Again, Faisal looked amused. “Quite the opposite,” he said. “In fact, I am confident that this meeting tonight will bring us together.” With that, he walked away.
When he’d reached the lectern set up at one end of the tent, the Saudi commander addressed the crowd. ‘Take your seats, gentlemen,” he called. The men arranged themselves on the carpets in a rough circle, with Faisal at the head. A dozen or so Saudi pilots, including, Reg noted, Khalid Yamani, sat in a row behind Faisal. Reg noticed for the first time that the coffee and tea services along one wall were being attended by a group of Saudi women, a flock of crows in their veils. Reg searched for a sign that Fadeela might be among them, but there was no way to penetrate the disguising abayas.
“This morning,” Faisal began, “thirty-six of the planet Earth’s largest cities were reduced to ash by the alien devils. The large ships, those of you who fought at Jerusalem called them city destroyers, then proceeded toward a second round of cities. Flights of the smaller ships have destroyed many secondary targets along the way, concentrating on military bases.” There was an easy murmur in the crowd.
“Some of the second-wave cities have already been destroyed,” Faisal continued. “Others face certain destruction within a short time. The situation is dire. But I do not believe that it is hopeless!” The commander pounded on his podium to emphasize this last point.
“The question before us now,” Faisal said, “is a simple one. What course of action shall we follow? I seek your counsel. Who among you will speak first?”
The leader of the Iranians sprang to his feet. “We must attack them immediately!” he shouted. “Every pilot we have should be in the air.” A handful of the men and even a few of the women shouted their approval, but one of the Syrians quickly rose to his feet, quieting the crowd.
“I agree with my Iranian brother that we must strike back as soon as possible,” he said. “But we have seen their power. They are demons, yes, but demons possessed of incredible strength. Our normal tactics are useless against this enemy.”
Another Syrian rose and picked up where the first had left off. “Therefore,” he said, “we have developed a plan. A way to use the enemy’s own tactics against them.”
“Rather than attacking from many directions,” continued the first, “we will fly in a single column as we saw them do in the attack at Khamis Moushayt.” Reg was startled at this revelation. He hadn’t been aware that any intelligence on the Khamis Moushayt attack had been gathered.
“Using such a maneuver,” the Syrian went on, “we can combine all of our firepower, bringing it to bear on a single concentrated point.”
Anticipating the obvious argument, the second man spoke again. “This will, of course, leave our flanks exposed. We will surely lose many planes. But we believe that, in this way, we can break through the unseen shell that protects them.”
Conversations erupted all over the room, points and counterpoints relative to the Syrian proposal being argued with ferocity. Just as Faisal was about to bring the group back to order, the voice of the Jordanian delegate, Edward, rang across the tent.
“These are the most powerful enemies humanity has ever known,” he said. “We must use the most powerful weapons humanity has ever developed against them.”
The room quieted instantly. Edward continued to speak into the stillness. “The Jews have nuclear weapons. But where are the Jews?” He looked around the room. “For the first time in my life, I want to see Jewish people, and now they have all disappeared.”
Faisal spoke. “In fact,” he said, “the Zionists are delaying the use of nuclear force only at the request of the United States. The American president has convinced the international community to delay their use until we can be sure that the aliens are vulnerable to them. They are preparing to launch a nuclear strike against the city destroyer approaching their city of Houston even as we speak!”
A cocky young Iraqi pilot stood. “Chemical weapons, then. They might eat through those shields.” The room exploded into debate once more, with the Iranians hurling invective against the oblivious young Iraqi. The Iranians well remembered the hundred thousand of their countrymen who had died when Iraq violated international law and used poison gases and biological agents in the Iran-Iraq conflict.
Faisal quickly brought their debate to a close, however. “This is not an option,” he said flatly. “The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia does not own these ghastly weapons, and we will not permit their use within our borders.”
With weapons of mass destruction at least temporarily ruled out, more and more of the pilots began speaking in favor of the Syrian plan. The feeling that some sort of immediate action was called for ran high in the tent.
Thomson, surprisingly, had remained quiet throughout the discussions, choosing instead to watch the interactions with great care. At length, he leaned over and spoke to Reg and Tye. “Look at these international pilots, will you? I don’t believe they give a flying fig what we decide to do here. I suspect that as soon as they’re fueled up and in the air, they’ll be heading for home.”
“I’m sure Faisal has given that possibility some consideration,” Reg said dryly, still looking at the gallery of women. If Fadeela was among them, she made no sign.
“Major!” hissed Tye, drawing his attention back to the front of the tent. Faisal was pointing directly at him.
“For those of you who do not him,” said the Saudi commander, “this is Major Reginald Cummins. He has lived among us for a long while, teaching our most advanced pilots. They tell me that he is the finest pilot in the Middle East.” Reg saw Khalid nodding enthusiastically behind Faisal.
“Teacher,” said Faisal, in an almost imploring tone, “tell us what we must do to defeat this enemy.”
Placed firmly on the spot, Reg had no choice but to stand and address the crowd. He was sure they did not want to hear what he had to tell them.
“I know many of you were not involved in the fighting this morning,” he said. “And I can understand your impulse to attack. But I know that many of you were there”—Reg glared at the Syrians as he said this—“and I can’t believe that you’re proposing a direct assault.”
Some of the pilots who had remained silent until now nodded agreement. Reg continued, “The aliens are capable of putting five hundred of those attacker craft into the air within a matter of seconds. And when we fought them toe-to-toe this morning they went through us like we weren’t even there. Even if we assume that a combined arms attack against the city destroyer’s shield will bring it down—and I have my doubts about that—we’d be sitting ducks for half a thousand screaming fighters that carry their own shields! They’d take out every plane in your ‘column’ in a heartbeat. Why start a fight if we don’t have the slightest chance of winning it?”
Pilots from more than one country shouted to be heard at once. The gist of what they were saying was that every hour of delay meant more devastation.
“Until something changes,” Reg continued over the protests, “it would be suicide to confront them. As long as those shields are in place, there’s nothing we can do.”
“I think,” said Faisal, “I think that our friend would not be so ready to make sacrifices if we were discussing English cities.”
“At least one English city has been destroyed, Commander,” Reg said. “As a matter of fact, except for the Israelis, we’re the only people here who have lost a city to these attackers.”
Thomson stood, joining Reg. He said, “We’re looking at the bigger picture. This battle can’t be about individual cities or countries. Not Birmingham or Cairo or Timbuktu. We are discussing how we can save the world.”
Edward spoke again, tears in his eyes. “As we speak, one of the city destroyers is approaching my capital. That is my home. It is where I left my family. I don’t know if my children are safe.” He made no move to wipe away the moisture from his cheeks. “Amman will be destroyed in fire, and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. But I agree with these English
men. We must hold back and wait for the right moment to strike.
“It is logical that if they have come here to invade the Earth,” Edward went on, “eventually their ships will land. Perhaps when they do, their shields will come down. And when that happens, we will be there to destroy them. But only if we are still alive. For the time being, we should wait.”
Once more, discussions broke out around the room. As he seated himself again, Reg felt a hand on his shoulder. Tye leaned over and whispered to him, “Have you forgotten about Lieutenant Sutton’s plan, sir? We’re supposed to convince them to get up into the air so we can head away.”
Hearing him, Thomson leaned over to answer. “Odds are, that’s what half the people in this tent are discussing right now.”
Faisal allowed the debates to simmer for a few moments before he called for order.
“There are two plans before us,” he said. “Some of you believe that we should strike immediately with all of our forces. Others counsel patience, advising that we wait for a surer opportunity for victory. I believe that the correct path lies between these two options. The orders I was given state that I am to continue standing Saudi policy and protect all parts of the kingdom. But after hearing your wisdom, I realize that these dark times call for compromise.
“For now, we will follow this good Jordanian’s advice and bend our efforts to learning more about these villains. However, on one thing we must remain firm. If the aliens should send a ship against Mecca, the Holy City of our Prophet, then we shall attack no matter the cost. No matter the cost.”
Tye whispered to Reg, “I told you that’s what we heard.”
“Because of the constraints on our supplies, I can only offer Saudi jet fuel to those pilots who will join us in this glorious task.”
Exasperated, Thomson stood again. “We just went over this. Whether it’s Mecca or any other city, the fact remains that a premature attack would be suicide. If we learn that a city destroyer is moving south, then we should, of course, evacuate the city, but there’s no reason to send good men to their deaths.”
Faisal spread his arms, holding palms upward. “All things are in the hands of Allah,” he said. “A man who martyrs himself in the defense of Islam we call a shaheed, a witness. Those who join Faisal’s jihad to defend Mecca will all bear this most honorable title.”
Reg remembered what Fadeela had told him about Faisal’s thirst for glory. And now he’s running his own private jihad, he thought.
Thomson was flustered. “Wouldn’t it please Allah all the more for you to show patience and wait for a real chance to beat these monsters?” he asked.
“Allah rewards no one more richly than the shaheeds,” Faisal countered. “A man who dies in the name of God while defending Islam ensures a place for himself and his family in Paradise, where he will be rewarded with seventy-two virgins.”
“Virgins? What have virgins got to do with this?” asked Thomson, incredulous.
“Sounds lovely to me,” said Tye.
Reg took advantage of the rough laughter that followed Tye’s wistful comment to whisper to Thomson, “Don’t try to argue the Koran with a Muslim, Colonel.”
“Colonel Thomson,” Faisal said, “perhaps it is impossible for you, a Christian man, to appreciate how important Mecca is to Muslims. We face it five times each day during our prayers. It is never far from our thoughts. It is literally the center of our world. It would be a form of suicide for us not to defend the city.” He looked around the room. “How many of you Muslim soldiers are prepared to do nothing while Mecca is destroyed by fire?” Faisal’s gaze slowly swept the room his expression stem. Naturally, no one raised his hand. The commonality of purpose that appeared to pervade the room seemed, for the moment, quite genuine. But Reg’s gut told him that the enthusiasm for Faisal’s plan was manufactured, a smoke screen designed to give the pilots the opportunity to fuel up their jets and return to their home countries. Reg sighed, and stood once more.
“It’s a bad plan, and I won’t participate in it,” he said. “Until the situation changes, it doesn’t matter what city we’re defending. And as to the holy purpose of this mission,” Reg paused, not at all relishing what he was about to do, “as to the holy purpose, well, I hope none of you have it in the back of your minds to take advantage of Faisal’s plan to fuel up and return to your homelands. It would be a simple matter, after all, for Faisal to keep a couple of chase squadron planes in flanking positions with orders to shoot down any deserters.”
Many in the tent stared at Reg in angry silence, stunned that he was ruining their plan for escape. Faisal broke the silence.
“Major Cummins, your points are well made, and you are quite correct. I have anticipated that there might be some small number of false hearts and anticipated as well the necessity and the means to punish traitors and deserters.”
His point to the other pilots made, Faisal turned a venomous grin on Reg. “I am not surprised that you cannot feel sympathy for a Muslim cause despite the friendship and admiration your Saudi students feel for you. I understand that you shot down a young Egyptian pilot this morning.” He paused to let the accusation linger in the air for a moment. “Shot him down like a dog, though you had no authority over him, because he refused to obey your orders.”
“That’s a bloody lie, and you know it, Faisal!” shouted Tye, leaping to his feet for the first time.
Reg gestured for the mechanic to be seated, taking the opportunity to calm his own seething anger. “I didn’t fire on the Egyptian, Faisal. I did what I had to do to save myself, and I did so in an attempt to lead the aliens away from Khamis Moushayt.”
“And Khamis Moushayt is now in ruins, yes? And so the Egyptian boy is dead for no reason, as dead as all of the British and American pilots whom you failed to save when you fled into the desert.”
Many of the Saudis and those international pilots who had not been part of Reg’s group were now whispering to one another in angry tones, gesturing at him with thinly veiled contempt.
“Major Cummins,” Faisal continued, “if you choose not to fight, so be it. May Allah forgive you.” He turned to address the entire group. “And may Allah forgive all of you who will not join me in pledging to defend Mecca.
“Those of you who do not wish to join the shaheeds may leave us now. Your input is no longer needed.”
During the first tense moments before anyone stood to leave, Reg tried unsuccessfully to make eye contact with Khalid, but the usually cheerful young man was staring somberly at his feet. Edward was the first to stand and leave. Much to everyone’s surprise, all three Syrians followed immediately behind the Jordanian. Then Remi, the lone Ethiopian, left. With a disappointed sigh, Tye stood, his head reaching almost to the roof of the tent.
“Well, I’d say that was a smashing failure. We might as well get out of here.” One by one, exactly half of the international pilots filtered out of the tent. Reg was among the last to leave.
Before he turned, Faisal smiled at him once more, and said, “Who’s standing in the way of unity now?”
That bastard planned every bit of this meeting, start to finish, thought Reg.
Outside, Thomson and Tye stood waiting for him.
“You didn’t win us any friends with your last speech, Major,” Thomson said.
“I’m not running for Most Popular Fighter Pilot, Colonel,” Reg said, voice clipped. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to keep us all together.”
Tye wasn’t convinced. “Lieutenant Sutton’s going to go ballistic,” he said. “Now there’s no chance for Diego Garcia.” He glanced back into the tent. “No chance for virgins either, I’ll warrant.”
The Saudi guards posted outside the meeting didn’t order the pilots back across the runway, so they stayed, waiting for the meeting to break up. None of the international pilots would even glance in Reg’s direction.
The various factions whispered ominously to one another, glancing over their shoulders to make sure none of the Saudis was within
earshot. It was a novel sight to see Miriyam, the Israeli firebrand, in hushed conversations with pilots from Iraq, Iran, and even Syria. Reg was certain they were hatching some scheme for seizing control of the fuel tanker; but as he was being shut out, it was only a guess.
Thirty minutes later, the meeting inside the tent was over, and the participants began to stream out into the cool midnight air. They seemed to be in high spirits, confident that they would either turn back the invasion or earn Paradise trying.
Reg kept an eye out for Khalid. He wanted to speak to the young pilot and his father. It was Reg’s hope that the elder Yamani held enough influence—and still had enough of his wits about him—to steer Faisal away from his plan. But when his former student emerged from the tent, Faisal himself his escort, arm draped over the younger man as if the two were long-lost brothers, Reg could only watch as they wandered away between the tents, locked in discussion.
“The meeting is now finished. You will return to your encampments!” It was the burly Saudi captain again, looking menacingly strong as he herded the international pilots across the runway.
Reg hung back in the shadow of an F-15 and managed to escape the notice of the Saudi guards. Once he was sure he was unobserved, he trotted quietly through the camp, making his way to the line of Learjets. Moving surreptitiously from plane to plane, he eventually came to the Yamani jet, light streaming from its portals. With a last glance around, he climbed the stairs and raised his hand to knock on the hatch.
“There is no one inside who wishes to speak to you, Major Cummins,” came a soft voice from beneath the plane’s fuselage.
Reg was startled, but he maintained an even demeanor as he leaned over and peered into the darkness beneath the jet. In her black abaya, Fadeela Yamani was an invisible specter. Only when her green eyes caught a flash of light from across the camp could Reg make out her location.
Complete Independence Day Omnibus, The Page 58
