Read Online Joint Task Force #4: Africa by David E. Meadows - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David E. Meadows
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when they were young; when they laughed and played. It had been many years since laughter had enveloped them as if the Allah that Abu Alhaul followed demanded stern visages and contemplative thoughts.
“We have time. For four days we’ve been running from the pursuing Africans. There are no more villages; no more of our schools. Village after village where we set up schools to train the children of Africa have been decimated. No one left alive. Heads shoved atop stakes in the center of the village as a warning to others to remain Africans.”
Abu Alhaul jumped as his brother’s strong hands grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him. “Do you understand that you may die out here. There are no more villages!”
“Release me!” Abdo’s arms dropped to his sides.
“Some will have survived,” Abu Alhaul said, his voice soft. “Some always survive.”
Abdo turned his back to his brother, unsheathed his machete, and returned to the bushes in front of them.
Abu Alhaul had never known his brother to be this anxious. Sure, they have had their setbacks, but Allah was forever testing His followers. The Africans may be searching and killing His followers, but they aided Allah’s words by escorting Western missionaries from the jungles. His sources told him that Ojo had warned them never to return. But for his villages, they killed the teachers and the children. It was the children who were the future of Jihad. It was the children upon whose blank slate of life was written the future, teaching them the honor of martyrdom, making them willing to strap bombs to their chests and die, taking the enemy with them. To build such weapons meant teaching them the purity of such acts while young. As they grewolder and more mature, the lure of life outweighed the purity of sacrifice.
Abdo stopped chopping and turned again to face him. “My brother, we can’t wait for you to make a decision. Even Allah takes a rest. We are going north to safety and someday you may return, but I think your life here is done.”
“Only for a short time, my brother. Only a short time. You are right in that you can never succeed if you are killed.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to flee. It was better to die for Allah than to flee for another day.
“Sometimes you say the right thing.”
Abu Alhaul opened his mouth to object, his lips opening and closing several times before he shut them and nodded. For once his younger brother was right. What right did he have to die when his service to Allah remained unfulfilled? Or, was it fulfilled? It was something he and the mullahs could argue, balancing successes and failures against the teachings of the Koran.
“Okay, we go north to see if we can lose those who are following.”
Abdo nodded. “We should discard those weapons that are too heavy and too useless, such as those Russian missiles. They are antiquated. We have no aircraft upon which to use them and they are slowing down all of us.”
“No! We may need them.” They were the only weapons they had other than the automatic AK-47s everyone carried.
“Yes, we may need them, but right now we need to escape more than we need the surface-to-air missiles. Look, my brother, we can hide them along the path and when we return—”
“Abdo, you have told me you think we won’t return. Why do you say such things if you think we won’t return?”
Abdo shrugged. “Because I want to convince you that all may not be lost. There no longer exists an Islamic Frontfor Purification. It is dead, and with it the glory of the victory you so desired has died. There will be no Shara in this part of Africa for a long time. Instead, African barbarism will triumph until you return.”
Abu Alhaul pushed his brother, barely moving the man, a surge of anger bursting forth. Who was he to argue with Abu Alhaul? “You will shut up and do as I command,” he said, his voice low, his tone hard. “We will take what we have with us because we are going to
“We have time. For four days we’ve been running from the pursuing Africans. There are no more villages; no more of our schools. Village after village where we set up schools to train the children of Africa have been decimated. No one left alive. Heads shoved atop stakes in the center of the village as a warning to others to remain Africans.”
Abu Alhaul jumped as his brother’s strong hands grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him. “Do you understand that you may die out here. There are no more villages!”
“Release me!” Abdo’s arms dropped to his sides.
“Some will have survived,” Abu Alhaul said, his voice soft. “Some always survive.”
Abdo turned his back to his brother, unsheathed his machete, and returned to the bushes in front of them.
Abu Alhaul had never known his brother to be this anxious. Sure, they have had their setbacks, but Allah was forever testing His followers. The Africans may be searching and killing His followers, but they aided Allah’s words by escorting Western missionaries from the jungles. His sources told him that Ojo had warned them never to return. But for his villages, they killed the teachers and the children. It was the children who were the future of Jihad. It was the children upon whose blank slate of life was written the future, teaching them the honor of martyrdom, making them willing to strap bombs to their chests and die, taking the enemy with them. To build such weapons meant teaching them the purity of such acts while young. As they grewolder and more mature, the lure of life outweighed the purity of sacrifice.
Abdo stopped chopping and turned again to face him. “My brother, we can’t wait for you to make a decision. Even Allah takes a rest. We are going north to safety and someday you may return, but I think your life here is done.”
“Only for a short time, my brother. Only a short time. You are right in that you can never succeed if you are killed.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to flee. It was better to die for Allah than to flee for another day.
“Sometimes you say the right thing.”
Abu Alhaul opened his mouth to object, his lips opening and closing several times before he shut them and nodded. For once his younger brother was right. What right did he have to die when his service to Allah remained unfulfilled? Or, was it fulfilled? It was something he and the mullahs could argue, balancing successes and failures against the teachings of the Koran.
“Okay, we go north to see if we can lose those who are following.”
Abdo nodded. “We should discard those weapons that are too heavy and too useless, such as those Russian missiles. They are antiquated. We have no aircraft upon which to use them and they are slowing down all of us.”
“No! We may need them.” They were the only weapons they had other than the automatic AK-47s everyone carried.
“Yes, we may need them, but right now we need to escape more than we need the surface-to-air missiles. Look, my brother, we can hide them along the path and when we return—”
“Abdo, you have told me you think we won’t return. Why do you say such things if you think we won’t return?”
Abdo shrugged. “Because I want to convince you that all may not be lost. There no longer exists an Islamic Frontfor Purification. It is dead, and with it the glory of the victory you so desired has died. There will be no Shara in this part of Africa for a long time. Instead, African barbarism will triumph until you return.”
Abu Alhaul pushed his brother, barely moving the man, a surge of anger bursting forth. Who was he to argue with Abu Alhaul? “You will shut up and do as I command,” he said, his voice low, his tone hard. “We will take what we have with us because we are going to
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