War World: Jihad!

by John F. Carr

  The unit headed out again. The Captain looked a little more stiff and drawn than usual, but kept moving along with everyone else. They soon fell into their routine of walking and riding, heading for the foothills of the Girdle of God mountains, which were beginning to darken the horizon ahead of them.

  * * *

  Barbarossa was back in the mountains, in the landing area near the hidden training camp. He stood behind Sirdar Idris, irritated by the man’s very presence. He wore clamshell ear protectors as he watched the gum-drop-shaped vertical take-off and landing shuttle soar in on a parasail, which it then released to make its final approach on its engines. A crew would be heading out to retrieve that parasail, a difficult task, since it was camouflaged to blend into the terrain around the landing area.

  As the craft came closer, the hot wind of its exhaust filled the ravine until finally it touched down and the engines cut out. There was only a high whine of turbines spinning down, and he moved forward as the hatch on the side of the craft opened.

  The man who stood in the hatch waved to them and Barbarossa and Sirdar Idris returned that wave. It was Piet Van Loon, the representative of the Brotherhood, the somewhat mysterious organization that was pouring millions of dollars’ worth of gear into the cause of the Faithful. The three men met, shook hands, then went into a series of briefings. Van Loon, a blond-haired man, thin and impassive, hid his feelings well. But from the way he pursed his lips, and rubbed his hand across his chin when the Sirdar presented their current plans, Barbarossa could tell that he was irritated and had something on his mind.

  Finally, after all the formalities and other meetings were over, Barbarossa led Piet into his comfortable office, while a subordinate got cold drinks for the two men. The two men had developed a special connection over the years, ever since the first expedition that Barbarossa had led into these very hills.

  “I hear you hosted a visit from your Mahdi,” the man said. “How did it go?”

  “Frustrating,” Barbarossa said. “Despite all that you have provided us, the Mahdi still frets that it is not enough, and Sirdar Idris feeds his concerns with his own caution. They both fear the space-based reconnaissance and strike capabilities of the CoDominium. And the Mahdi has hopes that progress can be made without bloodshed or disruption.”

  The blond man sat silently for a moment, his lips tight with displeasure. “We are not only trying to free your people from CoDominium domination, but people everywhere throughout the colonized worlds. We don’t need slow and steady progress; we need to press the CoDominium quickly during the next few years, on as many worlds as possible. If everyone we supported had the same attitude as your Mahdi, we’ll never be able to create the chaos and disruption necessary to free them from the CoDominium’s yoke.”

  “I know,” Barbarossa said. “Trust me. I want to use the weapons you have given us. I don’t just want to defeat the Marines, I want to crush them. I want them to suffer for the indignities they have brought to my people. I want to ride ships home, back to Earth, and bring death to them. Make their people and leaders suffer as we have.”

  The blond man smiled at this, a cold smile that had no humor in it. “What could spur the Mahdi to action?”

  “Well,” Barbarossa replied, “because of the Marines’ space capabilities, the Mahdi fears that if this base is discovered, we could lose it. He had the Sirdar develop plans to scatter our forces if that should happen. Once the CoDominium learns the location of our base, we would almost certainly have to attack our opponents.” He paused for a second, and then continued. “The Mahdi’s wife seems to have a major influence on him. She has built a large social welfare organization, with pressurized birthing chambers to help pregnancies and funds from this organization help transportees when they arrive. She has many contacts both among the Faithful and the infidels who serve the mining companies.”

  Piet stroked his thin beard. “Women tend to counsel for peace, even when it is not the most appropriate course. Didn’t the CoDominium try to assassinate her once?”

  “That was the suspicion at the time,” Barbarossa answered. “But it turned out to be much more mundane. When the Mahdi and I first arrived on Haven, a criminal overlord named Kabir attempted to intimidate us and we killed him. It turned out he had a brother, his partner in crime, who tried to avenge that death in a way that hurt the Mahdi the most. We took care of that problem, but it served our interests to let people continue to think it was the CoDominium.”

  He left unsaid the fact that the brother’s death helped him cement his own control over the underworld of Medina.

  “If people did think that the CoDominium had succeeded,” Piet said, “it would certainly incite them to action. And the Mahdi himself would not only lose her voice of caution, it would give him another reason to hate.”

  Barbarossa could see where the conversation was leading. While he disliked A’isha, he was uncomfortable at the thought of betraying the Mahdi after serving him for so many years.

  The topic of the conversation shifted, and Van Loon did have some encouraging things to say about the CoDominium’s space presence. It turned out the Brotherhood had some capabilities in the Byers System that could address that advantage. The blond man then presented Barbarossa with a list of what the newest shipment held. He didn’t press his original point again, but although Barbarossa didn’t realize it—a seed had been planted.

  * * *

  Company A continued their journey, entering the foothills of the Girdle of God Mountains. The terrain changed with the arid plains giving way to thin forests, starting with scattered fan trees and squat bottle trees. Soon even these gave way to forests of egg trees, tall evergreens whose oval seeds gave them their names. The forest floors were carpeted with dead evergreen needles and their horses moved silently between the thick columns of the tree trunks. Every once in a while, they would come upon a cluster of imported Earth plants among the indigenous fauna, evidence of how widely the efforts to seed the planet had spread.

  They began to fan out, searching for signs of bandit camps. Squads of troopers ranged far to the north and south of the trail, sometimes being away from the main party for two or three days at a time. They were more careful about the noise they made and avoided fires at night and smoke during the day, not wanting to betray their position.

  The animal life of the hills was different, too. Bat-like dactyls, one of the only indigenous flying creatures on Haven, perched on the tree branches above them, looking down at their passage. They saw cliff lions peering at them from hilltops, although the creatures seemed unwilling to take the chance of attacking large parties of men and horses. Spiny boars lurked in the trees and, after one was killed when it attacked a squad, they found it to be quite tasty when dried and jerked.

  It was also good to get away from the prairie, with its hot days, cold nights and dusty winds. They passed streams wide enough to bathe in; streams that were mercifully free of the vicious razor fish that plagued so many waterways on Haven. They had men in each squad equipped with bows and arrows and, without making unnecessary noise or wasting ammunition, were able to down small game to supplement their diets. The horses found plenty of forage, small plants growing among the trees that seemed to be tasty eating, if the gusto of the horses was any indication.

  Captain Flint began to recover from his wounds, sitting more comfortably in the saddle. Andre had begun to grow quite comfortable with his role in the unit as not only an observer, but kind of an attaché to the Captain, helping him with navigation, planning, and supply management tasks. He felt a real attachment to the unit, getting along well with the officers, and becoming familiar with many of the enlisted men. Discipline among the militia was much more lax than among the CD Marines.

  Many in the unit had grown up with the other troopers, and these friendships, that would have been suspect in the Marines, formed a large part of the unit’s cohesion. There was a lot more humor among the troopers, as well as a casual attitude that Captain Flint publi
cly chastised, but privately seemed to enjoy.

  They found a few small villages among the hills but no sign of any bandits. Their orders called for them to linger in this area, and in the hills ahead of them, for at least three eleven-day Haven weeks. Not an arduous assignment at all in these balmy days as spring turned into early summer.

  * * *

  A’isha woke up, as she often did, when Tawfiq began to snore toward the end of the night. She must have been sleeping soundly when he arrived, since she didn’t remember him getting into bed. The heavy curtains on the window didn’t quite block out the light of dimday, and the russet glow of Cat’s Eye gave her enough light to see. Her husband lay on his side, the blanket tangled around his lower body, his long beard splayed across the pillow.

  The beard was now grey, having fully turned during the dark months after the fall of Allah’s Fist. His face was lined and careworn. Even at rest, he looked stern and uncompromising. The fierce young man that she had given her heart to had long since transformed into this old man who carried the weight of a people on his shoulders. Her eyes grew heavy again and she drifted back to sleep.

  In the morning, A’isha rose early and had the cook prepare a large breakfast. She knew that, even if her husband was not hungry, someone would benefit from this meal. But she did not have to worry. Whatever his mission had been during the latest absence, it left Tawfiq hungry enough to plow through a pile of scrambled eggs and toast covered with jam.

  She dismissed the serving girl and asked him how he was doing. After his description of a visit to a nearby village to arbitrate a conflict between two tribal leaders, she decided it was time to talk about the news Irfan had brought her. Tawfiq listened carefully, as he always did, and thought for a moment.

  “I have heard of these women disappearing, but I do not see it as a priority.”

  She started, surprised by his answer. “Not a priority. When women are being kidnapped?”

  “Well,” he replied, “these are women without family and, no matter what path they take to get there, they will end up in the household of a man which is where they belong.”

  “But they could end up in a household as a servant,” she replied with heat in her voice. “Or end up in a house of prostitution. Then what man would want to make her his?”

  “Oh my love,” Tawfiq answered sadly. “If only we could make every wrong right. But I have the freedom of an entire people to consider. Not every issue can receive my personal attention. Tell Irfan that he should continue his investigations and keep me informed, but I cannot promise too much.”

  She sighed. If they could not save a few, what hope did the many have in the long run? She decided to press further. “Have you ever wondered if Barbarossa might fall into bad habits, fall back into the criminal life he practiced before he joined you and your movement?”

  “No,” he snapped, “and I hope you aren’t suggesting that he would be involved with this.”

  This time she didn’t argue. He wasn’t ready to hear everything that needed to be said. Tawfiq was not a man you argued with directly. Instead she found changing his mind often took the work of months. He needed to think that the solutions he arrived at were his own ideas. And in the meantime, he had at least given his blessing to the investigations they were secretly conducting.

  * * *

  Sergeant Singh rode quietly through the woods, the world around him hushed. He had a full squad with him, spread out at intervals of fifty feet. A dactyl call shrilled out from his right side, or rather, a warning signal that sounded like a dactyl call. Someone had seen something.

  He gave another call, which would bring the squad together.

  Jacobs signaled that it was she who had signaled. He motioned to her and Borodin to dismount, and then dismounted himself. He motioned to the corporal to take the others’ mounts, signaled that he wanted him to move back about a half mile. Then he gestured for Jacobs to lead the way.

  The three of them moved stealthily through the trees, and Jacobs led them to a hollow behind a large fallen tree. They peered over the top, and Singh saw a guard moving through the forest, dressed in modern brown camouflage with a high-tech assault rifle, and wearing a turban of the same mottled brown material. The guard was moving along the edge of a ravine. And down in the ravine, on a road that hugged a winding stream, a column of armored cars moved silently, obviously powered by electric motors and running on batteries. The men in the armored cars were dressed like the guard.

  And then he heard a noise, one that he hadn’t heard since he had left Earth. It was the harsh grinding of treads, and the whine of a gas turbine engine. Soon the tank came into view, a heavy one, with a gun that looked like a 100mm.

  Singh said a prayer under his breath. It was time to go. He looked to the side and saw that Jacobs and Borodin were as transfixed as he was. He got their attention and signaled for them to bug out.

  Singh turned to find it was too late. A guard stood at the edge of the hollow, staring down at them with wide eyes. When he realized they had seen him, he squeezed the trigger of his assault rifle. At the same time, Singh hit him with a shot from the hip and his round caught the guard square in the chest. As the guard fell backward, his finger stayed on the trigger, and his weapon sprayed bullets up into the foliage above.

  Singh realized that Jacobs was bending over Borodin, who was face down in the soil. She flipped him over, and his face was a bloody ruin.

  “Dead,” she said.

  Singh heard shouts behind them and men crashing through the brush.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and started to run, as fast as he could, with Jacobs close on his heels.

  By the time they reached the rest of the squad and mounted up, there were rounds whining through the air around them, and occasionally hitting a tree trunk with a harsh crack. They headed out at a gallop, soon leaving their pursuers behind. They headed for the hill where the headquarters element had set up camp. Singh was glad of the terrain, as those vehicles would not be able to get up out of the ravine very easily and begin a pursuit that would have been sure to catch them.

  Singh’s horse was just beginning to fade, his sides heaving from exertion, when they reached the headquarters camp. He rode directly up to the Captain, swinging down from the saddle. He made his report as clearly as he could, although he ended up rambling and had to be prodded for some key facts. Soon the camp was a whirl of activity, like hornets from a downed nest, as troopers packed up to leave on the double.

  The Captain sent riders out to gather the rest of the unit, unfortunately broken into small scouting parties. He gave orders for everyone to gather at a small caldera about eight klicks back on their route, a large low area at the top of a wide hill. It was almost like a natural fort, a perfect place to rally the troops and to defend themselves—if they had to. As they rode, the Captain and Lieutenant McKenna pumped him and Jacobs for information about exactly what they had seen.

  The more they heard, the grimmer they looked. There was not supposed to be a well-equipped Muslim army in these hills, hell, there was not supposed to be a unit like the one they saw anywhere on the friggin’ planet.

  * * *

  Sirdar Idris’s office door crashed open. He and Barbarossa were meeting and Barbarossa’s bodyguard was on his feet in a moment, his sidearm in his hand. The young soldier blanched when he saw the gun.

  “Please pardon me, Sirdar,” he stammered. “But foreign soldiers have been spotted, near where our armored cavalry exercises are being held. They exchanged fire with our men and we don’t know exactly what they saw. Colonel bin Abdul-Aziz recommends that we deploy our armored cars to cut off their escape route.”

  “Yes…” started the Sirdar.

  Barbarossa had a sudden idea. This might be the opportunity I’ve been looking for, he thought. “No,” he interrupted. “We don’t know what they’ve seen. But we know if we deploy armor, they will definitely see what must remain hidden. Deploy foot soldiers and units on horse or camel only. No veh
icles and no heavy weapons. They have not seen our fortress, so we may be able to convince them they are facing only bandits.”

  The Sirdar looked at him for a moment. To his credit, he did not snap at Barbarossa for interrupting.

  Instead, he weighed the idea carefully, and then nodded. “As our comrade says,” Sirdar said. “Foot, horse or camels only, no mechanized units. But we want these interlopers cut off and defeated.”

  * * *

  Two squads of First Platoon were sent ahead to sweep their escape route. The supply train was sent on their heels along with the headquarters element. The Captain looked at Sparks with a question in his eyes. The radio operator just shook his head; no comms. Then came Second Platoon, following on their heels until they began to receive fire from their rear.

  Second Platoon split in two, one half standing fast and providing cover fire, while the other half fell back. Then when the other element got one hundred meters ahead, they provided the cover while the first element leapfrogged them. Lieutenant Patterson kept everyone in good order, hanging back with whatever element was furthest to the rear, firing over his shoulder with his sidearm.

  They saw an element of soldiers coming at them from their right flank, and he motioned a squad to attack, pulling alongside them, screaming encouragement. As the cavalry troops thundered toward them, the soldiers dove for cover and a light machine gun opened up.

  “Trap,” screamed Patterson, just before he went down. Horses stumbled and fell, and riders went down in a heap.

  Behind them, Sergeant Lee, the Second Platoon’s top sergeant, saw what was happening. He ordered a squad to dismount and dismounted himself. He ordered another sergeant to get the rest of the platoon moving. No more leapfrog, they needed to get out of there quickly.