United Elias
15-05-2005, 18:22
Sharm El Sheikh
Nestled just a short way from the Red Sea resort, the elegant Al Saif Presidential Palace had been built on a picturesque stretch of beach, overlooking the Strait of Tiran. The main building, of pure white stone, festooned with colonnades and domes, was set back quite away from the sea, allowing for a lengthy, and particularly tranquil garden that lead down to the beach. Geometric arrangements of reflecting pools and exotic flower beds, divided by avenues of Marble walkways, gave the grounds a serenity, and through the use of high trees and shrubs managed to hide modern amenities such as tennis courts, and a helipad out of sight. Directly in line with the centre of the Palace, and half of the distance to the beach, almost a kilometer in total, the President held court in a gazebo, overlooking the Menagerie where giant flamingos took the sun in one of the shallow ponds.
Within this peripteral structure, long silk divans were arranged around a large square coffee table, itself an antique made from ebony with ivory engraving. The President, wearing just a towel gown, his dark hair still visibly wet after swimming, took counsel from several of his Ministers, all of which were dressed in business suits, albeit without neckties.
The President, whilst fairly frequently disappearing to this retreat nevertheless kept well briefed and opened the meeting, “So I hear there’s a war brewing between Eritrea and Ethopia?”
”Yes Mr. President.”
“May I ask why?”
The Director of Federal Intelligence leaned in to answer it, “Yes, that was us.”
“Oh I see, well ok then, if that’s how we’ve decided to deal with this little hornet’s nest Buyruz is stirring up, then I shall leave it to you…next issue.”
Ibrahim Zibari, the Defence Minister, shuffled papers and started speaking, his voice showed fatigue, after all flying across the country for the morning briefing was not without its drawbacks, a situation exacerbated by the President’s dislike of conference calls. “Mr. President, we have lead on the Mad Mullah.” This was the popular euphemism for Ali bin Mohammed Al Farouk who was a widely known agitator, most notable for his role in bringing down the Jordanian Royal family in 1978. Although this event had led to Jordan being incorporated into United Elias, he was still considered to be an enemy of the state and a potential ringleader for numerous radical groups and cults.
The President chuckled, “Well there’s a name we haven’t heard in a while, where is he?”
“Somalia. We don’t know where exactly but we know where to find people who can tell us. The General Staff has put together a plan for some raids and incursions that we can execute with great rapidity, and hopefully with few casualties.”
The President looked a little skeptical, “Why now, after all these years should we bother? Do I sense this is an excuse for an African expedition?”
The Minister replied calmly, “Not at all, in fact our involvement would be very limited, get in and get out, and in light of the events in neighbouring countries this is a chance time to crack down on certain unfavorable persons that are lurking in Somaliland, since it may become easier for them to move around should war breakout in Eritrea.”
“The name of the Operation?”
“Quicksand. Here is the op plan, for your approval.” The Minister handed the President a manila folder.
The President opened it to the last page, where he had to sign and took a pen off the coffee table, “Is everyone in agreement?” He looked and all the Ministers nodded, “well I trust your judgment, so go do it.” Affixing his signature, he closed the folder and handed it back, “Enjoy your flights back to Baghdad, I hope the weather is as pleasant there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am expected at the races.” The President, was of course referring to the summer camel racing, where several of his own camels would be racing, in stiff competition against those owned by corporate moguls, provincial governors and others of the ruling class.
Mogadishu
Eighteen hours later, at the break of dawn, six EA-28G helicopters from the infamous 'Black Knights' special forces wing, each carrying six SRS specops operatives took off from the Amphibious Assault Ship Suez just under thirty miles off the coast, and were now approaching Mogadishu.
For years it had been known that Farad Hasan, a notorious arms dealer had been trading the local narcotic Qat for weapons Indeed he was the main supplier to the various local militias, and his Qat had also been found on ships entering United Elias. This mission was a direct assault on a Mogadishu Harbour complex and if Hasan could be captured, it would cut off not only a significant arms supplier to the country but also prevent Qat being smuggled into nations. Furthermore the interrogation of Hasan could no doubt yield huge amounts of information not only about the militia but also about their principal quarry, the ‘Mad Mullah’.
From the view of the helicopters still a few miles off the coast, Mogadishu bathed in morning sun was so bright that from a distance the ancient Port City gave off an urbane hue, with its streets of sand and its Spanish style rooftops. Set along the coast, it might have been some sleepy Mediterranean resort.
Several minutes later, as the helicopter force approached, the awful reality of Mogadishu was all too apparent. It looked like a catastrophe, a world capital of things gone completely to hell. The few paved avenues were crumbling, littered with trash and home to the rested hulks of burned out, abandoned vehicles. Telephone poles leaned at ominous angles, the stubs of their severed wires long since stripped for sale on the black market. The only buildings still intact seemed to be potholed with bullet scars and shrapnel. In the large public spaces were grand stone platforms that once held statues of the old dictator Mohamed Siad Barre. The national memory stripped bare not because of revolutionary fervor but to sell bronze and copper for scrap.
As the choppers started to descend, it looked as though the locals were doing what they did best, burn tires. The helicopters then swept over the coastline and swung round quickly towards the harbour, where tired and rusting cargo ships awaited their payloads of Qat after unloading their payloads of guns, RPGs , grenades and other weaponry to fuel the endless faction fighting. The port unsurprisingly perhaps was quiet, but people started to emerge as the choppers’ landing area was no longer in doubt. A few Somali’s fired into the air, hopelessly missing, but causing the lead helicopter, 'Black Knight' 6-1 to return fire with minigun pods, cutting down some of the Somali soldiers and sending others running for cover.
The first EA-28 touched down on the docks, and took off seconds later after their payload had disembarked. As each helicopter landed the special forces dashed behind the cover of crates forming into fire teams, and then when the helicopters were clear they rose and advanced toward the objective structure, a two storey concrete building, where they hoped to find the warlord.
Nestled just a short way from the Red Sea resort, the elegant Al Saif Presidential Palace had been built on a picturesque stretch of beach, overlooking the Strait of Tiran. The main building, of pure white stone, festooned with colonnades and domes, was set back quite away from the sea, allowing for a lengthy, and particularly tranquil garden that lead down to the beach. Geometric arrangements of reflecting pools and exotic flower beds, divided by avenues of Marble walkways, gave the grounds a serenity, and through the use of high trees and shrubs managed to hide modern amenities such as tennis courts, and a helipad out of sight. Directly in line with the centre of the Palace, and half of the distance to the beach, almost a kilometer in total, the President held court in a gazebo, overlooking the Menagerie where giant flamingos took the sun in one of the shallow ponds.
Within this peripteral structure, long silk divans were arranged around a large square coffee table, itself an antique made from ebony with ivory engraving. The President, wearing just a towel gown, his dark hair still visibly wet after swimming, took counsel from several of his Ministers, all of which were dressed in business suits, albeit without neckties.
The President, whilst fairly frequently disappearing to this retreat nevertheless kept well briefed and opened the meeting, “So I hear there’s a war brewing between Eritrea and Ethopia?”
”Yes Mr. President.”
“May I ask why?”
The Director of Federal Intelligence leaned in to answer it, “Yes, that was us.”
“Oh I see, well ok then, if that’s how we’ve decided to deal with this little hornet’s nest Buyruz is stirring up, then I shall leave it to you…next issue.”
Ibrahim Zibari, the Defence Minister, shuffled papers and started speaking, his voice showed fatigue, after all flying across the country for the morning briefing was not without its drawbacks, a situation exacerbated by the President’s dislike of conference calls. “Mr. President, we have lead on the Mad Mullah.” This was the popular euphemism for Ali bin Mohammed Al Farouk who was a widely known agitator, most notable for his role in bringing down the Jordanian Royal family in 1978. Although this event had led to Jordan being incorporated into United Elias, he was still considered to be an enemy of the state and a potential ringleader for numerous radical groups and cults.
The President chuckled, “Well there’s a name we haven’t heard in a while, where is he?”
“Somalia. We don’t know where exactly but we know where to find people who can tell us. The General Staff has put together a plan for some raids and incursions that we can execute with great rapidity, and hopefully with few casualties.”
The President looked a little skeptical, “Why now, after all these years should we bother? Do I sense this is an excuse for an African expedition?”
The Minister replied calmly, “Not at all, in fact our involvement would be very limited, get in and get out, and in light of the events in neighbouring countries this is a chance time to crack down on certain unfavorable persons that are lurking in Somaliland, since it may become easier for them to move around should war breakout in Eritrea.”
“The name of the Operation?”
“Quicksand. Here is the op plan, for your approval.” The Minister handed the President a manila folder.
The President opened it to the last page, where he had to sign and took a pen off the coffee table, “Is everyone in agreement?” He looked and all the Ministers nodded, “well I trust your judgment, so go do it.” Affixing his signature, he closed the folder and handed it back, “Enjoy your flights back to Baghdad, I hope the weather is as pleasant there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am expected at the races.” The President, was of course referring to the summer camel racing, where several of his own camels would be racing, in stiff competition against those owned by corporate moguls, provincial governors and others of the ruling class.
Mogadishu
Eighteen hours later, at the break of dawn, six EA-28G helicopters from the infamous 'Black Knights' special forces wing, each carrying six SRS specops operatives took off from the Amphibious Assault Ship Suez just under thirty miles off the coast, and were now approaching Mogadishu.
For years it had been known that Farad Hasan, a notorious arms dealer had been trading the local narcotic Qat for weapons Indeed he was the main supplier to the various local militias, and his Qat had also been found on ships entering United Elias. This mission was a direct assault on a Mogadishu Harbour complex and if Hasan could be captured, it would cut off not only a significant arms supplier to the country but also prevent Qat being smuggled into nations. Furthermore the interrogation of Hasan could no doubt yield huge amounts of information not only about the militia but also about their principal quarry, the ‘Mad Mullah’.
From the view of the helicopters still a few miles off the coast, Mogadishu bathed in morning sun was so bright that from a distance the ancient Port City gave off an urbane hue, with its streets of sand and its Spanish style rooftops. Set along the coast, it might have been some sleepy Mediterranean resort.
Several minutes later, as the helicopter force approached, the awful reality of Mogadishu was all too apparent. It looked like a catastrophe, a world capital of things gone completely to hell. The few paved avenues were crumbling, littered with trash and home to the rested hulks of burned out, abandoned vehicles. Telephone poles leaned at ominous angles, the stubs of their severed wires long since stripped for sale on the black market. The only buildings still intact seemed to be potholed with bullet scars and shrapnel. In the large public spaces were grand stone platforms that once held statues of the old dictator Mohamed Siad Barre. The national memory stripped bare not because of revolutionary fervor but to sell bronze and copper for scrap.
As the choppers started to descend, it looked as though the locals were doing what they did best, burn tires. The helicopters then swept over the coastline and swung round quickly towards the harbour, where tired and rusting cargo ships awaited their payloads of Qat after unloading their payloads of guns, RPGs , grenades and other weaponry to fuel the endless faction fighting. The port unsurprisingly perhaps was quiet, but people started to emerge as the choppers’ landing area was no longer in doubt. A few Somali’s fired into the air, hopelessly missing, but causing the lead helicopter, 'Black Knight' 6-1 to return fire with minigun pods, cutting down some of the Somali soldiers and sending others running for cover.
The first EA-28 touched down on the docks, and took off seconds later after their payload had disembarked. As each helicopter landed the special forces dashed behind the cover of crates forming into fire teams, and then when the helicopters were clear they rose and advanced toward the objective structure, a two storey concrete building, where they hoped to find the warlord.