as soldiers ran two and fro for their comrades and weapons. Holding up their war shields back-covered in metal strips for the bullets, the Rajah Muda and his men headed for the trees. From the numbers alone, victory was at hand, yet a sizable ground contingent was already rushing towards their landing spot. Clayton looked at his side, and saw his Dayak brothers waiting for his command. Their rifles and parangs glimmered in the discordant light.
He looked ahead, and shouted, “For Sarawak and the Rajah!”
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Penyengat Inderasakti, Riau-Lingga Sultanate (Dutch East Indies), 11 July 1905
Several weeks earlier
Penyengat Inderasakti, Riau-Lingga Sultanate (Dutch East Indies), 11 July 1905
Several weeks earlier
“Thinking of something, Your Excellency?”
Pengiran Muda Tengah turned around. The man standing before him looked near indistinguishable in body to the Europeans bustling about in nearby Singapore. Only the red fez and lilt of his tongue reminded the prince that the figure is more than what he seemed.
“A few things, actually.” Muda Tengah responded, turning back to the windows. His quarters on the island were relatively comfortable, but the rains have left the air splendidly cool and free of the usual afternoon mosquitoes. It would be a waste to not enjoy it.
After all that happened today, I need the air anyways.
“Mind a companion?” The figure started, and the Bruneian prince shifted to allow room for Veli Aziz, the Turkish Consul to the archipelagic kingdom. The two men looked to the shower beyond, voiceless.
“I was thinking about home,” The prince said, after some time. “And how everything shall change there.”
“You are not the only one.” The Consul replied. “How are your brothers over there personally taking it?”
“Well, you already know half of it,” Muda Tengah said, recalling the grand meeting between his delegation, the Consul’s, and the Inderasakti royals that morning. “But they are also relieved, in a sense. Father wanted for an excuse to kick the Italians out from the city, and the war has given us the perfect chance.”
“Well, at least your side are partly relieved.” Aziz snorted. “From what I hear, my home has gone a bit insane from the declarations. Now there are rumours that the sultan shall give us notices to see if anyone down here would volunteer for the African fronts.”
“Surely it can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, not yet. This war will not be confined to just us and here. The French shall march across Africa to attain Egypt. Greece and Italy will do try and rule the seas of all Eropah. Russia will definitely try and reach us through the mountains at our north. We are surrounded on almost all sides, Tuanku, and we need all the help we can get.”
Muda Tengah was surprised. I hadn’t thought of it that way. He had come here to bargain for a new protector for Brunei, and how he’s realizing how much their preferred allies are constrained. “Is there anything you need from us? I can send word back for a few supplies.”
“No, it is alright. But this is why we are hesitant about unleashing our forces into Borneo. We are not even sure we could leave Aceh since the recent mobilizations. Don’t tell anyone else of this, but the government there is considering jihad against our enemies, and who knows what will happen after then.”
The prince was stunned. Aceh declaring jihad would not only bottle the Ottoman fleet there to protect the state, but also leave his home without a saviour that could combat the Italian navy. Or worse…
“God willing, let’s hope it won’t be that.”
Aziz stared back at the downpour.
“God willing.”
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Footnotes:
1.) Emilio Chivoenda is a real-life figure. His ATL counterpart would be his OTL brother.
2.) Remember post #1153?
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