"Yes, of course they are," said Aboona, thinking that they were there, not to back him up, but to shoot him in the back if he did not advance. "It will be done as you command."
"Was there any doubt?" asked Maddas Hinsein, terminating the connection.
General Shagdoof Aboona replaced the receiver with the realization that he was cannon fodder, and had been all along. He went to the full-length mirror in his command bunker, noticing powdery sand on his fine British war-surplus uniform. He brushed himself off. All but one of the paper stars of silver fell to the floor. He could not understand why this kept happening, but he no longer cared.
He wished now for the first time that he was back in Duurtbagh, a simple cobbler again.
Then, tears in his eyes, he picked up his Soviet assault rifle and went to give the orders that would probably cause his own troops to contemplate fixing their sights on the small of his back.
No matter what he did, he wore an invisible target on his spine. This was how Maddas Hinsein ruled his people.
Chapter 25
The Battle of the Maddas Line went down in history as one of the most violent land engagements since Verdun.
It was also the briefest.
The Popular People's Popular Auxiliary poured over the line, shouting "Allah Akbar!" in loud voices and firing wildly into the air, in the hope that the UN forces would retreat from their fierce din. It was their only chance, they knew. If they fired toward the enemy, the enemy would probably shoot back. There were rumors that this was sometimes done in wars.
Such was the vastness of the desert that their cries went immediately undetected.
What alerted the waiting forces was the sounds of the PPPA attackers setting off their own antipersonnel mines. The mines had been laid by the Renaissance Guard under cover of darkness so the PPPA could not safely defect. Many were ashamed of the occupation of peaceful Kuran.
Explosions lit up the sky. Distant reverberations carried south. Body parts flew in all directions. And the dreaded defensive mine fields of the Maddas Line were totally cleared-by unfortunate Iraitis.
Since there were more PPPA forces than there were antipersonnel mines, most of the Iraiti troops got through.
They lacked tanks, APC's and field artillery. And so they yelled.
General Aboona called instructions to his field commanders from the safety of his behind-the-line bunker. When his soldiers had proved too demoralized to backshoot him, he decided not to press his luck.
"The First Armored Division is located to the south!" he exhorted. "Attack at will, brave ones. Captain Amzi, take your unit to Point Afar, where only a squad of marines lie dug in. You will overwhelm them manfully."
It was a good plan.
Except that where the division should have been was a force of less than brigade strength. And the squad of marines was a squad no longer. He did not know what it was. There were no forces of four hundred soldiers in either the American or Iraiti table of organization.
Discovering itself facing a mere brigade, the PPPA, emboldened, charged with bayonets fixed. The enemy pulled back. PPPA lungs shouting victory, they closed in for the kill.
And fell victim to the classic pincer maneuver first used by Hannibal during the Battle of Cannae to defeat the Roman Army. Two wings of the divisions rolled out of the night to encircle the PPPA in a ring of steel. The carnage was brief. The handful of survivors surrendered, which was an excellent decision inasmuch as they had few bullets and their bayonets kept falling off.
Meanwhile, in the face of the unexpectedly overmanned marine squad, Captain Amzi's PPPA unit was pounded into so much camel fodder by howitzer fire and mortar rockets. He died wondering what kind of unit it was he was fighting.
It was an ala, not that that would have meant anything to him.
After an hour of hearing the rattle of small-arms fire and the boom of 105-millimeter tank cannon coming through his walkie-talkie, General Shagdoof Aboona gave up issuing orders and began requesting battle damage assessments.
He could hear his brave fellow Iraitis clearly. Their shrill, uncomprehending cries could mean only one thing.
It was a slaughter.
General Shagdoof Aboona heard the ringing of the direct line from the Palace of Sorrows as if through deep water.
Sunken-eyed, he picked up his Kalashnikov, plunked himself down on the side of his bunk, and, with the insistent ringing faint in his ears, put the cold bitter muzzle into his mouth and fumbled for the trigger with a nerveless thumb.
The hollow-point lifted the top of his head like the lid off a crockery cookie jar.
He was the final casualty of the Battle of the Maddas Line-elapsed time: eighty-six minutes and twelve seconds.
Chapter 26
Praetor Winfield Scott Hornworks burst into the war room of the UN central command base.
"It worked! The Ninth Hispana Legion ground them into sand stew. And the Vermont Victrix ambushed the rest. Changing the order of battle was the smartest thing we could've done!"
The Master of Sinanju looked up from the tortoiseshell that lay at his feet. Sheik Fareem and Prince Imperator Bazzaz had repaired to the safety of a bunker.
"Show me," Chiun directed, no joy on his face.
"Sure thing." Hornworks strode over to the rug and sat himself down happily. Using his finger, he indicated several points on the spotted shell. They were exactly where the opposing cracks crossed.
"We stopped them here, here, and there. Just like on this road-kill thing here." He looked on, cocking an eye at the old Korean, who had earned his respect as had no other military officer since his father, George Armstrong "Buster" Hornworks, had paddled his behind for smoking cornsilk. "How'd you work these tactics out in advance? Astrology?"
"No," said Chiun absently. "I simply heated the shell in a brazier until it cracked."
Hornworks batted his eyes. "You mean that's all?"
"Of course not," spat the Master of Sinanju. "I first prayed to the gods for guidance. This form of divination has been the way of my people since before the sun source was revealed to Wang the Great."
"Well, however it works, it beats computers any day of the durn week." The praetor grinned expansively. "So what's next? Tea leaves? Palm reading? You say it and we'll do it."
Chiun shook his aged head, saying, "The enemy has been discouraged. But he is not beaten. I have been charting the stars and they tell me that a new personality is about to enter the lists."
"Yeah? Who? And if it's Gorbachev, we're in deep dogfood."
"I do not know this one's name. But her moon is in Aquarius."
"Is that bad?"
"For us, no. For our foes, possibly. For Taurus and Aquarius are in conflict, signifying delay and frustration."
"So we wait for his next move, is that it?" Hornworks grunted.
"No. We must move swiftly to stage the grand plan I have devised to win the day."
"This may not be the best time to bring this up, but there's an old general's saying: No battle plan ever survived contact with the enemy."
"And there is a saying in my village: No enemy ever survived contact with the House of Sinanju," Chiun retorted.
"Since your notion got us through the night, my faith's in you," Praetor Hornworks said quickly.
"Have the LEM's arrived?" Chiun asked.
"LME's. On their way. I scrounged up as many of 'em as I could. Just give the word, and I'll assign special teams to take 'em into the field. I suggest good old Army Rangers. Marines would probably lose every blamed one before they even got to the target sites."
The Master of Sinanju gathered his kimono skirts about his pipestem legs. "No. You will give them to me."
"All of them?"
"Exactly. Then you will arrange to convey me into beleaguered Kuran. I will pass out these devices to the forces I have selected."