The monsoon arrived early.
Thunder rolled across the Deccan plateau as two forces prepared to collide—one born of empire, the other forged by rebellion.
From the south, columns of British troops advanced under the authority of the Crown, backed by regiments once commanded by the British East India Company and now reinforced directly by imperial command.
They carried:
-Modern rifled artillery
-Gatling guns
-Naval support along the western coast
-Officers hardened by wars across Africa and Asia
And at their head rode a man determined to crush the uprising in one decisive blow.
Major General Edward Huxley.
The War Plan
Arjun stood before a massive map inside the Pune command hall.
Colored strings crisscrossed rail lines and supply routes.
Meera spoke first.
"They're advancing in three columns. Classic encirclement."
Iqbal nodded.
"They think we'll defend cities."
Arjun smiled faintly.
"That's because that's what 19th-century armies do."
He pointed to the rail network.
"We won't hold territory."
His finger slid across the map.
"We'll control movement."
The First Shock
Near the Bhima River, British artillery units set up their cannons at dawn.
Through binoculars, General Huxley observed what he assumed were poorly trained native battalions.
"Forward positions ready," an aide reported.
He lifted his hand.
"Fire."
The sky split with thunder.
Shells screamed across the field.
Smoke swallowed the Indian line.
Huxley allowed himself a small smile.
Then the smoke cleared.
The line was gone.
No bodies.
No broken ranks.
Nothing.
Instead—
A whistle echoed in the distance.
And from behind a ridge, steam billowed.
Three armored landships crested the hill, tracks grinding mud, iron hulls glistening under rain.
Behind them moved disciplined infantry in staggered formation, rifles modernized in Arjun's workshops.
Huxley's smile faded.
"Hold formation!"
Industrial Warfare
British artillery fired again.
This time, shells struck iron.
Explosions dented plating—but the machines kept advancing.
The ground shook.
Inside the lead landship, Captain Raghav steadied himself.
"Range?"
"Four hundred yards."
"Fire."
The turret cannon roared.
Not blindly.
Not wildly.
Arjun had trained them to calculate arc, wind, elevation.
British artillery crews fell back in chaos as precision shells disabled guns one by one.
But the Empire was not so easily broken.
From the flanks—
Gatling guns opened fire.
Bullets hammered the advancing infantry.
Indian soldiers fell.
Steam engines hissed.
Mud churned red.
The Counterstroke
At that moment, Arjun gave the signal.
Miles away—
Railway switches shifted.
Hidden sidings came alive.
Entire battalions transported overnight now emerged behind British lines.
Supply wagons exploded under coordinated sabotage.
Telegraph lines snapped.
For the first time in its history in India—
The British army found itself surrounded.
General Huxley realized too late.
"This isn't a rebellion…"
He whispered.
"It's a modern army."
Clash of Commanders
On a rain-soaked ridge, Arjun and Huxley finally saw each other through spyglasses.
Two minds from different centuries.
Huxley ordered a direct charge to break the encirclement.
Bayonets fixed.
Drums beating.
Imperial discipline against industrial coordination.
Arjun hesitated.
He could annihilate them.
The landships had clear line of fire.
Instead—
He ordered smoke shells.
Thick clouds engulfed the battlefield.
Loudspeakers mounted on rail cars projected a single message across the chaos:
"Withdraw and you will not be pursued."
The British soldiers faltered.
Many were not from England—Irish, Scots, Indians forced into service.
The illusion of invincibility had shattered.
Huxley tried to rally them.
But discipline cracked under confusion and fear of the unknown machines.
Retreat was called.
Not rout.
But retreat.
Aftermath
The field was quiet by nightfall.
Rain washed blood into the earth.
Arjun walked through the mud, face grim.
Victory did not feel triumphant.
Meera approached.
"We won."
He shook his head.
"We survived."
He looked toward the south.
"They will escalate."
And they did.
London Reacts
In the halls of Parliament, word of defeat sent shockwaves.
A colonial force pushed back.
Industrialized natives fielding armored vehicles.
Newspapers questioned imperial dominance.
Admiralty leaders proposed blockade.
Hardliners demanded total war.
The Empire had underestimated Arjun once.
It would not again.
Warships were ordered toward Bombay.
Advanced artillery shipments prepared.
And secret discussions began about deploying experimental explosive shells designed to shatter even iron plating.
The Turning Point
Back in Pune, Arjun gathered his council.
"We've proven we can win battles."
He looked around the room.
"But if we keep fighting like this, we lose the war."
Silence.
He tapped the map of the Indian Ocean.
"They control the seas."
He tapped Bengal.
"They control global trade."
He tapped the Himalayas.
"And beyond that… other empires are watching."
Iqbal frowned.
"Then what do we do?"
Arjun's eyes hardened.
"We stop thinking like rebels."
He pointed at the coastline.
"We build a navy."
The room froze.
Steam tanks had shaken the land.
But a navy—
That meant challenging the world.
Final Scene
In Bombay's shipyards, new designs were drawn.
Ironclad hulls.
Steam turbines improved beyond British standards.
Experimental propeller systems.
And beneath it all—
An idea far more dangerous than tanks.
National unity.
Telegrams flashed across provinces.
Princes who once hesitated now reconsidered.
Merchants saw opportunity.
Farmers saw hope.
The Empire had been pushed back.
But now—
It would return with fury.
And the next battle would not be fought only on land.
It would be fought for control of the sea.
To be continued in Chapter 15: Storm Over the Arabian Sea