Year: 1882
The academy occupied a compound outside the city walls. High fences. Controlled access. Twenty recruits learning skills that would have seemed impossible two years before.
Akenzua watched from an observation platform as the morning drill began.
"Company! Attention!"
Twenty men snapped into formation. Rifles at their sides. Eyes forward.
"Present arms!"
The rifles came up—synchronized, precise. Each movement practiced a hundred times until muscle memory replaced thought.
"The discipline is improving," Erebo said quietly. "Three months ago, half of them would have dropped their weapons."
"Discipline is the foundation. Without it, everything else fails."
Below, the drill instructor—a grizzled veteran named Akpan—began the next sequence.
"Combat movement! Forward advance, covering fire pattern!"
The formation dissolved into controlled chaos. Half the men moved forward while the others provided simulated covering fire. Then they switched. Leapfrog advance. The doctrine Akenzua had adapted from memories of future wars.
"They're getting faster," Akenzua observed. "But the coordination still breaks down under pressure."
"They need live-fire exercises. Real stakes."
"Soon. After the fundamentals are solid."
---
The afternoon brought theory instruction.
Akenzua stood before a group of officer candidates—the best of the recruits, selected for command potential.
"Modern warfare is not about individual bravery." He drew diagrams on the teaching board. "It's about coordinated action. Many units moving as one. The commander's job isn't to fight—it's to ensure his men fight together."
"With respect, Prince." One of the candidates raised his hand. A young man named Uwadiae. Sharp eyes. Quick mind. "Our ancestors won battles through individual courage. Warriors who could defeat ten enemies alone."
"Name one."
"The warrior Ehigiekan. During the Oyo wars. He broke their formations single-handedly."
"How many men did we lose in that battle?"
Uwadiae hesitated. "Several hundred."
"Seven hundred forty-three. Including Ehigiekan." Akenzua set down his chalk. "He killed perhaps thirty enemies before he died. The battle was a victory—but barely. Because we relied on individual warriors instead of coordinated tactics."
"You're saying bravery doesn't matter?"
"I'm saying bravery without organization is waste. The British don't win because their soldiers are braver. They win because a thousand men move as one body. That's what we're building here."
---
After the session, Uwadiae approached.
"I meant no disrespect."
"I know. Questions are how we learn."
"But I'm not convinced." Uwadiae's voice was steady. "The new methods work against bandits. Against undisciplined enemies. What happens when we face warriors who match our courage and have numbers?"
"Show me."
They moved to the training yard. A demonstration. Traditional combat versus the new doctrine.
Uwadiae selected four men—traditionalists who had resisted the new training. Akenzua took four of his best graduates.
"The objective is simple. Hold this position." Akenzua indicated a small rise. "For five minutes. By any means."
The traditionalists charged. Fierce. Aggressive. Individual warriors seeking glory.
Akenzua's team didn't meet the charge. Instead, they formed a defensive position. Overlapping fields of fire. Mutually supporting angles.
The first attacker reached them and was immediately engaged by two defenders while the others covered. He went down. The second attacker faced three opponents the moment his comrade fell.
Within two minutes, all four traditionalists were on the ground. Not injured—this was training. But clearly defeated.
Uwadiae stood watching, his face unreadable.
"Coordination," Akenzua said. "Not bravery. Coordination beats courage every time."
"And if I had twenty men instead of four?"
"Then we'd need better positions. More planning. But the principle holds. Organization multiplies strength."
Uwadiae was quiet for a long moment.
"I still think you undervalue individual skill."
"I think you undervalue collective action. Perhaps we can learn from each other."
---
The night exercise started at midnight.
Twenty recruits, divided into four teams. Objective: penetrate a defensive perimeter and reach a target building.
Akenzua watched through a spyglass as the teams approached. Three of them used the methods they'd been taught—stealth, coordination, pre-planned signals.
The fourth team, led by Uwadiae, tried something different.
Instead of stealth, they created a distraction. Loud noise on the eastern perimeter. When the defenders shifted to investigate, Uwadiae's team charged the weakened western section.
It almost worked.
"Interesting," Erebo murmured. "He's adapting the doctrine, not following it."
"That's either dangerous or valuable."
Uwadiae's team was caught twenty yards from the objective. The defenders had anticipated the diversion. But the approach had been creative. Unpredictable.
---
"You failed." Akenzua sat across from Uwadiae in the command tent.
"I failed the exercise. But I learned something."
"What?"
"That your doctrine assumes the enemy follows predictable patterns. What happens when they don't?"
"Then we adapt. The doctrine isn't a cage. It's a framework."
"A framework that hasn't been tested against a thinking enemy."
"It will be. Soon enough." Akenzua studied the young man. "You're not a traditionalist. You're something else."
"I'm someone who thinks the truth is usually more complicated than either side admits."
"That's either wisdom or the excuse of someone who can't commit."
"Time will tell which."
Akenzua made a decision. "Starting tomorrow, you work with me directly. Advanced training. Strategic planning. I want to see if that critical mind can be useful instead of just disruptive."
Uwadiae's eyes widened. "You're promoting me?"
"I'm testing you. Don't confuse the two."
---
The academy records room was locked at night. But locks yielded to patient hands.
Osarobo's agent—embedded among the recruits—worked quickly in the darkness. Documents copied by candlelight. Training schedules. Doctrine summaries. Weapons specifications.
Not everything. That would be noticed. Just enough to piece together what the prince was building.
The agent knew who wanted this information. Not Osaro—his networks were too compromised now. Someone else. Someone who paid in British gold and asked questions about African armies.
The copies were made. The originals replaced. The lock refastened.
By morning, everything looked undisturbed.
But the damage was done.
---
"We have a problem."
Osarobo's face was grim as he entered Akenzua's chambers.
"What kind of problem?"
"Someone's been copying training documents. My surveillance team caught traces—disturbed dust patterns, candle wax where there shouldn't be any."
"Do we know who?"
"Not yet. But we know when. Last night, during the exercise. When everyone was distracted."
"Someone planned this. Waited for the right moment."
"Someone inside the academy. With access to the records room." Osarobo spread his hands. "That's a short list. Instructors. Senior recruits. Support staff."
"Uwadiae?"
"Possible. His distraction gambit would have created the perfect window. But it could be coincidence."
"Or it could be exactly what it looks like."
Twenty people with access. Any one of them could be the leak. And until they knew which, every piece of doctrine, every tactical innovation was potentially compromised.
"What do we do?" Osarobo asked.
"We feed them poison. False information that leads whoever receives it to make mistakes. Then we watch who makes those mistakes."
"That will take time."
"Time we may not have." Akenzua stared at the training documents on his desk. "Someone is selling our secrets. And until we know who, we have to assume the enemy knows everything we're teaching."
---
That night, Akenzua walked the academy grounds.
The recruits slept in their barracks. Twenty men learning skills that might save the kingdom. Or might already be known to those who wanted to destroy it.
He had built something here. Doctrine. Training methods. A new kind of soldier.
And someone had stolen it.
"You look troubled."
Uwadiae stood in the shadows. Unable to sleep.
"I'm thinking about betrayal."
"Someone from the academy?"
"Someone from everywhere. The more people who know a secret, the more likely it becomes public."
"Then why share secrets at all? Why teach anyone?"
"Because I can't fight alone. Because the knowledge is worthless if it dies with me." Akenzua turned to face the young man. "That's the calculation. Every person I trust is a potential betrayal. But without trust, nothing gets built."
"A heavy burden."
"The alternative is heavier."
The academy stretched out in the darkness. Twenty men. Twenty potential allies. Twenty potential traitors.
Somewhere among them—or among the staff, or the support personnel—was someone who had chosen differently. Someone who had decided British gold was worth more than Benin's survival.
Finding them wouldn't be easy.
But it had to be done.
The leak would be found. And when it was, the academy's secrets would need to be rebuilt. Changed. Made new again.
Because that was the only way to stay ahead of enemies who were always watching.
Always learning.
Always adapting.
---
END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN