Wanderjar
04-04-2009, 18:43
The sun rose steadily above the golden horizon, stretching its fiery fingers towards the heavens. Deep within the city of Maktub, Capital of the Holy Islamic Republic of Shiistan, from atop a minaret in the Grand Mosque, the Muezzin sang. He sang out across the city, using a megaphone which straddled the underside of the minaret’s balcony. He sang the adhan, the holy call to prayer which all Muslims must perform.
“Allah-u Akbar! Ash-hadu anna lā ilāha illallāh! Ash-hadu anna Muhammadar-rasūl ullāh! Hayya 'alas-salāt! Hayya 'alal-falāh! Hayya 'alā Khair 'il-'amal! Allah-u Akbar! Aṣ-ṣalātu khayru min an-nawm!”
Quickly the streets, only minutes before silent with the waning throes of night, bustled into life. Mothers grabbed children and led them along, while fathers chided the mischievous. Cars pulled into the road to go about their daily business, while shops began the process of beginning. The crowded lanes filled with devout and dedicated people, heading to prayer and forgiveness seeking, and to perform their daily ritual of life.
At least, this is what the Tahakis told themselves. Since the Tahaki Revolution following the repulsion of the Soviet Union, they had reigned with absolute control. The old government, a monarchy, had been torn down in recent years to wipe away all resistance to Sharia Islamic Law. Now, without hindrance, the Word of the Prophet was at last law in Shiistan.
The old Palace, however, was not without its uses. In the Grand Chamber, from which Grand Ayatollah Aaban, Supreme Ruler of All Shiistan Under Allah issued his most Holy decrees, were massed Imams, Clerics, and Mullahs from across the nation. The topic upon the lips of each of them was Jihad: holy war, the duty of all Muslim men in defense of Islam and its teachings.
“The Confederacy has overstepped its bounds this time my brothers!” called out Imam Hassan al-Farah. “This wanton extermination of our fellows cannot go without retribution! It is Allah’s will!”
The crowd roared, “Allah-u Akbar!”
“But if we go to War, do we not risk bringing the whole of the west down upon us?” called out a faceless Mullah from within the crowd. “They are intolerant, and will jump at the opportunity to wage war against us. Can we defeat such a force and keep our freedom?”
al-Farah shot back, "And would you condone, my brother, the deaths of millions of our fellow Muslims? And you call yourself a believer in God!"
Taken aback, the Mullah cried out, "I shall kill you where you stand!" A group of Clerics pulled him, kicking and shrieking away, preventing a violent outbreak within the chamber.
“I say yes,” uttered the Ayatollah. “Abu Bakr, blessings be upon him, once said, “To fight against the infidel is a cause most holy,” and I concur. These people are weak. They nestle themselves, content to live their contrived and meaningless lives of splendor. They cannot stomach the nature of the Divine Wrath we shall bring down upon them. I decree that from this moment on, the Mujahideen shall begin immediate attacks on all Confederate territories! May they find hell most accommodating!” Roars of laughter and applause resonated echoes from deep in the cavernous palace.
The Confederate people would know Jihad.
****
The nation of Blackhelm was not easily penetrated, at least not by Shiistani people. The intelligence agencies within the Confederacy may have been consistent of infidels, but they were certainly not fools. As such, great pain was taken to legally create false identities, such which would pass even a rigorous background check. This would, of course, be necessary in order for them to achieve any kind of success in their operations. Incursions into Egyptianistan would be much less difficult, which was being done at a rapid pace. But in no way could the same be said for Blackhelm.
The operators would move in small groups, maybe only of two or three at a time. Young men, early to mid twenties typically, well dressed in Armani suits and ties, symbols which the Western dogs seemed to value more than their own morality. Rayban sunglasses covering their eyes, and wads of cash in their pocket, they would be welcomed into the money hungry Confederacy with open arms, their passports reading nationality from any number of inconspicuous countries. By the time the infidels realised what mistake they were making, the mission would be completed.
Making their way into the deserts, they would meet with the surviving Muslims and incite them. Shiistan had both the money and the weapons to arm the people for the war they so desperately wished to bring about. They would have little to work with at first: a few home made explosives, some old dusty rifles maybe. But for Allah's Warriors of Islam, anything was possible. They were his chosen.
Assad Schulube was among the cells which were infiltrating the Confederacy. As he approached the customs official, he flashed a smile to the pretty girl behind the counter, ready to stamp his entry visa. Despite his feigned interest in her, which she percieved and attempted to make flirtacious small talk back, this escaped him. Inside he sneered at her decadence: too much make up, black skirt hiked up to her thighs, and the black brazerre screaming of sexuality. It was disgusting.
"Have these people no shame?" He thought to himself, still smiling, retrieving his visa and waiting for his comrades. "Of course they don't, which is precisely why they must die." His compatriots Hassan and Zaidi followed suit. He nodded to them, and they walked hastily through the terminal towards the exit. They hailed a taxi to drive them into the city, where they had a hotel reserved for them. Driving through, he did note that he was impressed with the intricasies of their architecture. He had always found western building designs be fascinating, but this did not imply that he did not prefer the mental image of them as smoldering ruins.
Finally they arrived, taking their light luggage in carryon bags, they walked inside and were greeted by bellhops. Hassan went to check in for the group, and retrieved their room entry keycards. Each man had his own room, all right across from each other at the end of a hallway. Tonight they would rest and make peace with Allah. Tommorrow: Jihad.
****
From his concealed position within the second story building he could see the Confederate checkpoint situated two hundred yards down the road. The intersection led to a major highway, and thus was under the supervision of several soldiers. He could see an officer, or perhaps an NCO, giving orders to some of his men. They pulled a man out of his old buick, and hastled him, roughly throwing him against the hood, and searching both his clothes and his car. Finding nothing they slammed him again into the car, where he wearily, and in obvious pain staggered back to the drivers seat of his car. Through the scope of his Dragonov SVD, he could see the man sink into his chair for a moment and exhale deeply. The Blackhelm soldier, a young kid screamed at him to move along, a long of fierce, utter hatred on his face.
"See you in hell," Mulayl whispered under his breath. He lined up the kid, walking up to the old man no doubt to smack him, with the uptick arrow in the center sight. Holding his breath, he squeezed the trigger, sending it recoiling hard back into his shoulder. He saw at first a look of shock on the kid's face, followed suit by agony as he collapsed in a heap into the dust. The others, wide eyed, took defensive positions while the officer ran over to check on the kid.
"Fool," he smiled. He lined the man up and again squeezed the trigger, sending 7.62 millimeters of death screaming towards him. The back of his head exploded into a pink mist, jerking his neck back in a sickly, unnatural motion. He was done with that position, soon enough they would figure out where the firing had come from, and he could not allow that. It was not yet his time. No, instead he packed his now broken down rifle into a suitcase and disappeared into anomyity within the street crowds below.
Weaving in and out of alleyways, and slinking into new massed crowds in market districts, the occupying Confederate or allied forces who might have been tracking him would have certainly lost him by then. It was the first true Mujahideen strike on Confederate forces in Egypttianstan, and by no means would it be the last.
“Allah-u Akbar! Ash-hadu anna lā ilāha illallāh! Ash-hadu anna Muhammadar-rasūl ullāh! Hayya 'alas-salāt! Hayya 'alal-falāh! Hayya 'alā Khair 'il-'amal! Allah-u Akbar! Aṣ-ṣalātu khayru min an-nawm!”
Quickly the streets, only minutes before silent with the waning throes of night, bustled into life. Mothers grabbed children and led them along, while fathers chided the mischievous. Cars pulled into the road to go about their daily business, while shops began the process of beginning. The crowded lanes filled with devout and dedicated people, heading to prayer and forgiveness seeking, and to perform their daily ritual of life.
At least, this is what the Tahakis told themselves. Since the Tahaki Revolution following the repulsion of the Soviet Union, they had reigned with absolute control. The old government, a monarchy, had been torn down in recent years to wipe away all resistance to Sharia Islamic Law. Now, without hindrance, the Word of the Prophet was at last law in Shiistan.
The old Palace, however, was not without its uses. In the Grand Chamber, from which Grand Ayatollah Aaban, Supreme Ruler of All Shiistan Under Allah issued his most Holy decrees, were massed Imams, Clerics, and Mullahs from across the nation. The topic upon the lips of each of them was Jihad: holy war, the duty of all Muslim men in defense of Islam and its teachings.
“The Confederacy has overstepped its bounds this time my brothers!” called out Imam Hassan al-Farah. “This wanton extermination of our fellows cannot go without retribution! It is Allah’s will!”
The crowd roared, “Allah-u Akbar!”
“But if we go to War, do we not risk bringing the whole of the west down upon us?” called out a faceless Mullah from within the crowd. “They are intolerant, and will jump at the opportunity to wage war against us. Can we defeat such a force and keep our freedom?”
al-Farah shot back, "And would you condone, my brother, the deaths of millions of our fellow Muslims? And you call yourself a believer in God!"
Taken aback, the Mullah cried out, "I shall kill you where you stand!" A group of Clerics pulled him, kicking and shrieking away, preventing a violent outbreak within the chamber.
“I say yes,” uttered the Ayatollah. “Abu Bakr, blessings be upon him, once said, “To fight against the infidel is a cause most holy,” and I concur. These people are weak. They nestle themselves, content to live their contrived and meaningless lives of splendor. They cannot stomach the nature of the Divine Wrath we shall bring down upon them. I decree that from this moment on, the Mujahideen shall begin immediate attacks on all Confederate territories! May they find hell most accommodating!” Roars of laughter and applause resonated echoes from deep in the cavernous palace.
The Confederate people would know Jihad.
****
The nation of Blackhelm was not easily penetrated, at least not by Shiistani people. The intelligence agencies within the Confederacy may have been consistent of infidels, but they were certainly not fools. As such, great pain was taken to legally create false identities, such which would pass even a rigorous background check. This would, of course, be necessary in order for them to achieve any kind of success in their operations. Incursions into Egyptianistan would be much less difficult, which was being done at a rapid pace. But in no way could the same be said for Blackhelm.
The operators would move in small groups, maybe only of two or three at a time. Young men, early to mid twenties typically, well dressed in Armani suits and ties, symbols which the Western dogs seemed to value more than their own morality. Rayban sunglasses covering their eyes, and wads of cash in their pocket, they would be welcomed into the money hungry Confederacy with open arms, their passports reading nationality from any number of inconspicuous countries. By the time the infidels realised what mistake they were making, the mission would be completed.
Making their way into the deserts, they would meet with the surviving Muslims and incite them. Shiistan had both the money and the weapons to arm the people for the war they so desperately wished to bring about. They would have little to work with at first: a few home made explosives, some old dusty rifles maybe. But for Allah's Warriors of Islam, anything was possible. They were his chosen.
Assad Schulube was among the cells which were infiltrating the Confederacy. As he approached the customs official, he flashed a smile to the pretty girl behind the counter, ready to stamp his entry visa. Despite his feigned interest in her, which she percieved and attempted to make flirtacious small talk back, this escaped him. Inside he sneered at her decadence: too much make up, black skirt hiked up to her thighs, and the black brazerre screaming of sexuality. It was disgusting.
"Have these people no shame?" He thought to himself, still smiling, retrieving his visa and waiting for his comrades. "Of course they don't, which is precisely why they must die." His compatriots Hassan and Zaidi followed suit. He nodded to them, and they walked hastily through the terminal towards the exit. They hailed a taxi to drive them into the city, where they had a hotel reserved for them. Driving through, he did note that he was impressed with the intricasies of their architecture. He had always found western building designs be fascinating, but this did not imply that he did not prefer the mental image of them as smoldering ruins.
Finally they arrived, taking their light luggage in carryon bags, they walked inside and were greeted by bellhops. Hassan went to check in for the group, and retrieved their room entry keycards. Each man had his own room, all right across from each other at the end of a hallway. Tonight they would rest and make peace with Allah. Tommorrow: Jihad.
****
From his concealed position within the second story building he could see the Confederate checkpoint situated two hundred yards down the road. The intersection led to a major highway, and thus was under the supervision of several soldiers. He could see an officer, or perhaps an NCO, giving orders to some of his men. They pulled a man out of his old buick, and hastled him, roughly throwing him against the hood, and searching both his clothes and his car. Finding nothing they slammed him again into the car, where he wearily, and in obvious pain staggered back to the drivers seat of his car. Through the scope of his Dragonov SVD, he could see the man sink into his chair for a moment and exhale deeply. The Blackhelm soldier, a young kid screamed at him to move along, a long of fierce, utter hatred on his face.
"See you in hell," Mulayl whispered under his breath. He lined up the kid, walking up to the old man no doubt to smack him, with the uptick arrow in the center sight. Holding his breath, he squeezed the trigger, sending it recoiling hard back into his shoulder. He saw at first a look of shock on the kid's face, followed suit by agony as he collapsed in a heap into the dust. The others, wide eyed, took defensive positions while the officer ran over to check on the kid.
"Fool," he smiled. He lined the man up and again squeezed the trigger, sending 7.62 millimeters of death screaming towards him. The back of his head exploded into a pink mist, jerking his neck back in a sickly, unnatural motion. He was done with that position, soon enough they would figure out where the firing had come from, and he could not allow that. It was not yet his time. No, instead he packed his now broken down rifle into a suitcase and disappeared into anomyity within the street crowds below.
Weaving in and out of alleyways, and slinking into new massed crowds in market districts, the occupying Confederate or allied forces who might have been tracking him would have certainly lost him by then. It was the first true Mujahideen strike on Confederate forces in Egypttianstan, and by no means would it be the last.