1821 - The Battle for Palembang

27: Horizon Dawn (Gombora Island, 1821)

The Light Company had lived a rough idleness. Aside from the newly-instituted guard duty, they faced almost constant bombardment from the enemy walls. Although the redoubt and the newly-dug trenches did protect from incoming fire, ball and canister-shot, every minute was exposure to danger, and that danger was represented by a sharpshooter or a smart bombardier that might take the life away and turn body to bloody bits.

Although the guns were silent last night, the firing began this morning. And as the day continued, the guns did not stop. The men ate under their trenches and behind the redoubt, and if the order to attack did not come quick enough, they would either be driven mad or to their deaths. But for some, they had stopped caring. And amongst those were Corporal Lenny van der Kleij, who had not spoken a word since last night, even if his men asked; nobody knew why. Hence, Wolesley was put in charge of that small tent section.

The section gathered about, though Lenny did not join them. He also refused to eat; something great bothered him, and something great bothered them all. It was not the first time that Lenny has seen war, seen death... but today might be the day where he decided to stop seeing it. Why can he not be the carpenter, who made wood into furniture? Why can he not be the musician, who makes noise into art? And with these thoughts, and the frustrations of a soldier now weak of mind and exhausted of seeing death–for a soldier is one who does not create, but dissolves and destroys–Lenny wished it all to end, either today, or upon his resignation from service. Lenny has deserved it, thought Wolesley–he has done his four years and extended another three for a promotion to corporal. If he returned to Batavia alive after this fight, his three-year extension would also conclude.

But seeing the walls ahead, nobody knew what would happen next. Zussman and Wolesley, then, ate with the rest of the section, the corporal gone, as if he was dead. The food was issued nearing sundown, and it was beef and mashed potatoes. It was rare; like yesterday, good meals were rare.

"Have you seen Good Lenny?" asked Zussman.

"Better ask not, Zussman." Said Wolesley.

"Why so?" said Zussman.

Wolesley tried to find a reason. He could not tell Zussman, in front of the other squaddies, that their corporal has broken down and had lost his mind... "He is merely unwell." Wolesley said, eventually.

"Unwell, yet he stands there straight as a drill sergeant, looking onto those walls, with risk of cannon and musket fire? It has been an hour of him doing that, and he sees as he does upon blank canvas!" said Zussman. He dropped his food and went on his feet. "I've had enough of this, Peter!"

Wolesley looked at him nonchalantly, continuing his simple meal. "Sit down, Zussman. Eat your fucking food." Said he.

He laughed under his breath. "Well? Haven't you had enough, Wolesley? Ships burnt, villages burnt, our regimental commander torn to pieces?! We could barely find his body..." said he. Unbeknownst to him, his outrage had turned the heads of the men, even beyond his section.

His complaints had grown to commotion: disagreement and dissent, and such would bring bad omen and generate bad morale. Yet Wolesley sat there and did nothing. Wolelsey looked up at Zussman and said, "Did I hear right, Zussman?"

"Well, lance-corporal, a quarter of the company is dead, the other quarter wounded. Lemaire is dead, Raimbaud isn't with us, and Simpson? Hell if I know where that man is! Yet, yet, despite how much we have given, Gombora still stands..."

"Stand down, fusilier." Said Wolesley.

"We've tried before. And we've failed. And those in command think we can take it again? Hah! Not before all of us die, like Lemaire! And now? Now? We are but hours away from taking that breach, and our commander could barely grow a whisker..." Zussman went on.