“Allah knows and you do not,” Shahan quoted. “I don’t believe that they’re the same soul,” he said. “A soul is unique; they have to be different people who just happen to bear the same name, same DNA and same experiences until 1940. I can’t see a merciful God sending a small girl to hell, simply because her older self committed a crime.”
“And yet, it makes a mockery of predestination,” Father O’Reilly said calmly. “To be granted knowledge of the future is to change it, for you didn’t have that knowledge in the past. If you knew you would commit a grave sin, would you still do it?”
“I tend to assume that Allah knows what he’s doing,” Shahan said, after a moment’s thought. “It could be that we’ve been granted the chance to shape the world anew; me in Saudi Arabia, you with the Pope. Of course, the bastard hasn’t condemned the extermination of the Poles, has he?”
Father O’Reilly shook his head mournfully. “He has condemned the Soviet treatment,” he said. The USSR had seen no reason to keep them alive as slaves. “For Hitler, however, he has remained silent.”
“Father O’Reilly, it’s time to board the boat to Malta,” the Captain said.
Shahan embraced him once. “May Allah go with you,” he said, and waved the small boat off into the darkness.
The Germans caught up with them near Suez, but, operating at the limits of their range, failed to do more than scare some of the troops, only a handful of which had seen fighting before. Some of them tried to close in to sink the freighters, but the radar-guided guns on the freighters swept them out of the sky.
“I’ll be a lot happier when we have those guns mounted everywhere, or the new Metalstorm systems deployed,” Major Bloodnok remarked. The 3rd Infantry was accompanying the force, apparently to reinforce Egypt in the wake of the new agreement over Egypt. The Egyptian Government, almost completely anti-British, had been astonished to learn that all the new British wanted was the canal – and they were more than willing to invest in airports and transportation systems. Indeed, once Egypt had gone through the same period of bloody purging that Russia and Germany had gone through, they were becoming a lot happier with their lot. Of course, the democracy was fragile – and there would be no excuse for intervening as had been done in Algeria – but they were on the right track.
“I suppose,” Shahan said absently. He stared up as the freighters began to enter the Suez Canal. Contemporary aircraft, old craft from the Ark Royal I, flew low to investigate, carrying 2015 torpedoes under their wings. “I’m just nervous.”
“So you should be,” Bloodnok said. “The man who does not feel fear when entering a combat zone is a fool.”
“So how do you do it?” Shahan asked. “You don’t seem bothered at all.”
Bloodnok laughed harshly. “According to the files you dug up, we’re facing several thousand horsemen with rifles, and we’re armed with machine guns, armoured cars, and body armour. If we lose the first fight, we’ll deserve to be court-maritaled and shot.”
“I suppose you have a point,” Shahan said. The sun was beating down on them as the entered the Red Sea, passing Dhows and junks – and even a massive Contemporary liner – as they headed into Sudan. The better part of an Italian Army Group was trapped in Ethiopia and the surrounding counties, nations that would have been liberated by now in the original history.
“We don’t want to risk attack by the Italians,” Bloodnok said. “Their leadership is pretty bad, and their morale non-existent, but if they have good NCOs, that doesn’t matter so much.”
“Nuts,” Shahan said. The freighters were passing Saudi Arabia now, heading along the coastline down to Mecca. Securing the Holy Cities would lure Ibn Saud up for a fight, or they would chase him down to Riyadh. Absently, he wondered if the warlord would come to fight himself, or if he would flee back to his homeland.
“We attack at dawn?” Bloodnok asked. It was unnecessary; Shahan had been delighted to discuss the attack plan with an experienced officer. “Suppose we’d better tell everyone to get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” Shahan said. “Thank you for everything.”
Near Mecca
Saudi Arabia
2nd September 1940
Shahan had planned to give a speech as the five freighters, carrying nearly ten thousand men, landed on the shore. More accurately, the craft had been grounded; except for the army transport, which was using LSTs to deliver the British regiment to the shore. Shahan watched the confusion and was silently relived that the enemy did not materialise; if the regiment hadn’t been there, he was certain that they would have been overwhelmed.
Finally, the trained NCOs, and the loaned officers, managed to get some order into the chaos. The armoured cars would probe ahead, towards the city, while the army would march behind. As he should have expected, the disciplined marching order fell apart within ten minutes of the beginning; men were suffering from the heat, or was simply un-used to the marching on the desert. Still, they were armed and reasonably well-trained, and the lure of the holy city was ahead of them.
“Commander, we have a patrol of mounted men ahead of us,” the armoured car signalled. “They seem to want to parley. Their leader swears on the holy book that he will talk to us under flag of truce.”
“Understood,” Shahan said. He thought quickly for a moment. “Have him brought to me,” he said. “Company… halt!”
As the army stopped its march, Shahan and his personal bodyguard moved forward, spying the lead armoured car and a mounted rider. Shahan shivered; the rider reminded him of nothing more than a figure out of legend, a rider sweeping across the desert coming to loot, rape and burn wherever he pleased.
“This is Ahmed,” the driver said. Shahan noted that his hand never left his sidearm. “He wants to talk to our commander, you.”
“Salaam Alyikum,” Shahan said, in careful Arabic. It was supposed to be a linga Franca in the Middle East. The man – Ahmed – blinked at him, and then began a long and complicated speech.
“And so, the Holy Cities are in the palm of the hands of my master,” he concluded. “If you take one step nearer, you will be wiped out and even Allah will forget you exist.”
It was the blasphemy that annoyed the army; several hundred AK-47s were suddenly pointed at Ahmed. The Arab flinched back, but rallied himself with considerable courage. “You will leave, or we will kill you all and take your women as our prizes.”
Shahan smiled. It was a toothy smile; inviting nothing, but death. “You have taken what rightfully belongs to the entire Muslim world and made it your own,” he said. “If you surrender now, we will permit you to live and teach you to follow Islam as it should be taught.”
A scornful laugh was his only reply. Shahan made his decision. “In that case, I invite you to embrace Allah and his faith, Islam as revealed by the Prophet Mohammad, peace be upon him, and submit yourself to his judgement.”
He’d underestimated Ahmed. The moment the rider realised what he’d said – the traditional offer of Islam to a non-Muslim who was about to die facing Muslims – the man grabbed his pistol and lifted it. Shahan froze, watching the motion with a strange fascination, until a shot rang out.
“Well done for not flinching,” Major Bloodnok said calmly, blowing the smoke off his pistol. Shahan wanted to fall to the ground in prayer, but resisted the temptation; there was too much to do. “I’d recommend deploying the army now.”