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?

8. Counter-Attack

8.3 Iran

8.3.1 Logistics at Ha-Il

Major General Tavid Hammedyanni was in a foul mood. His logistics were a nightmare, and he was forced to work with fools. His "pipeline" began in Baghdad, which was part of his problem. The Iraqis were corrupt, and half of everything that began its way south disappeared. From Baghdad, all his army's supplies and equipment went south through An-Najaf, Ash Shabakah and across the border to Ratha. Once they arrived in Ratha, they were under his control. Until then, everything, even goods from Iran, was stolen, pilfered and looted by the Assyrians, the lowest scum in all of Islam.

Once the shipments came under his control, things ran far more smoothly. He had seen to that. He had personally traveled the five hundred kilometers from Ratha to Ha-Il many times. On his first trip, he had found a driver asleep at the side of the road. Without announcing himself in any way, he had walked up to the truck's cab and had shot the driver once through the head. He'd tumbled the body out onto the road to be an example to others. Later, he was informed that the truck was broken. Regardless, the man should not have been asleep while on duty. The state of repairs of the truck had nothing to do with the alertness of its driver.

Thereafter, he made the long trip at least once a week, checking for slothfulness, lassitude or the ultimate horror in any command, insubordination. He always found at least one driver, loader, handler or expediter who was shirking his duties. He had but one rejoinder. They had been warned of the consequences of failure and lassitude. He carried out his just punishment immediately to instill fear and respect into the others, and especially the Iraqis.

Shipments began arriving more regularly. However, after three weeks of steady improvement, shipments began to fall off again. For some reason, crashes began to happen mysteriously all along the route. He suspected sabotage, and if his suspicions proved to be correct, he would have firing squads ready!

He began by back-tracking the most recent incident. He questioned the driver first. Initially, the man insisted that something had run across the road in front of him, so he had swerved to avoid it. But, after he had been beaten for two days, the culprit admitted that he had fallen asleep at the wheel. Not only had he delayed a vital shipment, but, in his foolishness, he had buried the truck up to its hubs in soft sand. It had taken two other trucks three hours to pull it out, thereby delaying them all.

Such negligence could not be tolerated. His death would be an example to them all. The driver's body was flung onto the roadway so that others would understand that the trucks they drove and the supplies they delivered were more important than their own miserable lives.

Yet, the number of crashes only increased, and he was both frustrated and angry. He had to do something to get at the bottom of this. His drivers alone could not be responsible. They were too frightened and too stupid. Somebody higher up, somebody with brains had to be behind this sabotage. That meant an officer. If officers were involved, that meant treason. So, he hunted for a traitor.

He began his search at his major supply depot in Ratha. He carefully studied the work routines, yet discovered nothing but competence in his officers. In fact, the major in charge of the depot was most capable. He drove his lazy, stupid loaders in twelve hour shifts, with five breaks for prayers. His men were expected to take no longer than fifteen minutes to pray, eat and take care of essentials before they went back to work.

The captain, who commanded during the second twelve-hour shift, was almost as good as his major. He also had five rest breaks during the course of his watch, and they were also of fifteen minute duration. Yet, his people did not load as much as quickly. Hammedyanni questioned the captain, discovering that the major had taken all the best men for his shift, which explained the slight differences. So, after two days of investigations, Hammedyanni was satisfied that the officers were doing their job, which meant that the traitor was closer to the front.

He made the long, two hundred kilometer trip south to Turabah, the second of his depots, by truck with one of the convoys. He sat in the high cab, watching everything with a keen eye.

Each truck had two drivers, one who slept while the other drove. The trucks proceeded at exactly twenty-five kilometers per hour, as he had so carefully and explicitly commanded. The convoy arrived without incident almost exactly on schedule nine and one-half hours after it had started. There had only been the five stops for prayer, for relief and to exchange drivers, once again as he had specified.

After the general had eaten, washed and telephoned his headquarters, he renewed his quest for the traitor. The terminal at Turabah was also commanded by a major, who welcomed Hammedyanni, cordially. As before, things seemed in order. The truck's crew had re-embarked in another lorry returning to the north. Two new drivers, who had just arrived from Ha-Il, hurriedly refueled their vehicle and returned southward within the prescribed half hour.

Hammedyanni did not go with them. He needed more time to study this second leg in his logistics artery.

The major in charge also drove his men in two twelve-hour shifts. However, he also had a second responsibility. He had to take in the trucks that had broken, either on the trip north or south, and perform appropriate maintenance. Of course, no Iranian or Iraqi would lower himself to grovel in oil, grease and grime. Palestinians, Pakistanis and others had been hired to perform these lowly tasks.

Hammedyanni suspected them, immediately. Yet, once again, he was frustrated. The major had kept close track of all repairs, spare parts, lubricants and the time it had taken for each operation by each one of his maintenance personnel. The general could find nothing wrong.

On the following morning, Hammedyanni observed that the trucks that had returned empty from Ha-Il were parked and readied for the return trip. Their drivers were loading the vehicles with the detritus of war and broken machinery. He watched as tires and wheels, empty drums and barrels, old cases and boxes were loaded to go north.

As the next south-bound convoy was about to depart, Hammedyanni climbed aboard one of the lorries to complete his round-trip. Hammedyanni watched carefully as the truck began the long descent from the high plains towards the lower desert. He noticed that the driver had placed the truck in a low gear, allowing the engine to retard the vehicle as it snaked through the cut-backs on its way towards the desert floor below.

He glanced at the speedometer. It read only fifteen kilometers per hour! Aha! He had found the culprits! "Speed up to twenty-five kilometers as specified," he ordered the driver.

The old man driving the truck glanced at him, smiled and continued to drive as before.

Insubordination! Hammedyanni pulled out his service revolver, and pointed it at the driver, demanding, "Drive as ordered, or I will shoot!"

The driver laughed and lifted both his hands from the wheel. The truck plunged straight ahead, while the road turned sharply to the right. The driver laughed again. "Soon, we will travel far faster than twenty-five kilometers, but only for a short time!"

"Put your hands on the wheel and drive!"

"No! You will shoot me. Instead, we will go to Allah, and each of us will lay our plea before Him."

"I'll shoot!"

"You'll die, unless you throw that toy out of the window."

The edge loomed. Hammedyanni could see the road far below him, and another cut-back far beyond. He was too frightened to think! He did as he was told and threw the gun out of the window.

The old man laughed scornfully. He stamped on the brakes and, with a mighty yank on the steering wheel, put the heavy vehicle into a skid. The rear wheels slid towards the brink, as the driver stomped on the gas. The truck rocked back and forth, and it seemed as though the front tires passed beyond the edge of the precipice.

Hammedyanni screamed, as he pressed both his feet into the firewall as hard as he could. The truck lurched again before sedately proceeding back onto the road and down the steep incline.

The old man leered at the general and announced scornfully, "When you have driven this road as many times as I have, then you can decide how to drive a loaded truck along it. Until then, you are a passenger, and an unwanted passenger at that. So, shut your mouth, or get out and walk."

"You insubordinate son of a camel! Do you know who you are talking to? I am Major General Hammedyanni!"

The old man slammed on the brakes bringing the truck to a screeching halt. He grabbed Hammedyanni by the lapels, dragging him bodily across the cab. "So you are the stupid bastard who kills my drivers! Now, you will drive this truck, and I shall laugh!" He quickly swung his leg over the general's. Hammedyanni was behind the wheel, and the old man was next to him. "Drive, General, drive. Let us see how quickly you will go to see Paradise." He laughed, uproariously.

Hammedyanni had no choice. He had no weapon or troops to come to his aid. He disengaged the clutch, shifted into first gear, and let the clutch out slowly. The big lorry jolted and bucked against the General's uncoordinated effort and lurched forward.

Hammedyanni pulled at the steering wheel, but the truck aimed towards the precipice! He pulled harder. The edge veered away, but a cliff of rocks and boulders loomed before him. He fought the surging vehicle back into the center of the road, but it would not stay there. It careened first to one side and then the other, sometimes going with the turn of the road, and sometimes against it. He battled the recalcitrant beast with all his might, not daring to loose his hands from the wheel to attempt shifting into a higher gear.

The old man laughed derisively, as he leaned over to his young companion. "Look at the mighty general who knows all things. He has achieved the colossal speed of ten kilometers per hour. Shame, general, you are not keeping to the schedule. Step on the gas, shift to a higher gear. Go faster, or you will be shot! Go! Hurry! General, if you do not go faster, I will shoot you!" He laughed uproariously at his joke and slapped the general's leg.

The general started at the unfamiliar and seemingly intimate touch. His foot tromped on the throttle for just a second, and the truck leapt ahead, straight towards the edge! He pulled on the wheel, but it was too late! They were going over the edge!

The old man grabbed the wheel and spun it through Hammedyanni's clenched fists. The rear wheels skidded, sending them even closer to the cliff. The old man snapped the steering wheel back and forth in ever decreasing arcs, until the truck settled once again on the road down the hillside. "It is not so easy, is it, General?"

When they finally reached the bottom, the driver reached over and shut off the key. The engine backfired loudly, and the general's chest collided with the steering column, as the truck shuddered to a halt. "I will drive now, General," the old man announced. "Go relieve yourself."

Hammedyanni clambered out. His knees collapsed as his feet touched the ground. Slowly, he struggled to the side of the road and reached for his zipper. The front of his pants were soaked! He looked back towards the truck, and the two men were laughing at him! At him! He went back to the cab and started to climb in.

"Oh, no! You ride in back. We live in this truck or one like it all the time, every day. We are never out of it except to pray, to eat or to relieve ourselves. We will not sit in your urine. Sit in the back with the rest of the things that smell bad."

Hammedyanni fell amongst the cargo as the truck lurched forward. He clambered to the back of the cab to peer through the rear window. Along the flatter sections, he saw that the driver was speeding at over fifty kilometers per hour, trying desperately to make up for the time he had lost coming down the long grade into the lower desert. He choked on the dust raised by the speeding vehicle. For over two hours, he was thrown into hard cases and sharp edges as the truck bounced, tipped, swayed and lurched.

Then, the road began to climb up out of the desert reaching towards the high plain surrounding Ha-Il. Hammedyanni watched the truck's speed fall as it labored mightily. He listened to the growling whine of the truck's lower gears playing their mechanical tune. Finally, after eight hours of travel, the truck ground to a halt at the supply depot in Ha-Il.

Hammedyanni clambered out of the back of the truck, shouting for his depot commandant. A sergeant, surprised to see a dust covered, unkempt general descending from the rear of the truck, saluted him. "Bring your commanding officer here, now!" Hammedyanni screamed.

Five minutes later, the sergeant returned with a major in tow. "Major, hand me your pistol," Hammedyanni demanded, holding out his hand. The major did as ordered. Fifteen seconds later, the old driver and his young companion lay dead next to their truck.

Hammedyanni had found at least two of the traitors. Now, he knew where to concentrate his efforts. He would whip them into line and make them understand fear. Then, those drivers would obey his orders, get his supplies delivered on time, reduce the damage to his equipment and reduce their accidents. If they didn't, he would shoot them all and get drivers who could do the job as ordered.