Chapter 23
One Again
2nd of Seventhmoon, Seleuceus 6 (6 Charles 9)
Outside Sehir, Ajjamal Province, Kingdom of the Palatine
About fifty kilometers from the city of Sehir, in the barren scrublands where only the occasional nomadic herders would pass through with their flocks, a small camp had been set up. The olive drab canvas of the tents marked it as a military camp and one that was not especially concerned with hiding itself. The fire from the sky was not going to come down on a mere company-sized element. Of course, no conventional camouflage would save you from the lidless eyes of the avenging angels that had wrought such destruction in the north.
Three jeeps approached the camp, kicking up a large cloud of dust as they tumbled across the parched earth. The sentries at the perimeter of the camp called out to announce the incoming guests. General Kush emerged from his tent with his aide-de-camp and two orderlies following behind. Several other officers converged on him like a flock of migratory birds settling into their formation.
The jeeps came to a stop outside the perimeter of the camp so that the riders could dismount and walk the rest of the way. They were Marsouki, as you could tell by the dark olive field dress they wore. Moreover, their black and white keffiyehs marked them as coming from Ashkarah. There were three officers and six enlisted men, while the drivers remained with the jeeps. The enlisted men kept their rifles shouldered. They did not want to be mistaken for hostile. The Harsouki sentries had been instructed not to point their rifles at the guests. This was, after all, supposed to be a friendly meeting.
General Kush and the Marsouki leader stretched out their arms as they came nearer.
"Peace to you, brother," General Kush said.
"Peace to you, brother," the Marsouki replied in kind.
They embraced and kissed each other on the cheeks.
"Until we are one again," General Kush said.
"Until we are one again," the Marsouki repeated.
Ever since the great Souki Empire collapsed and its four beyliks were broken apart, it was the long-held hope that the Empire would be restored, that Harsouk and Farsouk would be wrested from the hands of the infidels and that Marsouk and Barsouk would cease their fruitless warring with each other that only made them vulnerable to infidel predation. Even if you did not hold to such irredentist dreams, it was polite to pretend that you did.
General Kush gestured to the canopy that had been prepared for this meeting and said, "Come, sit and refresh yourself, brother, you and those with you."
The Marsouki bowed his head and replied, "I give my thanks for this hospitality. May you reap a harvest a hundredfold for your grace."
Beneath the canopy, a rug was spread out, one of Uteeni make. There were two low stools for General Kush and his Marsouki counterpart, while their subordinates would sit down on the rug directly. Orderlies then came to serve the guests coffee. Guests were served from least to greatest and then the host's party in the same fashion, but none would drink until the host toasted.
General Kush raised his cup and said, "To your health, brother."
"And to the One who provides it," the Marsouki replied.
General Kush and the Marsouki drank first, then their subordinates took a drink after them.
While the General was savoring the flavor of the coffee, he told the Marsouki, "You have done very well. You almost would have fooled me, but your accent is not quite right. Also, these days it is fashionable to say, 'May you reap a thousandfold for your grace.' And your beards..." He ran his fingers along his chin. "Too short for Marsouki. You would have at least needed to let them grow out another two or three months."
"Two or three months is time we did not have," the not-Marsouki said.
"So if you are not Amid Farook Abdurrahman, who are you, my Farsouki friend?"
The not-Marsouki did not try to conceal his identity any longer and said plainly, "I am Mustafa Kamel, son of Idris, son of Mustafa."
General Kush nodded.
"Your uncle is the Amir Abu Nasir, yes?"
"That is correct."
"And why would the nephew of the Amir of Kameliyya come disguised as a Marsouki to meet the cousin of the Amir of Ajjamal?"
"My business is no different than if I came as I am," Mustafa replied, "but war is deceit."
"So it is written," General Kush intoned piously. The Faith had been largely suppressed by the Palatinians, but most kept to it in secret. The General may not have been the most ardent believer, but it was expedient to appear as such to the common folk.
"It has been over a hundred years since the Keyser fell," Mustafa said. "Harsouk and Farsouk taken by the infidels while Marsouk ails from the worms in her belly and Barsouk lies destitute as a widow in the streets."
"This is known, brother," General Kush replied, nodding along.
Mustafa made a sweeping gesture above his hand, saying, "Then the fire from the sky came, as the vengeance of the One, and now the infidel king scurries like a lamed fox from den to den as the dogs close in."
"That lamed fox has proven elusive."
"His day draws near. The time has merely been extended that he might be made into a lesson for us."
General Kush laughed and slapped his knee.
"And what a lesson! How many of the infidel cities have burned, I wonder. How many more will yet taste the fire?"
"Surely you do not want Souki cities to burn for infidel sins."
"May it not be," the General said, putting his hand over his heart, "but what do you suggest?"
"Rise up," Mustafa said firmly. "Now that the infidel is weak, your chance has arrived. They cannot hope to hold you in their current state."
"And what of Farsouk?" the General asked. "Do you intend to rise up as well?"
Mustafa shook his head.
"The infidels over us are yet too strong. Perhaps the opportunity will come when infidel is mired on infidel soil."
"Are we to fight the battles of your infidel masters then?"
"They are your battles, brother," Mustafa said, "and Farsouk will aid you."
The General stroked his moustache and said, "The pledge is welcome, but the numbers concern me. How many men?"
"Two light divisions."
"Artillery?"
"50- and 81-milli mortars and 76-milli howitzers."
"Armor?"
"The One's own grace," Mustafa said with a sardonic grin.
"Air?"
"Only what we breathe, brother."
"Still, two divisions..." General Kush mused. "That nearly matches all our own forces, active and reserve both."
"There are more who will fight, though, yes?"
"Without training, without arms... They can weigh down the infidels' bayonets, perhaps."
"The training we will leave to you," Mustafa said, "but as for arms, we plan to send a thousand rifles and five thousand submachine guns. The submachine guns—we call them gaspipe guns, and I swear that is what they used to make the barrels—are cheap, inaccurate and prone to jamming, but you would rather have one of them in your hands than a sharp stick, I would think."
"The way you talk about it, brother, the sharp stick sounds more reliable."
"You are probably right."
"A beggar cannot scorn a copper in hope of a silver."
"Then we have an agreement?"
General Kush balked, "Have I become Amir? Have I been made Bey? I must consult with His Highness."
"Very well," Mustafa said, "but do so quickly, and secretly. We have false brothers who would betray us to the infidels."
The General spat on the ground, saying, "May they burn in the seven fiery hells for it. Return here in seven days, brother, and you will have your answer."
"I look forward to hearing a favorable reply."
General Kush bowed his head, touching his forehead, his lips and then his heart in the traditional gesture of parting, and said, "Until we are one again, brother."
Mustafa responded in kind, saying, "Until we are one again, brother."