The Coward's Way of War

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “Hostages, in other words,” Gary growled. Jim nodded. Gary was old enough to remember how Iran had held the entire United States paralysed. “Carter should have nuked the ragheads and to hell with international opinion.”

  “We might be nuking them after this,” Linda said, disdainfully. “They launched a weapon of mass destruction against us and we have to retaliate.”

  “Nonsense,” Gary countered. “When was the last time an American President had balls? They get them all removed when they take the job and start fretting about world opinion and how best to suck up to the United Nations. And President Handley didn’t even start out with balls.”

  “And has the government said anything about the American claims?” The talking head was asking. Jim waved a hand at his family, encouraging them to be quiet. “Have they confirmed or denied the statement that the Saudis are behind the attack?”

  “The Saudi Government has said nothing, but I’ve heard reports that the Saudi Royal Family is packing up and leaving the country,” Faulkner said. “There are supposed to be no flights out of the country, yet a number of aircraft have departed the capital, destination unknown. In fact, I believe that the Crown Prince himself has left, although I have no proof…hang on, the crowd is getting wilder…”

  The camera pulled back, panning across the angry crowd. The handful of policemen were incapable of holding them back and found themselves being pushed back, despite their best efforts. One of them drew a gun and fired into the crowd, only to be rushed by hundreds of angry men, who trampled him to death. A moment later, the crowd surged towards where Faulkner was standing and Jim saw him falling under their blows, just before the camera was knocked down and the signal vanished. The screen clicked back to the talking head in the studio.

  “Ah…we’ll be back in touch with Ben Faulkner as soon as possible,” he said, clearly taken by surprise. Jim snorted. That probably wasn't going to be possible unless they hired a medium. “We go now to Washington DC…”

  A new face, a reasonably pretty girl, appeared in the screen. “As yet, there has been no response from the White House, but the mood on the streets is angry,” she said. “Even with the threat of Henderson’s Disease, people have been gathering to protest the Saudi attack and demand immediate action. Over the city, mosques have been attacked, particularly the ones with Saudi funding. Muslims and Arab citizens have been attacked. The Washington PD has issued a statement decrying such attacks and appealing for calm, but there has been no change. The only thing keeping the attacks down is fear of Henderson’s Disease.

  “The Treasury issued a statement, just after the news broke, that all Arab-owned business and investments within the United States would be frozen – if not nationalised – until the situation was clarified. Banks across the United States have been ordered to freeze the accounts of every Arab within or outside the United States, particularly the Saudi Royal Family. We believe that governments outside the United States are taking similar action.”

  The camera cut back to the talking head. “In the hour since the news broke, we have received thousands of emails and telephone calls demanding the destruction of Saudi Arabia,” the talking head said. “Senator Beseecher is online now; Senator, how do you feel about the demand to nuke Saudi Arabia?”

  “I see no need to hesitate,” the Senator said. “There seems to be no doubt that the Saudis were responsible for the attack, the deployment of a weapon of mass destruction against the United States. Our policy allows only one response; immediate retaliation.”

  “But millions of innocents would die,” the talking head pointed out.

  “Millions of innocents are already dying,” the Senator countered. “The Saudi people did not control their government, nor did they attempt to change it. They are as guilty as the government itself. They need to be punished.”

  “Speaking of punishment,” Jim said, as the two boys came into the room. “Tell me; what were you thinking when you left the poor horses untended?”

  The two boys flushed. “Dad, we…we were busy,” Jim Junior said. His voice trailed off under his father’s hard stare. “We wanted to go potting rabbits.”

  “And how many times,” Jim demanded, “have I told the pair of you that farm chores come first, ahead of everything else? This isn’t a place where someone else cleans up after you, but a place where everyone has to work together. Why did you disobey me?”

  There was no answer. “Come here,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “I am going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Day 35

  “It isn’t working,” Prince Ibrahim said, desperately. “My contacts are not taking my calls.”

  He looked up nervously. Being so close to Prince Mukhtar was uncomfortably like being close to a wild and dangerous animal, or perhaps to an unexploded bomb. The Black Prince and his clerical backing had used the chaos of the American ultimatum to secure control over the country and the military establishment, almost without a fight. The more moderate princes, who might have been counted upon to resist the extremists, were trying to flee the country – or had been quietly thrown in jail, on various pretences. The only reason the Black Prince kept his cousin around was because of his contacts outside the country...and perhaps because he needed a court jester.

  “We have spent millions of American dollars on those contacts,” Prince Mukhtar hissed. He paced the room, swinging his arms from side to side as he walked. He had always been a big man, but now he seemed to loom over all opposition. “Why are they not helping us in our hour of need?”

  Prince Ibrahim stared at him...and then understood. Unlike many other senior members of the Royal Family, Prince Mukhtar had never been out of the country and had had as little to do with foreigners as possible. His xenophobia – fairly typical for a conservative Saudi national – drove him to think of outsiders as criminals and cowards, hardly a match for a good Saudi man. Outsiders were infinitely corrupt, willing to sell their own mothers and daughters – and even sons – for a hint of Saudi largess. In normal times, he might even have had a point; Saudi Arabia had bought love and support on the world stage.

  He closed his eyes, remembering the eyes of his senior wife – the only part of her body he could see under the veil – just before she boarded the jumbo jet for France. He’d assured her that his contacts in the French Foreign Ministry would ensure that they landed safely; they’d assured him of that over the communications network. The women and children had trusted their husband and he’d sent them to their deaths. He had no way of knowing exactly what had happened, but the jumbo jet had been shot down and everyone onboard had been killed. The thought kept mocking him when he tried to sleep; he’d killed his own wives and children, as surely as if he’d drawn a gun and shot them down where they stood.

  A strange calm came over him and he looked up at the Black Prince. It was a sense that his life no longer mattered, a sense that perhaps his time was up and all that mattered was going out in a manner pleasing to God. It was strange to think that he might have rediscovered his faith, and the acceptance that his life might be over, at the end of a life enlivened by wine, women and song, but perhaps it was appropriate. He imagined, as he felt a smile creeping onto his face, that it was how the suicide bombers and insurgents had felt, just before they’d gone out to die.

  “Because we never commanded their loyalty,” he said, calmly. The Black Prince clenched his fists, but said nothing. “We had to operate behind the scenes. We filled Western – American – media programs with subtle propaganda to shape their opinions, pushing them to believe that what we showed them was true. We ensured that our version of events was the one put in front of the American public. We told them that the Israelis were the darkest of demons and that their Palestinian enemies were on the side of goodness and hope and they lapped it up like soup. We slanted the news in a manner that benefited us.

  “But our influence was so subt
le that we cannot direct events as we might choose,” he added. “The journalists and even editors could be influenced, yet never permanently, never forced to toe the line so completely that other viewpoints didn’t slip in. When the American military blundered, our influence ensured that they would be attacked far more than they deserved, but it became increasingly hard to prevent many journalists from speaking their minds. Even our allies at the State Department couldn't stop the truth from blurring through.”

  He’d deliberately tried to confuse the Black Prince, but now he had to be direct. “The plague infecting America is something that strikes at every last American,” he said. “Their media must lead the charge against the perpetrators of the attack; their democratic politicians must demand action, or they will be removed come the next election. They feel that we are responsible and it therefore becomes harder to steer opinion towards our side, or even to control events at all. The journalists have seen people – including their own families – die at our hands. The editors cannot prevent them from writing the truth as they see it – and the truth they see is that we launched a weapon of mass destruction against the United States!

  “There’s a difference between hard power and soft power. Hard power comes out of the barrel of a gun; soft power comes out of the media and cultural influence...and all we had was soft power. We could influence American public opinion and we did, yet when events shifted so badly against us, we couldn't prevent them from demanding our blood. My contacts in the State Department and all the think-tanks we sponsored to influence opinion will not take my calls. I think that they will be trying desperately to hide their links to us, knowing that their own superiors – desperate for political cover – will be calling for investigations.”

  He shrugged, wondering if Prince Mukhtar was about to have a heart attack. “The same can be said for most of the other countries in the world,” he added, mischievously. “They are no longer interested in listening to us, or in treating us as anything other than a rogue state, one that carried out a biological attack against them. There will be no help from the outside world.”

  A single tap on the remote brought up a live report from Al Jazeera. “The Iraqi Government today confirmed that the Iraqi Military would be committed to operations against Saudi Arabia and would be tasked with securing the Holy Cities of Islam,” a woman’s voice said. The camera panned over cheering crowds in Baghdad as the Prime Minister spoke to the nation. “Saudi Arabia, blamed for the biological attack slaughtering millions of Americans, has not yet commented on the charges brought against the nation, but reports have reached us that senior government officials have been fleeing the country...”

  “Turn it off,” the Black Prince snarled. “Do you believe that the Americans intend to invade? Really? Their leader is a woman!”

  Prince Ibrahim smiled behind his beard. He’d enjoyed the company of many Western women over the years, finding them to be more...accommodating than women from his own country, who had been taught to always obey their husband and never contradict him in public. The Western women, wives of political leaders or even politicians in their own right, had been smart and interesting – and, often, more determined than their husbands for them to succeed. The Black Prince had married four typical Saudi girls from very conservative stock. The odds were that he never spoke to them if it could be avoided. Prince Ibrahim had never even seen the girls since they had vanished into his cousin’s palace.

  “The Americans were willing to invade Iraq,” Prince Ibrahim reminded him. “That...woman has ordered her troops to fire on American citizens who might have been carrying Henderson’s Disease, just to prevent the disease from spreading further. After that, do you believe that she will not hesitate to launch an attack on us?”

  “She is a woman,” the Black Prince repeated. “She lacks the sure guidance of a man.”

  “Then let us pretend that her Vice President is really the power behind the throne,” Prince Ibrahim snapped. “Would that make a difference to you?”

  The Black Prince didn't bother to reply. “The people have awoken,” he said, his eyes glittering with fanatical brightness. He waved a hand towards the windows, where the chanting of the massed crowds could be heard, even though expensive soundproofing. The mob was marching the streets of Riyadh, demanding no surrender, even cheering for war. The clerics had mobilised the mob to remind any Saudi Prince who might have had second thoughts that Prince Mukhtar enjoyed their full support. “With their help, we will prevail and establish a new order across the world.”

  Prince Ibrahim winced. It didn't take a military genius to know that the American soldiers, even with the restrictive rules of engagement hammered down their throats by the media – at least partly because of his manipulations – would have plenty of experience dealing with untrained mobs. They’d fought it out in Iraq for six years, against very well armed and determined opposition...and won. The Saudi population hadn't had to fight a real war, ever. The skirmishes along the southern border and the Gulf War – even the internal struggle against the jihadists – had never touched the lives of the ordinary Saudi. Somehow, he doubted that the Americans would have much trouble smashing the mobs and winning the war.

  “We have millions of volunteers pouring in from all over the Islamic World,” the Black Prince continued, slipping into a monologue. Prince Ibrahim sat back and waited for him to finish, knowing that there was no point in interrupting. The Black Prince’s rants had become increasingly common as he gathered real power into his hands. “They will help us to defeat the Great Satan.”

  “Doubtless,” Prince Ibrahim murmured. Even if they did drive the Americans out...what would happen then? The foreigners would hardly go home. The one thing that the terrorists and the American public would ever agree on was that the House of Saud needed to be removed. “And what if they don’t?”

  “We have Allah on our side,” the Black Prince said, with all the conviction of the true believer. “How can we lose?”

  ***

  Two hours later, the inner council gathered in an underground bunker, built deep under the city. Prince Ibrahim had pointed out that American engineers had helped build the bunkers and therefore their military probably knew all about it, but the inner council had refused to vacate the bunker until the war actually began. Prince Ibrahim had considered running, perhaps even trying to make it to the border with Jordan or even Egypt, yet he knew it would be suicide. The two unsmiling bodyguards assigned to protect him had come directly from the Ministry of the Interior and it wasn't his body they were interested in protecting.

  “The Army and National Guard are mobilising and being deployed to their positions,” General Abdullah said, once the customary small talk had dried away. “We have had something of a problem with desertions and other...embarrassments, but the special units have started to deal with the problem and it is going away. If we should be called upon to execute Plan Mohammed, we can execute it upon one day’s warning.”

  Prince Ibrahim read between the lines. The Saudi Government might have spent literally billions of dollars on the latest military equipment from America, Britain, France, Russia and China, but they’d been much less willing to spend money on training and forming a reliable army. They knew that a trained and competent army could become a danger to the government; after all, both Iraq and Egypt had suffered army coups that had overthrown monarchies and put other governments in power. The soldiers were, therefore, unenthused about fighting the United States and were deserting, only to be hauled back to duty by the Ministry of the Interior’s Special Detachments, who had permission to shoot deserters if they felt like it. The clerics had been happy to provide firebrand preachers, who hectored the troops on their sacred duty to defend Islam, defend their country and drive the American infidels out of the holy land. The National Guard – almost a second army in its own right – was more trusted, yet it too had had problems.

  “The Air Force is in better shape,” the General continued. “We have most of the
pilots training now, with supplies of weapons and fuel in excellent condition. The ground-based defence system is up and running, with IFF transmitters ensuring that we do not accidentally shoot down our own forces. Combined with AWACS aircraft high over the country, we can see far into Iraq and towards the American carriers as they make their way towards us. We will see the Americans coming and meet them before they can do us any harm.”

  “Allah is indeed great,” Prince Ibrahim said, tartly. The last time the Saudi Air Force had fought in a war, it had performed poorly. He’d read the official post-battle assessments and the – unofficial – reports submitted by American officers and he knew which set he believed. “We will be able to see our doom coming towards us.”

  “Allah will guide our fighting men to victory,” Mullah Bihar proclaimed. He stroked his long beard as he scowled across the table. A month ago, it would have been unthinkable for such a man – the Americans called him a terrorist, quite rightly – to sit at the highest table in the land, but the Black Prince had brought him into his inner circle. “We have faith and we have weapons. We will not lose.”

  Prince Ibrahim said nothing. No amount of logic or reason could break through their skulls. Some believed that there was no choice, but to fight; others knew that the Americans wouldn't be merciful if they fell into American hands. Between them, they were going to lead the country to disaster and there was nothing he could do to stop it.