Post by Lorpius Prime on Aug 7, 2012 7:01:20 GMT -5
2074
Hasan Nasrallah curled his toes into the sand as a wave receded from the shore. The sensation of the warm water breaking and pulling away the clump of sand helped to soothe his nerves. He shifted his weight around in the sunken seat of his folding plastic chair and stretched his legs in preparation for the next wave to wash over his ankles.
In his teeth he clenched one end of a fat cigar, just in case the wet sand through his toes wasn't quite soothing enough. The cigar was unlit, but Hasan had been chewing on it long enough to nearly ruin its integrity. He didn't smoke much, anyway. Though he enjoyed the taste and smell of tobacco, it was still mostly a novelty to him.
He took one more deep breath of the warm, Atlantic air, and then turned his attention back to the wide tablet nestled in his lap. The African Union's strike force had nearly closed its noose around the Jihad's encampment south of Luanda. Hasan watched infrared satellite video of the soldiers drawing barricades across roads in nearly real time.
Officially, the tactical-scale surface feeds from Earth Fleet satellites were closed to the public. In reality, all you needed was the right key to decrypt the signals. Hacker groups usually broke the codes within days of their rotation, which was why the AU was running this operation on the very first of the month. Fortunately, Hasan and the Jihad did not rely on the public internet for satellite access. Mostly they just stole the new keys from the AU.
The last barricade was sealed behind the last villager to be pulled from his hut and sent away from the imminent battle. On Hasan's tablet, he could see the soldiers hunkering down, waiting for the attack to start. A squadron of armored personnel carriers burned brightly, ready to rush forward.
It had been a long road to Angola. Hasan's father and younger brother had both been killed in Mali. By that time, the leadership was already in chaos, and none of Hasan's other, elder brothers had wanted the responsibility. It had taken him a week to decide that, yes, he did believe that he could make a difference. Then another two to rally the Jihad's African remnants behind his plan. That had been mostly a trick of establishing contacts and gathering safely rather than trying to convince anyone to trust him.
He had managed, though. Nearly three quarters of their remaining fighters had been killed along the way, first in an almost catastrophically unlucky encounter with the Beninese army, and then during running battles against warlords, peacekeepers, and diseases while crossing through Central Africa and the Congo. Hasan spared no expense or effort to get an inside read on OES politics and Earth Fleet operations in order to outmaneuver both, but still it was nothing short of a miracle that they had avoided orbital bombardments since escaping the Sahel.
Angola was supposed to be a sanctuary. The government was enduring one of its periodic suspensions from the AU. The EU and India both had major corporations lobbying for the renewal of preferential mineral extraction contracts, and so were willing to help keep the OES off the country's back. And the government had internal enemies which it wanted dead, but was reluctant to dirty the hands or reputation of its own security forces. The usually dour-faced Angolan president had grinned like a hyena when the Jihad's battered columns poured over his border.
Hasan appeared to have underestimated just how badly the AU and the OES wanted the Jihad wiped out, however. After being shepherded into their little encampment by the sea, the fighters had simply been left to rot. Furious negotiations over AU reinstatement, sweetheart loans, and mining concessions had been conducted without mention to the Jihad's commanders. Now those deals were completed, and Hasan's enemies were readying their killing blow.
There would be no apocalyptic strikes using the kinetic equivalents of nuclear bombs this time, however. The president was not willing to tolerate that much cavalier destruction so near his capital. Still, Earth Fleet had other weapons which could be just as effective, if more expensive.
Basketball-sized iron spheres encased in ceramic and foam poured out of the sky like a rain of fire. Most of them fractured, as intended, several meters above the surface, blanketing the entire camp with deadly hail. Most of the jihadis died instantly, their martyred souls sped off to heaven before their mortal minds even became aware of the attack. Some were only wounded, and left to die of their injuries or be consumed by the flames which now engulfed their tents and shelters.
Some four or five dozen survived unharmed, and sprang at once to join the final battle. But these lucky few were scattered and blinded, and none of their heavy weapons had survived the barrage.
The AU soldiers which rushed in on the wake of the destruction, on the other hand, were South African special forces with the best equipment and training on the continent. The buzzing of their recon drones overhead was followed swiftly by the heavy crashing of hoplite boots against dirt and sand. Against that racket, the muffled gunfire was nearly inaudible, and lasted less than five minutes. By the time the APCs rolled into the smoldering camp ruins, every last jihadi was dead or dying.
The Great Jihad was defeated in detail. The movement which had ripped apart nations on two continents for the last forty years was annihilated. Some stragglers and sympathizers no doubt remained, but the cohesive core was now gone, and its leaders slain.
The AU would celebrate when the morning came. In Caracas, where it had arrived, the OES already was. Victory had not come easily, and so the feeling of relief was immense, and well-deserved.
Morning had already come to Havana, as well. Never so glittery as many its size, the city's glow was soft, warm, and humble in the early sunlight. Hasan would need to fold up his chair and head back to his hotel in a few minutes. But for now, he turned off his tablet and inhaled the sea air again.
One source of distraction had been dispensed with. Now a more difficult campaign could occupy his attention. Hasan glanced towards the sky, and smiled.
Hasan Nasrallah curled his toes into the sand as a wave receded from the shore. The sensation of the warm water breaking and pulling away the clump of sand helped to soothe his nerves. He shifted his weight around in the sunken seat of his folding plastic chair and stretched his legs in preparation for the next wave to wash over his ankles.
In his teeth he clenched one end of a fat cigar, just in case the wet sand through his toes wasn't quite soothing enough. The cigar was unlit, but Hasan had been chewing on it long enough to nearly ruin its integrity. He didn't smoke much, anyway. Though he enjoyed the taste and smell of tobacco, it was still mostly a novelty to him.
He took one more deep breath of the warm, Atlantic air, and then turned his attention back to the wide tablet nestled in his lap. The African Union's strike force had nearly closed its noose around the Jihad's encampment south of Luanda. Hasan watched infrared satellite video of the soldiers drawing barricades across roads in nearly real time.
Officially, the tactical-scale surface feeds from Earth Fleet satellites were closed to the public. In reality, all you needed was the right key to decrypt the signals. Hacker groups usually broke the codes within days of their rotation, which was why the AU was running this operation on the very first of the month. Fortunately, Hasan and the Jihad did not rely on the public internet for satellite access. Mostly they just stole the new keys from the AU.
The last barricade was sealed behind the last villager to be pulled from his hut and sent away from the imminent battle. On Hasan's tablet, he could see the soldiers hunkering down, waiting for the attack to start. A squadron of armored personnel carriers burned brightly, ready to rush forward.
It had been a long road to Angola. Hasan's father and younger brother had both been killed in Mali. By that time, the leadership was already in chaos, and none of Hasan's other, elder brothers had wanted the responsibility. It had taken him a week to decide that, yes, he did believe that he could make a difference. Then another two to rally the Jihad's African remnants behind his plan. That had been mostly a trick of establishing contacts and gathering safely rather than trying to convince anyone to trust him.
He had managed, though. Nearly three quarters of their remaining fighters had been killed along the way, first in an almost catastrophically unlucky encounter with the Beninese army, and then during running battles against warlords, peacekeepers, and diseases while crossing through Central Africa and the Congo. Hasan spared no expense or effort to get an inside read on OES politics and Earth Fleet operations in order to outmaneuver both, but still it was nothing short of a miracle that they had avoided orbital bombardments since escaping the Sahel.
Angola was supposed to be a sanctuary. The government was enduring one of its periodic suspensions from the AU. The EU and India both had major corporations lobbying for the renewal of preferential mineral extraction contracts, and so were willing to help keep the OES off the country's back. And the government had internal enemies which it wanted dead, but was reluctant to dirty the hands or reputation of its own security forces. The usually dour-faced Angolan president had grinned like a hyena when the Jihad's battered columns poured over his border.
Hasan appeared to have underestimated just how badly the AU and the OES wanted the Jihad wiped out, however. After being shepherded into their little encampment by the sea, the fighters had simply been left to rot. Furious negotiations over AU reinstatement, sweetheart loans, and mining concessions had been conducted without mention to the Jihad's commanders. Now those deals were completed, and Hasan's enemies were readying their killing blow.
There would be no apocalyptic strikes using the kinetic equivalents of nuclear bombs this time, however. The president was not willing to tolerate that much cavalier destruction so near his capital. Still, Earth Fleet had other weapons which could be just as effective, if more expensive.
Basketball-sized iron spheres encased in ceramic and foam poured out of the sky like a rain of fire. Most of them fractured, as intended, several meters above the surface, blanketing the entire camp with deadly hail. Most of the jihadis died instantly, their martyred souls sped off to heaven before their mortal minds even became aware of the attack. Some were only wounded, and left to die of their injuries or be consumed by the flames which now engulfed their tents and shelters.
Some four or five dozen survived unharmed, and sprang at once to join the final battle. But these lucky few were scattered and blinded, and none of their heavy weapons had survived the barrage.
The AU soldiers which rushed in on the wake of the destruction, on the other hand, were South African special forces with the best equipment and training on the continent. The buzzing of their recon drones overhead was followed swiftly by the heavy crashing of hoplite boots against dirt and sand. Against that racket, the muffled gunfire was nearly inaudible, and lasted less than five minutes. By the time the APCs rolled into the smoldering camp ruins, every last jihadi was dead or dying.
The Great Jihad was defeated in detail. The movement which had ripped apart nations on two continents for the last forty years was annihilated. Some stragglers and sympathizers no doubt remained, but the cohesive core was now gone, and its leaders slain.
The AU would celebrate when the morning came. In Caracas, where it had arrived, the OES already was. Victory had not come easily, and so the feeling of relief was immense, and well-deserved.
Morning had already come to Havana, as well. Never so glittery as many its size, the city's glow was soft, warm, and humble in the early sunlight. Hasan would need to fold up his chair and head back to his hotel in a few minutes. But for now, he turned off his tablet and inhaled the sea air again.
One source of distraction had been dispensed with. Now a more difficult campaign could occupy his attention. Hasan glanced towards the sky, and smiled.