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?

9 Turning Points

9.2 Saudi Arabia

9.2.1 The Old One

First Sergeant Murphy looked up the long boulevard though a scene of destruction and desolation. The war in the streets had been a losing battle. His company had been forced to retreat one block at a time from prepared position to prepared position. Now, he was just outside of the bazaar, the most ancient part of this city. He still didn't have a map of that maze of streets, alleys and blinds.

Murphy smiled in a fatherly manner, as he looked down at the small sleeping figure huddled at his feet. She had learned the lessons that all good soldiers must learn in order to survive. She slept whenever she got the chance. She ate whatever was available. She cleaned her weapon and kept it in excellent working condition. She trusted and was trusted by her comrades-in-arms.

Captain Austen and Lieutenant Mohammed were just returning from a quick meeting with their CO, Major Richard Guys. Hopefully, they'd have good news for a change. "Captain, LT," the First Sergeant saluted.

"Sarge, we got some good news for a change and something really screwy, too. We're about to get some reinforcements. They're not Americans, and that's about all we were told. They should be here late today, but they're going to have to come in through the port. So, we have to hold onto what we've got regardless of losses.

"The other news, like I said it's screwy, is that we'll be receiving a shipment. Now, we got to keep this quiet. We can't tell the Saudis, got it? OK, we're getting a shipment of rubber pig's heads. We are to mount them on the face of our barricade and when the Iranaqis attack, we're to make pig noises!

"You gotta be shitting, Captain! What for?"

"Like I said, somebody's lost a screw, or ..., well I'll let you decide. The Marines have been hitting the Jubayl Road pretty hard. They've been going in commando-style and butchering the Iranaqis.

"They've been leaving calling cards of pig's heads and pork chops. According to the Intel guys, it's working. Iranaqi columns are avoiding the massacre sites, and they've had some incidents of desertion.

"We're going to do the same kind of thing, but we can't tell the Saudis or have them involved in this in any way. You know Moslems and pigs don't get along. Hell, even the Lieutenant here was squeamish about it, and he was born in New York!

"So, we'll mount fake pig's heads on the barricade, and when the Iranaqis attack, we're to grunt and squeal like pigs. It's a terror weapon that just might do something. Besides, we've got nothing to lose. We're at half strength right now, and one good attack will wipe us out. So, if this pig stuff is the only ally we've got, then we'd better use it."

"Gotcha, Captain. When'll the shipment arrive?"

"This morning sometime," she said, glancing back towards the bazaar. She seemed to stop in mid-sentence and just stared. The men's eyes followed hers.

An ancient man dressed in flowing Arab robes had suddenly appeared out of the bazaar. He had one of those antique rifles, last seen in an old movie, resting on his shoulder. Even at a distance, anybody could see that the weapon was a real beauty. Its dark, heavy wood was accented with silver, and its long barrel had that oiled appearance of a finely maintained weapon.

The old man walked right up to them and searchingly peered at their insignia. When he saw the Captain's railroad tracks, he stood erect and saluted British-style. "Captain, as my king has ordered and Allah ordained, I come to serve. The king said to defend our homes." He turned and pointed at a large yellow-brick building. "That is my home and has been the home of my family for many centuries. My elder son died at As-Suffaniyah, and my younger son fights with the king's army. I am the only one left to defend our ancient property. So, I am here. Where shall I stand and fight, Captain." He raised his rifle from his shoulder and, holding it at arm's length, continued, "I have even brought my own weapon so that I shall not be a burden to our American allies."

Penny returned the old man's salute with panache. "Welcome to the defense of Az-Zahran, Old One. I assign you to the platoon of Lieutenant Mohammed, since he too is a Believer. He will assign you to a position of honor so that even if you should die in this battle, the Gates of Paradise will be opened to you. Go with the lieutenant, and may Allah be with you!"

As the old man and LT marched off towards the barricade, Murphy looked at Penny and winked. "Very flowery, Captain. Either you've been talking with too many of those guys or this place is rubbing off on you."

She smiled. "Nah, Sarge, it's just easier. They expect it, so I give it to them. How you doing, and Rachel, too?"

"OK. Nothing that six months of sleep, a big steak, and another hundred troops armed with SRAWs wouldn't cure. Rachel's doing good, I think. It's hard to tell. She's deep. She hates and kills because of it.

"I'm just worried that she won't snap out of it when this is over. It's real easy to fall into this as a way of life. Neither she nor anyone else can live more intensely than when fighting for your life in hand-to-hand combat with your most hated enemy. Some people can get through it and beyond it, and return to civilian life. Others can't and are trapped in this until they kill themselves."

A truck rolled up before Austin could reply. A corporal jumped down, raced around to the back and began hauling boxes out. "These are yours, Captain. Special delivery!" He jumped back into the cab and roared off.

Murphy grabbed his combat knife and pried the boxes open. Inside each of them were eight rubber masks of pig's heads, about ten inches across and filled with foam. He grabbed the first box, which was surprisingly light and carried it up and over the barricade. It didn't take him long to find suitable places to stick the masks. The foam inside the heads was perfect. He just jammed the heads onto anything sharp or rammed them into holes and they stayed. He stepped back to admire his work, noticing Rachel standing on the top of the pile of rubble.

"What are you doing, Murg-free?"

"Oh, just inspecting the barricade, Rachel. The Captain and I were just doing a little to improve the defenses." He hurriedly clambered up the face and took Rachel by the shoulder.

Penny Austen followed closely behind. Neither of the women had seen the other in days. So, it was the first time that Penny saw the livid scar on Rachel's face. "What happened Rachel?" Penny reached out, maternally, as though to soothe the red wound, but Rachel withdrew.

Rachel was embarrassed and hotly answered, "Nothing!"

"Nothing? Rachel, you've been wounded!"

"It was on the first night, Captain. One of them tried to kill me with a knife. I shot him and the one after that. I have killed many. I have suffered for my king and for Allah. This tells them all that I am a warrior, not just a woman. I am like you, Captain, a warrior!"

"Is this true, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir! Rachel's been wounded in combat and has saved my life at least twice that I know of. She's my partner and one hell of a soldier."

"Write it up, First Sergeant Murphy. I want it before noon. Full details, you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. You'll have it unless we all have to get back to work."

9.2.2 Swine Defense

Lieutenant Mohammed had just completed his afternoon prayer when the shelling started. It was neither as fierce nor as long as other artillery attacks, but that made it no easier. The last infantry assault had seemed less aggressive than the earlier ones, but that wasn't any help because he had fewer defenders. Of the original American platoon, he was down to seven plus two walking wounded. Of the eighteen volunteers, ten were dead or so badly wounded that it didn't matter. Seventeen troops, all of who were now considered veterans, were all he had left to hold the barricade.

Aldrich looked to his right, towards his stalwart, Sergeant Murphy. What a rock! He and that little gal had held the right of his positions since the beginning. He had no concerns about his right flank as long as Sergeant Murphy was there. Corporal Hermenez, holding his left flank, was another matter. The noncom had been wounded twice, and his Saudi counterpart preferred to cower rather than fight. On top of that, the platoon had run out of just about everything, and this morning's replenishment had only brought them up to minimal ammo reserves. It wouldn't have been enough for a full platoon, but with so few Mohammed had managed to stretch it out.

The bombardment stopped. The infantry would be coming soon. He stood and shouted to his troops, "Lots of noise! I want to hear those grunts. Make your shots count. No rock and roll!" He looked fiercely at his troopers. He knew he could count on the Americans to conserve their ammo, but the Saudis loved to blow off an entire clip and hope that they hit something. All except Rachel, of course.

He peered over the edge with his periscope. Movement! "Murphy, on the left! Hermenez, on the right!" His two NCOs cautiously peeked over their edges of the barricade. They'd seen 'em, no sense in shouting at them anymore.

The isolated few increased to small groups running from cover to cover. A light machine-gun opened up, spraying rocks and dirt onto his platoons. He quickly spotted it. The bastard had good cover. He grabbed his radio. "Three-Bravo-One to Three-Bravo-Bravo, machine gun behind the second pile in the middle. Can somebody get it for us?"

There was no response, and he didn't expect one. Penny would handle it if there was a way. He got his answer in just seconds. He heard the Whump, Whump of the two mortars that had served them all so well for the past few of days. The first two shells were long, but the next two were right on. One less machine gun for him to worry about.

They were closing in, definitely within earshot. "Platoon, commence grunting!" It was the stupidest order he'd ever given! He felt silly, but, in spite of it, he joined in. His line was filled with the noises of pigs grunting and squealing. Even his Saudi recruits joined in, not knowing or caring why.

The enemy was massing. "Get Ready!" The double clink of arming bolts rang in the air. "Here they come! Fire! Fire!" he yelled, as he clambered up to his own hole and took careful aim. His rifle bucked three times, and he aimed again. The crunch of enemy mortars hit the barricade, but he had no time for them. If Austen saw it, she'd counter-battery. Regardless, his problem was the enemy on his front trying to get at him and his people. A face loomed closer. He blasted it, screaming, "Oink!" at the same time.

The ripping sounds of the SAW and the roar of the SRAW filled the air deafening him. But, above all the noise, he could hear the sounds of pigs oinking.

Grenades! Lots of them! What the hell? They weren't trying to throw them over the barricade. They were throwing them at it!

Oink! Oink!

They were shooting at his barricade! Long rippling sounds of assault rifles in full automatic sprayed the hard rocks and dirt protecting him.

OINK! OINK!

They're falling back! They were almost on us. They might have even penetrated the barrier there were so many of them.

"Cease Fire! Cease Grunting!"

Slowly, his hearing returned, and he looked around. Another Saudi was down, and he looked bad. "Medic!"

A corpsman rushed forward and pulled the body off to the side. He looked up towards the LT and shook his head, "No." Mohammed had sixteen left to defend the barrier.

Suddenly, Murphy was standing beside him grinning like a fool. "It worked, LT! It worked!"

"What worked, Sarge?"

"The fucking pigs! Didn't you see what they were doing? They were about to storm the barricade when they saw the pigs' heads. They started blasting them and using grenades on them. It was as though they'd forgotten us completely or that we were mowing them down. They blew the pig heads to smithereens, but they wouldn't come near them. Oink! LT, 'oink' won the battle, or at least bought us some time."

"No shit! You really think that's what happened?"

"Yes, Sir, and I think we'd better grab some more and replace the ones they blew to hell. Shit, LT, they're almost as good as my SRAW!"