Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 142 Turbulent October (Part 1)

The perspective shifts to Beirut, the Phoenician capital (referring to Lebanon, for greater historical accuracy; the full text has been revised).

The sky here is a steely gray, as if forever shrouded in lingering smoke and clouds. There are few pedestrians on the streets, and those who are there hurry along with wary eyes.

People dressed in worn-out military uniforms and carrying AKs can often be seen in shops and alleys. These people belong to an organization called the "Liberation Organization of Arafat" (PLO).

Since the “Black September” incident that broke out in Hashim last year, the PLO was driven out of Hashim, but they quickly established a new base in another region with a large number of Arafat and Muslims.

They exploited the vulnerabilities of the Phoenician state, militarily controlling southern Lebanon and Beirut, establishing a "state within a state," and continuing their campaign against Zion.

In a secluded house in West Beirut, several PLO leaders dressed in olive-green military uniforms and wearing black and white checkered headscarves were smoking.

"That old bastard Setis is dead."

Abu Amar spoke up, "The news came from inside the royal family. His son, Tariq, launched a coup, and it can't be faked."

Abu Amar always seemed to have a black and white checkered turban tightly wrapped around his head, his face covered with a thick and messy gray-white beard, his exposed skin weathered by time, and his deep-set eyes sharp as an eagle's.

For decades, he has never changed his appearance, because he regards his appearance as a "weapon," a walking totem symbolizing the cause of the entire nation.

A lean sergeant named Qasim scoffed, flicking his cigarette ash onto the ground: "That old dog, he begged us to help him stabilize the situation, then turned around and sold us out, letting his men shoot at us! Good riddance, I wish I could spit on his grave!"

“The one going up now is his son. I heard he’s tough, not as spineless as his father. He’s determined to fight those Zionians in the west to the bitter end.” The third person to speak was Ramiz, who looked more composed.

"Oh?" Qasim's eyes lit up. "Then can we find a way to go back? We're familiar with the terrain around Hashim, and the border with Zion is long. We also have people who support us. If we can go back and establish a base, wouldn't that be better than staying in Phoenicia? Here, we still have to be mindful of those Christian lords' opinions."

Abu didn't speak immediately. He took a puff of his cigarette and then slowly said, "Contact is definitely necessary. Ramiz, find a reliable person to sound out the new king, but don't have too high expectations."

Hashim is considered the largest Arafat settlement outside of China and a fertile ground for the growth and expansion of the Liberation Organization. Therefore, even though the PLO was driven out once by violent suppression, Abu Amar was unwilling to give up the opportunity to return.

He paused for a moment: "But right now, the most important thing is Phoenicia. We've only just arrived here, so we must find a way to establish ourselves. We can't afford to panic or lose our footing."

There was a moment of silence in the room. After arriving in Phoenicia, PLO realized that the country was like a patchwork of disparate pieces.

It's hard to imagine that such a small place has more than a dozen different regimes. This is because when the Phoenicians gained independence from France, they were afraid that the various religious sects would fight each other, so they created a very strange system of power distribution.

The president and the commander-in-chief of the army must be Maronites, the prime minister must be a Sunni Muslim, and the speaker of parliament must be a Shia Muslim.

In parliament, the ratio of Christians to Muslims is always 6:5.

The reason for the ratio of 6 to 5 is that after World War I, Phoenicia conducted a census (which was also the last official census in Phoenician history), and Christians made up a small majority of the national population.

However, decades later, the number of Muslims in Phoenicia had far exceeded the number of Christians. In addition, a large number of Arafat refugees poured into Phoenicia. Under this imbalance, the Muslims demanded another census, but this was rejected by the Maronite Christians.

Because the Maronite faction controls the military and the presidency, they are able to suppress discontent within the country.

But all of this changed completely after PLO arrived.

PLO brought the Phoenician Muslims something to counter the Maronites—a capable, courageous, and experienced army.

This led the Arafatists and Muslims in Phoenicia to regard the PLO as a supporter and ally in their fight against Christ.

On the Christian side, PLO was seen as a cancer and a malignant tumor, believed to not only invite Zion's mad revenge but also drag Phoenicia into an abyss of no return.

“The conflict has escalated again recently,” Ramiz said in a somber tone. “Last week we had a clash with the ‘Longgun’ in the East District. Four brothers were shot and died because of a lack of medical supplies.”

“It’s the same for everyone,” Qasim sneered. “Wasn’t that big shot of theirs who did business in the Shia region sent to his death by a car bomb the day before yesterday? This is just tit for tat.”

Abu's eyes sharpened: "Small-scale skirmishes and assassinations have never stopped. The Falange have said that they demand all our people withdraw from the Christian district, and preferably get out of Phoenicia."

He paused, then raised his voice slightly, imposing an undeniable tone, "But we cannot leave! Our primary enemy is the Zionists to the west, not the Phoenician Christians. This is our most important base and springboard at present. Tell the men below to remain vigilant and avoid provoking us as much as possible."

But if they make a move, give them a good beating!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The focus shifts back to Beirut's East Side, which is controlled by Christians, where the atmosphere is equally tense.

Although the streets are cleaner and shops are open as usual, there is still unease in people's eyes.

In a club adorned with a huge Phalanx flag, a militia commander named Tony is drinking à la carte with a few of his cronies.

In Phoenicia, the Falange was not simply a political party or a street organization, but a highly organized, disciplined military and political entity with a strong ideology, while also controlling a large militia.

In terms of sheer size, it was even comparable to the Phoenician government army.

“Those Arafatists,” Tony spat, “they’ve turned Beirut into a complete mess. There are refugee camps everywhere, and armed bandits everywhere! They’ve stolen our jobs, taken our land, and now they’re trying to use guns to help those Muslims take our country!”

Due to differences in beliefs and ideologies, Tony viewed the PLO not as warriors, but as a band of lawless foreign bandits, parasites infesting the Phoenicians.

At the same time, they brought a powerful enemy to their doorstep, while the local Muslims were fools incited by these pests, attempting to seize what did not belong to them.

Just then, they heard car horns and a noisy commotion outside.

As soon as Tony opened the door, he saw an armed jeep covered in propaganda slogans being stopped in front of the roadblock.

Several PLO guerrillas were arguing fiercely with phalanx militiamen.

Since entering Phoenicia, these PLO members have been eager to expand their influence, but lacking media channels, they can only rely on the most primitive methods to find Muslim supporters.

But this time, they clearly crossed the line. East Beirut is Christian and Falange territory.

Although the Phoenician government initially designated an area of ​​activity for the PLO, the ruling Maronite faction, fearing a repeat of the tragedy of the Hashemite Kingdom, strictly restricted its movements, prohibiting them from crossing the boundary or conducting open armed training.

But the PLO is like a wildfire; they don't want a place to hide, they want to completely liberate Arafat.

To the Phalanx, this was utterly ungrateful, especially since the other side dared to be fully armed and brazenly break into the Christian community.

Tony, who had been drinking, strode forward and asked the militiaman, "What's going on?"

The militiaman saluted: "Sir, these Arafat men are trying to force their way through the checkpoint, and they're armed!"

Tony looked in the direction the jeep was trying to ram through the checkpoint; that was the largest Christian church in eastern Beirut.

Outside the church, a Christian family was holding a baptism ceremony. Tony, already suppressing his anger, now turned even more sullen. He shouted at the Liberation Army guerrillas, "Get out of here immediately! This is not a place for you!"

“We’re just passing through,” the leader of the guerrillas retorted firmly. “We have the freedom to act!”

"Freedom?" Tony sneered. "Your freedom is bringing a gun and barging into the vicinity of our church?"

“We do not accept this unfair treatment,” the guerrilla sneered. “If you want to bully us, you’d better think twice about the consequences.”

These words, coupled with the assault rifles waved by the guerrillas, immediately created a tense atmosphere.

Tony felt a surge of anger rising in his chest. This was their city, their country, and now it was being defiled by these foreign vermin.

His gaze turned cold: "I'll say it one last time, turn around and leave."

“You try it,” the guerrilla spat, “(the heretic).”

These words completely enraged Tony, especially since it happened right in front of the church, and he was a devout believer.

Fueled by alcohol and anger, he drew his pistol and pulled the trigger.

As gunshots rang out, the street instantly descended into chaos, with pedestrians screaming and covering their heads for cover.

PLO team members attempted to reverse and escape, but a stray bullet accidentally killed the driver. The remaining members abandoned the vehicle and fled.

Tony didn't pursue them. Instead, he spat on the ground and said, "Now who's the heretic?!"

"Sir." The militiaman stepped forward, his eyes filled with worry.

"Okay, fine, I got it." Tony shrugged. "I fired first, I'll take responsibility for writing the report!"

Moments later, a patrol team arrived at the scene and took Tony away for questioning, but he didn't take it too seriously. In his view, this was just another expulsion of an outsider provocateur.

What he didn't expect was the disaster this shot would bring to Phoenicia.

Just an hour later.

Two PLO armored infantry fighting vehicles reappeared in the same block, slowly approaching the church.

Coincidentally, Pierre, the leader of the Falange, was at that moment attending his family's baptism ceremony in the church with his grandson.

When the fully armed infantry fighting vehicles appeared, everyone on the street was stunned, and time seemed to freeze at that moment.

Without warning, the machine gun on the infantry fighting vehicle suddenly burst into flames!
Inside the church, the priest was carefully pouring water onto the baby's forehead, reciting, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

“I believe,” Pierre and his son’s family answered the priest’s questions as they sat around the baptismal pool.

The next second, bullets rained down, the church windows shattered, and the three bodyguards at the entrance fell to the ground instantly.

Pierre immediately dropped to the ground as the barrage of comments swept overhead.

Then he heard his grandson crying.

He managed to lift his head and saw that the priest's throat had been pierced, and blood was gushing out, staining the baptismal pool red.

His son immediately ran over to try and pull the child out of the pool, but then a bullet struck him from behind.

As if struck by a heavy hammer, Pierre watched helplessly as his son stumbled and fell forward.

"Do not--!"

Just as Pierre was about to get up, a stray bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving a bloody gash.

The grandson's cries gradually weakened until they disappeared completely.

Pierre's mind was filled with a buzzing sound. His grandson's cries and the image of his son falling to the ground tore at his nerves. Cold fear and burning rage instantly engulfed him.

He only came to his senses when several attendants braved a hail of bullets to drag him from the pool of blood and shattered glass and forcibly carried him to the emergency exit on the side of the church.

In his struggle, he only caught a glimpse of a crimson stain on the sacred pool, with the priest's body lying to one side.

After causing massive damage, the two armed vehicles sped away, leaving behind only chaos and cries of despair in the streets.

When Pierre returned to the Falange's base in the East, his white tuxedo was soaked with blood on the shoulders, but he seemed oblivious to it.

His face was expressionless, except for his eyes, which burned with an almost insane flame.

The doctor tried to treat his wound, but Pierre pushed him away in an almost rude manner.

Soon, all the militia commanders and key personnel who could get there gathered at the base.

Tony had been released, but he was still unaware of what had happened.

When everyone saw the blood on Pierre's shoulder and his lifeless face, the conference room fell silent.

Pierre stood before the crowd, his gaze slowly sweeping over each face, and said, "Just now, the Arafat Liberation Organization attacked the church. They shot and killed the priest and several innocent Phoenicians."

Unfortunately, among those innocent Phoenicians were my son and my grandson.

Upon hearing this, all the militia commanders present got goosebumps.

“We have been too lenient in the past. We gave them land, provided them with food, and granted them the right to live. But their greed is insatiable, and now they want to take everything from us, defile our sanctuary, and destroy our future.”

His tone remained calm, but the madness in his eyes intensified.

"So from today onwards, we retract our former kindness."

His voice began to rise, finally igniting the hearts of every sergeant present like a raging fire:

"This is no longer a conflict, but a war, a massacre. We no longer expect compromise or negotiation with the PLO; from now on, there is only one answer—"

In the name of God, I will make every Arafatist, every Muslim who is our enemy, regret setting foot on this land!

(End of this chapter)