Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 173 Compromise
"How dare you stop our vehicle?! Don't you know these supplies are being sent to the front lines?"

Lieutenant Colonel Sultan stood in front of the military truck, his face ashen.

He was escorting a shipment of urgently needed medical supplies and spare parts to the front lines when he was stopped at a makeshift checkpoint by a team of National Guard troops belonging to the local government.

"It's just a routine check, Lieutenant Colonel."

The captain leading the team said with a forced smile, "The situation is tense right now. We must ensure the safety of all supplies. We need to open the boxes, inspect the goods, and carefully count them."

Major Fatah, who was standing nearby, quickly stepped forward, expertly stuffed a bag of banknotes into his hand, and whispered, "Brother, please do us a favor. The front lines are waiting for our lives; we can't afford any delays."

The captain accepted the money but showed no intention of letting them pass: "This is an order personally issued by Prince Asier. All supplies must be strictly inspected. We are just following orders, so we can only ask you to wait a few more days."

Prince Yasser belonged to another brother faction and was a staunch conservative.

Sultan instantly understood that these local forces, seeing the turmoil in Riyadh, wanted to seize some supplies, but dared not openly rob them, so they could only use such despicable means to delay and make things difficult.

Let alone waiting a few more days, even a few hours would delay military operations!
No wonder my younger brother looks down on these relatives; they're nothing but a bunch of worms!
Anger surged to Sultan's head. He pushed aside Major Fatah, who was still trying to negotiate, walked up to the captain, and said, word by word, "What if I have no choice but to leave?"

"Then don't blame us for being impolite." The captain in charge waved his hand, and immediately the sound of guns being cocked rang out around them.

Sultan stood tall and fearless. He pressed his chest against the captain's gun barrel and said coldly in a voice that everyone could hear: "Listen up, everyone. My name is Sultan bin Mohammed bin Abdulaziz Al Saud. My brother is Lieutenant General Amir, Commander of the Arab Allies. My father is the Emir of Riyadh (Supreme Administrator) and Minister of Defense."

You want to investigate us? Fine! But today you either shoot me dead and step over my corpse, or get out of my way right now! The choice is yours!

Major Fatah looked at Sultan, who was now seething with rage, and his expression was quite interesting.

This was the first time he had ever seen his usually mild-mannered superior so angry.

At this moment, the other person seemed to have the shadow of his younger brother.

The entire checkpoint fell silent instantly. Upon hearing this long list of titles, cold sweat immediately streamed down the captain's face.

There are countless princes in Shuangzhi, including himself, but now he has inadvertently provoked the one he dares not provoke the most.

Would he dare to shoot Sultan?

Commander Amir's older brother?
He feared that his family would be wiped out from the world the very next day, and even Prince Asier couldn't save him!

The soldiers behind him looked at each other, not daring to move.

"I now suspect you are a Mossad spy!"

Sultan waved his hand: "Fatah, take your men and disarm them!"

Upon seeing this, Major Fatah immediately signaled his troops to move forward and take control of all the soldiers at the outpost.

"Sir, what should we do with these people?"

Are they going to send them back to the rear for interrogation?
Fatah felt it would be better to just kill them.

“Get them on the truck. My brother definitely needs more soldiers,” Sultan said. “He knows how to get these guys to obey.”

Upon hearing that he was to be sent to the front lines, the captain turned deathly pale and cried out in panic, "No, you can't!"

“Either go to the battlefield or be shot.” ​​Sultan glanced at him.

The captain immediately shut up.

After organizing the supplies and dismantling all the roadblocks, Major Fatah radioed the entire team to continue advancing.

So the truck roared to life again and headed towards the front lines.

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.

Daman City, Eastern Province, Shuangzhi.

Idris, carrying a crossbody bag, pushed open the door to his house. As soon as he stepped inside, he heard the news of the king's assassination on the radio.

"His Majesty was attacked and seriously injured the day before yesterday, and is currently receiving intensive care. The Royal Family calls on all citizens to remain calm and united, and to offer their sincere prayers for His Majesty's health..."

For a thirteen-year-old, the king is a distant and vague concept, less real than the arrogant police officers on the street who collect fees.

But Idris always heard his sociology teacher say how great their current king was, how under his leadership Shuangji had begun to integrate with the world; how under his leadership Shuangji had repeatedly defeated Zion, Islam's archenemy; and how under his leadership Shuangji would rise in the Middle East.
But now this person is gone just like that.

Logically speaking, it should have felt like the sky was falling, but for Idris, it didn't feel like anything at all.

Grandpa coughed from the inner room, and then Idris's mother came out carrying a basin of water. When she saw her son, she was a little surprised: "You're out of school so early today?"

"Our sociology teacher was arrested by the police."

Idris put down his bag and replied, "The principal went out early this morning, saying he would give us a day off."

The mother nodded without saying much, but her eyes held a hint of worry.

Idris went to his room to study, while his grandfather next door kept coughing.

This was caused by pneumoconiosis, which he contracted while working on oilfields in his early years, due to the inhalation of large amounts of oil dust and combustion fumes.

But it was precisely this income of Grandpa that allowed their family to live a relatively comfortable life.

Now, Idris's father and brother also work for an oil company, making them three generations of oil workers.

Even though the work is hard, countless people envy their jobs—especially those who come from other places to work, such as Hashim, Rahua'a, and some Arafat.

The entire Eastern Province accounts for over 90% of Shuangzhi's oil production capacity, and the lives of the people here are more or less linked to oil.

"They're delaying payment again."

"I really don't know what the people up there are thinking."

Idris heard a familiar voice, and then the door opened, revealing his father and brother returning from work, their faces grim and covered in gray-black grime.

Upon seeing his son, the father immediately put on a stern face: "Isn't it supposed to be class today? Why did you skip school?"

"The teacher has been taken away," Idris repeated the reason he had just given his mother.

After hearing this, the older brother chimed in, "It seems your sociology professor is probably not coming back."

"Habiti (darling), is something wrong at the factory?" the wife couldn't help but ask when her husband returned.

The man's face quickly darkened: "The foreman, Jisan, said we need to prepare for war, so this month's wages will be delayed by a few days! The higher-ups can just utter a few words and expect us to go hungry!"

"That's right, those in power only care about themselves and their masters in the United States!"

The older brother scoffed, "The price of grain in the city has skyrocketed these past two days. The prices of rice, barley, and wheat have almost doubled! Many shops have been emptied out, and some people can't even get a single grain of rice. But I saw with my own eyes that truckloads of vegetables are being sent to the United States' military base! I reckon those United States lords have their granaries piled higher than mountains!"

The inability to pay wages and the lack of food were due to the war.

The reason for fawning and groveling to the United States is because of the progressive reforms.

People are simple-minded; they resent anyone who disrupts their normal lives.

Just then, Grandpa's heart-wrenching cough came from inside the house again. Mother turned around and went back into the house, took out a small stack of dinars and handed it to Idris, instructing him, "Go to the hospital and buy some medicine for your grandfather, the same kind as before, imported from the United States, it can reduce inflammation and suppress cough!"

Idris nodded upon hearing this, picked up the precious dinars, and ran out. Before he left, he heard his mother call after him, "If you see any rice for sale, buy some too!"

Along the way, Idris saw long lines outside supermarkets, items disappearing from shelves at a visible speed, and strange people appearing on the streets, dressed in traditional Muslim robes and shouting slogans such as "Return to tradition" and "Reject Westernization".

Soon Idris arrived at the community hospital his mother had told him about, which was also packed with people.

When it was his turn, the nurse told him expressionlessly, "That's all. Many Western medicines are out of stock right now, and they've been prioritized for the front lines." She then added, "But you could try traditional herbal remedies; they might be more effective."

But Idris, with his sharp eyes, spotted the medicine his grandfather needed on the back shelf: "Isn't that it?"

The nurse looked at the child in front of her, her eyes showing impatience: "Didn't you hear what I said? Next!"

Idris stood there stunned until he saw the people behind him pull out several times the amount of money, which finally convinced the nurse to buy the medicine.

The few dinars his mother had given him were far from enough.

He walked out of the hospital dejectedly, just in time to see a group of people walking by holding a white banner that read: "Abandon Western poisons and return to the natural therapies given by God!"

Someone even used a megaphone to shout: "Don't take it! These devil's pills will make you sterile!"

At that moment, a man approached Idris and whispered, "Are you out buying grain?"

Idris nodded blankly.

The other person handed him a bill: "Come join the march! For the future of Shuangzhi! You can use this to buy affordable food after the march!"

Many people like Idris were watching, but most chose to walk around, and some people kept their doors and windows closed, ignoring the noise on the street.

Idris, clutching the voucher and at a loss, was suddenly shoved from behind. In an instant, deafening slogans and the surging crowd engulfed him; he was like a fallen leaf swept into a torrent, only able to drift forward with the current.

He reached out in vain, only to get lost in the crowd.

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.

A few days later, a bombshell announcement rocked Riyadh, the capital of Osaka.

Prince Walid and his ministers announced the establishment of a Provisional Supreme Council, a new body that effectively replaced the existing cabinet and completely bypassed the Sudri faction.

As the initiator, Prince Mursad solemnly declared in a public statement:
"In accordance with our sacred traditions and ancient principles of governance, before His Majesty the King returns in good health, we hereby establish the Provisional Supreme Council to temporarily govern the country."

Once His Majesty the King awakens, the Provisional Supreme Council will be immediately dissolved, and all power will be returned to His Majesty without reservation.

During this period, all parliamentary operations strictly adhered to the tradition of succession by brother and the principle of collective decision-making.

Under the leadership of His Highness Crown Prince Walid, all major national policies are passed by a majority vote in the Princes' Council to ensure the fairness of government orders, the transparency of decision-making, and the balance of power.

We are willing to obey God's command, faithfully fulfill our duties, and with transparency, impartiality, and loyalty, temporarily assume the affairs of the state until the day the monarchy returns.

As soon as the statement was made public, six provinces responded immediately, excluding the neutral Medina province, which is equivalent to gaining the support of half of the Bildungslavs.

This is practically tantamount to a direct declaration of war and secession.

The Sudri faction was also quick to respond to this decision.

However, Prince Muhammad's response surprised everyone.

"Riyadh recognizes and supports the establishment of a temporary governance structure to ensure the smooth operation of the government and the orderly transition of power, which is in the best interests of the Kingdom and its people."

In these extraordinary times, the stability and continuity of the nation are paramount.

The Sudri faction... actually backed down?

The princes from other factions were overjoyed; this was undoubtedly a victory of great significance.

With the Sudri faction announcing their participation in the Provisional Supreme Council, this power struggle that nearly tore the two factions apart seems to have finally come to an end.

This moderate compromise also meant that the Sudri faction had almost lost the possibility of forcibly seizing power—unless the King of Shams could miraculously rise again.

In the VIP lounge at the racecourse, Prince Mursed was celebrating this hard-won victory with his brothers.

“I didn’t expect Muhammad to give up so easily. I thought he would use more drastic measures to resist,” Prince Talal said with some regret.

"You need to understand what kind of person your opponent is first."

Prince Mursad shook his head: "Muhammad is a remarkable man. Look at the achievements of the Sudri faction over the years. He orchestrated almost every major event, from military and political reforms and the oil embargo to the acquisition of Aramco shares and the promotion of modernization."

His only weakness was his sense of responsibility towards the country; he couldn't stand by and watch it fall into disintegration or abyss.

Mursad himself was unsure how far things could go, but he was certain that Mohammed couldn't—in a sense, the other was already the uncrowned king of the country.

“To my resolve!” Prince Talal raised his coffee cup.

"Respect to our resolve!" the crowd echoed in unison.

Although Islam forbids alcohol, raising a coffee cup remains a common alternative, carrying similar symbolic meanings at weddings, national holidays, business meetings, and more.

"Gentlemen, it's not time for us to celebrate completely yet."

Prince Mursed began, “Our true purpose is not to overthrow the Sudri faction, but to stop those Western ideas from corrupting our country, to prevent those self-proclaimed modern goods from entering the country and changing our lives!”
Our war is not over until things are back on track!

In fact, for most of the princes present, their demands had already been largely met when the Sudri faction relinquished its monopoly on royal power.

But as the nominal leader of the parliament, Mursad still received a chorus of agreement from the crowd.

"We still need your guidance to continue our journey," Mursaid said, raising his glass to Prince Walid with a warm smile.

Prince Walid's wrinkled face stretched wide with laughter, almost enough to trap flies, as he repeatedly replied, "It's us, it's us! Since the new parliament advocates 'joint participation and equal consultation,' everything should be discussed and decided together!"

The two looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

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.

Where some are happy, others are naturally sad.

President Duleva, far away in Masr, looked deeply troubled.

"It's over, it's completely over."

This collapse stemmed from the utter failure of a high-stakes gamble.

The assassination of King Shuangzhi, coupled with the division of the domestic government, caused unimaginable disaster to the logistics and morale of the allied forces.

The compromise by the Sudri faction was an even more fatal blow.

This means that the supreme commander of the war and the regime of the country he served had fundamentally diverged.

How can an army that is internally divided and whose rear is on fire possibly win a modern war?
What pained President Dureva even more was that the armored division he had dispatched was currently locked in fierce fighting in Nukhir, and every battle report meant that his precious troops were being wasted meaninglessly. This was not only a huge military loss, but also a complete political disaster.

He could almost see Zion's tanks roaring across the border once more, plunging the entire nation's security into an abyss of no return.

"Immediately move the Second Army forward to Ismailia, beware of a Zionist surprise attack."

Now, all Dulleva can do is hope that Amir can hold on a little longer.
"It's bad! Your Excellency, urgent military intelligence! The Shuangzhi troops have begun a large-scale withdrawal from the Galilee Plain!"

Durevo's hand jerked violently, scattering the papers all over the floor.

The coalition forces were defeated.

A sharp, agonizing pain gripped his heart, and large beads of sweat instantly rolled down his forehead. His vision went black, and his body swayed uncontrollably to the side, crashing heavily onto the carpet.

That afternoon, President Masr Dulles was rushed to the Army General Hospital for emergency treatment due to an acute heart attack; his condition is still unclear.

(End of this chapter)