Reincarnated with a Country Creation System
Chapter 99: Won't Work According to Plan

Tembo nodded, stepping forward. "I will see to it personally, Your Majesty. We need someone trusted, someone who can effectively convey our situation."

Mwanga nodded in agreement. "Choose wisely, Tembo. We need someone who can impress upon Triesenberg's representatives that this is a matter of survival, not just a diplomatic request. If they are willing to help, they must act now."

"I'll make sure the right person is sent. Time is of the essence," Tembo responded, his face set with determination.

The rest of the room was quiet as the conversation shifted toward logistics. The situation was grim, and every official in the room knew it. The Matalebe resistance was growing bolder with each passing day, and without immediate intervention, the government of Zambesi would struggle to maintain control. This diplomatic mission to Gaborone was their last real chance to stabilize the country.

"How soon can the envoy leave?" Mwanga asked.

"By tomorrow morning," Tembo replied quickly. "We will prepare cars and ensure that the envoy can leave for Gaborone without delay."

"Make sure the envoy knows the stakes, Tembo," Mwanga added. "There can be no room for error. If Triesenberg does not commit to helping us, we will have no other allies left to turn to."

Tembo gave a firm nod, his expression hardening. "I understand, Your Majesty. I'll oversee the preparations personally. Minister Juba will be our envoy, and he's the best we have."

Mwanga allowed himself a brief moment of relief. Juba had a reputation for being a shrewd negotiator, someone who could remain calm under pressure. He would need that skill when facing the Triesenberg officials, who were known to be careful and calculating in their diplomacy.

"Very well," Mwanga said, his voice betraying his weariness. "See that it's done."

Tembo bowed and left the room, leaving the king alone with his thoughts. He stared down at the map still spread across the table. Time was running out, and Zambesi was bleeding from within.

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The following morning, the sun had barely risen over Maputo when Minister Juba arrived at the palace. Dressed in his formal diplomatic attire, he moved with a sense of purpose as he approached King Mwanga for final instructions. His face was set in a serious expression, fully aware of the weight of the mission he had been entrusted with.

"Your Majesty," Juba greeted, bowing respectfully.

Mwanga waved him forward. "Juba, the situation you are walking into is delicate. You know the stakes. Triesenberg must understand that their intervention is not just preferred—it is required for Zambesi's survival. We need them to send military support, equipment, and expertise to complete the infrastructure Valoria abandoned."

Juba nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty."

Mwanga's eyes locked with Juba's. "Make sure they understand that our fall would be to their detriment as well. Zambesi controls key trade routes, and if we lose those to the Matalebe, it will destabilize the entire region. They need us as much as we need them."

Juba nodded once more, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I'll make sure they understand, Your Majesty."

"Good." Mwanga's voice softened slightly. "I am trusting you with our kingdom's future, Juba. Do not fail us."

"I won't," Juba said.

Moments later, Juba was escorted to the waiting convoy of vehicles that would take him to the border of Votswana.

The convoy rolled out of the palace gates, moving steadily through the waking streets of Maputo. Minister Juba sat in the back of the lead vehicle, his mind already racing through the points he needed to make once he reached Gaborone. The diplomatic mission to Triesenberg was critical, and Juba knew that failure wasn't an option.

Zambesi's future depended on his ability to secure military and economic aid from their powerful neighbor.

The streets of the capital were quiet, but not in a comforting way. The usual hustle of early morning traders was absent, replaced by an eerie stillness. People huddled in small groups on street corners, their faces worn with anxiety. The blackouts and water shortages had made life unbearable for many, and the uncertainty surrounding the growing Matalebe threat was pushing the population to the edge.

Juba looked out of the window, his expression hardening. Time was running out, and they needed Triesenberg's support, or Zambesi's collapse would be inevitable.

As the convoy moved out of the capital and onto the main road heading toward Votswana, the landscape shifted from urban sprawl to dry, rural terrain. The road ahead stretched endlessly, flanked by sparse trees and stretches of barren land. The drivers maintained a steady pace, conscious of the dangers that lurked beyond the capital's relative safety.

They knew that the Matalebe could strike at any moment, particularly on these long, desolate roads.

Juba shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his thoughts interrupted by the quiet tension in the air. He glanced at the driver, who was focused but alert, scanning the road ahead for any signs of trouble.

The convoy had been on the road for nearly an hour when the driver of the lead vehicle suddenly slowed down. Juba straightened up, noticing that the other vehicles behind them were doing the same. He leaned forward, peering through the windshield. Up ahead, something was blocking the road—a large, broken-down truck, its rusted frame angled awkwardly across both lanes.

"What's going on?" Juba asked, his voice tense.

The driver squinted ahead, his grip tightening on the wheel. "There's a vehicle up ahead, sir. It looks abandoned."

"Is it safe to pass?" Juba asked, his eyes scanning the area around the truck. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Before the driver could respond, a series of loud pops echoed through the air. The windshield shattered in an explosion of glass as gunfire rained down on the convoy. Instinctively, the driver slammed on the brakes, and the convoy screeched to a halt.

"Ambush!" the driver shouted, reaching for the radio to alert the rest of the convoy.

Juba ducked down in his seat as more gunfire erupted from the surrounding hills. He could hear the unmistakable sound of bullets pinging off the armored vehicles. The convoy's soldiers immediately sprang into action, exiting their vehicles and taking defensive positions behind the cars. The sound of gunfire was deafening, and the air was thick with dust and smoke.

Juba grabbed the small radio attached to the vehicle's dashboard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Get us out of here!" he shouted, but before he could say more, a powerful explosion rocked the convoy, sending the rear vehicle flying into the air. The blast knocked Juba sideways, his ears ringing from the impact.

Through the haze of smoke and dust, he saw the figures emerging from the hills. Dozens of Matalebe fighters, armed with assault rifles and grenades, descended on the convoy.

Juba's driver was already out of the vehicle, firing at the approaching fighters, but the sheer number of Matalebe overwhelmed the convoy's defenses. One by one, the Zambesi soldiers were gunned down or forced to retreat behind the vehicles for cover.

Juba's heart raced as he grabbed the small pistol from the side compartment, knowing it would do little to protect him in the chaos. He could see the Matalebe closing in, their movements methodical as they flanked the convoy from both sides. The lead car, where Juba was crouched, was now surrounded.

A soldier shouted to him from behind the vehicle. "Sir, we need to move! They've got us pinned!"

Juba, his hands trembling, nodded and tried to get out of the vehicle. As he did, a sharp pain tore through his side. He looked down and saw the blood—he had been hit. His vision blurred, and the world around him seemed to slow. He stumbled forward, trying to keep his balance as the gunfire continued.

The soldier, seeing Juba's injury, rushed over and grabbed him by the arm, half-dragging him toward a ditch on the side of the road.

"Stay low!" the soldier shouted, firing his rifle in short bursts to keep the attackers at bay.

"This… can't be how it ends," Juba thought, his breathing labored. He had to complete the mission. He had to reach Gaborone. But the weight of his injuries was pulling him deeper into unconsciousness, and the sounds of the battlefield began to fade into silence.