War World: Jihad!

by John F. Carr

  Sergeant Lee pulled his horse around, pointed her toward the retreating personnel and slapped her on the rump to get her moving. He took cover behind a rock and motioned the others to do the same.

  “Here we stand,” Lee screamed. “Hold your ground, and make it count.”

  A few of the men in the squad were visibly angry that they’d drawn the short straw. Others wept bitter tears. Some said prayers to whatever aspect or deity it was that they worshipped. Most just gritted their teeth and took aim. No matter how each man faced his fate, in the end, death took them all. But not before they bought the rest of the unit the time they needed.

  Ahead of them, the lead element began to take fire. The enemy was ahead of the Company as well as behind.

  The Captain galloped up and drew his pistols. “Deploy and charge,” he yelled, repeating it three times to ensure everyone heard.

  Smith raised his bugle to his lips, sounding a ragged call to arms. Andre kicked Lizzy in her flanks and drew his pistol, levering a round into the chamber. His mouth was dry and his stomach churning. The squads fanned out and kicked their mounts to a gallop. They could see the caldera ahead of them. It would be a defensible position for them, but it was already occupied.

  Small arms fire rang out and rounds whizzed past them. Men began to slump in their saddles and horses go down. But more than two-thirds of them made it over the crest that surrounded the caldera, and once they did the tide of battle turned. Andre came over the crest, firing to the right, and then to the left. When the troopers saw defenders, they charged right at them. They fired effectively from horseback and those who slid off their mounts were even more accurate. In less than five minutes, the defenders in the caldera were dead. They now had a hollow area, about a hundred meters in diameter, surrounded by a rocky crest, at the top of a low hill. The perfect defensive position.

  As Andre dismounted, Lizzy went down on her knees, then over on her side. Her breathing was labored. Andre looked her over, discovering a nasty bullet wound in her belly. Dark blood flowed out in a steady stream, staining the ground beneath her. The troop’s farrier came up behind him, looking her over. Lizzy tossed her head and whined. Her eyes were wide with fear. Andre fell to his knees, his arm around her neck.

  Lieutenant McKenna came up. “On your feet, Bourque, we have work to do.”

  But his voice trailed off when he saw what was happening. “Oh, sorry,” he said. He looked at the farrier, a question in his eyes. The farrier just shook his head. McKenna turned back to Andre. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Take the time ye need, lad, we’ll cover for you.”

  It didn’t take long at all. Andre stroked her neck and whispered to her as her breathing got more and more unsteady. When the last breath left her with a shudder, he reached out and closed her eyes. He patted her neck one last time. When he realized that his face was wet with tears, he used his bandana to wipe them away and went to be with Captain Flint.

  The Captain was standing on the crest, his automatics holstered and his binoculars at his eyes. The headquarters element was making progress and was now less than a half a klick away, the supply train close behind them. He heard small arms fire in the distance, and he thought he could see the Second Platoon coming out of the woods at the gallop, or what was left of Second Platoon. They must have taken losses and were no longer retreating in order, just getting out as quick as they could. He raised a hand and waved at them. “Come on in!” he yelled, although he doubted they could hear him.

  First Sergeant Wakefield came riding up. “Let me get out there and organize that retreat, sir.”

  The Captain nodded. “Good luck,” he called.

  There were eighteen troopers in the caldera, at least two of them badly wounded. They were moving to the perimeter in good order, one staying behind to gather the mounts, while another tended to the wounded.

  The members of Second Platoon reached the supply train and grabbed at the reins of the pack mules, attempting to drag them to a quicker pace. Members of the headquarters element began to reach the caldera and the Captain motioned them to take defensive positions.

  Behind the supply train, the brown-clad infantry were emerging from the woods. There were quite a few of them, certainly more of them than there were of the cavalrymen.

  Wakefield reached the stragglers, turned them around and got them firing to the rear.

  A shot whistled by the Captain’s head, this time coming from his right. The Muslim troops were not only behind them. There was a flurry of shots.

  “Choose your targets and aim carefully,” the Captain yelled. “Looks like we might be here for some time.”

  The mules started coming over the crest now, with troopers mixed among them. As they came, they were taking casualties. Andre, standing beside the Captain, saw Kowalski, the trooper he had seen bursting out of the bar so many weeks ago, riding over the crest.

  Kowalski saw the Captain and smiled. “Now we’ll give ’em hell, Cap’n,” he said. They were his last words. A round hit him in the back with a sickening slap, and he fell forward across his saddle bow.

  Then Wakefield came in, the last man to make it, his horse sailing over the rocky crest in a mighty leap. The caldera was a hive of activity. The quartermasters divided out food, water and ammunition, splitting it among the men lining their defenses. Someone broke out the guidon and stuck its shaft into the dirt. The swallow-tailed banner flapped fitfully in the breeze.

  The Captain turned to Andre. “We have about twenty hours of dimday left, and then we get truenight. If we can hold out that long, we might be able to slip away in the dark.”

  “Where did all these bandits come from?” asked Andre.

  “These aren’t bandits, son. This is a fucking army. And from what Singh says, they have armor. And if that armor he saw gets moved in, then it’s us that’s well and truly fucked.”

  * * *

  Barbarossa stood behind a fallen tree, staring through binoculars across the open ground toward the caldera where the enemy cavalry had gathered. It was a perfect defensive position and it would be difficult to pry them out. Beside him, Sirdar Idris met with his junior officers. He was in a foul mood; he snapped a string of orders, then turned to Barbarossa.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the red-bearded man.

  The Sirdar sighed. “We have thousands of men here, but unfortunately, too many of them are specialists and many with unique training. Not the expendable infantrymen we would want to throw into battle with these infidels. There are only a couple of hundred that I would be willing to commit to battle without fearing its impact on our long-term plans.”

  Barbarossa hid a smile. That fit perfectly with his plan to ensure the cavalry escaped. “It would be a shame if they did escape,” he said. “But remember they haven’t seen our hidden base, just a few vehicles. If we throw too much at them, they will know they face more than bandits, and our secret will be revealed.”

  “Don’t think I’ve given up,” said the Sirdar. “We are still going to assault their position, and if it gets too costly, we’ll just keep them pinned down and wait them out.”

  Barbarossa just nodded. He didn’t want to reveal too much. But he watched the situation carefully, looking for the right troops to use in carrying out his plans. The Sirdar crouched over a map, working out a battle plan with his officers.

  * * *

  Among the members of Company A, there was a feeling of boredom. If you could call any situation where you were waiting to die a boring one. They’d crouched for hours, watching troops in the distance, moving into positions around them, preparing. When the first assault came, it was swift.

  Men rose from behind ridges and out of low areas all around them, screaming, “Allahu Akbar!”

  They fired wildly, spraying automatic weapons fire across the rocks. The troopers of Company A were more disciplined, firing their rifles slowly, picking each target.

  Andre fired deliberately, choosing his targets carefully. He saw men fall, although he was ne
ver sure which men he had hit. The attack wavered before it got closer than about seventy meters away from their defensive line. Then the enemy fell back, dragging their wounded behind them.

  The cavalrymen had been prudent, but their defense of the caldera still cut deep into their ammunition stores. They had started out with almost two hundred rounds per man, but anywhere from thirty to forty rounds had been expended by each man. They had lost two militiamen in the attack. Both with head wounds.

  Two hours later, when the enemy surged again, they were in even stronger numbers than before. Andre fired at one man, then another, and then another. The attackers leaned forward as they ran, as if the defender’s fire was the hail of a winter storm. The noise of the battle was earsplitting. The stink of death filled the caldera. The thick dust and smoke swirling around them made it difficult to see. Another trooper fell near Andre, this one with a wound to his upper chest.

  The second attack cut even deeper into their ammunition. Some men had less than a hundred rounds left. After that, there were more hours of boredom. Those who could, ate and drank. The wounded were given drugs, and slept fitfully. Other men took turns curling up and closing their eyes, although few found the sleep they sought.

  A third attack came, weaker than the second—again they were able to repulse the enemy. A few got close enough, though, to throw grenades, and one made it into their caldera, killing two troopers and wounding two more.

  After that it appeared as if the enemy might be digging in to wait them out. That made sense, as they were making little progress throwing men at a good defensive position, against an enemy who fired with deadly accuracy. What they didn’t know was that the cavalry unit was down to less than fifty rounds per man, barely enough to face one more concerted assault.

  Andre looked at his watch, and at Cat’s Eye above them. Only three hours to sunset. Maybe they could make it.

  * * *

  Barbarossa had worked his way around the battlefield, and now stood behind a cluster of rocks on the other side of the caldera, staring at the enemy through a set of field glasses. He lowered them, and turned to the Major beside him. “You have an important role to play,” he said. “Your men guard the pass which I believe the enemy will use to make their escape.”

  “I realize that, sir,” the Major said with a grin. “My men are eager to see action, and this makes that action more likely.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Barbarossa said. “I have new orders for you. As soon as it is dark, I want you to pull your men back. If our opponents try to escape, I want them to succeed.”

  “I don’t understand, sir,” the Major complained.

  “You don’t need to understand,” Barbarossa snapped. “Trust me when I say you will be doing a service to the Faithful, that you will be serving Allah’s will.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” the Major asked.

  “Positive,” Barbarossa said. “Now, can I count on you? I have heard it said that your men are known for their ability to follow orders, no matter how hard.”

  The Major snapped off a salute. “You can count on us, sir.”

  As he departed, Barbarossa smiled to himself. He remembered his conversation with Van Loon, the Brotherhood representative. A discovery of their hidden forces could trigger battle. And since battle was what Barbarossa wanted, news of that discovery had to reach the enemy. It was a dangerous game he was playing. If the Sirdar, or Colonel bin Abdul-Aziz, ever questioned what he was doing, it would be the end of him.

  * * *

  An hour after the start of truenight, the Captain sent out scouts to reconnoiter. Wearing their darkest uniform items, and hoods or camouflage face paint, they slid over the ridge and disappeared into the darkness. Within the next hour or two, they began to return. All found enemy troops well in place and vigilant, except for one, who had scouted toward the pass they had used when they first arrived in the area. He reported the way clear, and no enemy in sight.

  The Captain called for all officers and noncoms. He briefed them on what the scouts had found.

  “Smells like a trap,” Sergeant Wakefield said.

  The Captain asked what the ammo status was like. They were down to less than fifty rounds per man, which included not only rifle ammunition, but pistol rounds as well.

  “We could repel one more concerted attack,” McKenna said softly, “but after that, I dinnae ken.”

  “So,” Flint said, “the choice is a certain loss if we stay, and a chance to escape if we go. I say we take our chances with an ambush and bug out. Put out the word, I want every horse to come with us, but leave the mules behind. Mounts without riders can carry some supplies but not too much. I want every round of ammo to come with us, a little bit of food and water, but not much beyond that. And absolute silence.”

  He turned to Wakefield, “What’s the status of the wounded?”

  “There, we’re lucky, sir,” the Sergeant replied. “There’s a couple of men we’ll need to tie to their mounts, but none that can’t be moved. It’ll be dicey, but if you think about what’ll happen if we leave them to the mercy of our opponents, shooting them would be a better fate.”

  “Then, tie them down securely.”

  The Sergeant nodded.

  All right,” Flint said. “Everybody clear?” He waited for a soft response from every man in the circle, and said, “Okay, let’s get ready to move.”

  An hour later, the first horse went over the top, followed by a steady stream of troopers. Out of the one hundred and ten who set out, only fifty-four were riding out, and they had over sixty mounts with them.

  Andre was atop Sergeant Lee’s gelding, the horse having made it to the caldera without her rider. They moved as silently as possible, using scraps of cloth to stick into the bits to keep the hardware from jingling. The troopers led their mounts for a mile, and then mounted up. They kept their pace at a walk, however, to minimize the noise. They set up the standard pace of an hour mounted, and an hour walking, but with no breaks, just a steady march toward safety.

  Twelve hours later, when the sun began to brighten the horizon to the east, ahead of their path, they looked at one another with amazement. Some of them wept, others prayed, most just sighed in relief. They began to believe they might make it out of this alive.

  * * *

  The Major gathered his men in front of Barbarossa. All thirty men stood in the caldera that had recently held their enemies. Their weapons were stacked neatly nearby, and they stood in ranks, their uniforms brushed and straightened, looking as good as a unit could look in the field.

  “Sir, the men are gathered, as you requested. They have followed your orders to the letter.”

  Barbarossa was flanked by his bodyguards. “What do you mean, followed my orders?” he screamed. “You have failed me. And you will face the consequences.”

  His bodyguards lifted machine pistols and opened fire. Other bodyguards came over the crest as well, firing at those who tried to flee. After two minutes, all of the men were dead. Barbarossa could justify this as battlefield punishment for failure. A half dozen of his chosen men could keep a secret, but the regular soldiers could never be trusted. And someone had to pay for the failure to defeat these intruders.

  A few hours later, without discussing what he had done with the Sardir, Barbarossa was in a helicopter, gliding over the steppes, on his way back to Medina. A few hours after that, he was at their hidden landing field, and then on horseback heading back toward town. When he arrived, he rode directly to the Mahdi’s home. The bodyguards met him at the door, and announced him. He strode into Tawfiq’s study.

  “I have bad news,” Barbarossa said. “A CD militia unit has discovered our armored units. And, for all we know, has seen the full capabilities of our hidden base. I expect that they have already radioed news of this to their superiors. The intruders slipped away from us under the cover of night. The Sardir recommends we begin dispersing our forces, in case the CoDominium decides to move against our base.”

  He di
dn’t mention the fact that a full scale jamming program had been initiated as soon as the intruders had been detected, and the success of any radio transmission was extremely doubtful.

  “Awful news,” the Mahdi said, shaking his head. “It is too soon! This has put our movement at terrible risk. Someone must pay for this.”

  “Someone has paid; the unit that failed and let them escape has been executed.”

  Tawfiq was quieted by this. It was apparent that even his anger wouldn’t have driven him to order such a harsh punishment.

  Barbarossa continued to argue his point. “I don’t understand your doubts, Mahdi. We have Allah on our side. Why do you not have faith?”

  Tawfiq’s face darkened with anger. He started to open his mouth in reply, but then paused, finally twisting his lips into a weary smile. “Perhaps you are right. At some point, to reach your destination, you have to start the journey.

  “Pass word to the Sardir. Have him order our forces to begin their dispersal plans. Call our Brotherhood and Levantine allies to ask them to take the actions they have promised in orbit. And pass the word to the tribes; the time of waiting is over. It is time for Jihad, time for us to finally claim all that is ours!”

  They said their goodbyes, and Barbarossa headed for his favorite coffee house. He was dizzy with elation. After all these years of waiting, he had finally gotten what he wanted. It didn’t matter what he had done to make it happen. The day of decision had come.

  But when he arrived at the coffeehouse, and walked under the sign of the bear, he found a nondescript man in simple clothing waiting in his office.

  “You need to hear this,” the man told him, playing excerpts from recordings of A’isha’s recent conversations with Irfan. And then he told Barbarossa about one of their caravans disappearing, and concerns that Irfan’s marshals might have apprehended it.

  “She is very close to discovering too much,” said Barbarossa with a scowl. “It is time to remove her.”

  The nondescript man raised an eyebrow. “That will be hard to accomplish. It has been tried before, and she is well guarded.”