The Warriors of Ghwahali

[Snalland]

We moved as one, not making a sound. Leaves crunched under our boots. We held our rifles close to our chests, the enemy was near. We had a simple objective: kill the colonizers. We were soldiers of the RDF. Our cause was righteous, as all people in Ghwahali knew. Were we Kazhims? Perhaps, but Ghwahali was no place for the people of the City. Everytime they strayed beyond their walls and into the jungle, they knew there was nought but death for them.
Outer Kazhimistan was hostile territory. Every one of us knew it, but the Royal Guard had orders. The enemy had the numbers advantage, but this mission was of vital importance. Clearing the jungles would allow for new farms and expansion outside of Kazhim City. It couldn’t be understated how important this was to create wealth in Kazhimistan. We were a poor country, lacking in natural resources, and lacking in industry. Expanding our agricultural sector was the first step in the Sheikh’s plan to enrichen our nation.

The lights of the compound burned bright. Its unnatural luminescence drew careful attention from our eyes. The assault plan was simple, there wouldn’t be more than a dozen soldiers in the compound. There were a hundred of us. War is a numbers game, but it’s more than manpower that decides a battle. We were armed mostly with bolt action rifles, some of us had stolen semi-automatic and fully automatic rifles, and the Royals were armed with state of the art weaponry and had the oddsmaker, a heavy machine gun mounted on the walls of the compound. Any approach from that direction would end with us all dead. But the walls weren’t able to be blown through with our limited explosives, and scaling them would take time. Our intelligence indicated that the entire force of Royal Guards would be active at the time of our attack, but there would not be a better opportunity to destroy the compound.

We expected an attack that night. Moles in the RDF had alerted us that they would be marching on us. Our only hope was that our training and equipment would be able to out last the onslaught of terrorists.

“RDF 1 to all units, commence assault.”

My assignment was to assault the front gate with 30 or so other soldiers. The threat of the heavy machine gun was on all of our minds, but we hoped that our speed would allow most of us to enter the compound where the heavy machine gun would no longer be effective. With the order given, we sprinted out of the jungle and onto the road leading to the front gate. To our astonishment the front gate was already open, a truck was being loaded with material as we were running. As we were 50 yards down the road, the heavy machine gun opened fire. We had a hundred more yards to run, yet we were certain we would make it.

I was taken aback when I saw the men sprint toward me. 30 some odd militants wielding hunting rifles running down an open road, a spotlight followed them as they made their way down it. I glanced down from the wall at the open gate. I shouted at the men loading the truck to take cover, and opened fire. My assault rifle slammed against my shoulder as I sprayed ammunition downrange. The heavy machine gun on the wall opened fire a moment after me. Enemy bodies hit the ground, lifeless. The ones who remained sprinting shot a few sporadic rounds at the HMG. One of them managed to hit the soldier manning the machine gun, and I rushed to his aid. “No! Keep shooting!” He yelled at me, before standing and returning fire at the enemy. I did as he told, but my delay had allowed them the time to make it to the gate and into the compound.

I made it into the compound without harm, one of a dozen to make it past the machine gun fire. I hadn’t a moment to catch my breath. I ducked behind the truck as two men near the gate took aim at me. Their shots missed, and I crawled underneath the truck. I took careful aim, as they continued shooting near where I had been. Liquid dripped on me as I cautiously pulled the trigger. The soldier I was aiming at jerked back, then fell. He was dead, but I had no time to revel in the small victory, the other soldier had noticed where I was and was shooting at me.

The machine gunner fell dead at my side. We had climbed off the wall and opened fire at a group of terrorists near a truck. An enemy had taken fire from underneath the truck, killing the man by my side. I shot at the terrorist, but he retreated without being hit. I quickly ran towards cover near a guard tower. As I ran, a bullet hit my leg. I fell to the ground, not knowing what would happen next. “Great Kazhim, let me live!” I cried.

The soldier retreated, I allowed him to, one of my comrades would kill him. I turned around to see that the rest of our group had scaled the walls and were taking fire at the few remaining enemies on the ground. After a few moments, everything fell silent. Our leader waltzed to the middle of the compound, and I heard the familiar crackle of my radio.

“RDF 1 to all units: Victory is ours! Glory to Ghwahali!”

I bled, hearing the shouts of the victorious terrorists. I was confident I was the only Guard still alive. I tuned my radio to the emergency channel, and managed to say, “This is Depot 1 to Guard command, Depot has fallen. I repeat, Depot has fallen.”

I took my hand off my leg, and let myself pass into the darkness. Glory be to Kazhimistan, of Toil and Tears.

[Snalland]

The General strutted into the room. Yosef thought he looked something like a peacock. The General was a large man, tall and broad. He was anxious about something, the Sheikh could tell. Yosef had grown up around anxious men, his father more obsessed with living forever than he was with running the country. The former Sheikh had left the Kazhim’s destitute, lacking the former respect the people had for them. Yosef had been charitous, spending every Dinar that came into his possession on infrastructure and job creation in the City. He thought he had done plenty for his people.

Finally, the General said to Yosef, “Sir, we’ve lost contact with Depot 1.”

The Sheikh was taken aback. “I was under the impression that our efforts in Outer Kazhimistan were doing well…”

The General responded, “Of course, Sir, your humanitarian efforts have not gone unnoticed by the people of Outer Kazhimistan. They are your loyal subjects.”

Yosef muttered, “If they are so loyal than how did Depot 1 fall?”

The General didn’t respond, just stared at the Sheikh dejectedly. After a moment of silence, there was a knock on the door to the room they were speaking in. The Sheikh stood and opened the door. In the doorway stood a woman, plain looking, standing at a similar height to the Sheikh.

“Greetings…” The Sheikh started.

“There is no time for greetings Great Kazhim. I am Amil. I work with the RDF.” She stated, matter-of-factly.

The General shouted, “Traitor! I will have you arrested and hung!”

The Sheikh stood there for a moment, puzzled. Then, remembering his morning briefing, was amazed. A member of the Radical Democratic Front right in front of him. There was so much he wanted to ask her. All he needed to do to get to talk to her was order the General to leave.

“General! Stand down. Leave this room.” Yosef ordered.

The General did as he was ordered, glaring at the woman the entire way out.

The woman moved into the room, and Yosef shut the door. All of a sudden, the Sheikh felt nervous, he was alone with a terrorist. His nerves quieted when she said, “There is much to discuss, Sheikh.”

“Yes, there is.” He replied.

“We at the RDF have a few demands for you.” She started.

“Well, I’ve a few of my own as well.” The Kazhim said.

“Unfortunately sir, this is not a discussion, you will acquiesce to our demands or you will continue to suffer.” She stated.

“I see,” he said.

“The RDF demands that you cease these excursions into Ghwahali. Furthermore we demand that you create legislation to ensure the blatant violation of the citizen’s of Ghwahali’s rights ends. Additionally, we demand that the free movement of people between the City and Ghwahali be restored.” She started, before the Sheikh interrupted.

“Let me stop you there, Amil. Besides the blatant contradictions present in these demands, I can not guarantee anything. My advisors have been demanding that the City regain its influence in Outer Kazhimistan for years, they demanded the same of my father. This ‘Ghwahali’ nonsense will not be permitted in this nation. If your organization continues to defy my will, then you will suffer the consequences.” Yosef said.

“My Sheikh, it is you who will suffer the consequences of not listening.”

The Kazhim thought on this for a moment. Yosef knew what he needed to do. It harmed every ounce of his Kazhim blood to even consider the grotesque prospect of democratization. But it had to be done. The only way to keep Outer Kazhimistan, which the country needed to prosper, and the best way to secure the Sheikhdom forever was to give up some amount of his own power.

“You’re right.” He finally said.

The RDF agent took a quick step back, obviously shocked by the Sheikh’s response. She hadn’t planned for this, the RDF had expected to walk in and kill the Sheikh and leave the City to rot without their precious Kazhim. Killing the Sheikh was the goal, not this. There was to be no discussion, just a bullet between his eyes. But she couldn’t kill him now, not when he’d relented.

The last time the RDF had set foot in the palace was during a failed negotiation with Yosef’s father. The RDF delegation would not leave the palace ever again. This mission was to be the comeuppance that the Kazhims deserved.

Amil recovered quickly, the Sheikh not noticing what had occurred, and said “You do not understand Great Kazhim. You will be giving up control of the nation your ancestors created. The nation the al Kazhims had carved out of the jungle and birthed themselves.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Amil. The people of this nation are what I am supposed to serve, all the people. It’s something my father never recognized, and his father before him. Kazhimistan is more than the Sheikh, it’s more than me. You called your home ‘Ghwahali’, correct? Then that is what it shall be known as. I welcome a discussion that can bring peace to all the people of Kazhimistan, and bring about a prosperous new future.” The Sheikh’s voice trembled at points, but he stood steadfast. No more would Kazhimistan be separate between the city and the denizens of “Outer Kazhimistan.”

Amil shook his hand; joy in her eyes. The Kazhims she had been promised in her youth were real. Perhaps he was the last good resident of the City, or perhaps the Sheikh was one of thousands who longed for peace and prosperity.

The Sheikh guided her out of the palace, and into the small car she had driven there. He waved her off. And for the first time in his life, Yosef al Kazhim did not know what awaited in his future.