The next day.
The British Governor of Kabul stared grimly at the British corpses gathered up yesterday. There were even more puppet troops among the dead.
"How many died yesterday?"
"Only 385 of our men died. Total casualties came to 2,407. More than 200 Afghan government forces soldiers died, with roughly over 500 casualties in all."
"Why were our losses so much greater than those of the Afghan government forces?" the Governor asked in astonishment.
He did not care how many Afghan government forces troops had died, but the deaths of so many Great British Empire soldiers gave him a headache. And the Afghan government forces had actually suffered fewer casualties than the British army?
Knowing the Governor's doubts and eager to wash his hands clean of responsibility, the British officer hurriedly said, "Your Excellency, it is obvious that the Afghan government forces did not put in proper effort. Perhaps they sympathized with those terrorist militants during the battle, or perhaps they were afraid of death. Either way, they did not fight wholeheartedly."
That was certain. The government forces were now puppet troops everyone cursed in Afghanistan, helping the British suppress Afghanistan. Of course, these government troops were merely trying to earn a living; there was no need for them to shed blood for Britain's imperial ambitions.
The Governor of Kabul sighed. "We lost so many men this time. Fortunately, Kabul was not lost, or it would have been hard to explain things back home!"
More than three hundred dead was absolutely a crushing defeat for the British army. In the Zulu War of his previous life, Britain had lost only a little over thirteen hundred men in total. Moreover, resistance organizations across Afghanistan would likely begin stirring, and the casualty figures would continue to rise.
"Your Excellency, the rebels