Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 208 Seedling Bed
Tel Aviv, high-level internal meeting.

"The current situation is very unfavorable for us."

Commander Morda began, “The United Kingdom and other colonial empires have announced internationally that they have cut off our military supplies. We have initiated a national mobilization and expect to be able to gather more than 600,000 troops, but now all our weapons and equipment can only rely on our own production capacity.”

In the past, Zion armed its troops with the most advanced weaponry. A mechanized infantry squad could be equipped with a French-made M3 or a United Kingdom-made FV 432 armored vehicle, an L7A1 general-purpose machine gun, and two anti-tank rocket launchers.

Currently, due to the lack of production capacity, the newly formed army can only rely on unprotected trucks for transport, and its anti-armor weapons consist of only one rocket launcher, or none at all.

"Wasn't this something we expected all along?"

Surprisingly, Prime Minister Hilbert, seated at the head of the table, seemed to be in good spirits, even sporting a smile: "The capitalism practiced by those colonial empires never followed logic or justice, but simply followed profit. They saw no return on their investment in us, so naturally they gave up. But I will show them just how wrong that decision was!"

Does the silence of the high-ranking officials on both sides prove they are wrong?
Is it about winning this war?
Air Force Commander General Gorodish, who was standing to the side, moved his lips, but ultimately swallowed his words.

Everyone knows that Zion's rapid development over the past two decades is inseparable from the strong support of its overseas allies and the huge remittances from Zionians around the world.

It can be said that it was precisely because of the assistance of colonial empires that Zion was able to develop into a modern developed country in such a short period of time.

Those almost free aid and discounts account for more than 40% of the country's annual income.

But now, all of that has vanished.

"Low production capacity is only temporary. Our defense industry is expanding. New chemical and metallurgical plants are being built in Haifa. Tanks are being produced in large numbers from assembly plants and then sent to the front lines."

"Think about it, everyone."

Hilbert seemed oblivious to the somber atmosphere in the meeting room. He spoke earnestly: "A few years ago, we didn't have the Golan Heights or the Sinai Peninsula, but we still won the war of nation-building and the Suez Canal War! This fully demonstrates Zion's unshakeable dominance in the Middle East. Faced with the Arabs' provocations, we have given powerful counterattacks time and time again!"

"Look at the achievements we have made in recent years. Our steel production capacity has doubled compared to ten years ago, our handicrafts are becoming more sophisticated, and our textile industry can almost meet all domestic demand!"

"And now, we also control the Sinai Peninsula, where the oil fields can completely achieve our oil self-sufficiency. With this black blood, our industrial heart will not stop beating, our factories will not stop shutting down, and our tanks and planes can continue to roar!"

Hilbert then changed the subject: "Of course, I admit that after losing the Golan Heights, our most pressing challenge is water resources. But! Our seawater desalination technology is among the world's best, and I believe that it won't be long before we are completely free from the constraints of water resources!"

These words left everyone present looking at each other in bewilderment.

Can we meet our daily needs through seawater desalination?

Just then, the head of the combat readiness department came to report, and Hilbert gestured for him to give the report in front of everyone.

The supervisor began, “Your Excellency, our latest research has yielded a passive protection system that can effectively defend against enemy tank main guns and anti-tank missiles.”

Hilbert's face lit up with delight, and he leaned forward to show his interest, saying, "Tell me about it."

"We have invented a composite armor that sandwiches insensitive explosives between two layers of steel plates."

The supervisor began a quick and simple explanation: "When this type of armor is hit by the metal jet of a shaped charge projectile, the explosives in the interlayer will explode instantly. The directional shock wave generated by the explosion will interfere with, disperse, or even cut off the metal jet, thus greatly weakening its armor-piercing capability."

We named it 'Explosive Reactive Armor,' and the initial model was codenamed 'Jacket!'

"Has it been tested?"

"Yes."

The supervisor gave an affirmative answer: "We used the 115mm main gun of the T-62 tank produced by Antt, as well as the AT-3 anti-tank missile and the RPG-7 rocket launcher for live-fire testing, and the results were surprisingly good!"

The 'jacket' effectively reduces the armor penetration depth of incoming munitions by 70% to 90%, meaning that an anti-tank missile that originally had a 500mm penetration depth will have its effective penetration depth reduced to less than 200mm!

Hilbert listened very attentively throughout.

The supervisor, his voice tinged with excitement, continued, "Based on this system, we plan to further improve the 'Merkava,' reducing its weight and increasing its mobility while maintaining protection. At the same time, we also plan to integrate an upgraded fire control computer, night vision devices, a new transmission system, and laser warning devices. The next-generation 'Merkava' will be smarter, more adaptable to the battlefield, and will also reduce costs, saving valuable steel production capacity!"

"You all heard it!"

Hilbert clapped his hands, a joyful blush rising on his face: "This is Zion! We know how to use command to solve problems, and this proves once again that we are superior to those Arabs. We deserve to survive, and we will surely win!"

He looked at his supervisor, his gaze intense: "What was your previous military rank?"

"Colonel, Your Excellency the Prime Minister."

"You are now being promoted to Major General!"

Hilbert exclaimed, “Those who truly dedicate themselves to the nation deserve praise! Zion needs truly talented people like you in high positions right now!”

"What about the production plan?"

Hilbert waved his hand and said, "I approve!"

After the manager who had been promoted left beaming, Hilbert gradually calmed down from his excitement. He was silent for a moment, a blank look appearing in his eyes for a instant, before suddenly asking, "Where were we?"

"...The domestic economy is experiencing severe inflation," Commander Morda whispered a reminder.

Hilbert seemed to just remember something, and looked at Finance Minister Faisal Andy: "What would be the impact if we now implemented strict need-based rationing of all food, energy, and water?"

Faisal hesitated for a moment, then forced a reply: "Your Excellency, strict rationing would mean we are implicitly accepting the bankruptcy of monetary credibility, and inflation would instantly soar to unimaginable astronomical figures. This would lead to a complete collapse of public trust in the government, triggering social unrest and the utter demise of foreign trade."

There may not be any major problems in the short term, but in the long run, the social structure will begin to collapse from within.

"How long is 'short-term'?"

"Two to three months."

Hilbert fell into thought, then sighed, his tone becoming somewhat disheartened: "Well... this sounds like a plan you'd only take in the face of a final battle. Let's not consider it for now."

Everyone present breathed a sigh of relief in their hearts.

“However,” Hilbert’s tone shifted, his eyes sharpening again, “water resources must be strictly controlled! All resources must be prioritized for the front lines; the morale of the troops must be maintained!”

Yeshavishin and the others could only bow their heads and reply, "Yes."

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 the small council meeting, Commander Morda discreetly slipped a note to Yeshavishin, who left without further explanation.

After getting into his car, Yesavishen unfolded the note and found an address on it.

He then thought for a moment, told his bodyguard/driver the address, and instructed him to drive in another direction.

About half an hour later, the car stopped in the back alley of the Tel Aviv State Opera.

Yeshavishin took off his military uniform and changed into civilian clothes. His bodyguard asked, "Commander, would you like me to accompany you inside?"

Yesavishin thought for a moment: "No need. By the way,"

He pulled out a hundred-shekel note and handed it over. "Go to the 'Golden Wheat' bakery two blocks away and get me a honey toast to go. My daughter loves it. Keep the change."

After Yeshavishen got out of the car, the guards obediently drove away.

Guided by a waiter, Yesavishen entered a secluded private room.

To his slight surprise, in addition to Commander Morda, there were two other people inside—one was Lucas Halmer, the Supreme Speaker of the Zion Council, and the other was Elijah Tamar, the leader of the Irgun party.

Yeshavishin was no stranger to Tamar; in fact, the two had crossed paths quite a bit in the past due to their differing political views.

From his appearance, Tamar was thin, dressed in a dark old-fashioned suit, with his hair neatly combed and round-framed glasses perched on his nose, looking like a frail teacher.

But his eyes gleamed with a flame that was a mixture of idealism and fanaticism, making it unsettling to look at.

Commander Morda first introduced the two sides, and then Yeshavishen extended his hand to shake hands with the Speaker and the other person.

Commander Morda then got straight to the point: "Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to discuss the future of Zion, but we don't have much time or opportunity left."

We need a new political system and a new leader to guide us through this difficult time.

Yeshavishen knew this was a topic the other person had brought up during their last meeting.

He will replace Hilbert as the new Prime Minister of Zion.

"You should have seen the Prime Minister's recent behavior. He has become overly optimistic and paranoid, and he has begun to deliberately ignore some existing problems."

Commander Morda said with a serious expression, "Yesha, you should have heard what he said at the meeting today, and he had also discussed the Damascus issue with me privately before."

Yesavishin hesitated for a moment: "What did he say?"

"He actually said it's a good thing!"

Commander Morda smiled wryly: "According to his theory, Shuangzhi is a country that does not produce food. Suddenly having so many prisoners will deplete their food reserves, and they will also need to allocate personnel to manage them. If all these people are killed, the Arab world will face a humanitarian crisis on the international stage."

Whether it was true or not, Yesavishin was also taken aback when he heard these words.

"He also said that if he were Amir, after taking the Golan Heights, he would poison the Sea of ​​Galilee to destroy the soil structure of Galilee, causing the people of Zion to be poisoned or die of thirst."

"He's gone mad!" Yeshavishin exclaimed in astonishment.

“He was perfectly lucid when he said those words,” Commander Morda shook his head.

Then, sitting in Tamar, he said to Yessavison, “Commander-in-Chief, I know we have had many disagreements in the past, but given the current situation, we must unite now. I would like to invite you to join our party. If you can win over some of the votes, we are confident that we can overthrow the Labour Party.”

Yeshavishen shook his head: "Hilbert has 51 votes in Parliament, far more than the other parties. If I remember correctly, you don't even have 10 votes right now."

Zion's political landscape is extremely complex, and their power distribution revolves around a 120-member parliament.

Simply put, whoever holds 61 or more seats will have absolute power in Zion.

The largest party at present is the Labour Party, led by Hilbert, which has a crushing majority of seats in Parliament. The second largest party is the National Religious Party, but it only has a mere 10 seats.

They've strayed too far from the Labour Party.

"You're right."

Tamar nodded: "But since the war launched by the Arabs on Yom Kippur last year, many people in the country have become dissatisfied with the Labor Party, and this year's defeat in the war has once again stirred up internal conflicts. Recently, I have contacted the Ghahar Group, the Freedom Center, and other small political parties, as well as many voters who are dissatisfied with the current situation. We are preparing to unite and form a new political party, with me serving as its first leader."

The new political party will be called 'Likud'.

Yesavishin was silent for a moment: "How many seats do you have?"

“39, if you don’t count one or two neutral swing seats,” Tamar gave an exact number.

Speaker Lucas Halmer continued, "At the same time, we have also won over the National Religious Party and some smaller parties. Although the news has not been released yet, we actually have more than 50 seats, which is comparable to Hilbert's."

In this context, Jesavichen's position becomes extremely important.

As the current leader of the Zion military, and given the current wartime situation, Tamar estimates that Yeshavishen has at least 10 votes tied to him, and those votes were likely taken from Hilbert.

With this rise and fall, they have essentially secured the victory.

"So, how do you plan to save Zion?"

"Our political stance is to proactively seek comprehensive peace."

"Complete peace?"

Tamar spoke: "Yes, we will publicly announce that we unconditionally accept and implement UN Resolution 242, voluntarily withdraw all our troops from the Sinai Peninsula, relinquish all territory we have occupied on the west bank of the Hashim River since the Six-Day War, and withdraw our defensive lines back to the ceasefire lines before the Six-Day War." Silence fell over the room.

From fully preparing for war to fully embracing peace.

This is simply going from one extreme to another.

That wasn't all. Tamar continued, "At the same time, we recognize the Arafat people's right to establish an independent state, are willing to negotiate the specific division of Gaza and the West Bank, and withdraw from all related settlements, if necessary."

He paused: "The new government is willing to formally apologize for past excessive actions."

These words struck Yeshavishin as utterly absurd; he almost thought he'd misheard: "If I remember correctly, you've always advocated using the toughest methods to resolve the Arafat problem, haven't you? How come you've changed your mind so drastically all of a sudden?"

"But the most important thing now is to survive, and any concessions are necessary."

Tamar smiled bitterly: "Faced with national subjugation, even the most steadfast defenders have to make changes. What we need now is time, a breakthrough to stop the international community from imposing sanctions on us. All concessions are necessary compromises made so that we can stand up again one day!"

“I’m afraid the Arabs won’t agree; their goal is to completely conquer Zion!” Yashavishen said coldly.

But Tamar had already prepared a response: "You've overlooked a very important point, Commander-in-Chief. The United Kingdom and France have now openly abandoned us. For Ant and the United States, their strategic objectives in the Middle East have been achieved. All that remains is international moral condemnation."

More importantly, a divided and internally divided Middle East is in the interest of all major powers.

The blood debts of Beirut and Damascus must be repaid. Handing over Hilbert as the culprit would give them a pretext to intervene and mediate.

“That’s how international politics is. Apart from the Arabs themselves, no major power really cares how much suffering they have endured. War needs a pretext, arms sales need a pretext, and expanding spheres of influence needs an even bigger pretext. The Ants have made a fortune from the oil embargo, and the United States has used war to establish military bases in the Middle East… But once the Arabs are truly unified, all these benefits will vanish.”

"What we need to do is to take advantage of the suspicion and rivalry between these great powers and find a way for Zion to survive in this predicament. Now, we are only one step away from taking this step: abandoning Hilbert."

Tamar's gaze, almost tangible, was fixed on Yeshavishin. "And what is your reply, Commander-in-Chief?"

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

Commander Morda and Speaker Lucas Halmer, who was standing beside him, were so nervous that they could almost hear their own heartbeats.

Yeshavishin stared intently into Tamar's eyes, a mixture of idealism and fanaticism, trying to find any trace of hypocrisy or deception within them.

But he failed. All he saw was a cruel sincerity that would stop at nothing to survive.

After a long ten seconds, Yeshavishen slowly and heavily extended his right hand.

"I will try to reach out to some people first and see how many votes I can win."

Tamar also reached out his hand, and the two clasped hands tightly in the air.

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.

Haidef Al-Sheikh sat on the ground, gazing at the small skylight in his cell.

He didn't quite understand. Just a few days ago, he was still the high and mighty prince of the Sheikh family, attending a banquet of a subordinate family. In fact, whether he went or not depended on whether he gave them face.

As a result, at the banquet, a group of soldiers stormed in, first slaughtering his powerful uncle like a pig, then physically erasing the entire family, and he himself became a prisoner.

"There must be some mistake here."

He shared the same confusion as the dozen or so noblemen crammed into this cell of less than ten square meters.

Some of them were the sons of the oil minister, others were the nephews of a minister, and all of them had once enjoyed great prestige in Riyadh's social circles.

Now, all they see is fear of the unknown future.

"I heard they're going to send us to the front lines as cannon fodder."

"How dare they! My father will definitely come to save me!"

"Stop dreaming, I saw your father being taken away with my own eyes."

A group of noblemen discussed amongst themselves and concluded that their ultimate fate would likely be to be sent to the front lines to fight against Zion.

In their view, this was a means for the royal family to eliminate any potential threats.

The purpose was to allow them to atone for their families' sins in another way.

So some people began to weep and repent, while others began to curse.

Looking at all this, Haidefu felt a sense of bewilderment about his future.

"Is this your first time here?"

Just then, a lazy voice came from beside him and reached his ears.

Heidef looked in the direction of the sound and saw a young man in sloppy clothes leaning against the wall. Although he was also in prison, the young man looked very calm.

He asked with some curiosity, "Who are you?"

"Khalid bin Faisal al-Turki," the young man introduced himself. "Currently a lieutenant staff officer in the 4th Armored Brigade."

"You're from the military?" Haidev asked, somewhat surprised. "Even you got arrested?"

Khalid shrugged, his tone tinged with self-deprecation, "I had no choice but to arrest them. My family has committed too many crimes; even if I were beheaded eight times over, it wouldn't be enough."

The cell wasn't large, so his voice was naturally heard by the other noblemen's children.

The crowd gathered around in surprise.

Faced with an unknown future, a host of problems came rushing towards Khalid:

Are we really going to be sent to the army?

"Is life in the army particularly tough?"

"Will we be sent to the front lines to die?"

"."

Khalid raised his hand to signal everyone to be quiet, and then gave his explanation: "You won't be sent to the front lines to die right away. As is customary, you will first be sent to a military base for six months of basic training, after which you will most likely be assigned to the reserves. Veteran soldiers will guide you to gradually become familiar with military life."

He looked around at everyone and continued, "The higher-ups won't just throw you guys to the front lines like that. Think about it, a bunch of greenhorns, their legs going weak the moment they hit the battlefield—aren't they just handing the enemy food?"

As Khalid recounted his story, the atmosphere in the cell noticeably eased a bit.

Heidef noticed that several young people who had been trembling had finally stopped shaking, and some even began to think seriously.

They thought the royal family was going to use a borrowed knife to kill them, and get rid of them all through war.

On the other hand, they were no longer the nobles of the country, and could no longer enjoy their former lifestyle. The huge gap between reality and their former lives caused many people to feel resentful and dissatisfied.

Khalid watched all of this with a disdainful sneer in his heart.

He had seen too many rich kids in the army, and no matter who they were, when it came to actual fighting, they all lost all interest.

“Brother,” Haidev asked curiously, “what’s your situation now? You’re supposed to be a hero, don’t you feel resentful about being treated like this?”

Khalid stretched his limbs and said calmly, "Actually, it's not so bad. At worst, I'll just lose my rank and start all over again."

He paused, "And to be honest, this might not be entirely bad for me. I used to be the least favored person at home, with eleven older brothers. Inheriting the family's position in the oil sector was definitely not going to happen to me, so my dad sent me to the army to try my luck."

But now? I'm the only son in this family. My brothers have nothing; even survival is a luxury. At least I can see a bright future, a path I've walked before.

Within the aristocratic circles of Shuangzhi, family relationships are never warm and affectionate. Each large family is like a cruel game of raising venomous insects, with countless examples of brothers turning against each other and killing each other for property and inheritance rights.

"Besides, just because there are no nobles now doesn't mean there will never be any nobles again."

Khalid said, "In this society, there are always people at the top and people at the bottom. This time, the new king has cleaned up all the families, which has created a lot of vacancies. So, who will fill these positions?"

This question gradually brightened the eyes of many aristocratic youths, dispelling their confusion.

As nobles, they may be lazy or greedy, but they are by no means stupid.

Many people have realized that the old order has indeed been broken, but the country still needs people to govern it.

They have fallen from the sky to the dust, but their core essence has not changed.

Some people have already started thinking about how to gain an advantage in the next round of reshuffling.

As things stand, once the war with Zion ends, a large number of officers and technical personnel will be integrated into the nation's administrative system. Such capable and loyal individuals are exactly what the new regime needs most.

And now, a road has conveniently appeared before them.

Just then, the heavy sound of military boots came from outside the corridor. A stern-faced officer, holding an iron bar, banged twice on the iron bars of the cell. The piercing sound instantly drowned out all the whispers.

“Khalid bin Faisal al-Rashid!” The officer’s sharp gaze swept across the cell. “Is he here?”

Khalid sprang up from the corner, straightened his back, and stood by the door: "Yes, sir!"

The officer opened the cell door and coldly announced, "Come out. Your brigade commander and your direct superior have jointly vouched for you. With the approval of the headquarters, it has been decided to give you a lenient treatment. Your rank will be reduced by one level, but your military status will be temporarily retained to observe your future conduct."

All the noblemen in the cell stared wide-eyed at Khalid in disbelief.

Amidst a mix of shock, envy, and even a hint of jealousy in the crowd, Khalid took a deep breath, gave the officer a crisp military salute, then turned and greeted the group of noble young men before striding out of the cell.

The door closed behind him, shutting out the noise from the cell area.

Khalid's expression, which had been one of sorrow mixed with gratitude, instantly relaxed. He let out a long sigh of relief, took the water glass handed to him by a lieutenant officer opposite him, and drank it all in one gulp.

"How was my performance just now? Not bad, right?"

Khalid wiped his mouth, looking completely different from how he was in the cell.

"Tsk."

The lieutenant lit a cigarette: "These aristocratic sons, raised in luxury, are different from the commoners who join the army just to make a living. They're too calculating, too calculating, and too unruly. If we just throw them into the ranks, they're likely to band together and rebel, or even lead the way in breaking discipline, making them worse than a group of militiamen."

Only by showing them a viable and clear path will they willingly follow you.

Of course, there is one last step.

What Haidefu and his colleagues didn't know was that this was actually a unique "welcome ceremony".

Khalid, the guide who gave them hope, was actually their future platoon leader.

In an unfamiliar environment, it is easy to develop trust and dependence on an acquaintance.

This also represents the "cohesion" of the military.

The person who came up with such an idea was naturally Taimiye.

Khalid stubbed out his cigarette: "He's related to the Marshal after all. Hopefully, some good talents will emerge from this group."

(End of this chapter)