by Tariq Saleim
CHAPTER 4
Year 2060
Israel
Joshua watched in horror as bearded men hurled people out of their homes. The entire village had been rounded up—men, women, and kids separated into three different groups, their hands and feet tied. He stood among kids, a nine-year-old, trying to make sense of the violence unraveling in front of his eyes.
Men were forced to sit on their knees in a long single line with their hands tied behind their back. Behind each of the men stood another man holding a gun aimed straight at their head. One of these captured men was Joshua’s father. Their eyes met and he managed to smile to his son.
“YHWA, help,” Joshua prayed silently, as his father had taught him to pray.
A fat man emerged from one of the buildings and walked to where the captives were lined up. He told his soldiers that they were about to fulfill their commitment to one supreme God and liberate the holy land of Israel from infidels. They must not shy from executing these men. One of his men bravely brought up the subject that the captives were unarmed farmers and not combat soldiers. The fat man slowly walked up to him.
“Don’t befriend infidels, they are your enemies. Execute them,” he spoke authoritatively. “These are our orders, our destiny. Do you not remember what they have done to our sisters and brothers? Have you forgotten their blood?”
He walked away from the soldier, turned around, and spoke again.
“You,” he pointed at one of his soldiers. “Have you forgotten how one of them skinned your son alive? Was he not innocent? And you”—he pointed to another—“have you forgiven your mother’s dishonor? Their men raped her again and again to her death. Or you”—he pointed to still another—“who cried for days when you found your daughter’s beheaded body, mutilated and violated. Remember, it is an eye for an eye. They killed our innocent and if we do not do the same, they will never stop. They want to throw us out of this holy land, but we will not go without a fight.”
He paused briefly and looked at his men. They were ready to shoot at his command. He was satisfied with his brief brainwashing speech. Each and every one of them was mourning for a lost loved one. It was not difficult to stir emotions and control them thereafter.
A series of clicks was heard as shooters removed the safeties on their weapons. Women and children watched in horror, hoping YHWA would interrupt the proceedings soon.
Joshua’s father turned around and spoke to his would-be murderer. “I am sorry for your loss. I forgive you my murder.” The man said nothing in reply. Joshua’s father glanced at his son for one last time and prayed. YHWA, I forgive my murderer. Somewhere he has been wronged too. You forgive him as well, and protect my son.
Joshua watched the whole event. They all fired simultaneously, one bullet to the head from close range for each of the captives. His father’s head burst open and his blood splattered in front of him. His lifeless body fell to the ground along with several others. The soldiers stepped back and started shooting the dead vehemently. They continued shooting until their guns ran out of bullets.
Their fat leader looked at them with pride. “God willing, victory shall be ours,” he announced.
Women and children cried for their losses, for the brutal murder of their men, and for fear of what was about to happen to them. Joshua stared at his father’s dead body. A pious person had been slain mercilessly and YHWA did not intervene. Something inside Joshua had changed abruptly—hurt and fear had been replaced by rage. YHWA is a lie, everything my father taught me is a lie, he quickly construed. Everyone was crying and lamenting around him, but he had stopped crying. Since YHWA was no more, he was on his own. He wished he had a weapon on him right now, although he did not know how to use a gun. But how difficult can it be? he thought.
“Take the younger ones,” the fat leader ordered his fanatics, pointing at the women. A group of men rushed to the women and started grabbing whoever they fancied. “They are yours to enter,” proclaimed the fat leader. “Avenge the wrong done to you.”
One by one all the young women were hauled into different houses. For the next few hours, the soldiers kept on entering these houses and emerged after some time. They looked happy. Joshua was unable to fathom their cause of happiness. The older women who were still outside had stopped mourning. Some of them fainted because of exhaustion. No one showed interest in reviving them.
Hours later, the younger girls were brought back to their older companions. They could hardly walk, were bleeding, and looked beaten up. All of them had torn clothes. Joshua could not understand the cause of their rapid physical degradation. One of these girls was his sister, Batya, seven years elder to him. She was being pulled by one of the soldiers. She held her clothes in one arm against her body, trying to hide herself in the front. Joshua could see that she was totally naked from behind. The soldier left her near the other women and walked away. He did not make an attempt to tie her hands and feet—there was no need, she was almost dead. Joshua’s mother reached for her daughter and hugged her. The girl did not respond.
“Please do not die.” Joshua spoke inaudibly, hoping Batya would survive. He did not deem it necessary to involve YHWA and pray for her life.
Over the next two days, the whole incident was repeated several times. Soldiers would take any woman they fancied and after a few hours she would return injured and traumatized. Two of the women died and they were dropped near the corpses of the men.
Survivors found it difficult to breathe because of the foul smell caused by the decaying bodies. Joshua had accepted the reality: his short life had been a lie, fed to him by his father and mother. His father was dead, his sister was almost dead, and their mother cried intermittently, sometimes looking at her children and sometimes at the sky. She has surely lost her mind, he thought. He had no energy left in him to worry about anything. He lay silently on the road, where they had been held for three days now, waiting for his looming death. He had no idea when he drifted into sleep.
***
“Wake up, wake up.” Joshua heard someone speaking. He felt as if he had just gone to sleep. He opened his eyes and felt a hand on his mouth. An elderly man was sitting next to him. He urged Joshua to stay silent, then removed his hand.
“Drink this,” said the old man, giving him a bowl filled with water. Joshua quickly obeyed.
The old man refilled up the bowl. “Drink some more. Wake up the other boys and give them water too.” He placed a jar full of water next to Joshua. “Tell them to be silent. I don’t want to wake up the soldiers,” he whispered.
He left the bowl and the jar with Joshua and rushed to the women. Joshua noticed that he was carrying another jar. The old man woke up one of the women and told her exactly what he had told Joshua. He then handed over some fruits to them and rushed back to the boys. One of the women gave some water to Joshua’s mother, who drank little, and then lay down again. No one gave anything to his sister and he did not understand why.
The old man came back to the boys and offered some fruits to Joshua. “Share with others,” he ordered. Joshua passed on the fruits to others who were wide awake now.
“Who are you?” asked Joshua.
“I am the cook,” replied the old man.
“Why are they killing us?”
The old man did not answer.
“They said your God wants us dead—why?” Joshua asked.
The old man looked into his eyes. “There is only one God—your God, my God, they’re both the same. God does not want you dead, people do. This is war; it has nothing to do with God. It is all about greed.”
“You are helping them.”
“Staying with them keeps my family safe. You have no idea what your community has done. They have murdered innocent people and looted their household. If I do not stay with my people, my family and I will not be safe.”
“Are they going to kill us?”
“Not if you do not make any trouble. They plan to leave at dawn. There are still a few hours before sunrise
. Stay low; pretend you are sleeping when you hear noises. Don’t wake up, don’t disturb them, and they will leave you behind.”
Joshua nodded.
“Keep this.” The old man placed a small knife in Joshua’s trouser pocket. “When they are gone, use this to cut each other’s ropes and set yourself free. Then set your women free and flee from here. I have left some food in that house.” The old man pointed to a house on the right. “It is leftover food, but enough for all of you to survive for a day or two.”
Joshua nodded again.
“Now all of you go back to sleep, or at least pretend that you are sleeping.” The old man left them, taking the bowls and jars with him. When he had walked far enough, he looked back and let out a sigh. When did we become savages? the old man reflected unhappily. Which religion teaches you to treat humans like this? God, why am I made to see all this? Those eighteen boys and thirteen women had been made to suffer for no fault of their own. The soldiers would leave them behind, to die of hunger and injuries. If anyone survived, they would tell tales of terror and cast fear in the hearts of enemies. He prayed silently to God to end this war.
Joshua tried to go back to sleep along with the others. With some food in his stomach and a knife in his pocket, he felt better. He briefly entertained the idea of getting one of the boys to cut his ropes and then go look for his father’s killer. He was confident he would be able to recognize him, although they all looked the same with their beards and long hair. He reckoned it was a bad idea.
Joshua closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, hoping that when he woke up the soldiers would have left. He fell asleep a second time that night; however, this time he hoped to survive.
***
“Wake up boy, wake up.” Someone was trying to wake him up again.
Joshua opened his eyes and found himself in broad daylight, surrounded by men. He had slept longer than he had planned. These men were different from the soldiers he had seen earlier. These were clean shaven, had short hair, and were dressed in clean uniforms.
“There are survivors here as well,” yelled one of the soldiers as he woke up other boys.
“Who are you?” Joshua asked them.
“What happened here?” asked the soldier, ignoring Joshua’s question.
“They killed my father and beat my sister. My mother is sick. They tied us here and left us to die,” replied Joshua.
“What are you doing with this knife?” The soldier was holding the knife that the old man had placed in Joshua’s pocket last night.
“Their cook placed it in my pocket. He wanted me to cut our ropes using this knife, and then run away. He wanted us to wait until the soldiers had left.”
“Interesting—a cook with a heart among savages. Anyway, I think we missed them by a few hours,” said the soldier.
“Can you please cut my ropes?” asked Joshua. As soon as he was free, he ran to the women. He spotted his mother sitting next to a tree. A medic was attending to her. He rushed to his mother.
“Where is Batya?” Joshua asked frantically.
There was no reply from his mother. She stared at Joshua in silence and raised her hands to hug him. Joshua fell into her arms, weeping. The medic stepped away, fully understanding the gravity of the situation.
“Please tell me, where is Batya?”
“She is at peace.”
“But where?”
“With YHWA.”
“YHWA, YHWA, YHWA…there is no YHWA!” yelled Joshua. “If there was YHWA, Father would still be alive. Tell me, where is Batya?”
His mother pointed to a body covered with a cloth, only a few feet away. Joshua ran over and lifted the cloth from the face. The beautiful Batya he had known all his life was not there. This woman was beaten up, swollen and lifeless.
“This is not Batya. This is not Batya,” he cried out loudly. “Where is my sister?”
“She is dead, Joshua; she is dead, like your father. We have been left alone,” answered his grieving mother.
Joshua covered her dead sister’s face with the cloth and sat there crying. His mother watched, unsure of what to do.
All the dead bodies were piled up and buried in one grave. Women and children watched in shock as the decayed bodies of their loved ones were thrown into the ditch. Joshua continued to sit where Batya’s corpse had been resting, refusing to go near the mass grave and pray for his father and sister. He was filled with vengeance and looked for the soldier who had taken his knife. He spotted him standing a few feet from the mass grave, talking to another soldier. Joshua walked up to them.
“I want my knife.”
“Why?”
“I want to kill the murderers of my father and sister.”
“You are just a kid.”
“I will not be a kid all my life.”
“You will need more than this knife.” The soldier took out Joshua’s knife from his pocket and placed it in the boy’s hands.
“Thank you,” replied Joshua, placing it back in his pocket.
The second soldier, who was standing next to Joshua, watched the kid intently, admiring his courage. “What is your name?” he asked.
Joshua looked at him before answering. He was a tall young man, strongly built, and had light-colored skin. He had a deep, commanding voice and a pleasant face.
“I am Joshua.”
The second soldier shook his head in disgust. Religious types, he thought with a frown. “I am Shaman.”
Joshua nodded.
“Do you know why your father and sister were killed?”
“I do not know.”
“They were killed in the name of God—the God who did not come to your rescue.”
“I know, YHWA is a lie.”
“I hope you are not planning on depending on YHWA for your revenge.”
“I do not need YHWA. I will have my revenge myself.”
Shaman smiled. He had found the perfect soldier: an angry child, full of hatred and reprisal. All he had to do was train Joshua and in time he would be the perfect soldier.
Joshua was not the only child Shaman had found over the years. He was one of many orphans who had been left behind with wounds of war. Joshua would join others and when they were all ready, they would serve Shaman with the utmost loyalty.
Shaman affectionately placed his hand on Joshua’s head. “Come with me. I will teach you things you need to know to have your revenge.”
Joshua looked into his eyes. “I cannot. I need to be with my mother.” He pointed at a distressed woman sitting next to a tree.
“She will come with us. We will take care of her too,” replied Shaman.
The Joshua who was raised by a compassionate father and taught to believe in YHWA died that day. The boy who survived became a trained assassin, killing scores of people before his eighteenth birthday. He was ruthless, relentless, and loyal. Shaman could not have made a better investment. He changed Joshua’s name according to the naming convention that he had introduced in the UPF. Joshua’s new name was “CR,” short for Commander, leaving no doubts in Joshua’s mind that this was what he had been born to do.
In 2070, Joshua was formally handed over command of Militia’s third-largest division, a position for which his peers envied him. Joshua did not care for anyone’s envy. All he cared for was Shaman’s vision—and his personal revenge.
CHAPTER 5
Year 2078
Sector 47, Sub-Sector 2 (formerly known as Kandahar, Afghanistan)
The Commander was driving through the Sub-Sector in his war-spec Militia jeep. He preferred this jeep to other luxury vehicles that most of his peers drove while off duty. The jeep was not as comfortable, but it exuded power and status, both of which he had worked very hard to earn.
Izzy’s hospital was only a few blocks away and he would be in time for her lunch break. Izzy had managed a transfer to Sector Forty-seven after he was posted here last year. The fact that she was Shaman’s only daughter obviously helped with her move.
He parked
his jeep in front of the reception area and waited for Izzy to show up. The security guard did not bother to direct him to the parking lots. Instead, he saluted the Commander, fully aware of his rank, and preferred to ignore the jeep and the no-parking sign just beside the spot where the jeep stood with its engine running.
Izzy, dressed in white overalls, emerged from the reception area and smiled at him. She placed herself on the front passenger seat and planted a small kiss on his lips.
“Where are we heading?” she asked.
“Depends on how much time we have.”
“About an hour and a half.”
“Let’s go to the center and have a good hamburger.”
“Sounds good.”
The Commander drove away and the security guard let out a sigh of relief. Shaman’s daughter and a high-ranking Militia officer were in that jeep, and the security guard had been very nervous standing so close to both of them.
“How was your day, Joshua?” Izzy asked lovingly.
It was funny how she preferred to call him Joshua, totally disrespecting her father’s naming convention.
“Routine,” he replied in a casual tone. “Some paperwork, routine exercises, one brief interrogation session, and one execution.”
“Who was executed today?”
“Some bloody rebel. He was caught trying to blow up one of our armored vehicles while it was on patrol in one of the villages. Of course he could not damage the vehicle, but we captured him and executed him this morning.”
“Hmm, sounds very boring.”
“How was your day?”
“Routine as well. Delivered one baby boy this morning. Got another operation planned later in the evening.”
“Will you be late tonight?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Izzy pointed at his uniform. “Are you going back to the base after this?”
“No. I will drop you back at the hospital and then go home. I am off for the rest of the day.”
They had reached their destination and the Commander parked his jeep in a reserved parking lot of a plush shopping mall. It took them a few minutes to get to the place they were looking for. The manager of the restaurant rushed to greet them, having recognized both of them, and guided them to a secluded corner. They ordered their food and the manager left them alone.