The King's Men

By Philip John Walibba

It's eight months since King Freddie, the native ruler of the Largest tribe in Uganda, a British protectorate in Eastern Africa, was arrested and banished to the United Kingdom on the express orders of the Governor of the Protectorate of Uganda. As a consequence, a civil war is bubbling and almost inevitable. A new man, a British man, Lord Daniel Morgan nicknamed 'the Hare' is in town to calm things down. General Scott Macgregor who is in charge of things on the ground isnt at all pleased and will not give up this territory just yet. Else where, a group of young political activists led by a vocal University Lecturer Everisto Kikomeko can no longer look on while their Beloved king is humiliated and their freedoms trampled upon.
Based loosely on true events, The king's Men is set in 1954 Uganda, East Africa, at the height of British imperialism in this part of the world. It brings into question the rationale of one country governing another. It threatens to boil over bringing together unlikely allies, foes, the powerful, all in a desperate attempt to outwit each other.The King's Men is an absorbing yet intriguing novelette that will keep you on the edge but will in turn educate and enlighten you on how politics can easily affect the lives of both citizens and foreigners and what some men will do to win at all costs. A game of Chess where the line drawn between losers and winners is blurred and anyone can very easily pay the ultimate price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip John Walibba
• Release date: Jul 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310524097

Philip John Walibba

Thanks for checking me out!Thanks so much for the many downloads already for my books.Kindly, Kindly remember to leave a review, good or bad. It means a lot and allows me to figure out where I stand with you my dearest reader. I am currently working on Equilibrium, the third installment of the Recluse franchise Recluse: the Retribution and Elizabeth Lake.Do swing by my world and lets check it out together!Cheers,Philip John Walibba

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The Kings Men

The Kings Men

Published by Philip John Walibba

Copyright 2015 Philip John Walibba

Smashwords Edition

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Dear Reader,

This story was told to me many years ago by my late Grandfather. The accuracy and authenticity of what he said to me couldn’t be verified elsewhere at the time. I took his side of the story to be the whole truth. But as I grew older, I took keen interest in finding out the truth behind the truth. So I began my investigation. First, it was purely out of curiosity, then as the investigation deepened, it became for sentimental reasons. However, know this, all the individuals I have since interviewed swear by what they saw. I have in turn tried to piece together all their stories to make one narrative, one truth. You be the Judge.

Prologue

Somewhere above Lake Victoria, East Africa

A neatly dressed gentle man busied himself throughout the short flight from Nairobi to Entebbe. His round glass rimmed spectacles remained fastened to his lean face as he perused through all the manuscripts he could lay his hands on about his new assignment. This appointment had come rather suddenly, a pleasant surprise given his age. At forty one years of age and still unmarried, he felt rather young. His love life had taken a back sit in favor of his ambitions. He had gotten this far through sheer brilliance and savvy political connections. He fancied himself prime minister of Great Britain someday.

A career diplomat and witty political planner, he had joined the Foreign office in early January of nineteen thirty seven, a time of crisis; Edward VIII had abdicated a month earlier. A war had awaited his first posting to Nyanza land, a foreign colony in southern Africa, rich in copper. His, was to broker a truce with the natives over the cooper royalties which if unsuccessful, threatened yet another protracted war with the natives.

Lord Daniel Morgan’s diplomacy had worked in averting this crisis and in doing so, he also had managed to divert public attention away from the internal failings of the conservatives back home. His immediate task had been to devise and execute an invisible foreign policy favored by the Crown, one also acceptable to the local chiefs and rulers in Nyanza land.

The natives had been pacified through dialogue, influence and religion. Morgan believed that indirect rule as a way of governance created a false sense of independence in the minds of the natives, and support for local institutions with puppet rulers installed to oversee local administration on behalf of the Crown. The only antidote needed to buy the Crown enough time to reorganize itself for what would be a final assault on the Africans. It had worked in India and even in the United States.

As Morgan glanced through the plane's oval shaped thick glass window towards the blue skies ahead, he felt a sense of responsibility weighing heavy on his thin shoulders. He had been debriefed about a certain General Scott Macgregor who was to show him the ropes once he hit the ground running. He stretched out his lean arm, picked and opened General Scott Macgregor’s file.

A World war one veteran but loyalty to the Crown is questionable. A heavy drinker with a loose mouth, Scott is suspected to having shot and killed a colleague while stationed in Egypt. Court-martialed and acquitted under unclear circumstances.

File protoc bio- NOT TO BE TRUSTED.

As the fly bird's socket gingerly touched onto the narrow uneven stretch of Entebbe airport tarmac, Morgan inhaled deeply before closing the creased brown paper file. A whole load of mess awaited him here.

Chapter One

General Scott Macgregor patiently waited for the caller to hang up. A seasoned British soldier, Scott had spent several years overseas stationed in this British outpost deep inside Eastern Africa. The telephone call he’d just received made him feel like he’d just been smacked right in the face by the very people he swore to serve. Foreign office had decided to bring a politician all the way from Nyanza land to run the show here, but, whoever had made that decision, they also had made a huge and costly error, a mistake which could potentially cost the Crown dearly in the near future.

Harshly placing back the plastic black receiver, Scott rushed to pour himself a Scotch. The cup, an old silver grey metal, was a gift from corporal Hammed, an Egyptian cadet who had died from influenza during Scott’s last posting to Alexandria, Cairo. It bore Arabic inscriptions Scott still couldn’t decipher. His tongue savored the Scotch's palate as his thoughts vied towards the heat, and the countless buzzing mosquitoes spread out everywhere. He slowly placed the now empty mug back onto the creased wooden table.

Born in Dingwall, a picturesque Scottish town twenty miles North West of Inverness, Scott had been raised on its fertile plains at the west end of the firth of Cromarty. Memories of Dingwall always warmed his heart. The son of Lieutenant-Colonel Valentine Oakley Butler, Scott had been schooled at Brisbane Grammar School, enrolled into Edinburgh Academy up until the start of World War one when he eagerly joined the army. He'd served in the King’s Royal Rifles at Edinburgh, becoming a Lieutenant soon after the war. He had gone on to become Captain in Nineteen Thirty. Nine years on, he was made Major and in January of Forty two, sent to blazing hot Egypt before being redeployed to Uganda, a British Protectorate in Eastern Africa a year later. Scott was married to Pamela Rosemary Blake; a girl he'd chance met at a party one winter evening in Edinburgh during one of his leave days. They were engaged six weeks later to the displeasure of his mother, Maria Berkley.

General Scott's official role in the Protectorate was set up government structures to help the natives transition into self rule. This was at least according to the official telegram which accompanied his deployment from Egypt although he knew better.

His unofficial role however, was to recruit as many African fighters as possible to counter Nazi Germany and its protagonists threatening his home land thousands of miles away with alienation and these African fighters were to serve as the first line of defense. He had done exactly that. The war had been fought and won, with minimum cost to the British. Scott was a true war hero back home, at least he thought so.

So, why then hadn’t the Foreign office asked him to retire to his beloved Dingwall? Five years on, he was still stuck out here, embroiled in the local politics, a civil war brewing and according to the Foreign office, he was partly to blame. With an election fast approaching back home and the Crown’s foreign policy too coming under increasing fire from the United States, which was fast becoming the world's self appointed watch dog, attention politicians back in Britain didn’t need, General Scott Macgregor had become the perfect scapegoat.

As a result, the Foreign office had come to the decision not to entrust politics to military men like Macgregor anymore, instead, were sending Lord Daniel Morgan nicknamed The Hare to clean up the mess.

Scott calmly exhaled before directing his worried gaze through the Mbuya Military Barracks office window out into Kampala city’s central district far off in the distance. He hardly noticed it was late afternoon.

Chapter