“Let the United States hear well. Don’t imagine that by destroying our missiles you stripped us of our ability to act, because every Iraqi is a missile that can reach countries and cities. If you want we will become everything that frightens you.”
Sala al-Mukhtar
Outside his tent Omar heard his two daughters and three sons playing war in the sand. His sons were proficient shots and good fighters. Even his youngest son, Abdul, could shoot and kill a camel from 200 yards. He was only 8. His daughters were beautiful, like his wife. They reminded him of the soft sound of sand blowing over the tent late at night. His wife came to him, quietly unbidden, and refilled his empty cup.
“What is it Omar? You are lost in thought this morning.”
“I have brought a great honor upon our house. Still, it is not easy to know your family will die.”
Rema was used to Omar’s dark thoughts. He was a good father and kind man. He had provided well for her and her children. She left him alone and went out to watch the children.
Sheik Omar Abdul-Mukhtar swallowed what he expected to be his last drink of wine slowly, swirling it about his mouth. He thought that he had achieved his station by being the first to claim responsibility for the destruction of Chicago. Even now he heard the American war planes from the USS George Washington roaring above his encampment. He was surprised to see how quickly they had found him. He knew of the satellite tracking abilities, but found it hard to believe that all the roaming terrorists in the North African desert were tracked and identified. No matter, he would be praised by Allah for having claimed the horror of destruction brought
upon the American devils.
Three F-16’s fell upon the encampment with sidewinder missiles and 50 caliber machine guns. Within a minute the encampment was a smoking pyre of ill conceived honor.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please provide any feedback you can so that I can improve my writing.