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?

1 Beginnings

1.4 Iran

1.4.1 Soldiers of Allah Division

Brigadier General Tavid Hammedyanni strode towards the BTM command vehicle, watching carefully for any hint of insubordination. He would never be able to turn these peasants into soldiers, in spite of years of Islamic discipline and the inspiration of the Revolutionary Guard. They were slovenly. Their uniforms were never neat, their boots were never polished, and their bodies were never washed. So, he had taught each one of them a specific task. He had pounded it into their heads by rote. At the first sign of insubordination, he had jumped down their throats with both feet.

Fear! That was it, fear. Their fear of him would overcome their fear of the enemy.

It had taken these oafs two entire weeks to drive from Ahyaz to Abadan, a distance of only 130 kilometers! He had spent weeks developing his time tables. He had studied each hill, each crossing and each turnoff. He knew the route intimately. He had lectured each of his regimental commanders, providing them with exact instructions as to when they were to be where and how long it would take. In the space of only one hour, they had destroyed weeks of planning.

An idiot in First Battalion had though he could make a fool of Brigadier General Tavid Hammedyanni. He’d never do that again. Allah be praised! Hammedyanni had seen that the man was a traitor, and had informed his father, General Benhamin Hammedyanni. The fool was gone, never to be seen again by the eyes of man. By Allah, after that they worked to keep to his schedule, but the damage had been done.

Tonight they had better follow his schedule. This was the most important day of his life. He would be able to tell his grandchildren about the birthday he spent back in 2036 when he had led his division across the Tigris and into Kuwait.

This time they would not stop in Kuwait to wait to be butchered by the infidel Americans and the boot-licking Saudis. The Iraqi Republican Guard would be on the Revolutionary Guard’s right. They would sweep through Al-Jahrah, while a third column swung wide through Al Qaysumah. Three great columns would surround the Kuwaiti bandits and then the cur-dog Saudis, crushing them beneath their treads. They would roll further and further to the south until they had freed Mecca from the defilers of the Prophet’s Holy Place. Then, they would own the world’s oil reserves, and America would fall like a ripe date into their hands.

Forty years before, they had learned the painful lesson that the key to victory was movement. Hammedyanni had spent countless weeks working with his father, the other generals, and the Iraqis. Roads were critical, but few. Only the most critical of things could travel upon them. Everything else would have to travel across the sands. Damp sand was far better than dry sand for traveling. The sands could not be wet, of course, for then the vehicles would churn it into mud that was as bad as the dry shifting sands of the deep desert. If any of them ruined his schedule with their incompetence, he’d feed them to the pigs!

1.4.2 Crossings and Invasions

That night, the Soldiers of Allah Division had the high honor of crossing into Iraq, not as conquerors, but as allies. The column maintained its schedule, which pleased Brigadier General Hammedyanni immensely. By dawn, the entire corps was at its jump off position just south of Safwan. The 200-mm howitzers had been guided to permanent revetments made by the Iraqis. Their own guns were on the move to the west and south as part of the gigantic pincer movement that was about to engulf the Kuwaitis and Saudis.

At exactly 05:00, the big guns opened up. It was thrilling. Tavid could see the bright bursts of light glowing on the horizon. Then, seconds later, he could hear the boom of the guns. He could turn to see the flash of the explosion of the 100-kilo shells and listen to the reverberations rolling over the open plains.

Allah be praised! We are on our way.

After an hour and a half, the bombardment suddenly ceased. Tavid stood beside his BTM sullenly watching First Battalion’s squat, round-turreted, T-90 tanks squeal off into the early morning light. He grabbed the microphone and switched to the battalion’s command frequency. "Remember to keep to the schedule," he shouted and switched off. It wouldn’t be his problem if things didn’t go according to plan. His last words to his commanders had warned them about the need for speed.

They only had to travel one hundred kilometers to reach Kuwait City. The road was straight, flat, wide and completely undefended. Only a few Kuwaiti automobiles and four-by-fours were on the road, and a quick machine gun burst was all it took to destroy them. A tank would rush up and push the burning wreck onto the side. Then the column would continue down the super highway at a sedate twenty kilometers per hour.

Hammedyanni rode with his staff and escorts just behind the First Regiment. It was his job, as second in command, to make sure that the advance continued, and to relay important information between divisional HQ and the leading units. It was also his job to make sure that Kuwait was bypassed. No looting! That was the order from the Revolutionary Council, and nobody, not even his father, argued with Ayatollah Mohammed Hammedyanni, Tavid’s grandfather.

Mohammed Hammedyanni had been a young man when Ayatollah Khomeni overthrew the American puppet government and exiled the Shah. Now, he was one of the most revered Ayatollahs on the Ruling Council. Both Tavid and his father had been brought up under his stern gaze, and it was he who had instilled in them their love of the Koran and their Faith in Allah’s will. From him they had learned that Allah is great, and his prophet is Mohammed.

The first hint of resistance occurred about ten kilometers north of Kuwait City. Two young boys stood on an overpass and threw rocks at Hammedyanni’s BTM. Hammedyanni had been resting quietly in the command cockpit, and had just laughed for the first time in days. The sign said, "Speed Limit 100". They were doing twenty! Would a Kuwaiti policeman try to arrest them? The laugh died in his throat as a projectile whizzed by his head.

He was startled at first. For just a moment, he thought he was being fired upon. He snapped up the command radio ready to call for reinforcements when he saw the two boys stoop, seize other rocks and hurl them at him. The effrontery! How dare they throw stones at Allah’s Army? He would teach those Kuwaitis. Quickly he swung the 12.7-mm machine gun around, pulled the cocking level firmly, and pulled the trigger. Both boys, still with rocks in their hands, were blown backward, falling into tiny blood-soaked bundles.

"What’s all that firing?" the radio demanded.

"Nothing," the radio operator replied. "The general has just killed a couple of terrorists."

The lead elements of the Soldiers of Allah Division swept through the outskirts of Kuwait City just thirty minutes behind General Hammedyanni’s schedule. They rolled past the modern airport, expecting some kind of resistance from the vaunted Kuwaiti Air Force. But, there was nothing.

The column swung east, then south towards Mina al-Ahmadi, a beautiful little seaside town known for its sandy beaches. Hammedyanni looked out over the Persian Gulf to watch Irani gunboats steaming southward. Behind them were several larger craft filled with Marines who would land at Az-Zwar to hold that vital position until his tanks could arrive to relieve them. It was a beautiful afternoon.

Suddenly, from far in front of him he saw a great black cloud mushrooming into the sky. The radios, which had been relatively quiet until that instant, sprang to life. "Jasmine One to Command Two. We are under attack. Heavy resistance just north of al-Ahmadi. Their tanks are dug in and helicopters are ravaging our armor."

"Control yourself," Hammedyanni yelled into the radio. "Deploy your anti-aircraft units. I will call for air support." The operator switched frequencies. "Command One, Command Two. Receiving heavy fire from Ahmadi defensive positions. Helicopters are attacking our lead elements. Air support required. Request permission to release Second Regiment. Over."

The airwaves were quiet for several seconds. "Command Two, Command One. Message received. Main line of resistance north of al-Ahmadi. Deploy forces. Attack defenders. Sweep them aside. Air support in two-zero minutes. Out."

The R/O switched back to the regimental command frequency. "Jasmine One, Command Two. Sweep the defenders aside. Air support is on the way."

General Hammedyanni had done his job. He had relayed the messages from the front to his superiors. Then, he had relayed his superior’s order to the regimental commander. The best thing he could do now was to keep out of the regimental commander’s hair, and clear the road for reinforcements that would be streaming down to the battle of Mina al-Ahmadi.

"Move off the road to that high ground over there," he ordered. Obediently, the driver swung left, down into the ditch and up the side of the low crest between the road and the sea. "Stop here. We will be able to maintain radio communications between the front, the sea and headquarters from here. Monitor all communications at both the regimental and battalion level. I want to know what is going on so that I can direct this battle."

The radio operators immediately complied and, switching back and forth between command frequencies, heard bits and snatches of orders, pleas for assistance and curses directed at the general’s lack of support. None of them were stupid enough to tell the general what they had heard. It might be insubordination even to repeat what they had heard.

Hammedyanni watched as the number of oily blazes multiplied quickly. He monitored many radio calls but seldom spoke. Then, without warning, the air seemed to split above him, and the sound flattened him back into his seat pushing the air from his lungs. Twenty MiG-27s slashed over his head at supersonic speed. It took several seconds for him to compose himself. He grabbed the radio, "Jasmine One, Command Two. Incoming fighter support. Mark your fronts. Hold all anti-aircraft fire until further notice." The lessons of "friendly kills" had been hard learned. He wouldn’t allow the Air Force to complain that his troops had shot down their own fighters.

The general glanced at the map of al-Amadi where his "listeners" had carefully marked the position of each company of each battalion of the lead regiment. To his practiced eye, he could see that the regiment was fully engaged on the outskirts of the city and was progressing slowly against the Kuwaiti resistance. The air attack had to have done something. "Jasmine One, Command Two. Report!"

"Command Two, Jasmine One. The fighters swept away the helicopters. The Kuwaitis have barricaded themselves in the town. First Battalion has suffered 30-percent losses trying to dislodge them. Second and Third Battalions are fighting house to house. Unless we get reinforcements, we will not be able to meet your schedule. And, if these bandits keep resisting like this, the regiment will have been destroyed by morning. General, I must have reinforcements. Over."

"Colonel! Do not preach to me! I have sent you your air support, and all you can tell me about is your losses. If First Regiment cannot do the job, maybe the regiment needs a new commanding officer. I shall do what I deem necessary about reinforcing you. Out."

Hammedyanni rasped, "Get me Headquarters."

The R/O frantically switched frequencies and called through to HQ, thinking to himself, "Rather the wrath of the general fall on the colonel than on me!" He looked up. "HQ on the line, sir."

"Command One, Command Two. Heavy resistance at al-Ahmadi. Air strikes successful. Consider this to be the main line of resistance. Respectfully suggest committing reserve regiments. Over"

"Command Two, Command One. Message received. Main line of Kuwaiti resistance. Please confirm."

They don’t believe me! They don’t realize that the stupid colonel in First Regiment wouldn’t dare disappoint me. He’s shaking in his boots after our last communication." Just to make sure, Hammedyanni scanned the map. With First Battalion wrecked, the regiment had more front than troops. Combined with house to house fighting, it was more than they could handle.

"Command One, Command Two. Confirmed. Heavy losses. Helicopter support. House to house fighting. No progress by First Regiment in past half hour. Air support and gunship support needed. Confirm request to commit division. Over."

"Command two, Command One. Message received and understood. Command One relocating to your position to observe. Confirm your coordinates. Over."

"General Yousoufli! Coming here?" He checked his coordinates. He was four kilometers behind the fighting. He ordered the R/O, "Send the coordinates of the First Regiment’s O/P." Without a hesitation of any kind the R/O sent the information.

Hammedyanni leaned over to his driver. "Let’s move up to the regiment’s O/P. It’s time I took charge of this battle."

The BTM lurched forward, and countless numbers of pins, laboriously place to mark the exact positions of each of the different units engaged in the struggle of Mina al Ahmadi, scattered all over the floor of the command vehicle. But, these were inconveniences beneath the attention of the brigadier general.

Ten minutes later, Hammedyanni’s BTM climbed a small hill overlooking the smoking outskirts of the city. Just beyond, in the valley, was another BTM command vehicle festooned with antennae. Hammedyanni disengaged himself from his jump seat, seized his binoculars along with a radio microphone and stood up to survey the scene.

The destruction was quite incomparable. Beautiful seaside resorts smoldered from gaping holes. Automobiles were pyres burning in the streets. Small groups of men dashed here and there firing automatic weapons. Tanks ground slowly ahead like giant dragons emitting fiery blasts of destruction within an urban jungle. The whining sounds of another BTM’s engine emerged from the background noises. Hammedyanni turned to see the division commander’s vehicle approaching.

Major General Yousoufli’s heavy, jowled face emerged from the hatch. He scanned the scene below them with his own glasses, then turned to Hammedyanni and shouted, "Yes, this is the main line we’ve been waiting for. I am pleased to see that you are directing our troops personally. I like a general that has to see things for himself. Is that regimental HQ over there? Good, let us go there and get this division moving."

The two follow-up regiments were committed within half an hour. Additional air strikes were called in. By midnight, the Kuwaitis were on the run. They couldn’t run far. Eight hundred Irani Marines had landed in their rear at Ra’s Az-Zwar. Two divisions of Iraqi Republican Guards had seized Wafrah. Caught between the twin hammers of tanks from the north and west against the firm anvil of the Marines and their supporting gunboats, the tiny Kuwaiti army disappeared.