Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 164 "Encounter"

Aronmes Abdul Rauf stood by the gangway handrail, his jawline hard and cold. He watched as convoys of T-62 tanks and BTR armored vehicles slowly made their way up the rickety gangway into the belly of the Port Said cargo ship.

He wore brand-new lieutenant general epaulets on his shoulders. There had been many times when Aronmes had imagined himself having such a glorious day, but now he only felt somewhat disheartened.

“Your Excellency Lieutenant General,” a lieutenant colonel in charge of duties stepped forward and saluted, interrupting his thoughts, “all the transport ships in Port Said are fully loaded. It is expected that all officers, soldiers and equipment of the 301st Division will arrive at Dublin Port in Shuangzhi in four days.”

Aaronmes nodded: "Thank you for your hard work."

The 301st Division's designation comes from the day Zion launched its surprise attack on Masr during the Six-Day War. The name was intended to ensure that every soldier would etch defeat and shame into their very bones.

"Have a safe journey," the lieutenant colonel replied briefly, then turned to coordinate the ship's departure.

Aronmes arrived in Shuangzhi on one of the first transport ships, where he met Shuangzhi officers who had come to greet him at the dock.

"General Aronmes, welcome."

A Brigadier General officer from the DoubleWise Army, dressed in crisp desert camouflage with half-gray hair and shoulder insignia indicating he was a brigadier general, approached and extended his hand to Aronmes: "Ali Sur, Brigadier General of the DoubleWise Army, I am here to meet you and your troops on the orders of His Majesty Shams, King of DoubleWise and Guardian of the Two Holy Lands. Welcome to the Anti-Zion Front."

Aronmes grasped the outstretched hand and shook it vigorously a few times. His gaze swept past the other man, taking in the bustling docks and the assembling torrent of steel. "The president and my soldiers hope that we can make amends for the mistakes we made before and no longer betray the trust of the Arab people and Allah."

"Whether we trust you or not depends on what we can get in return with the steel in our hands." Brigadier General Ali stepped aside and gestured for him to proceed. "The path to revenge is right before us, Your Excellency."

The 301st Division first passed through Tabuk along the highway, then continued north, driving into the vast desert. Throughout the journey, Aronmes silently stared out the window without uttering a word.

More than ten hours later, they arrived at Nukshir outpost, the northernmost outpost in Shuangzhi. The desolation of yesteryear was gone; it had been transformed into a massive forward supply hub.

Huge oil tanks, mountains of ammunition boxes, and a constant stream of transport convoys were everywhere, and the air was thick with the scorching smell of diesel, dust, and metal.

“This is Nukoshir, General.” Brigadier General Ali looked at the bustling loading scene: “Now it is the main artery for the coalition to transport supplies to the northern front. Nearly a thousand tons of supplies are shipped from here every day and distributed to various units at the front via Ayjadha.”

Aronmes carefully surveyed the land. He had heard the name of this outpost more than once, but it was basically associated with the now-powerful General Shuangzhi.

This is said to be the place where the legendary Amir began.

In the center of the outpost square stands a massive and striking sculpture. It is cast from countless twisted and charred tank wrecks, resembling a steel behemoth returned from hell. The sculpture is adorned with numerous dog tags, and an information plaque stands beside it.

Aronmes stepped forward and examined it closely. He saw that it read: "They have entrusted all their future days in exchange for our freedom today."

"This was personally inscribed by Commander Amir to commemorate the soldiers who sacrificed their lives in the defense of Nukhoshir," Brigadier General Ali said from the side.

“He was a poet, wasn’t he?” Aronmes murmured. “What beautiful lines.”

“The commander did indeed like poetry in the past,” Ali said, as if he had thought of something, and then stopped the conversation.

Seeing that the other party had no intention of continuing the conversation, Aronmes did not press the matter further.

As the group walked past the sculpture, the gentle breeze caused the patches to collide with each other, making a crisp "tinkling" sound.

As night fell, the adjutant walked into the temporary command post with a military mess kit: "General, your dinner."

The lunchbox contained two roasted potatoes and a small spoonful of sour cream.

Looking at Aronmes's simple, even rudimentary, food, the adjutant couldn't help but whisper, "General, Brigadier General Ali said he's prepared some for you."

"That's good."

Rommes interrupted him, then broke the potato in half, steaming hot, dipped it in sour cream, and ate it without even peeling it: "What my soldiers eat, I eat too."

Masr's economy was so dire that he had to cut every penny, and frontline rations were being reduced again and again. However, Aronmes believed that no matter how difficult the situation, the dignity of soldiers could not be lost.

Especially when standing on the land of allies.

Just as he was silently chewing his potatoes, a communications soldier from the staff rushed in, pale-faced, without even knocking.

"General! Urgent message from the patrol! A large armored formation has been spotted to the northwest! Their identity is unknown, and they are rapidly approaching our position!"

Aronmes and his adjutant exchanged a quick glance. He immediately stood up, strode to the map beside the command table, and said, "Go and fetch Brigadier General Ali Sur immediately."

A moment later, Brigadier General Ali, his face grave, strode into the command room. Before Aronmes could ask any questions, he spoke first, confirming the worst-case scenario: "There are no of our troops deployed in the northwest. Those aren't our men."

“That’s it,” Aronmes said, pointing to the Gulf of Aqaba. “The Zionians have come around from here. It seems we’ve run right into their trap.”

He tugged at his collar, feeling that his clothes were hot and tight.

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, behind the sand dunes northwest of Nukshir, Major General Elazar, commander of the 161st Armored Division of Zion, put down his binoculars, his brow furrowed.

"Damn it, this isn't some easy supply point! This is clearly the enemy's main force assembly point!" His tone was full of confusion. "And where did Shuangzhi get all these T-62s from?!"

"Could this be reinforcements from Al-Iraq? They have quite a few T-62s," the chief of staff said.

“Impossible,” Major General Elazar shook his head. “If it were Al-Irag’s support, it should have gone through the Rutbay highway, without needing to pass through Shuangzhi’s territory at all! Let alone come all the way to the far north!”

north?

When those two words were mentioned, a familiar country name came to Major General Elazar's mind.

It can't really be such a coincidence, right?

Did they and Masr tacitly withdraw their troops from both sides of the Suez Canal, and then run into each other at this border outpost in Shuangzhi?

Major General Elazar chose Nukoshir as the first point of attack for another reason: it was the place where Amir first defeated Zion, and taking it would certainly boost morale to some extent, while also potentially dealing a heavy blow to the confidence of the Arab coalition.

"Judging from the size of the enemy, it's likely a full division," the chief of staff asked. "General, what should we do? Should we proceed as planned...?"

In order to carry out the flanking and infiltration mission, the 161st Division was equipped with a large number of lightweight equipment. Now it has to face an enemy army that is holding a well-fortified position. Originally, they also had a reinforcement from Jerusalem, but it was transferred away by Commander Shmuel because of the tight situation at the front.

Elazar hesitated for only a second; the advantage in an encounter lies in who is more decisive.

"Attack!" he ordered decisively. "As long as it's not Amir's main force, there's nothing to fear from the other Arab countries!"

"Attention all units, the original plan remains unchanged! The target is the enemy's supply center. Armored forces will flank from both sides, and the reconnaissance battalion will advance to mark the weak points! Self-propelled artillery groups will immediately establish firing positions to cover the enemy's rear! Notify the 161st Division of 'Eagle's Nest' that they are approaching the target and call for air support! Armored infantry, follow the tanks."

The chieftain's diesel engine roared, spewing black smoke, and the massive steel body began to maneuver nimbly, using the most classic flank flanking tactics to attack the Nukhshir outpost.

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.

Aronmes climbed the water tower, a rather dangerous move, but when he raised his binoculars and saw the black outline of a tank emerging from the distant sand dune line, the familiar turret shape seemed to remind him of the six-pointed star painted on the upper glacis armor.

At that moment, all the humiliations—the loss of the Sinai Peninsula, the blockade of the Suez Canal, the shadow of two defeats, the blood of fallen soldiers—like boiling magma, finally caused a crack to appear on Aronmes' cold mask.

"I've finally waited for you all." He said this as if he were talking to himself, his voice terrifyingly low.

He then quickly climbed down from the water tower and issued a series of instructions to the command system:
"This is 'Nile No. 1'. All battalion-level units, relying on the pre-set anti-tank ditches and sand fortifications, shall adopt dynamic defensive firing. Without my order, no one is allowed to advance. Prioritize aiming at the tracks and sides of the enemy's leading tanks!"

The moment of revenge had arrived. Aronmes took a deep breath, and just then, his anti-tank guns opened fire, followed by the sounds of gunfire spreading from one direction to all directions.

His eyes reflected a dazzling yet cruel firelight.

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.

"Has Aronmes' armored division encountered Zion's main force at Nukohill?"

Upon hearing this news, Lu Lin's first reaction was that it was somewhat ridiculous.

Although they did deploy defensive depth in Tabuk, if this Zion armored force were to slip in, it would still cause considerable logistical problems for the Allied forces.

As a result, the other side bumped right into Masr, who was coming to provide support.

Sure enough, nothing is surprising on the battlefield.

“Speaking of flanking and cutting off supplies,” Ibrahim paused, his expression turning serious, “we encountered enemy paratrooper air raids in Ayjadha and Turaif. Their intention was clear: to destroy our logistics lines.”

Lu Lin located Ayjadha on the map and cross-referenced it with the Nukoshir outpost where the 301st Division of Masr was located, and quickly understood the Zion's intentions.

“They’re trying to join forces and cut off all our logistical arteries,” Lu Lin said seriously. “We have to find a way to remove these two ‘nails’!”

Ibrahim said, "I have ordered the nearby garrison to form a task force composed of mechanized infantry and armored troops to wipe out the paratroopers in Zion. We should know the results by tonight at the latest."

Tanks and infantry fighting vehicles are the most effective weapons against lightly armed paratroopers. Their armor can ignore most of the paratroopers' light weapons, and their main guns and heavy machine guns can deal devastating damage to paratroopers.

Of course, it cannot be ruled out that Zion will airdrop infantry fighting vehicles or other heavy firepower equipment to the paratroopers, but it is unlikely to be too much.

Because Zion's transport aircraft are always in short supply, and the country's territory is too small, they are not usually of much use.

Lu Lin nodded: "What about Tukoff?"

Ibrahim's expression was somewhat strange: "Because it's too far from the front line, I shared this information with the Ministry of Defense. Lieutenant General Yousef said that he would send a mechanized infantry brigade from the country to encircle and annihilate the paratroopers in Zion."

“Let’s send the air force as well.” Lu Lin thought for a moment and felt that this was a good opportunity for actual combat. “Incidentally, let them go to support Nukoshir’s 301st Division. We must completely tie down Zion’s forces on the border of Tabuk.”

Looking at the two new battle markers that had appeared on the military map, Ibrahim couldn't help but sigh, "Now it really is happening everywhere."

The Galilee Plain, the Hashim Valley, Nukhir, and Carthage—excluding the recently concluded Yarmouk Valley—are all areas within a 200-kilometer radius northeast of the Levant, where war is raging.

The intensity and resource investment in this war represent a qualitative leap compared to the previous two Middle East wars.

Throughout the various Middle East wars, the scale and destructive power of the conflicts have been increasing, and almost every time they are restarted, their intensity leaps to a new level.

However, to Ibrahim's delight, the Arab armies finally united as one, and even the seemingly lone force of Surya in the north (although its invasion of Carthage was mostly driven by self-interest) played a role in restraining them.

"The good news is, this time we don't have any burdens on our minds. Before, when wasn't the war fought on our own Arab soil? Even if we won, the scorched land wouldn't grow crops for a year or two, and the civilians who died would just disappear silently." Lu Lin's gaze swept across the area they controlled on the map: "Now, fighting a war on enemy territory is much more exciting!"

“It’s a bit too early to say that,” Ibrahim said with a smile, pointing to the middle of the map. “Look, the battle line is still mostly on the west bank of the Hashim River. If we want to say that with confidence, we should at least wait until we have completely taken over the Galilee Plain.”

Lu Lin joked, "That's only because Zion's territory is too small! Once the entire front line is pushed over, with so many of our troops, we'll probably be crammed together right at their doorstep!"

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.

As Ziad stepped out of the terminal at Riyadh International Airport, a scorching, dry wind carrying the familiar scent of dust rushed towards him, replacing the humid air of a New York summer, a mixture of exhaust fumes, coffee, and perfume.

Before him was no longer the cold, glass-walled forest of Manhattan, but low, earth-toned buildings, Toyota SUVs speeding along wide avenues, and the towering minaret of a mosque in the distance.

Having not been home for many years, the drastic change in environment left him feeling somewhat disoriented, but he only wanted to savor this feeling later.

As His Majesty the King's son (adopted son), Ziad neither concealed nor told anyone that he was returning home. He dragged his suitcase around and noticed that there were taxi drivers soliciting passengers on the roadside.

He dragged the suitcase over there.

At that time, Riyadh did not have modern taxi companies. The so-called taxis were more like "shared private cars." Some private car owners drove their cars along a few fixed main roads, picking up multiple passengers along the way, each paying a small dinar fee.

Ziad stopped a relatively clean-looking older white Chevrolet sedan and then squeezed himself and his suitcase into the back seat.

He didn't notice that there was another person sitting in the passenger seat until he closed the car door.

"May peace be with you," the man said.

Ziad was about to get out of the car and leave.

But the man's second sentence made him stop in his tracks: "Don't you want to know how your brother died?"

Ziad's hand froze on the doorknob.

The man didn't waste any time and tossed him a file folder: "Take a look for yourself, it's all in there."

(End of this chapter)