Jihad
7.4 Tunisia
by Red MacDonald
Copyright © 2013 Red MacDonald
All Rights Reserved.

The Faithful, North African and Middle Eastern Islamic nations, are plotting to seize the oil resources of the Middle East. By controlling the earth's oil and its major trade routes, they plan to bring the world to its knees. Then, when the entire world is kneeling, the Faithful of Allah will read to them from the Koran, preaching the message of Islam, the True Faith. The Faithful will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. But how far will they go? And how many lives will it cost?

7. Battle in the Streets

7.4 Tunisia

* * * * *

7.4.1 Admiral ben Ahmeed

Commander Tafid Kamsanni had sailed Admiral ben Ahmeed from Tunis to Tubruq without incident. He thanked Allah. He wasn't ready to face the hornet's nest of planes, missiles and ships he'd seen in the Battle of the Straits of Sicily ever again. He still had nightmares about that terrible day. The long and quiet voyage had been a blessing.

He also discovered that battle had changed him. He was still a stickler when it came to a neat and orderly ship. He still loved his two, big, five-inch guns. However, he had a developed a greater respect for his ship's electronics, its missilery, and the powerful engines that had propelled it during his wild flight. He spent more time in the dark confines of CIC, and even endured the awful smells in the engineering spaces to ensure that his ship was able to defend itself and run like the wind when it couldn't.

He stood confidently on his bridge looking to the south. The smudge on the horizon was the continent, and the darkest smudge was the town of Sidi Barrani, now disappearing off his stern. On shore, a lookout traveling with his father's army was watching his ship and coordinating Admiral Ben Ahmeed's activities with those of the Tunisian army.

His ship had been selected for in-shore duty because it had more shore bombardment capacity than both of the Libyan vessels put together. However, both of them were better armed in terms of their missilery. They were standing out to sea, protecting the Tunisian ship and the army from the Allied fleet's aircraft.

Tafid was sanguine about his duty assignment. Let the Libyans get sunk fighting the Americans, the British and the Italians. He'd stay in close and bombard targets that couldn't shoot back. His father could accuse him of cowardice, but the ship's survival was important, too.

"Enemy aircraft!" the radio screamed, "Twenty kilometers, low"

His heart leapt into his throat, as he murmured, "Allah protect us!" The communication officer told Tafid that the call had come from the Libyans. 'Good,' he thought, 'They are better prepared for the anti-air mission. Still, it would be wise to prepare my ship for action.'

"Battle Stations!" he ordered, "Anti-Air Battle Stations!" He turned to his radar officer. "Two sweeps, then, go to stand-by."

"Two sweeps, aye, Sir."

The radar screen was blank the first time around except for the two Libyan ships on the northern horizon and the African coast to the south. On the second sweep, nine dots appeared at twenty-eight kilometers forty-five degrees off his port bow.

Tafid's heart beat wildly as his thoughts returned to that horrible day when the Hornets chased his ship across the seas, intent upon his death. He looked at his watch. In two minutes, he'd search again. In the meantime, there was much to do to make the ship ready for another test of combat.

Men were running. Battle helmets were being passed out. Water-tight hatches were slamming shut. The big dual-gun turret began to move back and forth, its rifles elevating and depressing. The missile arm stood erect, received its load, and swung out to port.

He leaned over to the speaker tube. "Engineering, be prepared to answer all bells smartly." The disassociated voice murmured a hollow reply.

Two minutes passed, and still his ship wasn't ready. Should he illuminate and perhaps reveal his position, or stand by and remain in ignorance? The light flashed on indicating that the missile crew was ready. "Illuminate! Two sweeps, then stand by."

"Two sweeps."

The nine dots had become twenty-one in two separate groups. One formation of twelve had climbed rapidly to three thousand meters. The other nine had risen only to five hundred. The fighters were up top, guarding the low-altitude attack bombers.

He wondered where had they come from. It was much too far for the Italians, and the American fleet had already passed through Suez. Could the planes be from the American amphibious group? They had a large carrier, but that ship wasn't supposed to have great numbers of attack planes. What about the British? They had passed through the Straits of Sicily with the American amphibious units. Could they have turned back? If so, perhaps their smaller carrier and the American Marines had also turned back.

'Allah! Help us!' he prayed, realizing the enormity of his deduction. We must be facing the entire British and American fleets. That could mean three aircraft carriers, many escorts and a large contingent of Marines. They could have landed anywhere. They could be in Alexandria or just beyond the next rise.'

His information could be critical. He had to inform his father. He sprinted from the bridge and down the ladder into the cold dankness of CIC. He still disliked the feeling of the room, but the warmth of the surrounding electronics was comforting. He ordered his radar chief, "Two sweeps every two minutes. Understand? If any of those aircraft turn towards us, call me immediately."

He shouted to the communications officer, "Get me General Kamsanni on the secure VisiPhone line."

It took almost five minutes to reach his father's HQ. The communications operator on the screen told him that the general had been called to an important staff meeting with the Libyans and would not be back for several hours.

Kamsanni screamed, "You buffoon, patch me through to the General immediately, or I will bring you under my guns!"

The man paled, and hurriedly snapped keys, flipped buttons and grabbed a telephone all at the same time. "I'm sorry, Sir, but the Libyans will not receive your call. They say that the General is involved in an important conference with the Chiefs of Staff and cannot be disturbed."

"You fool! Tell that idiot that if he wants to keep his precious army, he'd better talk to me. The Americans are here. Their Marines are here!"

The communications officer relayed the message, and then turned back to Kamsanni's screen. "Wait, Sir, someone is coming."

The screen flickered several times, and new face appeared. A Libyan colonel asked, "What is all this about American Marines?"

"Where is my father?"

"He is involved in an important meeting and cannot be disturbed."

"Get him! Get him now!"

"I cannot, Commander. Tell me your little story about the big, bad Americans. I will relay it to the proper authorities who will analyze your wild dreams and discard them with the thousands of other sightings of Americans on our front, all of which have been false. Return to your duties, Commander, and we will attend to ours. As soon as General Kamsanni is available, I am sure he will call you." The screen went blank.

Tafid cursed them all. The fools! They trust in Allah, but fail to open their eyes to see what He has so clearly shown them.

His logic was impeccable. The British would protect the Suez Canal, which meant they'd protect the Egyptians. The British sailed with the Americans. The Americans had the only ground forces that could come to the aid of the Egyptians. The British would use their fleets and the Marines to stop The Faithful from conquering Egypt!

'Where are they?' he wondered. 'How can I prove to the fools at headquarters that I am right?'

He raced back to the bridge, shouting, "Where are the enemy aircraft?" The radar operator pointed to his screen. "How old is that?" Kamsanni demanded.

"Almost two minutes."

"Two sweeps."

"Two sweeps, Sir."

They were gone! The airplanes, the ships, everything was gone. In the ten minutes that it had taken him to try to get through to headquarters, the Allies had sunk both the Libyan destroyer and frigate. That made the Admiral ben Ahmeed the only ship in the North African Fleet, and Tafid Kamsanni was its commander. He was virtually an admiral!

'Excellent,' he thought, 'Allah has shown me what to do. I shall hug the coasts and seek out the Allies. Then, when I have found them, I will send out a contact report and sail back to Tunis at the head of the entire fleet.'

"All ahead full. Right ten degrees rudder. Navigator, hold a course two kilometers from the coast. Maintain battle stations. Lookouts, keep a sharp eye for anything on land as well." Kamsanni kept up his routine of two sweeps every second minute for almost an hour as the Admiral ben Ahmeed sped ahead at thirty knots.

"Sir, aircraft dead ahead, range fifteen kilometers."

"Slow to one-third. Lookouts, keep alert. Gun crews, alert! Missile batteries prepare to attack enemy aircraft at extreme range. Give me another sweep."

"It is a slow mover, Captain. Probably a helicopter -- a big one."

"Missile batteries, stand by. Do not, repeat, do not fire until I tell you. Stand by. We're going in a little closer." His ship moved easily at eight knots. The land to the south seemed to stand still in the distance. Yet, whenever he looked back, he could see that it had changed.

"Marsa Matrun coming up on the horizon, Captain."

"One sweep."

"Many aircraft. Many helicopters. One jet aircraft headed straight at us, Sir! Bearing zero degrees relative, range ten kilometers, altitude five hundred meters, speed seven hundred fifty."

"Missile batteries, enemy aircraft dead ahead at ten kilometers. Fire!"

The single arm launcher trained out as the guidance radar overhead whined several times and then stopped. The light-blue missile vaulted off the rails and sped away.

"Flank speed! Reverse your rudder! Radio, contact headquarters. Tell them that the Americans have landed in force at Marsa Matrun. Sign my name to the message. Lookouts, watch for enemy aircraft. Steady on course. Radar, one sweep!"

"Aircraft destroyed, Sir. Nothing in pursuit."

"Well, it won't take them long. Have you sent that message? Have they confirmed receiving it?"

"Yes, Sir, I've sent it, but they're not replying."

"Let me have that thing." He grabbed the microphone. "This is Commander Tafid Kamsanni of the Tunisian Warship Admiral ben Ahmeed. We have just sighted a large force of troops, helicopters and other equipment at Marsa Matrun. We have just destroyed one enemy attack fighter. As the ranking naval officer at sea, I declare that the North African fleet performed in an exemplary fashion. I am personally rewarding my fleet with a two day leave in Tunis. Allah be with you!"

He turned back to his radar officer, ordering, "Once."

"One sweep, Sir. Three enemy aircraft headed in our direction!"

"Right ten degrees rudder. Lookouts, be alert for enemy aircraft astern."

"Sir, I see one!"

"Where away? Report properly."

"Low, Sir, astern. Coming fast!"

"Right full rudder. Radar, two sweeps. Prepare to engage enemy aircraft."

"Real close, Sir."

Tafid looked back to see the target bearing down on his ship. The plane was very small, and its wings drooped as though the heavy load of weaponry beneath them were pulling them down. Tafid identified it as one of those jump-jets that the British and the Yankee Marines were so fond of.

He screamed, "Fire!", and a second missile launched from the skeletal arm. The missile tracked rapidly on the approaching aircraft. Just as Tafid was sure that they would meet, the tiny plane seemed to jump up and to the side. The missile whooshed past the enemy aircraft and exploded harmlessly far in the distance.

"Radar, continuous sweeps. Missile Control, fire at approaching aircraft. Shoot them down. Be alert, I will be making drastic course changes." He turned to his navigation officer. "As soon as the next missile fires, left full rudder bring us thirty degrees to port."

The missile launched, and the officer gave the command. Tafid craned to look out the windows and see the other approaching aircraft. The missile mount fired again. A plane was closing fast.

"All guns open fire!" The two big five-inch and both of the radar-guided, computer-controlled, forty-millimeters opened up. Tafid's head was almost on a pivot as the three jump-jets swarmed him. One flew low towards him, and then veered violently away. Two small dark objects continued towards his ship.

"Right full rudder, emergency speed!" The ship heeled to port, as bombs flew over the deck, landing in the sea with two enormous splashes. "Left full rudder, flank speed!"

The quick, sharp reports of the forties and the rapid, jack-hammer thuds of the dual five-inch guns invigorated Kamsanni. The staccato bursts from the missile launcher added to his sensations of fear and excitement. He lost all sense of time. He was in a fight to the death, as though he were a large bull battling a pack of three yowling dogs.

A cheer from his starboard side crew. He looked out to see a jump-jet trailing smoke and turning away. But, what of the other two? A great crash was followed immediately by a partially muffled explosion. His fleeing ship seemed to stumble, as though one of the dogs had taken hold of the bull's tail. He looked astern, and smoke was billowing from the after deck.

"Engine Room! Engine Room!"

"Sir, we've been hit. One engine down. We're not taking water, but we won't be able to maintain present speed."

"How long to repairs?"

"Engine's smashed, Sir. Coupling's broken and shaft bent. Only a shipyard can repair this damage."

Tafid's bull was injured, but one of the attacking dogs had been injured, too. His ship fired another missile, and a plane disappeared in a burst of smoke and flame. His bull had gored a dog, but the third of them had its day.

The foredeck turned into a wall of fire and flame, as two bombs penetrated the thin decks of the destroyer. Down, they plummeted into the missile bins and exploded. The fury of warheads and propellant added their destructive power to that of the two five-hundred pound American bombs. The foredeck lifted, and peeled back like the top of a tin can, and folded over the bridge, crushing it backwards beneath its weight.

Tafid and the rest of the bridge crew were thrown to the deck, which was how their lives were spared. He and his bridge crew crawled though the sprung hatchway into the walkways beyond. Tafid led them down to auxiliary control and CIC. He staggered over to the console. "Damage Control, status?"

"Fires fore and aft, Captain. We still have engines and steerage, but we're taking on water by the bows. We'll need every available man to fight the fires."

"Lookouts? Lookouts! Where are the lookouts? Radar?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Two sweeps!"

"Sorry, Sir, radar's down. Fire control is down. No word from the lookouts, Sir."

"Then get some men up there! We're blind and under attack!"

"Yes, Sir," the officer replied, but wondered what they'd do about an attack anyway. The only thing they could do to an attacker would be to shake their fists at him.

"Sir," It was damage control. "Aft fire under control. We're beating back the one up forward, but it is very difficult. We must slow down. The wind is fanning the flames into the faces of our fire fighters."

"But, we'll be dead in the water."

"Yes, Sir, but we may be able to save the ship. At present speed, we cannot fight the fires. We will have to abandon ship in a few hours."

"Very well, engine room. All stop. Divert all power to pumps, bilges and fire support equipment."

The last ship in the North African fleet had done its job. It would limp back to port seven days later never to return to sea.

* * * * *

7.4.2 North African Army Headquarters

"What? My son called me, and you didn't patch him though to me?"

The general's towering rage was more than the colonel could bear. "But, Sir, you were involved in an important staff meeting. You said so yourself. I was only following orders!"

"You idiot! We're planning a war, and the one person who could have helped us was sent away like some cur dog. What other reports have you received from our Navies which might have been of assistance in our deliberations, which you, having Allah's ear, have decided not to tell us about?"

"Sir, we have received several messages. In the first few, we heard from our Libyan destroyers who were engaging large numbers of allied aircraft. We have not heard from them since, but they are observing radio silence.

"Then, we received a series of strange message from your son. He seems to be deranged. He reported American Marines at Marsa Matrun. Then, he reported that he was returning to Tunis. In his latest message, he reported that he was under enemy air attack! The strain must have been to much for him, General."

"You total fool! You absolute idiot! Contact the Admiral ben Ahmeed at once."

"I cannot do that, Sir. This is Libyan headquarters. You cannot order me to do anything, only a superior Libyan officer can do that. Further, I do not know how to contact your ship."

General Kamsanni shook with anger. He pulled his service revolver from his holster. "You are relieved of duty, Colonel. I suggest no further words from your mouth, or I shall send you to Allah." He turned to the room, demanding, "Is there anyone here who can operate this accursed machine." One sergeant nodded. "Good, you will replace this fool and direct yourself to the effort of raising the Admiral ben Ahmeed."

The sergeant quickly leafed though a stack of papers and, finding what he wanted, turned two dials and began calling in clear language for the Tunisian warship. After several attempts, he turned to the general. "Sir, the ship does not answer."

"Try your own ships."

The sergeant didn't have to look anything up to call them. He quickly tuned the radio and sent out a properly coded call. He waited and tried again using key words indicating an emergency transmission. After three attempts, he turned to the general. "Sir, I am receiving no response."

"I'm not surprised. They are probably at the bottom of the sea thanks to this one's incompetence. Call my Air Force commander on the VisiPhone." Four minutes later, Kamsanni had ordered the Tunisian Air Force to search the land and seas off Marsa Matrun for signs of enemy activity and the whereabouts of the three warships.

The Libyan Army Chief of Staff entered the radio shack. "What is this, General? Why are you aiming your pistol towards this officer? What is happening here?"

"I believe, General, that, through this man's incompetence, we have lost our entire fleet and are walking into an American trap. Both of your warships are off the air after reporting an attack by enemy aircraft. My ship reported the enemy on the ground at Marsa Matrun, then came under enemy air attack and also went off the air.

"This fool believes that our ships are maintaining radio silence and that my son has gone crazy. He withheld this information from us. If my son has died because of this one, I shall shoot him where he sits. My Air Force is investigating this as we speak. We shall know soon whether this one lives or dies."

"General, he is a Libyan, not a Tunisian. He does not fall under your jurisdiction. If you shoot him, then I must arrest you for his murder, which would deprive us of any chance of success."

"General, that would lead to war with Tunisia. My son, the captain of the Admiral ben Ahmeed, is the light in my father's eye. As the Chief of the Council of the Faithful, he would be much displeased that Libya has arrested his son and murdered his grandson. Furthermore, my troops will not follow a Libyan. If they discovered this plot, they would attack your troops. No, General, you shall not dissuade me, nor will you attempt to carry out your puerile threat."

The Libyan shrugged his shoulders, thinking, 'Perhaps, this hard-headed Tunisian is right, and if so, he will be a hero to many. What was the fate of one incompetent colonel as opposed to Allah's great plan? Yes, let the Tunisians determine what has happened.'

Half an hour passed before an Air Force liaison officer reported, "General, you are right. The Americans are at Marsa Matrun. The British are also there and in force. They shot down one of our MiGs, and the reconnaissance aircraft barely escaped. There is no sign of any of our ships, but there are three large aircraft carriers in the region. Two are located off the coast of Marsa Matrun. The third is further west, approaching Sidi Barrani. We are preparing to attack that carrier before it strikes us."

Kamsanni's pistol fired just once. It was an old British Webley. The thirty-eight caliber bullet threw the Libyan colonel two meters across the table. Kamsanni holstered his weapon, announcing, "I shall be at Joint Headquarters planning the attack on the Americans. Will the Libyan army participate in the Jihad, or will you stand here mourning the loss of a fool who may have destroyed us all?"

The Libyan Army Chief of Staff shrugged. The two generals departed to plan their attack on Marsa Matrun.

* * * * *

7.4.3 Attack on Marsa Matrun

The invasion plan had looked good on paper. The smaller Tunisian army was to march down the long coastal road through Sidi Barrani, Marsa Matrun and on towards Al Alamein. The larger Libyan army would seize all the rolling stock at the western end of the rail line linking As-Sallum with eastern Egypt, to speed ahead to Alexandria.

The Libyans assumed that they would arrive in Alexandria first, thereby achieving all the glory. They did not believe that the Egyptians would move quickly to defend themselves or that the Americans would be able to interfere, except from the air. To counter this latter possibility, the small Tunisian Air Force was to accompany the Tunisian army, while the larger and more capable Libyan Air Force would attack the Egyptians.

The Libyan plan was predicated on seizing the string of small air bases that the Egyptians had been thoughtful enough to provide. The Egyptians had intended them to be used by Egyptian planes in defense of their own western regions. However, the small paratrooper force of the Libyan Army was more than sufficient to brush aside the token Egyptian resistance and secure the fields for their Tunisian allies. That was the full extent of the cooperation between the two North African armies.

General Kamsanni had arranged his ground forces in the old-fashioned Soviet manner of the Operational Maneuver Group. His three motorized infantry divisions led the way along the road into the east. On the infantry's right, bucking through the firm, sandy soil between the coastal road and the railroad, he placed his more maneuverable and heavier armored infantry division. He held his armored division to the rear, in a position to move forward to attack frontally, or to move quickly into the desert to attack an enemy force from the flank.

Kamsanni was confident that he had sufficient forces to defeat the Americans, as long as his air power could be brought up quickly enough to support them. Before the Battle of the Sicilian Straits, he had a small but well-balanced air force. But, it had been hacked to pieces by the American missiles. Half of his MiG-21s had been lost along with five of his twelve Su-22s. Only eight of his superb MiG-29s were left.

Therefore, the prospect of an air battle against the British aircraft carrier concerned him greatly. He had a total of twenty-five planes with which he could engage the British aircraft carrier, armed with over sixty planes, plus its escorting fleet of missile ships. He needed those planes to defend his troops from enemy aircraft and to cooperate in the air-ground war against the Americans.

He remembered his son's anger and fear as he spoke of the Battle of the Straits of Sicily. He remembered his horror at reading the casualty lists. His depleted numbers of aircraft was already hamstringing his attack.

Reluctantly, he vetoed the attack, in spite of his Air Force Chief of Staff's earnest desire to engage the enemy. Instead, he allowed the Libyans the honor of attacking the British with what few of their vaunted supersonic bombers had survived the American bombing raids.

While the Libyans were keeping the large carrier busy and far away from his army, Kamsanni concentrated his air power. His planes would be fighting less capable jump-jets. In that kind of a battle, even his ancient MiG-21s might have some advantages over their more nimble, but slower opponents.

Quickly, he reorganized his three infantry divisions into a "Two Up, One Back" attack formation. He ordered his armored infantry further to the right, ready to engulf the tiny American enclave. In the meantime, his armored division moved up, ready to pounce if the Americans retreated or to drive through holes created by his lead divisions.

The army closed quickly on Marsa Matrun and began receiving fire at ten thousand meters. Second Infantry Division hugged the coast while Fourth Infantry Division moved along just south of the road into the small village.

The rate of incoming fire increased. Kamsanni's big guns returned fire. The lead regiments reported heavy tank fire, as smoke and dust descended over the plain.

Both of his lead infantry divisions reported that they were stopped by tremendous volleys of tank artillery supplemented by direct fire from the ships that stood out to sea and swarms of enemy aircraft. He could do nothing about the ships, but he could do something about the enemy aircraft. He called his air commander and ordered the attack.

Moments later, eight swing-winged SU-22s flashed overhead into the smoke, creating even more in the wake of their passing. Enemy jump-jets pursued them, firing missiles. One Sukhoi fell in a ball of flame. Then a jump-jet disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The MiG-21s were at work! The air became filled with aircraft zooming and twisting. The Sukhois returned from their flight away from the battle field to aid their outnumbered compatriots.

He listened carefully to his commander's reports and studied the little blocks on the table before him. According to his officer's reports, the American ground forces were fully engaged. It was time to send the Ninth Armored Infantry in from the south.

He gave the order, and, within five minutes, the Ninth was also fully engaged. Almost immediately, his infantry commanders reported that they were making progress. The commander of the Ninth reported that the enemy was fleeing before them.

He ordered the First Armored Division to move around the battle onto the right flank. Once there, he could use it either to seal the Americans in the trap or to pursue them, overtake them and destroy them if they retreated. His great host of tanks and armored cars sped off to the right and disappeared behind the cloud of battle. Within minutes, they reported making great progress.

He was beginning the final encirclement of the Americans when new reports started coming in. "Many tanks approaching our flank from the east!"

From the east? How could that be? Were the Americans at Marsa Matrun just their advanced force? How many could there be? Even the large American divisions had only fifteen thousands of troops, and it would take a far larger number of ships than the few off the coast to carry and support them. Or, had they landed further east and were advancing west to meet him? If so, his armor would have to retreat quickly, before it suffered a powerful counter-attack on its own flank.

Kamsanni did not hesitate. He ordered the First Armor to retreat and face to the east, while ordering his reserve infantry division to their assistance. He was confident that even if the Americans had somehow managed to bring an entire division to the coast, his army would still be able to crush them.

"They are Egyptians, Sir. It's the Egyptian First Armored."

An entire NATO-style armored division with fifteen thousand troops and over five hundred main battle tanks was counterattacking. This was a golden opportunity to inflict a devastating defeat on the enemies of Allah.

Carefully, he explained a complicated maneuver to his division commanders. First Armored Division was to continue retreating to the west and south. They were to defend vigorously, retreat slowly and under no circumstances should they allow themselves to be flanked. Their retreat would open a gap between First Armored and Ninth Armored Infantry. Fifth Infantry was to move into that gap.

It was a tricky maneuver, especially in the face of a determined enemy. However, if he was successful, Kamsanni would not only stabilize his lines, but he would be able to maintain pressure on both the Americans and the Egyptians. He could extend his line beyond theirs with heavy forces both in the center and on the flank, forcing them to retreat.

Slowly, the pieces on his board representing the individual battalions of his armored division bent backward and stretched to the south towards the desert. The gap opened. The Egyptians rushed towards it. Fifth Infantry Division raced ahead, filling the hole in Kamsanni's line. He had gambled and won!

His line was stabilized, but it snaked like the letter 'saed'. He would have to straighten it or the salient would become an inviting target. He could do that in one of two ways. He could withdraw his First Armored and Fifth Infantry divisions further to the southwest to allow his Ninth Armored Infantry division to uncoil. Alternatively, he could recommence his attack through the town while advancing his flanking divisions towards the southeast.

Flushed with success, and with his superior force fully in the field, Kamsanni chose to attack. He ordered his Second and Fourth Infantry to redouble their efforts. Almost immediately, he received encouraging replies from both units indicating that they were advancing and were approaching the eastern edge of the village. He carefully monitored their progress, and, when they were about to emerge from the village, he ordered all five of his divisions forward, placing special emphasis on his flanking tanks. They were to encircle the enemy's forces, pinning them against the coast where he could loose his greater numbers upon them.

The battle raged all through the day. The defenders were skillful and fought valiantly, as was expected from the elite of the enemy's forces. By the time night had fallen, Kamsanni had driven the enemy back more than ten kilometers.

His troops were exhausted. Their supplies of ammunition were running low, and their vehicles were in need of fuel. He had achieved a great victory over the enemies of Allah. It was time to refresh his army, rearm his men, and prepare for the morning's battle. It was also time for him to thank Allah for granting him victory over the Infidels!