Year: 1884
The Benin River stretched before them like a dark snake.
Akenzua stood at the prow of the lead canoe, watching the water slide past. Twenty vessels followed--each carrying ten armed men. The first naval expedition of the new Benin.
"The Itsekiri outpost is three hours downstream." The man speaking was Ogieriakhi--an Ijaw river pilot who had agreed to guide them for reasons of his own. His face was weathered by decades on these waters. "But the channels split ahead. British patrol boats favor the eastern passage."
"Then we take the western."
"The western is narrower. Mangroves on both sides. Good for ambush."
"Good for us to ambush, or good for us to be ambushed?"
Ogieriakhi smiled, revealing teeth stained red from kola nut. "Depends who knows the water better."
---
Captain Agbonmire commanded the expedition's military force.
He was a paradox--a former fisherman who had become a warrior, then a leader of warriors. His arms bore scars from crocodile attacks and knife fights. His eyes held the patient calculation of someone who had learned to read water the way others read faces.
"The current is wrong," he said quietly. "Too fast for this stretch."
"Rain upstream?"
"Or dam release. Either way, the timing is off." He signaled to the other vessels. "Tighten formation. Watch the banks."
The canoes pulled closer together. Forty men with rifles, moving through channels that had never seen such a force.
"You've commanded river operations before?" Akenzua asked.
"Fishing boats against pirates. Trading vessels against bandits." Agbonmire's voice was flat. "Never anything like this. Never... military."
"Then you're learning with the rest of us."
"Learning is expensive on the water. Mistakes don't give second chances."
---
The attack came from the mangroves.
Arrows first--silent, deadly, punching through men before anyone knew they were targets. Then war cries, and canoes erupting from the vegetation like angry crocodiles.
"RIFLES! RETURN FIRE!"
Akenzua's men scrambled for positions. The narrow channel made formation impossible--vessels bunched together, creating easy targets.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Rifle fire echoed off the water. Attackers fell. But more came.
"They're trying to board!" Agbonmire shouted. "Push off! Don't let them grapple!"
A enemy canoe slammed against Akenzua's vessel. Warriors leaped across, machetes swinging. Akenzua drew his sword--the general's muscle memory guiding his arm.
Parry. Thrust. A body falling into dark water.
"GET US MOVING!"
Ogieriakhi seized a paddle, driving them away from the boarding attempt. But another canoe was approaching from the other side.
"We're surrounded!"
"No." Agbonmire pointed downstream. "There's a gap. If we can reach the open water--"
"CUT THROUGH!"
The formation dissolved into chaos. Vessels breaking apart, each fighting its own battle. Rifle fire mixed with screams, the crack of wood, the splash of bodies hitting water.
---
They reached open water with seven vessels.
Thirteen had started. Six lost to the ambush, their crews killed or scattered in the mangroves.
Akenzua counted the survivors. Forty-three men from the original two hundred.
"Who were they?" His voice was hollow.
"Ijaw." Ogieriakhi's face was grim. "One of the clans that doesn't want outsiders in the delta. British or Benin--makes no difference to them."
"You didn't warn us."
"I didn't know. The clan territories shift. Old alliances break." He spat into the water. "The delta isn't a place. It's a thousand places, each with its own rules. You can't conquer it like land."
Agbonmire was directing the surviving vessels into defensive formation. His movements were precise despite the blood running down his arm.
"We lost good men," he said when Akenzua approached. "Men who trusted us to know what we were doing."
"I know."
"Do you? Do you understand that water warfare is different from land warfare? That the tactics your rifles give us on solid ground don't work when the ground is moving under your feet?"
---
They made camp on a river island that night.
The wounded were treated. The dead were counted--one hundred fifty-seven men lost to a fight they should have avoided.
"We need to change everything." Akenzua sat with Agbonmire and Ogieriakhi, the map of the delta spread between them.
"The rifles are too slow to reload in moving boats," Agbonmire said. "By the time a man fires and reloads, the enemy is on top of him."
"Then we need weapons that fire faster. Or tactics that don't require reloading mid-fight."
"The Ijaw use the channels themselves as weapons." Ogieriakhi traced routes on the map. "They know where the currents are strongest. Where the shallows hide. Where an ambush becomes a trap."
"Then we need that knowledge. Not just guides--integrated forces. Ijaw pilots in every vessel."
"The Ijaw won't serve Benin," Ogieriakhi said flatly.
"Some will. You did."
"I serve my own interests. Which happen to align with yours for now."
"Then we find others whose interests align. And we make alignment worth their while."
---
The expedition limped back to Benin City a week later.
Akenzua reported to the inner circle with brutal honesty.
"We underestimated the delta. Underestimated the people who live there. One hundred fifty-seven men dead because I thought rifles would be enough."
"The council will use this against you," Idia said quietly.
"Let them. The failure is real. Pretending otherwise helps no one."
Erebo studied the casualty reports. "The weapons worked. When men could use them."
"When they had stable ground and clear sightlines. On the water, everything changed."
"Then we adapt." Agbonmire, who had accompanied Akenzua to the meeting, spoke up. "Shorter weapons for close combat. Barricades on the vessels. And most importantly--different tactics. We can't fight the Ijaw the way we'd fight on land."
"You have suggestions?"
"Many. But they require resources we don't have. Shipyards. Training facilities on the water. Alliance with river people who actually know the channels."
"What about Ogieriakhi? Can he bring others?"
"Some. But trust takes time. And the clans are suspicious of any outside power."
---
While they had been on the river, another crisis had unfolded.
"Sabotage attempt," Osarobo reported. "Three nights ago. Someone tried to burn the powder magazine."
"How close did they get?"
"Close enough that we're increasing security permanently." Osarobo's voice was tight. "My people stopped them. But the pattern is clear--Osaro's network is still active."
The enemy within, striking while the army was away.
"The saboteur?"
"Dead. But he talked first. Confirmed Osaro's coordination with British traders."
"Did you identify the forge workers who were helping them?"
"Two. Both removed. Quietly."
One disaster on the river. Another disaster barely averted at home. The twin pressures of external ambition and internal betrayal.
"We're stretched too thin," Akenzua said. "Fighting on too many fronts."
"Then we choose our fronts." Esohe had been listening quietly. "The delta can wait. We don't have the capability for river warfare yet. Focus on what we can do--the Itsekiri are still reachable by land. The forge needs protection. The training needs to continue."
"And the losses on the river?"
"We learn from them. That's what losses are for."
---
In the weeks that followed, the failure drove change.
Igue began designing weapons specifically for river combat--shorter barrels, faster loading, better suited to the cramped quarters of a canoe.
Agbonmire established a river training program--not for conquest, but for defense. Learning the waters closer to Benin City. Building relationships with fishermen who knew the channels.
Ogieriakhi brought three more Ijaw pilots--men who had their own reasons for working with Benin. Each taught lessons about currents, tides, ambush points.
"The delta will fall eventually," Akenzua said to Esohe one evening. "But not through force. Through patience. Through building the relationships that make force unnecessary."
"That sounds like the opposite of what you were planning."
"It's what the failure taught me. Some territories can be conquered. Others have to be won."
Outside, the river flowed toward the sea. Somewhere in those channels, one hundred fifty-seven men had died because a prince had been too confident.
Their deaths would mean something.
They had to.