The Mark of the Rebel

by B K Thomas

  “Come, brother, we will stop here till morning and leave tomorrow.” He smiles like they are old friends and leads him and the others into the house.

  The General can smell tea brewing and hears voices as Mashal greets some people in front of him. Greetings are exchanged and Mashal leads the new arrivals to the kitchen table. They join some men with bread and tea. The men are excited to see Mashal. The General can tell the group has bonded through a common journey. The General is invited to sit at the table with them, but he declines telling them he is old and tired. They excuse him and he is led upstairs to a room with a cot for him to sleep on. He lays on the cot and listens to the noise below. There is no clock for these men. They have an objective that is beyond time. They only use time as a reference point to coordinate their activities. They are not bound by a structured system but by a cause that pulls them along to their goal. There are structures in place that direct the cause through treacherous and ruthless men, but the majority are there to fight against the corruption of the West and awaken their fellow Muslims that have become tainted by it. The General knows these men are the most dangerous kind. Zealots not here for pay but for a cause bigger than themselves and willing to die for it. These are the most dangerous kind of men. They will not surrender in the sight of overwhelming odds. They hold a devotion to their god-like the Japanese warriors in the Pacific who fought to the death rather than bring dishonor upon their families. These men would rather die a martyr’s death in glory than fall into the hands of their enemy. They are fierce and cowardly at the same time. They will attack a village bravely but then slaughter women and children without reason or enslave them for their cause. They are dangerous, but they are only men. Laughter erupts occasionally downstairs, and he is reminded that, in spite of themselves, they are indeed men. They are not gods who hold the balance of the world in their hands. Regardless of their propaganda that projects them as jihadist superheroes, they are still only men. His mind turns the puzzle of escape over and over again as he drifts off to sleep.

  The General awakes to see the day is just beginning. The light is still waking up along with him as it brings warmth and fills the room. He sits up on his cot and yawns. He stands to stretch himself and the smell of fresh bread and tea fills his nose as he arches his back and reaches wide. He does some quick calisthenics to get his blood flowing then washes his face. He can hear activity downstairs and wants to get some of that bread and tea now. He finds some men at the kitchen table but Mashal is not in sight.

  “Where’s brother Mashal?” He asks one of the men.

  “He will be back soon. He is out meeting with some brothers. Maybe by the time you’re finished with your tea, he’ll return.” The man answers as he sips his tea.

  The General nods in acceptance of the news and sits down at the table. He pours himself some tea and adds a cube of sugar. He twirled the small spoon around the cup and thinks of the mess he finds himself trying to survive. The spoon clinks against the glass as he stirs in the melting sugar. He looks at the whirlpool he has created. It is pulling everything into the center and then down into the glass. His situation feels that way. He has been caught in a whirlpool and is being pulled in deeper and deeper. He cannot afford to lead Mashal astray, his family will be doomed. Each moment they continue on this journey, he grows more concerned they might be killed before his family is freed and his efforts will all be in vain. If they make it deep into Syria, his other concern is the weapons might not be there anymore. Then what? He stirs the sugar longer than necessary as he continues to think through the mess he is in, but then catches himself. His situation will not improve by chance. He needs a plan. He drinks his tea and is pleased by the strong black tea complemented by the delicate sweet touch of the sugar.

  He takes in the sights around the room. A few men are talking, and one is sleeping in a chair on the other side. They are young men. He remembers what it was like to be young and believe in what you were fighting for. When he first went into the Army, it was an escape from the life he hated. He was proud of his country and proud to fight for it. It was also an opportunity to achieve something great for himself. The more he learned about his government, the more his enthusiasm for it faded. He became more determined to change his family’s destiny for good with each revelation. After the war with Iran and his successes, he won an officer post and never looked back. His career became about survival more than the pride of serving his country and he rose methodically through the ranks. After the fall a friend was able to get him into the new Iraqi government and he was hopeful for a time. He believed things would not be easy, certainly not in his lifetime, but he knew it was possible to build something new out of the ruins of the country Saddam had left them. He did not realize how unbalanced the whole region was becoming. The invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq fuel the spread of jihadists and quickly destabilizes the entire region. They pour in from Syria, Iran, Saudi Arabia and a host of other nearby nations. When the Baathist party members were dispersed, the most loyal ones head underground and start a guerilla resistance that continued to evolve with the resources that poured into the country. They were no match for the Americans at the start. They were clearly outmatched. When the Americans begin to fight with stricter rules imposed by the politicians, the situation deteriorates quickly. The jihadists fight with one rule only, kill as many people as possible. They don’t care who they kill as long as the body count is high to invoke fear among the civilians. All Muslims are fair game to them. If they are not fighting for the cause, then they are not true to the faith. They are to be killed right along with the Americans. They are strategic in their targets. They work to inflict as much death and destruction as possible. The General is beginning to wonder if he was too optimistic when Saddam was overthrown since now, he sits with them drinking tea.

  ***

  ASG, Jordan

  The most direct route into the heart of Syria from Iraq is the road to Raqqa. The route has been fought over between the Iraqis, Al-Qaeda, and ISIS for years now. Major Westbrook stares at the screen. There is really only one route if they are in a hurry. If they aren’t, then they can disappear only to resurface later. His odds of finding them aren’t great and will shrink the longer they have to blend into the environment. He isn’t sure whether they are trying to move quickly or not, but he doesn’t want to lose them in the chaos that will embrace them the further they drive. The success that ISIS has enjoyed in Iraq has spilled into Syria and now they rule a large swath of territory. Though they have conducted a tactical retreat of sorts in Syria, where infighting with other rebel groups is intense, ISIS is still strong and able to move as they desire. There are a reported thirty thousand or more soldiers by modest estimates in the ISIS army and their ranks continue to grow, in spite of western media reports to the contrary. They use social media efforts that are slick with a Madison Avenue appeal to its audience and a dark touch luring new recruits to their cause. The promise offered is the opportunity to join something pure in its devotion to Islam, something larger than life, a place that upholds shared values at any cost. In contrast to the “anything goes” offer from the West, the chance to Jihad against the depravity of the West is a rallying call to men and women from across the world. Over a billion people profess to be Muslim and a one percent response to their message will raise an ISIS army of over a million strong. They are banking on it. Their efforts so far have resulted in people streaming in from the unlikeliest places; the United Kingdom, the European Union, and even the United States and South America. It is a global phenomenon and governments everywhere are trying to stop their citizens from going to join ISIS. The governments are afraid the volunteers will train and fight then come back radicalized and continue their mission at home. It creates yet another challenge for governments to juggle. The governments must find ways to protect their nations while attempting to honor their citizen’s freedoms. The Major is doing his part to keep it all from spilling over and making a mess back home.

  He is conf
ident the group that grabbed the general will be on the road to Raqqa. He also knows they will be headed toward something to create more instability in the region. He has to find them. The intelligence they are gathering is largely from secondary sources. The continued tactical retreat of the US in Iraq and Afghanistan has increased their reliance on other governments and a skeleton system of sources. Governments like Iraq and Saudi Arabia are very careful about what they report. Those governments have to manage their own environments. They try to leverage the information they gather to get a response from the United States that will benefit their countries. The result is, the US does not get the full story a lot of the time. With this in mind, they have to compile all the information from their different sources and work to determine the accuracy of their picture. It is like trying to put a puzzle together without having the box. The Iraqis have not notified the Major about its missing general and Westbrook knows it will be a day or two before they do. They aren’t hiding anything really, but he suspects they like the idea of having some control. If the only thing they can control is the flow of information, then he doesn’t blame them for holding on to it. The Iraqis are sitting on a powder keg still and are grabbing at anything to have some feeling of stability. He still isn’t sure how vital this information is, but he feels like it is more important with each passing hour.

  Chapter 7

  Damascus, Syria

  Sahila is with her family for hours before she can break away to get some breathing room. It is decided by her father there will be no funeral. Her husband will be mourned privately. The risk of suicide bombings at funerals has increased over the years. As the civil war has lingered, everything has become more dangerous. The market bombing made a public funeral unthinkable. Since she is a woman, she would not have been allowed to attend anyway. She will have to grieve alone with her sister and family. Her grief will not be witnessed as a sign of her love for her husband in public, but the world will witness her fury soon enough.

  Her heart is aching, and the family banter is no consolation. Blame is thrown around at the suspected people who bombed the market, only making it worse for her. She knows they will talk about it. The discussion quickly becomes a political one, and anger stirs within her. The debate about the different groups involved bounces around her, landing nowhere. They relish the debate, but her anger grows with the realization they won’t do anything about any of it. Her anger continues to fester. She craves the outlet of unleashing her anger to do something, to fight. She does not have any power to speak of, but the ability to voice the anger and heartache within her alleviates the pain for a little while so she yearns for it. She steps out into the street and her sister joins her.

  “Sahila”, Yaqeena starts. “You have to see this.” Her sister holds the phone up to her.

  Sahila looks at the phone with a glance, then looks back at the street. “What is it? What am I supposed to see?” She asks blind to the digital information.

  “Look!” Her sister points at the numbers on the screen. “I posted your video; it has caught fire!” She says enthusiastically. “The world has heard you and is reacting. People everywhere are following you and sharing the video. You should make another one.” Yaqeena encourages her emphatically. Her sister knows it is not easy for her, but she also knows it is the best weapon.

  “Oh”, Sahila is caught off guard by the response of the people online. It is what she wants but she doesn’t feel ready for it on the spot. Everything is so sudden and yet seems so far away. She feels as if she is living someone else’s life right now. The words she speaks and the life in her body doesn’t belong to her anymore. She feels hollow and tired. “I don’t know.” She says lifelessly, “Who wants to hear some crying, angry, widow anyway?” She laments.

  “What? Don’t be like that!” Her sister reprimands. “This is an opportunity to make something out of this tragedy and build something that will last. Remember Aahil and make the world remember him. Don’t let the terrorists wipe him away.”

  Sahila turns and snaps at her sister. “It won’t bring him back.” The anger that she is unable to quench erupts to the surface. “You know this right? None of this will do any good. It may even bring us worse tragedies.” She warns with a stern look. Tears, that feel hot on her face, roll down her cheeks as she stands glaring at her sister. “It may be too late already.” She says then wipes her face and glances into the distance again as if looking for something down the street.

  Yaqeena is saddened by the response but does not give way to her sister’s pain and presses harder. “What? Do you think they will hunt you down?” Her sister scoffed.

  “Yes, they will.” Sahila returns her gaze to her sister and her eyes narrow. “Assad will, and there will be many who will be willing to help him. And don’t forget, there will be those that killed Aahil. Those people who treat women like animals and kill them or sell them at their pleasure. There are many in our city, even more in our country. Who can we even trust anymore?” Sahila’s voice rises in anger.

  Yaqeena walks along with her quietly. She does not speak again for some time and lets Sahila think. She cannot blame her; she has been through enough already. They have seen friends killed before, but now it is their own family. Yaqeena is convinced it is time to do something and her sister has stumbled upon a tool. They can use it against all of them. It can be how they can make a fight after all.

  Sahila stops and turns to her. “We both know you’re right. We have been powerless, but we have to start to gain some power for ourselves somehow. If we don’t, we may find ourselves living under the rebels or ISIS being treated like we are nothing. They are stronger than I ever thought they would be.” She shudders at the horror stories she has heard about women captured by ISIS. “I cannot live like that. I will kill myself first."

  Yaqeena smiles softly and hugs her. “You will not kill yourself. I know you. You will do everything you can to resist. You might be the first woman they have let go because you will make it so hard on them!” Her sister tries to lighten the situation and is rewarded with a slight smile before she continues. “I will do everything I can to help. Now that your video has gained attention, I think you should make another one so we can grab the attention of more people. Who knows who might see it? Who knows what might happen?”

  “Yes, we should. But what if the government finds out? or worse? And even if I do make a video, what do I speak about? I don’t even know what to say.” Sahila states both exasperated and embarrassed.

  “Just speak from your heart sister, you did it yesterday and people heard you. Do it again. They will listen and we will begin to build a revolution of our own. We will unleash a “Feminine Spring” upon the world!” Yaqeena is more excited the more she speaks.

  A half-smile arose from Sahila’s mouth. “Okay, Sis.” She puts her arm around her. She is amazed at her sister and her courage to stand against the evil that surrounds them. “Let’s start our own revolution.”

  They walk to a slightly overgrown park and find a place to sit. It could be in any part of the world except this one is in a city in the middle of a hellish civil war that has raged on for years. The war bore down on the city and affected everything. The simple things suffer. The park reflects attrition that has seeped into every aspect of life. The overgrown, unraveled look reflects the haggard spirit of the city’s inhabitants. It was a proud city at one time, but now its foundations shake from rebellion and war. A cloud of fear and uncertainty overhangs over the capital.

  Moments of clarity are rare as the pressure to survive the day grows with each passing year. There were times, in the evenings when the world around them was calm and Sahila and Aahil talked about building a future. They even discussed leaving Syria and talked about doing so in a year or two, but time has run out on them. The wound is so fresh she thinks about it as if they have been someone else’s dreams, someone else’s husband. Her left hand goes to her stomach as she feels the blow once again. She flows in and out of the shock and reality
of the event throughout each day now. It has all become a painful blur and seems so real and so far away at the same time. She is seeing it all from a distance right now and it is the right time to say something about it all.

  Sahila’s spirit grows still. “I’m ready. Let’s film it.”

  She sits upright. She is beautiful. Her face is serious. The camera turns on and she starts, “Hello, world, brothers, sisters, friends, and enemies. I am back. I have seen all I need to of men’s efforts. In my culture, men are our leaders and as a woman, I do not have authority or any real say in important matters. I do not know about your culture and how things work where you are, but I can tell you that if men and women are not working together then your people are suffering. We have seen this throughout history, and we are seeing it in my country today. Beauty comes from men and women united, working together. When we are united anything is possible. When men and women stand apart there is only isolation, fear, suspicion or worse. These are the things that I have in my country. Maybe yours is the same. I have suffered tragedy, this is true, as many of you have. But my tragedy and yours will be our rallying cry. Across the land of Syria, the Middle East, and the entire world, unity is my life mission now. The people and groups who seek to divide us along cultural lines, along gender lines, along racial lines, along economic lines, national lines or even religious lines, “she pauses to let the thoughts settle in, “you, you are the true enemy. A great leader from the United States once spoke of a day when people are treated as equal not divided along racial lines but all people as one. I echo his call but take it further. All men and women from every nation are equal. We are not the same, but we are equal in our humanity. We are equal in our desire for justice and freedom. Along these lines, I will fight. I will fight for justice and freedom for all people against the tyranny of governments and groups opposed to these ideals.” Her voice rose in defiance. “Today I call upon you to join me in the fight!” She calls out staring boldly into the camera. The words hang like a great destiny awaiting anyone brave enough to reach out and take it.