The Fox of France - Chapter 464 (Patreon)

Chapter 464: Goodwill

At the crack of dawn, Magidi was abruptly pulled out of his bedroll. "Magidi, it's your turn to stand guard!"

Scrambling up, Magidi grumbled as he clumsily dressed, "Roy, what's the hurry? It's not like anything's going to happen. Why bother standing guard?"

Magidi's post was deep within the guerrilla-controlled area, previously a British outpost. Recently, due to the British needing soldiers everywhere, and this outpost's proximity to the guerrilla zone, it had been abandoned.

But Magidi's casual "nothing's going to happen" wasn't entirely wrong, for they had reached a gentleman's agreement with the guerrillas. They would hand over a "combat loss" every month to the guerrillas, essentially supplying them with arms and ammunition (reported as battle losses), while promising to turn a blind eye to the guerrillas' activities without interference. In return, the guerrillas ensured their personal safety and that they wouldn't starve due to supply blockades.

Frankly, the guerrillas were considered decent folks, reliable in their word, making them quite popular among the outpost's security forces. Lately, the guerrillas even initiated a "trade-in" service with Magidi and his team, swapping worn weapons for new ones beyond the agreed "combat losses," which could be reported as "damaged in use" for replacements or used to claim military honors from the British. Indeed, the guerrillas were seen as truly considerate allies.

"Someone from above is coming for inspection today, make sure everything looks right," Roy replied.

"Damn it!" cursed Magidi.

The inspection was essentially their own doing, as their reported captures and combat engagements had been excessively high lately. Their achievements were so remarkable that higher-ups decided to inspect and possibly award medals.

However, no one in the outpost looked forward to these visits. The inherent issues here would be apparent upon close inspection. Moreover, medals didn't translate to increased pay, rendering them pointless.

"Haven't we informed the other side? Let them handle the reception, right? What a hassle!" Magidi, having donned his cap and grabbed his rifle, prepared to leave.

"Handling the reception" meant they had informed the guerrillas about the impending inspection by the British—the "real superiors." The guerrillas wouldn't normally miss such an opportunity.

This had become the norm, reducing the frequency of inspections, especially by the "real superiors."

Of course, there were times when the guerrillas couldn't fulfill their "reception" duties due to various reasons. Hence, they didn't guarantee completing these tasks upon request, meaning preparations for superior inspections were still necessary.

Magidi stepped out, heading to the lookout tower.

"Jim, come down, it's my turn!" shouted Magidi.

No response. After another shout, Jim's groggy voice came from above, "Alright, coming down."

Soon, Jim descended, carrying a rifle nearly worn smooth, his dazed expression revealing he'd likely been napping.

Wooden towers were poor defensive structures, offering visibility but exposing sentinels. Previously, when actual fighting was a concern, no British soldier would volunteer for such duty, risking being shot unexpectedly. If a sentinel died, he effectively served his warning purpose.

Thus, only security forces, as expendable as the wooden towers, would man them due to their low cost.

Now, the security forces preferred these towers for their height and narrow, inexpensive construction, offering privacy for napping unseen. Previously, fear of guerrilla sniper fire deterred them, but now, friendly relations with the guerrillas, who kept their word as long as their "tribute" was paid on time, had changed that.

As Magidi took over, intending to nap, he spotted a guerrilla unit hauling an unfamiliar cannon across the road.

"Guess they're off to welcome the inspectors," Magidi thought. "Impressive, even bringing out cannons for the occasion. Our superiors sure command respect!"

Anticipating tonight's share of the spoils, he admired the guerrillas' reliability. Informing them often led to a bonus post-welcome. After a recent guerrilla "reception" of a British foraging party, each man received two pounds—an act of true generosity.

However, Magidi soon realized something was amiss as more cannons appeared.

"My word, five cannons? Is our superior really worth all this? Such a grand reception... Or are they heading to attack the railway position? Wait, this isn't the guerrillas; it's the Independent Army!"

Magidi urgently yelled below, "The Independent Army is coming; hang the flag!"

Per their agreement with the guerrillas, they were provided a tricolor flag of green, white, and blue to raise if faced with a large Independent Army force, signaling continued goodwill and peaceful coexistence.

Quickly, the outpost's security forces lowered the British flag, raising the flag of the Irish Independent Army.

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