Love Patterns

by Michael B. Malone

  Dividing up the villagers, Ajram sent a third of them to follow the guide and hide outside the room where the staff were being held, with orders not to try to attack. While the others followed the second guard to the rest-room. They burst in to find more than a dozen bearded men smoking, eating and playing cards. Three terrified young women huddled in a corner, trying to cover their nakedness with what remained of their clothing. The men sat frozen, not knowing if the Maden were friend or foe but on seeing that most of the party were boys, a few men reached for their guns. The boys, however were Madan warriors, who’d developed quick reactions and reflexes through sheer self-preservation and the ruffians left on guard went down in a hail of bullets.

  Leaving the older members to finish off the wounded with their knives, and to take care of the women, they started back along the corridor. They heard a burst of gunfire from farther away. Their now shocked guide led them downstairs and along another corridor where they met Ali leading Warid, Professor Suleman and others. Ali grinned and told them that at the sound of gunfire the five gunmen guarding the staff had come rushing out of the lecture theatre to be met by a hail of bullets. They hadn’t even got off one shot.

  They gathered at the front entrance to try to decide what to do. Professor Suleman, who was bruised about the face but still managed to look serene, suggested they’d better leave quickly as the main force of the looters, nearly two hundred, would be back soon. Warid voiced his opinion that they would be at the mercy of the looters if they were caught in their boats or ambushed in the streets and what would happen to Professor Suleman and the staff? The arguments raged until Alan felt that time was running out. He told four of the youths to tie the hands of the two captured guards and take them back to the lecture theatre out of hearing. When he was satisfied they were well away, he fired a shot from his Kalashnikov into the roof. In the sudden quietness he announced that they were staying. His Madan gathered round him … arguments and questions died on lips as he turned his eyes on the staff. Some change in his eyes and voice had redefined his status. He was now their leader. He explained about the machine-guns and their rate of fire. He stopped, aware of the rapt faces in the crowd clustered round him. It suddenly sank in, he’d taken charge. I don’t need this, he thought, but he didn’t have time to ponder. There were things to organise. He took a deep breath.

  He delegated Professor Suleman and the staff to seal off all possible entrances to the university, find how secure it could be made, and to post guards if necessary. Leaving half of the Madan guarding the entrance he asked Warid to show him where the technician’s room was. After collecting any tools, he thought that he might need, he took the rest of the Madan to where they’d left the boats, leaving the young men to explain to the boat guards what had happened. He, Ali and Warid got started trying to remove the machine-guns from their supports. Most of the bolts were rusted so badly that they had to be sheared off and two had to be removed with a hammer and chisel but at last they got the guns loose. They distributed the ammunition boxes and the petrol cans among the Madan, then with Warid, Ali and himself staggering under the weight of the heavy machine-guns, they marched back in a body to the university. He found the staff and the Madan who’d made the rounds of the university ready to report. The windows were too high for easy access. Side doors had been locked and barricaded and staff were guarding them with the captured automatics of the dead guards. A doctor among the aid workers came to report on the condition of the girls to Professor Suleman. Alan overheard the conversation about what had been done to them and filled with cold fury, he promised himself the looters would pay for their atrocities. Alan showed the machine guns to the staff and asked if anyone knew how to use them. One member of staff who was a reserve army officer, stepped forward and nominated two members of staff who were also reserve officers. Alan left it to them to decide where to place the guns, but reminded them that it would be wise to keep the existence of the guns secret until they were used. After sending a group of youths to help the officers carry the guns and ammunition, he sent for the two prisoners and set them free, ordering them to inform their leader that the university was now off-limits. The two prisoners, hardly able to believe their good fortune, scrambled down the steps and disappeared into the back streets off the square.

  Alan noticed Warid looking questioningly at him.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” he asked.

  Alan reassured him. “You haven’t seen what these guns can do. I want as many of the bastards crowded into the square as possible.”

  This reminded him of the two older men to whom he’d demonstrated the machine guns. He took them to where the weapons were placed and explained to the gunners that the two oldsters knew a little about the guns and could stand by in case the gunners were disabled.

  He also demanded. “I want as many of the rioters dead as possible. Arrange your field of fire to achieve this. Don’t worry about the entrance to the university. I’ll make sure it is adequately covered.”

  He next arranged the youths whom he knew were good shots at the second storey windows, five rifles to cover each street off the square.

  “Concentrate on preventing anyone, leaving the square,” he commanded.

  The rest of the villagers and staff, he grouped around the entrance and the front windows to make the entrance more secure if the doors were forced, and piled desks at the front entrance to stop them being rushed.

  Satisfied he’d done as much as he could he realised that he was hungry. He asked some of the non-combatant staff if they could prepare food for the defenders. Professor Suleman took charge and led a party to the kitchens, reappearing twenty minutes later with plates piled with bread and cheese and mugs of thick sweet coffee.

  They waited for over an hour with nothing happening except for occasional bouts of firing from other parts of the city. The only people they saw were a few black clothed women scavenging in the square in front of the university building. Alan made the rounds of the defenders to check that they were alert.

  The scouts Alan had stationed at the entrances to the square came hurrying back to report that bands of armed men were approaching. The defenders were alerted. Soon they heard a distant murmuring, growing louder, until they could recognise shouts.

  The square gradually began to fill with bearded men, all toting rifles or swords. They gathered at the bottom of the steps leading up to the university entrance, shouting threats, telling the defenders what was going to happen to them. It went quiet. A huge bearded man, flanked by two lieutenants strode up the pathway that opened before him. He stood at the bottom of the steps, grinning then he shouted up.

  “You in there, come out now and I’ll spare your lives.” Laughter erupted from the crowd.

  Everyone looked at Alan. He sensed the undertow of fear in the younger warrior’s bravado. His own stomach felt as if it was trying to tie itself in knots. He took a deep breath then stepped out of the door holding his Kalashnikov suspended from his shoulder by the strap, his finger on the trigger. With two hundred pairs of eyes focusing on him, he eyed the bearded giant and shouted.

  “If you give yourselves up to be tried by the authorities, I’ll spare your lives.”

  The leader’s eyes widened in surprise. He laughed. “You and a bunch of boys?”

  Alan forced a smile. “My boys have already disposed of the rest of your scum.”

  The giant gave another grin, deliberately assessing Alan, then disdainfully started to mount the steps, signalling to his men to follow. Alan felt the force of the man’s personality beating him down.

  “Oh! God!” he muttered.

  Chapter 45

  Alan moved his Kalashnikov a fraction. The giant’s eyes widened, his grin faded, and his mouth opened. Alan squeezed the trigger and the bandit leader, as if in slow motion, fell backwards with a third eye in his forehead spouting blood. The echoes of the shot died away. There was a hush, as if the crowd held its breath.

  Alan darted back inside while the ri
oters were still in shock. The giant tumbled over and over with heavy sodden thuds while emotions chased each other through Alan in rapid succession, triumph, exhilaration, shock, sorrow. The body landed at the bottom of the steps face up with a slowly diminishing geyser of blood spouting from the bullet hole, rising and falling in time with his failing heartbeat. The silence was broken by the ear-splitting thunder of a machine gun, starting, quickly followed by the others and then by the sharper noise of the rifles opening.

  Alan glimpsed bodies being lifted off the ground and hurled back in waves by the sheer hail of heavy calibre steel shells. By the time Alan found a vantage-point and brought his rifle to bear, the fight was over. There was no one left to shoot at and the defenders were dancing around him, shouting and trying to clap him on the back. He was suddenly aware of pain in his leg and foot and examined himself. A bullet had nicked the fleshy part of his calf.

  He sent some of the older youths to scout around the entrances where he was told only a few of the rioters had escaped, then he sent the rest of them whooping, down into the pile of bodies where they disposed of anyone still alive with their knives and relieved the bodies of weapons and any other loot that they could find. He went around all the defenders’ positions and found that, miraculously, there were only minor injuries and the medical staff were already dealing with them. He sent some of the university staff and Ali and Warid to scout around Basra, to find out what was happening in other parts of the city. He set guards on the machine guns and asked Ajram to set a guard on the boats. Only then did he ask a doctor to look at his own injury.

  Wishing to relinquish his leadership, he consulted Professor Suleman as to what they should do next. Since it was their first real chance to have a conversation, they retired to the kitchen and discussed the situation.

  The professor told him. “There is no real revolt. The looters are the main danger. The great mass of the population, are either huddled in their houses or they had left the city and the riots are mostly revenge killings; factions settling old scores, and religious riots instigated by fanatics and Iranian revolutionary guards who’d infiltrated the town.” He went on. “You’ve rid us of the worst problem. I had been using the building as a refugee centre, mainly for women and children when the mob took it over, presumably for our stock of food and supplies. I managed to let the refugees escape through a side entrance.” He touched the bruises on his face, and smiled wryly. “That was why they beat me.” On Alan’s query as to where the refugees were now, he sighed despondently. “Hiding I would think. Once I know what is happening in the rest of the city I will try to get them back.” He indicated the gathering gloom. “I had better see to the distribution of paraffin lamps before it gets too dark, the electricity supply has been cut off.”

  The scouts came back with reports that news of the massacre of the looters was circulating around the city and people were beginning to leave their homes. They’d also found that Shia rebels, army deserters and about two thousand Iranian revolutionary guards were fortifying the north of the city in preparation for a battle with the approaching army.

  After posting guards, Alan and the rest bedded down for the night, leaving Professor Suleman and his staff to arrange for the care of the black robed women and their children, who were beginning to arrive.

  The next day they started cleaning up. They commandeered a truck which had run out of petrol, filled it with their own supply, then started to move the bodies outside the city, dumping them near the main highway south. Alan, with Professor Suleman and a few bodyguards toured the centre of the city. He was appalled at the raw sewage and bodies floating in the canal.

  “The war has put Iraq back twenty years,” the Professor sighed. “Ruined bridges and roads, the main generating plants and most of the smaller ones destroyed, sewage and water treatment plants demolished.” He sighed despairingly. “Before long disease and plague will be rampant.” He pointed to a black cloaked woman sitting in a looted shop doorway with three children gathered around her, as she tried to hide something beneath her robe. He explained. “They are the real casualties of war, the mother’s hiding their babies beneath their cloaks; who will not let that life go without a ferocious struggle.” He approached the woman, who gathered her children more closely to her and glared at him suspiciously. Putting his hand on her head, he gently advised her. “Mother! go to the university and tell them that Professor Suleman sent you. You will get food and shelter there.” The woman stared after them, then when she realized that they weren’t going to molest her, she gathered her children, and her few possessions and departed.

  The professor sighed. “They gather their children around them and try to recreate a home. Her kitchen is a battered pot and a few scraps of firewood. Her bedroom is her own body where her children lie for warmth under her cloak. She starves herself, so her children will not go hungry.” With a depth of feeling that brought a lump to Alan’s throat, he exclaimed, “Mothers!”

  When they returned to the university they found an American reporter accompanied by a photographer, waiting for them. After explaining to Professor Suleman that they were covering the rebellion in southern Iraq, the three disappeared inside the building. Alan made the rounds of the Madan to find them smiling and proud of their initiation as warriors. They still seem to consider him as their leader, asking him for instructions about things they would normally decide for themselves. While they were still shifting bodies, the photographer and reporter reappeared and approached Alan.

  “The prof. says you’re English,” the reporter remarked.

  “Scottish,” Alan corrected, grinning.

  The reporter grinned back, then indicated the piled-up bodies and the crowds of curious bystanders, occasionally pointing a finger at Alan.

  “And you are responsible for all this?”

  “I only killed the leader,” Alan replied. “I suppose I am responsible.”

  The two newsmen looked at each other then asked Alan for details of his background and the events leading up to the fight. Alan, glad to hear the English language again, told them his story of being from Dundee University on an ecological survey, being held hostage, escaping into the marshes and the events afterwards. He was asked to pose for a photograph. He posed as instructed with his Kalashnikov butt resting on his hip.

  He asked the reporter if he would post a letter to his parents? They agreed so he scrounged an envelope and writing paper from Professor Suleman and scribbled a hasty letter. It never crossed his mind to enclose a note to Kirsty. The newsmen left to report on the fighting with the republican guard.

  Other lightly armed Madan started to arrive in Basra, having heard about the uprising, until there were thousands of them. Many came to the square, curious to see the bodies, exclaiming at the way many were torn apart by the heavy calibre shells. Alan’s Madan boasted to them about the battle and he saw them pointing him out. Later, as he walked in the city he heard shouts of, “Alan, Alan” from groups of youths.

  The last lorry load of bodies was removed, and Alan felt it was time to think of returning to the village. He went back to the university to ask Professor Suleman if there was anything he could do to help and found him busy organizing rooms and food and shelter for the hundreds of refugees, mostly women and children who’d heard that the refugee centre was operational again, and were flocking back.

  Warid came to tell Alan that there was a crowd in the square calling for him, so he followed him back, to find the square almost filled with Madan. Warid led him to where a group of elders waited. Alan stopped before them, looked them over and inclined his head. The elders looked at a hawkish faced man in his forties among them. He introduced himself and stared at Alan who looked levelly back. He cleared his throat and told Alan that the tribes had heard that the Republican guard were approaching and would arrive, probably the next day. They wanted to co-ordinate their efforts and had decided to invite Alan to join them since he had already led a victorious skirmish. Alan knew how the Madan mind work
ed and grinned wryly to himself, although he kept his features composed. He suspected that the tribes wanted his villagers to join them because of the machine-guns and the huge number of weapons and ammunition they were known to possess. Alan demurred, with the excuse that he knew nothing about warfare and that he’d been lucky in his first fight. Scattered groups of youths starting chanting, “Alan, Alan”, and despite his reservations, a wild excitement gripped him at the power that the tribes represented. They were like a long arm he could send against the enemy. He felt an exhilaration that was almost sexual, that could overcome all obstacles. He remembered the movie “Lawrence of Arabia” and how hordes of tribesmen chanted “Lawrence”. A wild thought entered his head. He could unite all the tribes, make himself their leader and become another Lawrence. Professor Suleman appeared at the top of the steps and Alan remembered the mothers with their arms wrapped protectively around their children, and the dead soldier at the fort and wondered how many more grieving mothers would be left mourning their sons and husbands

  The exhilaration left him. He felt deeply ashamed at the lust for power he’d seen in himself. Suddenly deflated and tired, he realized that he didn’t want power over anyone, he just wanted to go home. He felt some indefinable shift within himself as if he’d passed some test.

  Making his decision, he mounted the steps and held up his hand. The crowd became quiet. He raised his voice without shouting, so that all the crowd could hear him.