Standing in the Storm (The Last Brigade Book 2) Page 3

  The knot of golfers were halfway down the fairway at Hole Five when Muhsin covered his eyes and stared back in the direction of the first tee. A vehicle approached at high speed, raising a dust cloud on the gravel pathway.

  “Abdul, is that not Sati’s truck?” he said, pointing.

  The Superior Imam shaded his eyes. Despite wearing aviator sunglasses, the glare made his eyes water. He studied the vehicle and smiled. “My nephew has returned. Let us hope he brings good news.”

  The truck parked in the shade of a mesquite tree. It had not stopped rolling before Sati Bashara jumped out and trotted over to his uncle. Sweat matted the khaki cotton shirt to his chest. Touching fist to breast, he bowed from the waist. His uncle lifted his chin with a finger and motioned for him to stand.

  “My sister’s son is a respectful man,” he said, patting his nephew’s cheek. “What news, Sati? Did Paco recover our stolen slaves?”

  “Uncle, Paco met disaster. His men are all dead and their vehicles destroyed. Paco himself lives. We found him gravely wounded and I feared that he would not survive the trip back, but he did and is with the doctors now.”

  “Dead?” the Superior Imam said. “All of them? And their vehicles destroyed? This is a severe blow. Go, refresh yourself and put on clean clothes. We will discuss this matter in two hours, after prayers.”

  “But Uncle, I believe I know who did this!” Sati said.

  The Emir laid a hand upon his nephew’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “I do not want you to miss any details, Sati. This is of utmost importance. We must discover all that you know and decide what actions to take. These are grave matters and should be dealt with after Asr. Now, go.”

  As Sati drove away, the Emir turned to his companions. “Muhsin, I believe it is your turn?”

  Light flooded the room through sheer window covers. With no air-conditioning, the Arizona sun could heat a room to dangerous temperatures. The great room on the ground floor of the Emir’s villa was no exception. On a normal afternoon, heavy cloth drapes kept the room in deep darkness, as cool as possible. But for important meetings, the Emir preferred its bright natural light to the cooler basement rooms, where the primitive lighting necessary underground gave him a headache.

  Seven people sat at a large, round wooden table. Besides Sati Bashara and the Emir of New Khorasan, Superior Imam Abdul-Qudoos el Mofty, the Five Counselors were also present. These men were his advisors and lieutenants, the Emirate’s Ruling Council. In theory, they carried out his commands and helped him rule the Caliphate’s western province. In practice, he suspected at least two spied for his brother, the Caliph. They all wore well-woven white cotton robes over duck cloth pants.

  In a far dark corner sat another man, shadowed and silent. He was always there in the background, watching, listening, but never speaking. Few men knew his title and only one man knew his name.

  “Gentlemen,” the Emir said to open the meeting, “as some of you know, my nephew brings dire news about those we sent to retrieve a group of stolen female slaves. Sati, please tell us what you found.”

  The younger man stood and bowed to each of his six tablemates in turn, ending with his uncle. “My news is not good, blessed Superior Imam.”

  His uncle raised a hand. “We know you are a respectful man, Sati, but here you may dispense with such things and get on with our business. You are among friends and, I should say, admirers, and may speak freely.”

  “As you wish, Uncle. We found Paco near a steep ridgeline far to the northwest. His men were all dead. Some terrible weapon destroyed them. Many had arms or legs ripped from their bodies, and some had no heads. Huge holes punctured the vehicles, like bullet holes, only larger, and the metal around the holes was smooth, as though melted. The damage appeared to be from heavy machine guns.

  “Two of the vehicles, large trucks, apparently tried to escape but were blown up. Completely destroyed. This could only have been from explosives of some type. My guess would be missiles. We found no survivors other than Paco, and while he was alive when we arrived here, the doctor says he may yet die. He has many wounds and lost much blood before we found him, and there is always the danger of infection.”

  “Were Paco’s wounds in the front, Sati?” said the Emir. “Was he facing his enemy?”

  “His wounds were severe, Uncle. Dried blood covered his body. I could not tell where the bullets struck him.”

  “Come now, Nephew. You are an experienced soldier. You must have an opinion on this.”

  Bashara hesitated. “Uncle, please…”

  “Answer my question, Sati. Paco has been a good and faithful servant since he accepted the true faith, but if he fled the enemy, then he has shown weakness in his belief of our beloved New Prophet.”

  Bashara bowed his head. “If I must answer, my guess is that Paco was struck in the back. But there may be an explanation. When we found him, Paco was awake. At first I thought him delirious, for he described being attacked by what he called giant flying monsters. But these monsters were familiar to him through stories told by his grandmother. She told him such creatures had often attacked their village, in the time before Allah’s Punishment of the Great Satan and the rise of his New Prophet. She named these monsters helicopteros.”

  “Helicopters?” the Emir said, sitting forward and leaning on his elbows. The tips of his index fingers met in a steepling gesture and he rubbed his lips with them.

  “Yes, helicopters. What is more, Paco said these helicopters had markings. One was a white five-pointed star, and the other was letters. He cannot read so he drew them for me in the dirt. They spelled U.S. Army.”

  “Impossible!” said Ibrahim Yaseen, Counselor of Production and one of the men the Emir suspected of being a spy for the Caliph. “There has been no U.S. Army for decades. The man is mad from his injuries.”

  “Esteemed Counselor,” Bashara said, “I do not say he is correct. I merely report to you what he said. And yet… Paco took twenty-five trucks and cars with him, and more than one hundred eighty armed men. With my own eyes I witnessed the fact of their destruction, and I can say with certainty that something very powerful destroyed them. What that was I cannot say, but Paco had never seen a helicopter before, and does not know that we have any, so it seems unlikely he could imagine such a thing.”

  “He knew of them from his grandmother,” Yaseen said. “You said so yourself. Is it so unreasonable that in his pain those nightmares came back to him? To me this makes much more sense than to believe the army of our mortal foe has come back to life and is attacking us with helicopters!”

  There were grumbles of approval from several others, until the Emir motioned them to silence with a curt hand chop. “My nephew does not lie,” he said, almost hissing.

  Yaseen touched his forehead to the table. “No, Beloved Prince and Superior Imam, he does not. If I gave offense, then please forgive an old man. I meant only that we cannot blindly trust the words of a superstitious man who has lain gravely wounded in the sun. Sati is blessed of Allah, and shines like a star in the eye of the New Prophet.”

  “I took no offense, good counselor,” said Bashara. “But if it is proof you wish, then perhaps I have it. The place where we found Paco and his vehicles was beside a sheer-sided ridgeline. Jutting from the side of this wall of stone was a flat platform two hundred feet above the desert. This was not a natural formation, but had been carved and smoothed at some time in the past. To accomplish this would have taken many men and many months, but with large machines it could have been done quickly. There was also a long ramp leading to this platform, wide, straight, and smooth, made of crushed stone. It is my guess that the army of the United States constructed it long ago, although to what purpose I cannot say.”

  “Go on,” the Emir said.

  Bashara sipped water and cleared his throat. “Atop this platform we found more of our brave warriors, most of them dead with the same terrible wounds found on the others, but not all. Some had gunshot wounds any at this table
would recognize. The others… my lords, my words are not sufficient to convey what these men looked like. They had been thrown aside like a child’s toy, and many had been struck on their left side. Remember, this platform is two hundred feet high. As our men went up the ramp, this would have meant that on their left was nothing but empty air. Whatever shot them, and they were shot with a very large gun, whatever it was came from something in the air. If that was not a helicopter, then I do not know what it could have been.

  “Further back on the platform was a low wall of rocks, and behind it we found hundreds of shell casings. M16 shell casings.” Reaching into his pocket, Sati dropped a few of the empty casings onto the table.

  “Many people use the M16,” Muhdin said. “That proves nothing.”

  “Truth,” Bashara said. “But there is more. Three trucks were on the platform, the two stolen along with our workers and a third we did not recognize. All had been burned. However, the third one still had markings we could read on the door. Although faded and old, the letters definitely spelled U.S. Army.”

  “Bah!” Yaseen said. “This is pointless. There is no United States Army, and there has not been for more than forty years!”

  Undeterred, Bashara waited until the murmuring around the table died down. His uncle did nothing to quiet his counselors. If he was ever to become a great leader, Bashara had to earn his own respect. Inspecting the faces of the Counselors for indications of their thoughts, Bashara didn’t break contact whenever one of them looked him in the eye. Finally, when he judged the moment right, he spoke again in a louder voice.

  “There is a little more evidence my lords might wish to see,” he said. “Although the trucks were burned, we did find a few items that survived the fire. The first was this…”

  He tossed a half-burned sheet of paper onto the table. Much of the typed message had faded to invisibility, but the addressee was still legible, as was the letterhead. Dated nearly fifty years before, it was a sheet of stationary from the office of the commanding general, 1st Infantry Division, United States Army, addressed to a Major Dennis Tompkins.

  Next, Bashara emptied the contents of a canvas sack onto the table. Sifting through a pile of items, he hefted a faded green jacket with the outline of the name Tompkins on the left breast, and a square American flag stitched onto each arm.

  Yaseen said nothing, nor did any of the others. They stared at the foreign objects as if Bashara had emptied a sidewinder onto the table. Nothing symbolized their hatred of infidels more than the American flag.

  “My friends,” the Emir said, “what we see cannot be, and yet it is. Sati, we struggle to explain this. Have you any thoughts about how the impossible might be possible?”

  “I do, Uncle,” he said. “And the explanation may not be as shocking as you think. In my times scouting in the desert, I have come across a band of criminals with whom we have sometimes done business. You know them as the Army of the Republic of Arizona. They claim to be successors of the Army of the United States, and are based in a small city northwest of the place infidels once called Phoenix. I believe their town is called Prescott.”

  “Ah, yes, those people… aren’t they led by a man who claims to be an American Army officer?”

  “A General Patton, yes,” Bashara said.

  The Emir smiled. “General Patton was a famous American general during the second great war. Either this man has a sense of humor, or those who follow him are stupid…”

  “They are infidels,” Yaseen said. “Of course they are stupid.”

  “Infidels are foolish to deny the word of Allah,” the Emir said in a condescending tone. “But some are quite clever in their own way. Stupid and foolish are not one and the same, Yaseen. And they can be dangerous. If they attacked Paco, this means they feel powerful enough to challenge us. It is a declaration of war. We know very little about them, but we cannot be certain they are equally ignorant about us. ‘The wise man overestimates the power of evil and guards himself accordingly.’ Surely you do not disagree with the New Prophet?”

  “No,” Yaseen said, outmaneuvered. “All blessings be upon him. But why are we so certain it was them who attacked Paco? It makes no sense. If they wanted to attack us, why steal a few females? And then why use their most powerful weapons to destroy a relatively insignificant force sent in pursuit? It is madness. If they truly mean to fight us, all they have done is give us warning of their helicopters, so that we may take countermeasures.”

  Bashara started to respond but his uncle stopped him with a raised hand. “Yaseen makes a good point. You have had dealings with these criminals, have you not, Sati?”

  “Only in passing, Uncle. They rarely move east or south of Phoenix. I have met one of their commanders, a lower ranking man, I believe. He bears the uncouth name Slick. He was not impressive, but he was with other soldiers, and they drove Humvees. They bore American M16 rifles and they wore American uniforms, like this.” He held up the jacket. “It is my understanding they grow much food, and cotton for cloth, and trade slaves for fuel with others as far west as the Pacific coast. I cannot say why they would attack us now, but I am convinced that is what happened.”

  “Gentlemen,” the Emir said, “it is obvious my nephew believes what he says is true. It is also obvious that if these infidels are leftovers from the American military, they feel strong enough to attack us now. Since they have not done so in the past, something must have changed. The loss of Paco’s men and their vehicles is not a crippling blow — we are very powerful, after all — but it is worrisome. It is also insulting to us as Followers of the New Prophet. Either they have grown strong and confident, or they believe we are weak. Or they are not to blame for this.”

  “Uncle, I know what Paco told us he saw. He was not lying.”

  “I believe you, Sati, but Paco is not a learned man.” He looked at his Counselors, who all nodded agreement. “And yet, for such a man to imagine seeing letters spelling out U.S. Army, and a white five-pointed star, on a machine he did not know existed, is impossible. Do you not agree, my trusted friends?”

  Even Yaseen had no choice but to agree.

  “Then if these infidels deliberately attacked members of my Emirate, who were carrying out the will of our New Prophet, we must consider them as now our sworn enemy. The might of the Western Province must be gathered and sent against them.”

  “What of their helicopters?” Muhdin said.

  “As you each know, when this was the American city called Tucson, there were stores of United States military weapons here. Do not forget the weapon the Americans named Stingers. Those shoulder-fired anti-aircraft rockets can destroy any helicopter, and we have them.”

  “Yes, my lord, we do, but should we not have the same concern for these Stingers as we do for all of the older military equipment?”

  “Muhdin, do you not think we will have alternate plans in case the rockets fail? Do you not believe in my leadership? Where is this timidity coming from?”

  Muhdin leaned forward until his forehead touched the table. “I meant no insult, my prince. Your vision and leadership are an inspiration for followers of the New Prophet everywhere. If I am cautious, it is because we have so little information on our enemy.”

  “Lift your head, Muhdin,” he said. “Your loyalty is not in question. You are my most trusted general.” His tone, however, indicated Muhdin’s loyalty was very much in question. “We must be aggressive, yes, but we must also be cautious. And we will. I want scouts sent forward to find out everything we can about these infidels. I want routes searched and water sources found. Avoid the city of Phoenix. If we move west, it will be with a great host and preparations must be complete within two weeks. Yaseen, I charge you with accomplishing this.”

  “Two weeks?” Yaseen said. “My lord, it will take more than two weeks for the scouts to return.”

  “Four weeks, then. Let us be prepared. I want to take every man we can spare, and every vehicle. Whether or not these infidels are responsible for the at
tack on Paco, the time has come for this province to move west, and to bring the truth of the New Prophet to those unfortunates who have not heard his word. We are not yet ready to seize Phoenix, but this city of Prescott will give us a western presence until we can. We must do this for our own security, if for nothing else.”

  “I will do my best,” Yaseen said.

  “I want this accomplished, Yaseen. This is my will.”

  The call for Sixth Prayers ended the meeting. After his nephew and Counselors filed out, he admired how the sun turned the desert red-orange as it sank in the west. Minutes passed and shadows deepened in the corners of the large room. The temperature cooled. The Emir drank some water and sat.

  The silent figure wrapped in the shadows of one corner had not spoken or moved during the meeting. He was old. Even as a young man, he had been small in stature, and age had shrunk him to little more than a bent dwarf. He seldom spoke. No one on the council knew his identity, and none ever dared ask.

  “You heard everything,” the Emir finally said, slipping into the vernacular of Richard Lee Armstrong. “I want your opinion.”

  “Everyone has an opinion,” the old man said. His raspy voice scratched out the words. “That doesn’t mean they should be heard, or that their opinion is valid.”

  “Don’t be a smartass. I didn’t ask someone else for their opinion; I asked you. Are you saying your opinion isn’t valid?”

  For a long moment, the old man did not answer. His back ached from sitting in one place for so long, so he sat and stretched.

  “Don’t be a dickhead. My opinion’s as valid as it ever was. But why are you asking me this shit? I think you know what to do. You have two choices. Clearly, the authority of the Caliphate itself has been challenged, and by extension the worthiness of Allah’s New Prophet and his message. You can’t let that go unanswered or this whole thing unravels. The big question is, who did it? And I think you nailed that one. It has to be a remnant of the old American Army. It can’t be anything else.”