The Kings of Sumer (continued from SNES)

[Samuel Johnson]

INTERLUDE: The Road to War Less Traveled (continued)

To further enjoy this story, here is a map of Italy.

http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/europe/italy_pol96.jpg


Somewhere off the Aeolian Islands, north of Sicily

In advance of the troop transport ship, Soviet Navy destroyers performed a thorough sweep of the route through the Messina straits (between Italy and Sicily). They noted with their active sonargrams where all the metal hulks lay from previous wars. Off of Salina, it looked like just another one of the sunken boats. Their analysts had matched it with the sunken British submarine GRAMPUS. Historical records said that the Italian patrol boats had torpedoed the poor bastard 10 years ago. May she rest in peace, thought the analyst.

Now, several hours after the Soviet destroyer had made their sweep, the ghost ship suddenly shuddered. Silently, it rose up in the water. An antenna poked up and waited for a few minutes and the ghost slipped back into its resting place.


USSR listening post, Sardinia

Just like clockwork, every eight hours, thought Olga as she listened to the UHF channels. It had started several years ago and apparently emanated from the Egyptian coast. No one had figured out what it was, just short blocks of indecipherable squealing. Some of the geniuses back in Moscow and Stalingrad said it was simply strategic deception and meant nothing. Others thought the Jihadis transmitters were improperly installed. They assured the communications operators it was just some nonsense – the Jihadis showing off. But she was sure they were studying it like mad, regardless.

The spooks had even started a offsetting program featuring a droning female voice, day after day, hour after hour, reciting a stream of random numbers over various short-wave frequencies. I hope its bugging them, Olga thought, the terrorists.

She turned to her officemate.

“It’s a nice night. Things look quiet. I’m going out for a quick espresso. Can you watch my console? Nothing seems to be happening tonight.”

Her desk mate ignored the breach of duties; it happened all the time in these provincial listening posts. Besides, she was busy providing information on the annoying Egyptian air patrol to the ESU.


USSR Transport THE RUSSIAN BAY
200 KM south of Salerno

It was a nice night. The seas were calm and his men were sleeping peacefully for once. The trip up the African coast was horrendous and Gregori abhorred this floating vomitorium they called a ship. He looked at the sliver of the moon as he took deep breaths of the cool air and thought about the next few weeks.

It will be great to get back to civilization after the three years in Africa, he thought. The infantry sergeant looked forward to this new assignment in Athens. He had been hearing so much about the nightlife in this city. He thought about that illicit copy of the American magazine Playboy that he had confiscated from his men. That photo spread on the lovely Greek girls. Mmmmm. He couldn’t wait for his taste.

Earlier in the cruise, Gregori had enthusiastically signed up his squadron to take part in the air watch patrols. One of his boys had been the first to spot the Egyptian air patrol. The little intrepid airplane had dogged them for the past few days and was relieved every eight hours or so by another. He turned to the South with his binoculars.

They had made a sport out of spotting their “seagull” and jeering at the Navy boys when the sailors lost track of the patrol craft. The Navy boys declared it to be a harmless nuisance and noted that the model did not have any anti-ship capabilities. But his squadron had spent many hours trying to guess what the Jihadis were up to. When they were finished jawboning about that and the Greek girls, they would make sport of the Navy again, never failing to point out how the squibs had chosen this cowardly route that hugged the Northern Coast of the Med. They could have been in Athens now drinking beer. Why should the greatest country in the world act like some sort of thief in the night?

He sighed heavily. Yep, there’s my faithful “seagull” – almost directly in front of the path of the ship now as they were heading south down the coast. He estimated about 20-25 miles away. He watched him for a while. The Egyptian was taking a chance flying so close to Sicilian airspace what with the recent ESU warning. But since most of the ESU was buzzing around Greece and Turkey, he suspected they might let this one slip through. Gregori’s squadron specialized in anti-aircraft gunnery and he looked forward to meeting this Egyptian pilot someday, perhaps under different circumstances.

Whoops! I spoke too soon, he thought. He adjusted the binoculars to watch four ESU patrol aircraft were quickly approaching from the east to intercept the plane and he watched wistfully as the Egyptian patrol plane turned southwest towards Tunis. Well, at least someone is out there is thinking of us.

But then again... Air Force, he thought, now there’s a service that needs to be taken down a peg. He chuckled again and walked to the mess deck for a late night coffee.


North of the Aeolian Islands, approximately one hour later

The English-borne Captain showed off a little of his boarding school education to the crew. “Well, my boys. Once more into the breach.” Most of the crew had no idea what he was saying and the Babylonian Executive Officer didn’t bother to translate. He just signaled upward with his hands.

The ghost ship off Salina rose again and this time a periscope poked tentatively out of the water. After a long agonizing period for the crew and not so comfortable period for the veteran Captain, he mumbled, “Hello, what? Our Egyptian friends did not lie.” And then a few more agonizing moments later: “She’s within range, boys.” The captain rattled off some coordinates. The Executive Officer looked over at the torpedo console operator who conversed with the torpedo room and ops and then nodded towards him.

The XO touched the captain on his shoulder.

“Jolly good. Fire away!” After some fumbling and voice commands down to the torpedo room, the new Mark 35 started its first and last journey. The XO whispered to the crew, “Allah is great” and they all did a silent prayer. Even the infidel Captain bowed his head. He was praying that the missile, a notoriously unreliable model, would complete its mission. And he thought about the consequences if it didn’t.

And so the ghost boat slipped back to its “resting place” hoping that it too wasn’t completing its last journey as well. In a few days, it would look around again and then try to float home with the current.

[Samuel Johnson]

INTERLUDE: The Road to War Less Traveled (continued)

USSR Destroyer SEVEROMORSK

220 km Southwest of Salerno

The Executive Officer (XO) of the USSR destroyer Severomorsk was only down in ASW room for a few seconds before one of the sonarmen screamed.

“We have a duck in the water! Repeat, duck in the water!”

XO leaned forward and looked over the young sailor’s shoulder.

“Calm down, son. Range? Speed?”

“Don’t have that yet. I’ve got an initial bearing now.”

The XO pointed at the Med map greaseboard. The Senior Chief who maintained the greaseboards nodded.

The XO proclaimed. “It must have come from somewhere here pointing north of Sicily.”

The Senior Chief who maintained the greaseboards nodded. “Yes sir, assuming it isn’t a Mark 39, in which case it could have come from here” – His finger traced a wider area above Sicily and came to rest on the a submarine contact labeled ESU-5 near the Messina strait – “the Czech sub – ESU-5,” he noted.

The XO ignored the implication. “No, not with that range. It would have to be wire-guided as well. The Jihadis don’t have MK 39s. You should know that.”

“Yes, sir, I do. But the ESU has wire-guided. So do the Americans.” He left it hanging in the air. One of the younger, less occupied, Soviet sailors turned up towards the chief.

“ESU-5, Chief, she is Czech?” The Senior Chief gazed at the petty officer in annoyance.

The XO answered. “You didn’t know? Well, that is good – our operational security is finally working. Yes, ESU-5 is a Czech sub.”

The sailor now turned his questioning look to the XO.

The XO sighed, “Yes, I know. Czechoslovakia is a landlocked nation.”

He rolled his eyes and explained.

“In order to maintain good relations among the core Eastern European states, the great leader of the ESU has funded a small Czech Navy. Their subs are training in the Tyrrhenian Sea where they supposedly won’t cause any trouble. They have already misfired one torpedo.” He paused and considered. “They shouldn’t be down here.”

The other sonarman shouted, “Um, range is about 15 miles from us. I’ve got a possible trajectory and speed.”

“27 knots and heading based on assumed range and release point…” -- the sailor turned towards the greaseboard – “here”, pointing at the general area above the Aeolian Islands. He turned to the left display. “And on the kilo diagram” – he turned to the greaseboard that displayed the locations of all the ships in surface escort group and traced a line to the direct center.

“Oh. My.”

“Ten minutes to impact, Sir.”

“Get the Captain and the political officer down here, immediately. Have the helmsman lay a course to Salina Island. We’ll get this Jihadi. Inform the Russian Bay to execute maneuvers if in fact that rustbucket can actually do so.”


The Northern Entrance to the Messina Straits

A French fishing ship had just finished a week or so of trolling the Italian coast and their manifest and papers had gained them permission to head towards the Ionian Sea. The fishermen sat on the deck enjoying the dark and cool night watching the well-lit coastline. The captain had laid out some beer and pizza earlier and they were well sedated at this point.

Unobserved, though, was the antenna that rose out of the top of the mast.

The voice spoke in Russian, the common language of maritime Europe. “Foxtrot 1, this is Tango Echo. Have a beer. Repeat, have a beer.”

The antenna lowered and no one but the Captain and the 1st mate, a recent immigrant from Free France, were any the wiser. The ship continued its transit unmolested through the straits. They caught alot of fish on the trip, too.

[Samuel Johnson]

Aboard the ESU Battleship GRANAT

“Tango Echo, this is Foxtrot 1. Repeat your call. Repeat. No, wait. Who is this? You were warned not to use these channels. Are you in trouble again, ESU-5? Please use standard protocol for Maydays. What are you doing down there anyway?”

The Captain of the GRANAT angrily tore the microphone out of the radioman’s hands before he could go any further and ordered the boy escorted to the brig. He then cursed the first of many curses he would lay on the Czech sub before the night was through. Best to act as if this had never happened.


USSR Sardinia listening post

Olga had just gotten back and her senses were tingling from the caffeine. The Italian men are handsome and the coffee is good. I could live here the rest of my life.

She noted that odd conversation about "have a beer” that came from the GRANAT, thought it just one of those Navy jokes she never understand but she wrote it up and gave it to the outgoing comms department. The telegraph man encoded it and transmitted it via radio to the Russian Mediterranean Navy HQ in Rome. Similarly in Palermo, the process was repeated at another listening post. In Moscow, an analyst fed the information into a computer and in seconds gave the resulting tickertape printout to a messenger who ran it into the intelligence operations center. The messenger wondered what was going on.


USSR Destroyer SEVEROMORSK

A few minutes later, the Captain dropped into his chair on the bridge. The political officer followed a minute later. He was a greasy, unkempt man, unfit for the KGB, and very out of place on the destroyer. He just sipped his whisky-laced coffee and kept quiet. There was going to be some excitement tonight, he thought.

The XO came on deck and announced: “Sir, we have reports of a huge explosion from sonar in the vicinity of the Russian Bay. Should we continue to make haste to the Salina islands or break off and look for survivors?”

The Captain dismissed that. “Our orders from Admiral Smirnov are clear. Full speed. Let’s take care of this stinking Moo. Let’s give them the first counter-punch of this war.” Moo was short for Muhhamed and the name the USSR Navy gave to all the Jihadi ships.

A radioman came onto the bridge holding an envelope.

“Yes, radioman?” asked the XO.

The radioman pointed at the political officer and handed him the eyes only message.

The seedy political officer smiled as he read. “Hmm…Captain, you might want to prepare a new course.”

“What are you talking about?” the Captain snapped.

“Well, Soviet intelligence says that the submarine that struck the Russian Bay is at these coordinates.” He handed them to the Captain who handed them to the navigators who plotted them on the light table.

“Sir,” said one of the sailors. “That’s in the same general area where the Czech submarine, ESU-5, is at, we think.”

The XO who was standing by silently throughout objected. “That can’t be, Captain. We should maintain course to Salina Island.”

The political officer only smiled and he shifted his beady eyes went towards the radio console which magically crackled.

“Wardog 3, this is Alpha Papa, come in.” Admiral Smirnov!

The Captain grabbed the microphone. “Alpha Papa, we read you loud and clear.”

“Wardog 3, make way to the following coordinates and start your search there.” They were the same coordinates the political officer had just handed the crew a second ago.

The political officer’s smile got broader and he flashed an “I told you so” smile at the XO.

The Captain roared, “Get me the CO of the Granat on a secure channel. Why can’t we have competent allies?”

“When we get near ESU-5, go completely active. He’s obviously made a mistake – let’s get him to surface. If he ignores us,” the Destroyer Captain grimaced, “then launch depth charges. XO! Let’s see if we can get him to wet his pants.”

[Samuel Johnson]

INTERLUDE: The Road to War Less Traveled (Concluded)

Czech Submarine designated ESU-5 by the USSR

Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!

“Evasive maneuvers.” The Captain, a minor political figure from the mountainous regions above Prague, didn’t know what those maneuvers would be but he trusted his Soviet-trained XO would figure it out.

“Sir, it can only be ESU or Russians pinging us. They would never let the Jihadis this far into the Med.”

“Well,” the Captain said, “maybe its impromptu training exercises.”

“There is no such training scheduled, Captain. I have no idea why we are even down here – it is way out of our maneuvering area.”

“I don’t care what you think and I hate being second-guessed by my XO. Continue the evasive maneuvers.”

One half hour later of incessant pinging. And then the depth charges. The Captain at one point whined that they had never done this before in training. The XO continued to encourage him to surface.

One of the communications officers had taken over the console. “We’re getting a low frequency message in Morse code. Hard to make it out with all the clutter.”

A long pause. “Captain, it says `surface or die’ and its USSR in origin.”

The Captain started screaming, “It’s a trick. Somehow the Iraqis have made it through our defenses. Fire at them, make it stop!”

XO: “Captain, I respectfully suggest that we surface and sort this out.” The Captain screeched, “Are you disobeying a direct order. Do you want to be replaced? We are not to surface!”

The XO was speechless but he had been trained never to disobey a direct order. He turned to the chief trying to think up a way out of this. “Prepare torpedo in bay 2.” He whispered to the chief to make it a training torpedo. Perhaps the Soviets would see that they were mistaken if an inert torpedo was launched. The Chief winked and went to work.


USSR Destroyer Severomorsk

The XO was now incensed as well. “Captain, we have another duck in the water. It’s going to go off-range but the Czechs are now firing at us,” not without a little bit of prideful outrage.

The Soviet Captain was livid and it wasn’t helping that the Granat Captain had turned down his request for a secure conversation. They kept saying that their secure antenna was down. “Get me the Granat on a non-secure line. We need to get to the bottom of this. I don’t care if we breach operational security. This is insane.”

A minute later, the Granat replied that the Captain was busy. The political officer shook his head knowingly. “Captain, did you know that several days ago, the ESU stormed out of a meeting with Admiral Smirnov and said that USSR will never occupy Athens. Those soldiers on the Russian Bay were heading for Athens, you know.”

“Oh, Mother of Russia, save us from these Eastern Europeans! Do you think this is just a case of insubordination by General Nanova?” The Captain didn’t expect a reply and thought of all those soldiers who were now lost or freezing off the coast of Italy.

He took a deep breath. “Very well. That submarine is a menace – I don’t care if she is confused or what. She is now declared a rogue submarine. Tell the Granat that we are going to fire torpedos.”

“Sir, they’re still not responding.”

“Very well. I have been given no choice. XO, make the ESU-5 go away.” And he waved his hands.


Czech Submarine

The pinging just got faster and louder.

The submarine Captain, who had never seen the sea until he was 25 years old, started screaming when he realized it might become his final resting place. “What do we do now, what do we do now? Surface, surface, surface!” The XO instead shrugged and said, “Too late. Prepare for impact, Sir.”

As the pinging got faster and faster, the XO noticed a dark stain spreading across the Captain’s pants. He wondered what he had done to his Maker to deserve such a final moment in life – watching a goat herder’s son wet his pants. And then everything went white and then everything went dark.

[Samuel Johnson]

INTERLUDE - Epilogue to The Road to War Less Traveled

ESU CLRD G1 EYES ONLY

Subject: Case of General Nanova
Evidence A.56;

Below message was found among the secure lowfrequency submarine communications traffic addressed to the Czech submarine 2 days before incident and is now in the hands of the highest Russian authorities.

RED ONE was General Nanova's call sign but he has denied all knowledge of approving this order. There is no record of any other communications between Nanova and this Captain or submarine.

Investigator General, ESU MEDNAVY COMMAND

Text of retrieved message below:

CAPTAIN, PLS PROCEED TO BELOW COORD AND BE IN PLACE AT 1000 TWO DAYS HENCE. ACT ONLY UPON ORDERS FROM FOXTROT ONE (ESU SS GRANAT) OR HIGHER AUTH. THESE ORDERS CANNOT BE DIVULGED TO ANYONE ONBOARD. THAT IS ALL. RED ONE.

[civman2000]

WOw! Great naval drama!

[Samuel Johnson]

INTERNATIONAL HERALD TRIBUNE headlines

Thousands die in Soviet Naval incident!!!
Reports of huge explosion, bodies washing up in Italy
Transport was ferrying soldiers, weapons to Athens, says official
Smirnov: Handover to contine; suspects "Jihadis"

ESU to skip ceremony; Riots in Corinth as ESU Army masses on borders!

Native Alliance condemns Tutu torture
Exiled Zulus demand release

[Samuel Johnson]

ATHENS HANDOVER CEREMONY
City Hall, Athens

Uday rolled his wheelchair slowly across the stage. This was to be a solemn moment and he wanted to milk it for all that it was worth. Of course, most of the Greek audience didn’t know that he had become paralyzed because of a boating accident and so their sympathy was probably misplaced. Most of them didn’t even believe that Babylon had any designs on Athens, Uday chuckled to himself.

He was nervous about being in Athens with the tensions so high not to mention the recent black operation he planned against the Warsaw Pact. But this was Athens not Sarejevo and so he decided to take the chance for propaganda purposes.

Uday was pleasantly surprised at the Athens that greeted him. It had been about five years and he was surprised to see the middle class that arose. He remembered the quick rise of the urban middle class in Iraq as being a great stimulant to the economy and a major factor in the liberalization of their culture.

But these new Greeks were a very pacifist group interested in shallow fashions and trendy causes. Superficial but if placated with platitudes, easily manipulated. He thought that these types of manipulations might ultimately backfired – if history was an indication – but the immensity of the threat made this little psychological operation a necessary evil. Who knows, perhaps these people might have turned out this way without Iraqi influence?

Uday had inherited his father’s guile if not his brutality – although he had his moments. His accident had changed him but was it for the good? He had become a scheming villain on one hand and a great patriot who was going to lift his people into Supremacy on the other hand.

Now that his beloved brother, Camel, was deposed and Fareeka was President, Uday actually had more leeway to work his manipulations, flex his little known muscles against superpowers and tweak them in the nose almost at will. It was great – power like this – his father, the brute, never would have done it this way. Uday’s father always saw himself as the strong man and so had to be the center of attention. Uday had no illusions that his present conditions – he was no Strong Man.

During his father’s thankfully short reign from ‘48-‘52, the people were brutally fearful of him and his secret police. He would turn on his friends, befriend his enemies, and randomly kill citizens, whatever he could do to make everyone fearful of them. He even put one of his former supporters in prison; an aged but popular General and politician, where he had the poor man cleaning out slop pots until he died in ‘51.

The people were still fearful of the secret police but now it was only a rare case where a citizen was harassed by the them. They had even been given a new name, the Babylonian Guard.

Mainly they looked for “bad actors” such as foreign spies, assassins and terrorists. If a citizen had to be “interrogated” or “neutralized”, it was almost always done in secrecy and covered up. Ever since Camel had instituted the Republic and written the Constitution, the Guard pretty much followed the rules.

Uday rolled up to the microphones in his wheelchair. The City Hall steps were flooded with lights and someone had even set up a TV camera outside to record this and he winced in the glare. Great.

He first acknowledged USSR Admiral Smirnov and welcomed him to Athens. He turned to Mayor Melina Mercouri and bowed as a person in a wheelchair might bow. He turned to the microphones.

“Mayor, thank you. The Republic of Babylon bids a fond farewell to the lovely people of Greece. We look forward to your independence. At the same time, we warn the world again that imperialistic forces are arrayed against your people and your re-“
Smirnov had signaled at someone and Uday’s microphone went off.

“Hey!”

Admiral Smirnov went up to the stage and wheeled Uday to the side. Smirnov went to the microphones which were put back on.

“I am sorry that I had to cut Defense Minister Uday’s speech but I am informed that ESU troops will be arriving within the hour and my men would like to take me to somewhere that I can reach Leader Sikorksky and discuss this situation with him. Therefore this ceremony is over, we accept Greece from the Republic of Babylon and now I would like everyone to leave the street peacefully.”

A grumble roiled through the crowd as they turned to leave An man yelled out from the crowd in Russian, “Keep us out of your stinking war plans!” and the Spetsnaz started circling the area where the voice came from. Suddenly another cry this time in Greek, “Russian scumbags!” And in a flash, the mood of the crowd turned and the people turned back towards the Russian soldiers. Fists started flying and soon random semi-automatic fire was heard. Uday saw the crowd make way around several bodies on the ground. One old lady picked up a young girl, obviously a daughter or granddaughter and started wailing. More shots. The crowd then started to panic and rushed up the steps of City Hall to look for refuge.

No one approached the phalanx of Spetsnaz the lined the stage that had been set up. Smirnov motioned to two Spetsnaz elite went over t ograb the Mayor. Uday moved his wheel chair to intercept them when he saw what was going on.

In a low firm voice, Melina addressed the helmeted soldiers, “Take your hands off me. General or Admiral, I am staying here to take care of my people.”

Uday had now arrived and was trying to get between the soldiers and Melina. Admiral Smirnov came over, “It is for the best to protect her. Ma’am, there’s crossfire, you need to get to s safe place.”

At that point, an artillery rocket went over their heads and hit the pillar of city hall smashing into it and a large object fell from the sky and Melina pulled away towards it. Smirnov motioned again to the Spetsnaz to grab Mercouri and they quickly gagged and cuffed her. Uday rolled after them but one of the soldiers turned around laid a vicious kick on his chin.

The artillery missile that had broken apart the top floors of City Hall distracted most of the press. But an Italian photographer standing on some bleachers with about 40 other cameramen saw the action on the stage and instinctively pointed his zoom lens at Smirnov and his men. He caught several pictures of the altercation. One of the photos showing Uday getting kicked in the chin as a distraught Mercouri looks up at the destruction of her City Hall. Every major paper ran this photo.

Well, the Greeks were on their own, at least for now, Uday thought as he watched the burning city from the fantail of the ship. He didn't even know about the future Pulitizer Prize winning photograph that would appear the next day.

His mind was mostly on Melina. He had planned to propose to her on the way to the docks. He would even quit his job for her if she wanted. Either way, he had planned to take her back to Bhagdad until things cooled down in Greece. Now she was gone – taken away. Platitudes about her protection – from whom? The Greeks? Such nonsense.

A wheel started slowly turning in his mind. Beria. It had to be. The same little tight*** who broke up Uday and Melina’s first tryst. But why go to all the trouble of capturing her when he could just have her assassinated?

Melina, now sedated, was wheeled into the helicopter and airlifted to a carrier in the Aegean sea. From there she was put into a transported and flown to Thessaloniki and from there to Moscow where an old friend waited for her.

[civman2000]

great!!!

[Samuel Johnson]

The young Hawaiian Prince sat on a tree stump laconically combing his slick black hair back. When he finished, he looked around. Bored. He longed to be out hunting boar or leading his warriors in exercises or battle. Instead, he was stuck here watching a bunch of bulldozers and cement trucks. He motioned for a toothpick from his Samoan bodyguards. The Prince wore a white t-shirt and Levi of Damascus bluejeans and had a pair of Rayban sunglasses. He was thin and lean and had a dark look to his eyes that seemed out of place in this land of gracious living. He looked bored beyond his years. Definitely not a good omen of the future, thought Modish.

Modish Freemason, the director of the Babylonian Oahu settlement of Kish, closed the part in the curtains and turned towards the Babylonian proconsul. “Well, his royal highness awaits.” The Proconsul, Modish’s elder, grimaced, put on his ceremonial turban and noted, “Remember to bow to him first.”

Modish and the Proconsul strode out into the sunlight and the Polynesian prince stayed seated on the stump.

“Modish, General, I am so glad you could see me. Your house,” the Prince said, looking around, “is coming along.” It was a modest house and as such had impressed some of the Hawaiians who remembered the huge palaces the Europeans and Americans had built for themselves.

He stood up and turned his back to them, bathing his rather handsome face in the early morning sun. “My father sends me. He wishes to know when the sewers and electrical grids will be complete in Waikiki,” motioning down the street at the burgeoning construction along the beach. “He is setting up tourism contracts with the Japanese and is unsure that this will be done in time.”

Modish walked in front of the Prince, bowed slightly and, as he was taller, looked down at the young man. “Sire, the Turkish construction workers are arriving on the plane with President Rafsannjanni tomorrow. Our engineers and architect have completed the plans and estimate that the basic infrastructure will be ready by next summer, as agreed upon in our treaty.”

“The King does not understand how you can do this if all your workers are up on Diamond Head building your `learning center,’ as you call it.”

Modish smiled and bowed again, “Sire, your father was at the Grand Opening and noted the detail and architecture with much…” He wanted to say envy, but held his tongue. “Your father greatly enjoyed…”

The Prince interrupted, “Hey, Modish, let’s just cut the crap. The Russians have been visiting him at Kona and they offer him arms and transports and even soldiers. The Maori are threatening to break us apart again and we can’t have that. We need more support from your Middle East Alliance.”

Modish looked into the Prince’s eyes. “I assure you, President Rafsannjanni is perfectly willing to renegotiate the treaty. We will protect your from the Russians and the Proconsul wants to discuss with your War Chief are plans to keep the Russians from arming the Maori, if you would like.”

“I don’t know, Modish, the Russians and their European allies are all powerful. They offer us much great riches and arms. In return, they ask for little.”

The Proconsul stirred and advanced towards the Prince. “Sire, remember who identified the Russian assassins in your ranks several years ago. The Russians only bring trouble and oppression. Would your father like to deal with a communist revolution because that is what the Russians will ultimately take out of you? And do YOU want to stand up to the Russians alone? Look at what they have done to your former allies in South Africa.”

“Our country has respected your rights here. Our men have stayed away from your women; we have split our coffee and sugar profits. We have built homes and temples for your people. We are going to turn a transport over to you tomorrow and that wasn’t even in the treaty. We have let your use the SATCOM communications we lease from the Canadians. Please do not be rash in any dealings with the Russians. Think about what your Religious Chief has prophesized about the bear clawing the Pacific until the waters are red and the Bull grazing peacefully by sea. Babylon has always been symbolized by the Bull and you know who the Bear is.”

The boy motioned to his bodyguards and then walked with Modish and the proconsul out to the driveway. He put on his helmet and got onto his BMW bike. The Samoans piled into the van and Modish noted how it sagged down with their combined weight.

The Prince turned to Proconsul. “Fine. My father says he will see your President at the Sun shrine in Kona. He says for her to show up at high noon.” The boy zoomed off with the van careening out the driveway behind him.

Modish turned to the General. “Well, General Lawrence? Do you think he suspects that we are digging into the rock? They must have noticed all the covered trucks transporting the rocks and dirt. He asked about all the workers up there.”

The Proconsul, known mostly as Lawrence of Arabia was silent . He had been thinking more about the Russians than the Freemason’s learning center – so he was intrigued that this was Modish’s first concern. “I don't think he suspects anything. Trucks with rocks and dirt are commonplace here and you have paid off their priests well to keep silent."

But he was still intrigued. "When are you going to tell me what you are up to?”

Modish looked him over with half-feigned surprise. “General! You only had to ask. Come along. Let’s take a walk up the hill.”


(( ... OKay, Lawrence of Arabia was dead in the '30s and this story was set in the '50s but since this is an alternative reality story, I can get away with it.))

[civman2000]

hmmm...is he working for the brits secretly ?

[Samuel Johnson]

The Brits are no longer - they are basically an anarchic state and the European Socialists Union is trying to occupy. Many Brits fled to the Republic of Babylon when it was melting down. Lawrence had been assigned to Arabia and had fought in WWII with them.

[Samuel Johnson]

((Author's note: We'll I'm back - the weather has been so great and I have to go earn a living, etc. I wouldn't mind comments now and then - hate it, like it, needs more of this or that, etc.))

Fareeka’s limo pulled up to the new Bhagdad airport with a screech. As the Babylonian President let herself out and her assistant and domestic advisor, Cara, was right behind her.

“The ceremony should be going on right now, so you can just walk in and say a few words. We’ll arrive in Beijing tonight and their new President’ll meet you. He has recently commented negatively about the split in the Warsaw pact and it is unclear whether he would side with the Russians who still occupy much of what they see as part of their historic nation or the European Socialists Union against which they have had arguments over land won in their conquest of Greece.”

Fareeka corrected her. “Hardly a conquest. The country was riddled with direct nuclear strikes on its major cities including Athens.”

Cara replied, “I see you are keeping on message as Mr. Winchell says.” Fareeka couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or complimentary.

“OK, so blahblahblah, a few days in China, see the Great Wall, host trade discussions and do one of those photos with the Chief Comrade sitting around in over-sized chairs. Winchell says we’ll be lucky if we at least get him to acknowledge the danger that Russia and her attack dog poses to the world. It would be even better to get a read on what he thinks about Russian occupation of Tibet and Eastern Siberia. We want him to break totally away from the Warsaw Pact and maybe join in with the Native alliance. They would be more than willing to take them.”

“Yes, yes, what’s next on the schedule?”

“Madame President, you fly next to Tokyo where you meet the young Emperor and receive the standard anti-nuclear pitch. He wants to buy some of our new submarines and jamming technology. But then you know that.”

Fareeka dug it out of the recesses of her mind. “Of course, go on.”

“Well, from there you have a three day sojourn by ship to the Hawaiian colony and you’ll meet with the head of the Polynesian Nation in his current capital of Kona, see Modish Freemason at the Kish colony, inspect the 1st Hawaiian Force and meet with the Proconsul and take a quick tour of their, um, museum.” Cara waved her right hand around aimlessly. “All in three days.”

“Damn, I suppose there’s another three days back to Tokyo?”

Cara shook her head up and down. “Correct.”

They came upon the ceremony commemorating the 1st international passenger flight. In front was a large group of raucous Turkish workers who were cheering their union leader as he gave them an inspirational speech. Fareeka looked over at the trade mission representatives and smiled when she saw Joe Topps across the room. He waved at her and went back to his animated conversation with a businessman in a Bedouin headdress.

“I see Bazooka Joe’s unit didn’t get called up.” Cara mentioned airily.

Fareeka ignored her and thought to herself, “Well-l-l, why be a President if you can’t pull a few strings now and then?”

Soon, the Turkish union leader turned to the President and gave her a long, extremely sugary and complimentary introduction and the airline employees broke out into shouts and the Turkish workers stomped their feet.

Fareeka waited for he applause to die down and went into her standard spiel about the greatness of the Babylonian civilization and how we were now marking a new era, blahblahblah she thought to herself while looking Bazooka Joe over. “He’s not a Babylonian, so why am I so attracted to him?” But despite all the diplomacy and her niggling uncertainties about this relationship and the fact that she would have to endure arrogant foreigners for the next few days, this is going to be a good trip. And she smiled to herself.

[Samuel Johnson]

The Babylonian agent from the Phoenix Institute of Cyprus, now the unofficial spying center for Babylonia, looked so out of place that he looked in place.

He threw his fishing line out into the river and then pulled it back in again. He was wearing a red t-shirt, blue jeans and a cap favored by European soccer fans. He was trying to look like a semi-successful Italian businessman here in the States to get away from the hustle and bustle of Rome and felt he was pulling it off quite well. The border inspection of his passport had raised no eyebrows and in fact they seemed almost asleep down there in Norfolk.

He had been in Virginia now for a week, fishing up and down the rivers of the southwest. But rather than renting a boat today, he opted to fish from the shore. Speaking with a strong Italian accent, he told the old manager at the Bunny Lane cottages that he was tired of dealing with the boat and wanted to relax in the shade. Today, instead of his usual tackle box and a lunch box, he had packed a backpack and sleeping bag, not unusual for someone who was shore fishing. Inside his backpack he had his tackle box and food and the sleeping bag would come in handy, he explained to the manager, in case he wanted to nap or spend the night. The old man just shrugged and went back to his black and white TV.

As he cast his line sometime around the noon, he heard a crackling of leaves behind him and he smiled to himself. His training had attuned him to the forest and he had heard only one person approaching. He was glad that this wasn’t some sort of sting operation by the American government.

A rather nervous, balding and 50 pounds overweight American came up to his right. He was also dressed in fisherman’s gear and carried an almost identical backpack to the man on his left.

“Catching any, today?”

“A few.” He motioned his chin over to a small pool he had built alongside the river that was filled with fish.

“A-yuh. Mind if I try it out here?”

“No, be my guest.” In a flash, Tariq dropped his fishing rod, grabbed at the man, put his hand over his mouth and searched his body with a left hand for weapons, tape recorders and anything else suspicious.

“Okay. Let’s drop all the pretense,” Tariq said as he let the man go.

“Sheesh. In my own country, even. Thanks for the cavity search.” The scientist wiped the sweat off his brow and tried to bring himself to order.

“Our government will be paying you immensely for this. I have been watching for hours. There is no one else here. Hnnn.” He grunted ad he put a piece of paper in the scientist’s hands.

“Swiss Bank numbers and current balances. I know you can’t check so you will have to trust us. Our previous payments came through, didn’t they?”

The American wiped his brow again and picked up his rod. He really did want to fish here as he eyed the bass in the hole.

“Look, whoever you are. I’m not in this for the money. That’s there in case I need to get my family out of the country. I believe my misguided government is making a huge mistake by trying to kiss up to the Warsaw Pact. They are worse than Hitler.”

Tariq knew of the current internal troubles of the USA. After the A-bomb strikes in the early ‘50s, American had become isolationist. The current President, Eugene Debs, had created a socialist government heavily intent on social and environmental experiments. But Debs’s recent attempts to ingratiate himself with the Warsaw Pact countries had pushed many southerners over the brink in their distaste for his regime.

Like Babylon, northern and southern politics split America and given the recent devastation of New York and Washington DC, those differences had become more acute to the brink of the reinstitution of the Confederacy led by that troublesome redneck Congressman, “Tail Gunner” Joe McCarthy. That would surely lead to another war, Tariq thought.

“Well, then, the Republic of Babylon thanks you for your contribution to our cause.”

“Look, America should be aligned with you guys. Debs is never going to get us into the Warsaw Pact and he’ll only make Canada and ESU madder as he goes over to kiss Beria’s patootie. You’re the only thing keeping the ESU from taking over all of the Americas! I’m not gonna let no Pole or Romanian tell me what to say and do!”

He snorted and assembled his tackle and pouted choosing a lure from Tariq’s fishing tackle box.

Tariq rolled his eyes. Patootie?

“You are doing the right thing. These formulas will allow us to create much better armor for our tanks and airplanes. If we can stall the Russians long enough, we may be able to produce these tanks and hold them and the ESU off. Who knows, we may even defeat one of them.”

More importantly, Tariq thought, we will trade this with the Native Alliance and create a super alliance against the Warsaw pact. But the American didn’t need to know this.

"You know, maybe if you Americans had joined World War II earlier, the world wouldn't be like it is today. You only came into the game in 1947 and while you came in a big way, it was still too late and so you lost big time in '49. Hawaii in the neo-native uprisings. The massacres of our people and the destruction of everything that was Western on their islands. Canada taking Alaska from you. You still make a great hamburger but man, American ain't what it used to be."

The American spoke derisively. "Oh. So, the Iraqi spy is now a political scientist. Spare me. If Roosevelt hadn't been killed in his first term and that spineless wimp hadn't ascended, well, we probably would have got into the European mess earlier. We were just engaged with Japan and our people wanted revenge for FDR's assassination."

Tariq chuckled. "Maybe someday you'll actually find out who killed FDR. It surely wasn't that guy up in the book depository."

The scientist's eyes got misty and he teared up. What have we wrought, he thought. Middle easterners with a higher standard of living than common Americans. A Russian/European behemoth looking to enslave the rest of the world. A humiliated America who everyone had thought would ascend to the top of the world's food chain now ready to have a second Civil War. Our research and defense budget down to 1% of GNP. A goldang commie in the New White House in Chicago and some fascist redneck down in Louisiana talking about revolution.

Tariq packed up his box and secured his fishing rod. The American scientist threw his line into the water and waiting for a few seconds began to reel his lure in slowly.

And then quietly, with the other backpack in hand, Tariq melted into the forest, less one tackle box and lunch and a backpack concealing 24 computer tapes detailing the formulas and assembly instructions for all the advanced materials known in the USA. It would take about two years of development and retooling of the assembly and manufacturing lines but Babylon and her allies in Persia and Egypt would soon be cranking up advanced armor tanks. And, if all goes well, so will Japan and Australia.

[Samuel Johnson]

Graffiti found in Paris, Rome and Brussels: DEATH TO SIKORSKY

INTERNATIONAL HERALD TRIBUNE HEADLINES

BETRAYAL? ESU SUB IMPLICATED IN RUSSIAN TROOP SHIP SINKING
ESU Leader Sirorsky in seclusion. General Nananova masses troops and ships in southern Greece
In Athens: Mercouri still missing; Smirnov dines in favorite Greek restaurant

ANTI-WAR PROTESTS DEALT WITH BRUTALLY IN PARIS, ROME

CHINESE PRESIDENT TO MEET WITH BABYLONIAN GOVERNMENT AGAINST RUSSIAN WISHES

MCCARTHY BEMOANS 'COMMUNISTS' IN CHICAGO; VOWS TO SWEEP THEM OUT "OR ELSE"
Environmental taxes to USA go unpaid in eight southern states
Guns smugglers caught by US Navy in Cuba