Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 167 "Two Great Strategists"

On the west bank of the Hashim River, the command post of the 10th Mechanized Infantry Division of Al-Ilag, the "South Wedge" front position.

Major General Sajad Jassim, commander of the 10th Infantry Division, listened to the rain pattering on the canvas roof of the command tent, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the table where tactical maps were laid out, his brows furrowed into a deep frown.

The tent was filled with the mixed smell of damp earth and tobacco, and muddy water flowed down the edges of the tent, forming a swamp at the entrance.

His divisional staff officer, Colonel Hughiem, stood aside, updating him on the previous phase of the offensive.

"This rain came at just the right time."

Major General Qasim suddenly said, "The mud will trap the tracks of those Zion's heavy tanks, making them stuck in the mud, but it will make our T-62s more maneuverable."

The United Kingdom's Chieftain tank has a combat weight of 55 tons, while the new Merkava has an astonishing 67 tons. In contrast, the T-62, another main battle tank, has a combat weight of only 37 tons. Although it is slightly inferior in horsepower, it has an advantage in power-to-weight ratio, which means it has a better ability to get out of trouble in soft mud.

His words immediately drew the attention of everyone else in the staff.

“I have an idea that might help us break the current stalemate.” Sajad stood up, put his hands behind his back, and stared down at the military map.

As a long-time partner, Hughes immediately understood what the other meant: "You want to take this opportunity to launch an attack? But the Allied Command's orders to us are to hold the line and resist the Zion's counterattack. You should think carefully."

“Of course I know,” Sajad said, a shrewd glint in his eyes. “Besides, hasn’t the headquarters given us a lot of military autonomy? Moreover, ‘resisting the enemy’s counterattack’ isn’t just about being a coward. Even Yeshavishen of Zion once said that the best defense is offense.”

“I advise you not to overestimate your abilities,” Hughiem said, somewhat angrily.

As a battlefield commander, one must have a clear mind and self-awareness.

“Huyim, I won’t force it.” Sajad stared into his partner’s eyes: “I know I’m not as good as that Amir. His appearance makes all the other Arab officers look like idiots. But we can learn from our mistakes and improve ourselves by learning his tactics!”

This statement piqued Hughes's curiosity.

Sajad pointed to the undulating valley in front of their position, which must have been flooded and turned into a mud pit by the rain: "We can order the engineers and reserves to immediately collect all the straw, shrubs, and even old sacks they can find, and quickly lay a path along the chosen assault route. The reconnaissance troops will then scout ahead, and our tanks and armored vehicles will be able to pass through quickly and strike the flank of the enemy's position!"
In this coalition effort, we in Al-Iraq are unlike other small countries; we've committed an entire division!

Hughes understood the implication in Sajad's words.

Before the battle, Amir did indeed say that Shuangzhi's army should be at the forefront, and now the enemy has indeed done so.

But this doesn't mean that all the limelight is on one person. If it were a small country that only provided some supplies or a few battalions, they could certainly sit back and do nothing. But Al-Irag holds the strength of an entire division! He certainly has the ability to do "more"!

"Let me inform Headquarters about this first," Hughiem said, still somewhat hesitant. "At least we can wait until Headquarters makes a decision before we take action."

“No, look at this rain, the opportunity is fleeting.” Sajad shook his head and continued, “And look at this war, from the Hashim River to the Yarmouk Valley, the radio is full of news about the great victory of Shuangzhi, and that Amir leading the army to victory!”

But what about us, the Arab coalition? Our soldiers also crave glory. We came here to destroy the Zionists, not to guard the homes of the Shuangzhi!

There was something else he didn't say: the name Amir was like a heavy stone weighing on the hearts of all the Al-Iraq officers.

Sajjad wanted to move it, even just to create a small gap so that Al-Iraq could catch his breath.

".All right."

Hughes glanced at the weather outside and said, "There's still a lot of timber and linen left from the previous supply deliveries, and there are also many bushes around here. I'll have the engineers collect them. If it's just for the difficult sections of the road, it should be just enough."

"Brothers!"

Sajad was overjoyed upon hearing this. His gaze once again fell upon the rain outside the tent, as if he could already see his iron torrent sweeping along the grass mats and crushing the Zion's position.

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, the Tukuf logistics hub in the northern border region of Shuangzhi.

Zion's 890th Parachute Unit engaged in fierce fighting with the Shuangzhi 107th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, which came to their aid. In the first four hours, the elite parachute unit overwhelmed the soldiers of the 107th Brigade. However, due to not having the home advantage, Zion's troops eventually chose to retreat westward.

Lieutenant General Talal bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, who commanded the battle, proudly declared afterward that it was a glorious victory for Shuangzhi.

Buildings are riddled with bullet holes, and the air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and kerosene. This important military town, near Hashim and Al-Ilag, is now littered with scattered equipment and burning car wrecks.

Many of the Zion soldiers were taciturn. These new recruits, who had little experience on the front lines, were shocked by the fighting spirit and fierce "close-range meat grinder" tactics of the Zion soldiers. In the early stages of the battle, they were almost routed.

They couldn't understand why, despite their overwhelming advantage and the enemy's deep penetration into enemy territory and isolation, the fighting was so fierce!
What about the front lines?

What kind of scene would it be?
But the cameras couldn't reach them, because the entire view was dominated by Lieutenant General Talal's smug face as he happily declared into the microphone of the war correspondent: "Our valiant soldiers thwarted the enemy's plot to sabotage our supply lines and drove them out completely! This proves that no matter whether the enemy comes from the air or the ground, Zion's forces are nothing to fear!"

The reporter asked, "Does this indicate that the overall quality of the Shuangzhi Army has been further improved?"

“Of course!” Talal nodded: “Shuangzhi doesn’t only have Amir as a capable general; we also have many other excellent commanders.”

At that moment, one of his trusted officers hurried over and whispered a few words in his ear.

Lieutenant General Talal's eyes lit up. He quickly ended the interview and followed the officer toward the warehouse in Tukuf.

The warehouse was already surrounded by layers of soldiers, and even during the most intense Zionian attack, it remained intact.

"Who is the commander here?" Lieutenant General Talal got out of the car and looked at the soldiers who were on high alert.

No one answered his words.

This is the northern border region, and their superior is Lieutenant General Amir.

Who has the highest military rank here?

The battalion commander came out: "It's me."

What's in this warehouse?

"Supplies being transported to the front lines."

"Open it and let me see."

As soon as Lieutenant General Talal finished speaking, dozens of guns were pointed at him.

"This is outrageous!" the colonel beside Talal roared. "Do you know that this is His Highness the Prince! A high-ranking official in the Tabuk region, His Majesty's brother! Even your Commander Amir would have to call him 'Old Boss'!"

The colonel's words immediately heightened the atmosphere, but no one moved.

In the eyes of all the soldiers present, unless Commander Amir himself spoke, even the King of Heaven would have to stand outside the door.

"Do you dare to shoot? If you don't dare, put your guns down."

Lieutenant General Talal walked up to the battalion commander. Normally, he would have felt it beneath him to speak to someone like that.

"Don't cause trouble for yourself, and don't cause trouble for your commander."

The battalion commander, seeing the hostile allies, knew their intentions. After a moment's thought, he ordered his soldiers to lay down their weapons.

Upon seeing this, the colonel immediately brought the situation under control.

Immediately afterwards, the warehouse door was opened, and the entire warehouse was filled with long, flat crates that had just arrived and had not yet been unpacked.

"Go open it and take a look."

Several soldiers immediately stepped forward to open the box. In fact, the Saxon markings on the box already told them what was inside, but Lieutenant General Talal just wanted to check it himself.

"It's a TOW anti-tank missile!"

"how many?"

The soldiers quickly counted the numbers and finally gave Talal a number that surprised him.

"There are also four M113s, equipped with missile launchers."

so much!
The battalion commander's voice came from behind him: "These are all urgently allocated to the front lines. They were personally ordered by Lieutenant General Amir. You'd better think it through."

Talal's expression immediately turned displeased; the mere mention of his nephew filled him with rage.

The other side not only steals the backbone of my army, but also steals my limelight and achievements, and now they even have to supply him with the newest and most powerful weapons and equipment!
The thought of Amir's frequent victories at the front while he was stuck here fighting a lousy battle with those damned paratroopers filled him with bitterness and anger.

And most importantly, the other party is a member of the "Sudri" faction.

Talal was already interested in the weapons in the warehouse, but he couldn't just take them; he needed to find a suitable excuse.

"General."

At this moment, a quick-witted officer from another faction whispered, "Strictly speaking, our mission is to ensure the safe delivery of supplies to the front lines, but it didn't specify which supplies." Talal glanced at him: "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is," the officer lowered his voice, "that we can replace some of these TOW missiles with our older anti-tank missiles. They're all going to be sent to the front lines to fight tanks anyway, so what difference does it make as long as they work?"

Lieutenant General Talal was stunned, then he laughed.

“Yes! That’s right!” He nodded. “Since they were able to poach my men back then, they can’t blame me for breaking the rules now. There’s no such logic in Arab countries!”

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.

After Sajad issued the offensive order, the 10th Mechanized Infantry Division of Al-Iraq began to advance according to the offensive sequence.

Rainwater washed over the sloped armor of the T-62 tank, making popping sounds, and the outline of the entire steel behemoth seemed to become somewhat blurred in the downpour.

As loader Bashir loaded shells into the breech, he complained, "It's a real idiot to think of launching an attack in this weather! I feel like we're either going to be killed by the Zionians or drowned by the rain!"

Inside the tank, the stuffy, cramped space was filled with the mixed smells of diesel, sweat, and metal. Driver Fadi complained, "This damn rain is making our old buddy's power output very unstable. I feel like I'm not driving a tank, but pushing a stubborn rhinoceros through the mud!"

Gunner Qasim scoffed, "Come on, Fadi, have you ever seen a real rhinoceros?"

A burst of laughter erupted inside the car.

Tank Commander Zafira said, "Everyone, concentrate and pay attention to coordinating with the infantry."

He then opened the hatch, poked half his body out, and the icy rain immediately hit his face.

Zafiel shouted to the infantry platoon leader, who was trudging through the mud behind the tanks, "Rilde! Keep up! Don't fall behind! We need your eyes!"

Squad Leader Rilder, covered in mud, wiped the mud off his face, gave him a thumbs-up, and shouted back, "Don't worry! Zafira! Don't go too fast either, be a good shield for us!"

The advance team moved slowly through the torrential rain and radio silence, with the trucks in front throwing back scraps to increase traction, but to Fadi it was barely worth it.

In this weather, both sides maintained a tacit understanding of peace, and even Zion, which usually liked to launch surprise attacks, saw its artillery fire become sporadic.

However, at that moment, the ground beneath the tracks of a T-62 with the serial number "A-117" on Zafiel's left flank suddenly exploded!

"boom!!!"

The sound of the anti-tank mines exploding drowned out the sound of the rain, and mud mixed with fragments of broken track plates and road wheels shot into the sky like a fountain!

Several Al-Iraq infantrymen near the explosion point didn't even have time to react before being thrown into the air by the violent shockwave, then falling into the mud like rag dolls, where they remained motionless.

Infantrymen further away were hit by flying metal fragments and high-speed mudslides, their screams instantly drowned out by the torrential rain and the echoes of the explosions.

Almost all the tanks in the attacking column came to a stop at the same time.

Inside Zafiel's crew, the men looked at each other in bewilderment. Zafiel, the commander, stared intently at the opposite reverse slope position through the periscope.

Adam's apple rolling.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down his temple.

Fortunately, there was no response from the other side.

The radio crackled through the headset, then the battalion commander said, "Attention all personnel, we have encountered a minefield. Do not panic, continue advancing."

But before he could finish speaking, a shell came crashing down.

"boom!!!"

An unidentified shell slammed into the side of the T-62, several meters away. The massive explosion sent up another wave of mud that splashed onto the sides of Zafir's vehicle, instantly obscuring the observation windows and periscope, and even making the turret markings illegible.

"The Zionians have discovered us!!"

Zafira roared as he retreated into the turret and slammed the hatch shut. "Fadi! Reverse! Take cover! Qasim! Locate the target! Bashir, prepare armor-piercing rounds!"

This shell was like a fuse.

The next second, the entire valley erupted in chaos.

Shells rained down on Al-Iraq's attacking column like hailstones. The downpour was no longer their cover, and gunner Qasim was firing almost blindly.

Left with no other option, Zafira had to lean out and use the most traditional method—the telescope—to calibrate the device.

He saw many other train commanders doing the same thing as him.

"One o'clock! I see the muzzle flash, it might be a tank!" Zafiel wiped the rain off his binoculars and shouted out the target.

"I can't see! The rain is too heavy!"

"Spot fire! Suppress it!"

The T-62's smoothbore gun roared, and the recoil made the entire vehicle shudder.

However, they were attacking from a low position, and not all crews had cover. One T-62 tried to accelerate and charge, but after less than 20 meters, a bright burst of fire suddenly erupted from the front of its turret.

An anti-tank missile, launched from an unknown location, precisely pierced its armor, then detonated the shell inside the turret, turning the tank into a burning iron coffin in an instant.

Zafira felt a chill run down his spine upon seeing this.

They're like a bunch of live targets stuck in the mud.

"Commander! I see their tanks moving! They're attacking a retreating point!" Qasim suddenly shouted.

Zafiel was taken aback. Shrinking the point in this environment?

How can it be?

The tank's tracks will dig two deep trenches in the soil, and then its weight will crush the tank in the trenches!
However, when he looked through the binoculars, he indeed saw a centurion on the distant slope using the incline to engage in close-range firing.

The enemy only reveals a small turret and cannon, fires, then slowly retracts, reloads, and reappears.

Zafiel was dumbfounded. Was the other party completely unaffected by the rain?

On the opposite side of the battlefield, Centurion David, the driver, skillfully maneuvered the gearshift, guiding his vehicle forward to fire once again.

"I have to say, that Amir is a genius. I feel even better than driving a tank on a sunny day!" he exclaimed.

"Why don't you go and talk to Draco?" the gunner teased. "Their engineers are practically dead from exhaustion these past few days!"

A closer look reveals that a large area of ​​the slope beneath their tanks was covered with barbed wire, and numerous protruding nuts were nailed in.

These makeshift traction pads greatly increased the tanks' grip, allowing them to perform maneuvers such as firing at close range.

The Zionians had no room for failure, so they always considered every detail.

Under the precise artillery fire, Al-Iraq's tank forces were caught in a dilemma: on the one hand, it was difficult to break through from the front, and on the other hand, the mud restricted their retreat.

"Damn it!" Zafiel cursed, trying to call out to the infantry behind the vehicle, "Rilder! We need smoke grenades for cover!"

But his words went unanswered, because in the previous rounds of artillery fire, Rilder's infantry squad had already been wiped out.

Zafiel looked across the battlefield; the 10th Al-Irag Mechanized Infantry Division was rapidly collapsing.

Large numbers of T-62s, billowing black smoke, were abandoned on the battlefield. Surviving crews either hid behind their vehicles or ran backwards on all fours.

As the main battle lines crumbled, the Zion forces on the other side were no longer content with simply mowing them down. Instead, they began to leave their cover and launch a fierce counterattack and pursuit against them.

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.

In the division headquarters, Major General Qasim watched through his binoculars as the front lines rapidly melted away like snowflakes in the rain, and as the T-62s turned into piles of burning scrap metal, he felt his blood run cold, and his hand holding the binoculars trembled uncontrollably.

He knew that his gamble had cost him the main force of the 10th Division, and could even implicate the entire Allied forces.

"It's completely over now."

He slumped in his chair, his face ashen, like a criminal awaiting trial.

(End of this chapter)