Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 145 Turbulent October (Long Chapter)
Although the PLO viewed Arafat's Liberation Organization as an extremely formidable opponent, even one that could bring destruction to Phoenicia, the PLO itself was deeply mired in anxiety and despair at this moment.

In this new country, the PLO was unfamiliar with the land and lacked economic and weapons resources. They claimed to be saving Arafat, but at this time, the vast majority of Arafat people were living in refugee camps.

Disease, hunger, and conflict claim hundreds of lives every day.

At this moment, Abu Amar, the leader of the PLO, was sitting in a secluded basement in West Beirut, flipping through today's newspaper, one of the few windows through which he could learn about the outside world.

Today's front-page headline is: "Elvis Presley and Priscilla Presley welcome their daughter, Lisa Marie!"

Abu Amar continued scrolling down, finding that Brigitte Bardot announced a temporary retirement from acting, citing weariness with the glitz and glamour of the lifestyle.

Abu crumpled the newspaper into a ball, slammed it on the table, and then began to curse:
“One hundred and twenty-three days! We fought the Falanges for four whole months, and we only made two reports about ourselves in the newspapers! In their eyes, the birth of a United States singer’s daughter and a French woman’s decision not to make movies are more important than the life and death of the people of Arafat!”

Ramiz unfolded the newspaper and silently flipped through it.

The United Nations had promised to help them, but in the end, it failed to do either help drive out the invaders in Zion or transport relief supplies.

They seem to have been "deliberately" forgotten by the whole world.

This despair of being completely ignored by the world is far more suffocating than facing the Zion Tank.

What they fear is not burning out like a raging fire, but disappearing completely in a forgotten corner.

In the eyes of these PLO leaders, the United Nations is not incapable of helping them; the strength of Antwerp and the United States is evident to the world.

It's just that nobody pays attention to them; these major powers can't hear the voices of small countries like Arafat.

"We must, we must make the world see us again!"

Abu Amar stood up and paced in the cramped basement. He said to Qasim and Ramiz beside him, "Since they choose to turn a blind eye to Arafat, then we will use a method that the United Nations cannot ignore to etch our names into their eyes! Into their memories! No matter the cost!"

Qasim and Ramiz exchanged a glance, both seeing the determination in each other's eyes.

The people of Arafat are now like a herd of antelopes driven to the edge of a cliff by wolves. Since they have nowhere left to retreat, they might as well turn against their own side.

Use the most extreme means to bring Arafat back into the world's attention.

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.

Outside the Embassy of Zion, United Kingdom.

Today, the foggy city was still shrouded in gloom and rain, but the people who lived here were already used to this kind of weather. The streets were bustling with traffic. A black Austin was parked on the side of the road. Old Hunter, who worked as a street waiter, opened the car door for the passenger and greeted him with a smile: "Good morning, sir!"

The person who got off the bus was a Zion diplomat with a high nose bridge, whose eyes always carried a natural wariness.

"I won't give you a tip, and I'll open the car door myself."

The diplomat coldly rejected old Hunter's offer, picked up his briefcase, and walked into the embassy. Old Hunter shrugged and said, "Well, have a nice day."

Seeing that the other person had disappeared inside the door, he added, "At least this round is free."

These Zionians are known for their stinginess; they haggle over every penny when it comes to food, work, and money, a trait that has become almost a defining characteristic in London.

But they didn't seem to care.

Hunter heard that they were shrewd and rich, and that a few of them together could buy the Queen's crown.

Just then, he saw a man who looked like a postman riding up on a bicycle, his hat pulled low.

Old Hunter, seeing the man heading towards the embassy with the letter, advised, "Hey buddy, just drop the letter in the mailbox! Even if you hand it to those guys yourself, they won't give you a tip!"

Only then did Old Hunter get a clear look at the man's face; his skin was darker than wheat, and the hair under his hat was curly.

Arab?

The man looked at old Hunter and made a gesture to shoo him away.

The man then walked toward the embassy gate. The guards at the gate prepared to stop him, but the man suddenly quickened his pace and tried to force his way through!

Old Hunter realized something was wrong, but it was too late.

The man had already rushed to the front of the embassy building. He tore open his raincoat, revealing a dense array of explosives strapped to his body.

"Allahu Akbar!!"

boom--! ! ! !

The earth convulsed at that moment, and a huge, scorching, all-consuming orange-red fireball suddenly expanded from the man's center, instantly engulfing the bicycle, the guards, the embassy's heavy, carved side gate, and a large section of the wall.

The shockwave, like an invisible giant hammer, spread wildly in all directions at a destructive speed.

The glass curtain walls and windows of the buildings on both sides of the street were shattered at the same moment, and unrecognizable limbs were thrown into the air and then crashed down.

Countless people were knocked to the ground or cut by flying debris before they could even react.

Cars parked on the roadside were overturned, and sirens blared shrilly.

But then, a second, more violent explosion occurred—the explosives hidden in the bicycle parcel—and an even larger column of fire shot into the sky.

When the explosions stopped, the entire street looked like hell.

Screams, cries, and groans mingled together.

Old Hunter leaned against the wall, watching the flashing lights of the police cars in the distance, his eyes slowly losing their luster.

His neck tilted to the side, and he died.

At almost the same time, the same scene unfolded at the Zion embassies of more than five Western European countries, from Rome to Paris, from The Hague to Brussels.

These explosions resulted in nearly 100 deaths and hundreds of injuries, with the seriously injured crowding emergency centers in major cities.

Following the events, the Phoenician "Arafat Liberation Organization" claimed responsibility for them.

As a result, global television news networks suspended all scheduled programming and brought to the world's news media and television screens the smoke-filled embassy ruins, the wailing survivors being carried into ambulances, and the bodies neatly arranged on the sidewalks covered in white shrouds, making everyone aware of this human tragedy.

And Abu Amar finally got his wish. The name "PLO" occupied the headlines of global news in this most extreme and terrifying way, and entered the vision of everyone in the world.

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.

Zion, Tel Aviv.

Upon learning the news, Prime Minister Hilbert was initially shocked and angry, but then his anger turned into ecstasy.

Soon, the entire Zion leadership gathered in the Prime Minister's office, including the newly promoted General Yessavichen, Chief of Staff Ali Lazars, Defense Minister Moda, Speaker of Parliament Lucas Halmer, and others.

“This is a golden opportunity for us to eradicate the PLO,” Prime Minister Hilbert began. “The existence of the Arafat Liberation Organization poses a threat not only to the Zionites but also to the people of the world.”

He looked at his foreign minister: “Go and issue obituaries to mourn the innocent people who died in the explosion, as well as the diplomats of Zion.”

Then contact the Western countries that were attacked, put pressure on them, and tell them it's time to change their mind about Arafat!

The PLO's actions are bound to change the world's perception of Arabs, and countries that have had ties with the PLO will also be tarnished.

And those wavering Western countries now have an excuse to side with Zion.

Then Prime Minister Hilbert addressed General Yessavichen: "Yessavichen, the time for patience has come to an end! Move the troops into Phoenicia, and we will uproot this cancerous tumor, the PLO!"

Yeshavishin nodded: "Perhaps this is a good opportunity to test our new tank."

"what?"

“Merkava M1,” General Yeshavishin explained. “Our new tank has not yet been tested in actual combat, but I am confident that its performance will exceed our expectations.”

Prime Minister Hilbert paused for a moment, then nodded: "Let's do it that way."

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.

Surya, Latakia.

The large-scale movements of the Zion army could not escape the eyes of Commander Hafiz; in fact, the other side never even tried to conceal them.

In just four days, Zion had already captured a quarter of Phoenician territory and established positions.

Commander Hafez stared at the Israeli attack arrows marked on the map, his face grim. He said to his staff, "The Zionians want much more than this. Once they conquer the entire Phoenician territory, they can drive their tanks to Latakia in less than two days!"
And our coastline will continue to be harassed by the Zion fleet!

After the fall of Damascus, Latakia became the new capital of Surya.

Commander Hafez would not allow Zion's forces to advance north and threaten their capital again.

He then ordered: "Order the 5th Mechanized Division to immediately advance into Phoenicia from the north! Establish a defensive line in the Bekaa Valley to stop the Zionites from advancing any further!"

"We must completely keep the Zionist threat out of Surria!"

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.

"Something looks off about this tank."

King Tarik of Hashim looked at the modified T-62 in front of him with some reluctance.

“Your Majesty, this is a sightseeing model specially prepared for you,” the minister whispered in his ear. “You can stand behind the turret and inspect the troops. We’ve also installed seats and air conditioning.”

“What I want is a powerful style, not this flashy stuff,” Taric muttered.

"Trust me, this is much more comfortable," the minister said, giving the king a thumbs-up.

So Tariq was reluctantly helped by the soldiers onto this "sightseeing vehicle" painted with the national flag and equipped with a sunshade and handrails.

However, once he stood on the tank, Taric's mood gradually improved. This was the first time he had inspected his troops since becoming king.

They are now located in the "Hashem-Zion Valley", which stretches from the Hura Valley in Zion in the north to the Dead Sea in the south, and is also the northernmost extension of the East African Rift Valley.

This valley also forms the border between Zion and the Hashim Kingdom.

During the Six-Day War, Zion's forces crossed the Great River Valley and pushed their armored units directly to the outskirts of Amman, the capital of Hashim.

"Your Majesty, do you see? Your soldiers are in high spirits because of your arrival!"

Minister Nabil stood on another armored vehicle following behind the sightseeing tank, and he had to raise his voice to drown out the engine noise: "At such a critical moment, your presence is more powerful than a thousand cannons!" Tariq leaned against the added guardrail, enjoying the air conditioning, while the soldiers who were watching him seemed like an endless river winding forward.

As the tanks rolled past the infantry ranks, and the young soldiers excitedly waved their rifles and roared with cheers, a sense of pride belonging to the traditional Bedouin nobility instantly seized him—the king leading the army! Standing with his soldiers!
This is an ancient custom ingrained in the blood of Arabs; he is both the king and the leader of the warriors!

"God will bestow glory upon you, and I will bear witness!"

A genuine smile spread across Taric's face as he waved enthusiastically to his soldiers.

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.

Meanwhile, on the opposite bank of the Great River Valley, at the Zion Army's forward command post.

"Are you sure?" Major General Dov Tamir stared at the photos and electronic signal interception reports just sent by the reconnaissance unit, his brow furrowed.

"Confirmed, General."

An intelligence officer pointed to the armored formations and clearly active command nodes on the Hashim side of the valley in the photo: "Judging from the smoke and the number of mobile units, the enemy has amassed at least two battalions, and we have also detected radio communication signals."

Major General Dov's expression grew cold.

Zion is currently at war, and any unusual activity on the border must be treated with the utmost seriousness.

The experience of the early stages of the last Yom Kippur War taught the Zionians a painful lesson.

He cannot afford to fail twice.

"Call Tel Aviv command and tell them that the Hashim want to cooperate with Surria in the north to launch a pincer attack on us."

As a border commander, Major General Dov has the authority to act arbitrarily under special circumstances, and now that the enemy's army is pressing in, he sees it as a clear signal of attack.

Major General Dov slammed his fist on the table: "Order all pre-positioned artillery positions to provide fire support to the enemy positions on the opposite bank of the valley! At the same time, call in air support to prioritize the destruction of their armored units and command nodes! Execute immediately!"

"Yes, sir!" The communications officer immediately began calling for artillery fire and support.

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.

Because Zion's forces were very well concealed and the Hashim lacked reconnaissance capabilities, they did not discover the enemy forces and base immediately.

"Blade One has arrived over the target area."

Captain Yossi Bernstein, the pilot of the Mirage V, reports the situation over the radio.

"Received, Blade One. Mission parameters updated and transmitted to your navigation system. Priority: Alpha. Coordinates marked." The commander's voice came through the headset.

“Understood, priority Alpha,” Yusi repeated, glancing down at the tactical display screen.

He began to descend, and a few minutes later the canyon came into view, looking from above like a deep scar on the earth.

Then Captain Yussie saw billowing dust on the ground, like countless tiny black dots.

"Eagle's Nest, I have visually identified the valley and am descending to confirm it."

Captain Yussie lowered the altitude again, gently placed his thumb on the weapon control lever, and disengaged the weapon safety.

He focused his attention on the unit that was moving, with several vehicles following behind, like a command node.

"Blade One, move to attack position and begin bombing."

Without any hesitation, Captain Yusi pressed the bomb release button.

The Mirage V shuddered slightly, and the bombs under its wings detached from their racks, silently plummeting along their predetermined trajectories toward the unsuspecting target below.

Meanwhile, Taric was completely unaware of all of this.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek came from overhead.

Taric's smile froze, and he looked up at the sky in astonishment.

"Air strike!!" A minister who had participated in Arafat's self-defense war shouted a warning.

But it's too late.

The first wave of airstrikes slammed down on the armored formation like hailstones, causing the ground to tremble violently. Huge fireballs, billowing with black smoke and dirt, shot into the sky, and massive shockwaves tore soldiers apart and tossed them into the air like rag dolls!
Taric was jolted and stumbled, clinging tightly to the railing to keep from falling, his ears ringing.

He looked around in horror as his elite troops were engulfed in a hell of explosions and flames within seconds.

Before anyone could react, a deathly shriek echoed from the sky.

call out--! !

A high-explosive bomb struck precisely the sightseeing tank that Tariq was riding in.

Taric instinctively looked up, and his pupils were immediately engulfed by the blindingly intense flames.

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.

Shuangzhi, Hafbar Base in the Northern Border District.

The proposal has already been approved by US Secretary of State Erich von Stern.

This means that after the six-month encampment period, Shuangzhi's northern expeditionary force will withdraw from the Nur region.

At that time, Lu Lin's term as governor of the Nur region will come to an end.

"General,"

Ahmed sat opposite his general, his tone calm yet firm: "We have made a decision. The Nur region will become independent. We will establish a new secular state and have no further connection with Al-Iraq."

A hint of curiosity flickered in Lu Lin's eyes: "That's good, a new beginning. So who will be the first citizen?"

Ahmed raised his hand and tapped his chest with his finger.

Lu Lin paused for a moment, then nodded.

Ahmed was the leader of the guerrillas at the time, with both prestige and a strong base of influence, especially with close ties to the general.

This choice was both unexpected and reasonable.

“We plan to name the country ‘Summer,’” Ahmed said. “We will continue our cooperation with Shuangzhi, based on agriculture.”

The most valuable thing in Sumer was the land that could grow food in the desert, which was exactly what Shuangzhi desperately needed.

Lu Lin smiled and said, "Okay, then I'm relieved."

To be honest, he and his troops shed too much blood on this land and forged a deep friendship with the people here. Although they have now parted ways, I still wish them all the best.

“Furthermore, General,” Ahmed’s eyes flickered, “although you are no longer our governor, you will always be the one to whom we are loyal. The Sumerian ‘Watani’ troops will continue to be under your command.”

Lu Lin's mouth dropped open. What Herod the Great?!

Just then, the office door was suddenly pushed open, and Fahd hurriedly saluted.

"General, urgent military intelligence! King Taric of Hashim was killed in a Zion airstrike while inspecting the front-line valleys."

Lu Lin recalled in his mind and immediately matched the figure in his memory who was holding his hand tightly.

The king of a country just died like that?
Ahmed, on the other side, was also visibly shocked.

"Prince Mohammed has issued an urgent order for you to return to Riyadh immediately!"

“I understand,” Lu Lin said, looking at Ahmed. “The situation is urgent, so I’ll take my leave first.”

"Please go ahead with your work, General." Ahmed stood up and gave Lu Lin a solemn salute.

Two hours later, Lu Lin returned to Riyadh. As soon as he got off the plane, he could smell the heavy atmosphere in the air.

The national security forces quickly drove him to the Ministry of National Defense, where he met his father.

Prince Muhammad did not ask him about the past four months, but went straight to the point.

"The Arab countries have been fighting Zion for so long that no monarch or leader has ever died on the front lines. Even the United Nations is overwhelmed with problems. There is now widespread discontent within the Hashemite community, and the call to fight against Zion is higher than ever before."

The prince's expression was stern: "A deadly war between nations is now unavoidable."

"To be honest," Lu Lin didn't put it too bluntly, "Hashim's chances of winning are slim."

Prince Muhammad stared intently at Lu Lin, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

".What's wrong?"

"What if you were the one attacking Zion?"

Lu Lin thought he had misheard.

The current front line is within Hashim territory, which means opening all cities and roads in Hashim to him. In reality, no Arab country would do this—because the past is gone.

Aren't they afraid of letting the wolf into their house?

“That is the power of prestige,” Prince Mohammed replied. “After liberating Ghanam, you did not seize the region, but instead helped rebuild it after the war and withdrew your troops within the time frame stipulated by the United Nations. All the Arab countries have seen this.”

Just now, the Hashim royal family formally requested our assistance, asking us to send troops to support them, and placing the domestic army under your command.

A moment of silence hung in the air.

thump, thump, thump—

Lu Lin felt a dormant flame awaken within him, which then spread rapidly and burned brighter and brighter.

His reason remained calm, but his heart was burning with passion.

Prince Muhammad patted him on the shoulder: "Now, it's time for you to step up."

(End of this chapter)