Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [178]
“C’mon, Jackson,” said the president to his brother, patting him on the shoulder, “I’m ordering both of us to get some sack time.”
65
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
9 April 2018
King Mustafa completed his morning prayers near his makeshift headquarters in western Riyadh. The nondescript warehouse serving as his command post was located in the Diplomatic Quarter, almost equidistant from the mosque he just left and the American embassy known as Quincy House. The area was peaceful and as yet untouched by bombs, but the empty streets—telling in a city of more than five million inhabitants—and the smoke billowing from military targets in other parts of the city told another story.
He had not slept since the bombing began, running on fumes since his harrowing escape from the royal palace. He would soon meet with Prince Ali Abdullah Bawarzi to review the military situation, but he had lost touch with his other coconspirators since the bombing raids began. He knew that Prince Hahad ibn Saud had been killed at the palace. General Aakif Abu Ali Jabar was last heard from at the nuclear facility in the southern desert. Mullah Mohammed al-Hazari had simply vanished. He felt keenly the loss of his band of brothers, and he welcomed Prince Bawarzi with warm gratitude.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” said Bawarzi deferentially. “I am so sorry I have not been able to get to you sooner.”
“It is good to see you, my brother. These have been difficult times. We don’t appear to be able to stop the infidels.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I regret to say you are right. Our air force was knocked out within minutes of the initial assault; communications were jammed, and now all major military units and assets have been smashed. All we have left to fight with now are remnants of a few shattered units.”
King Mustafa pondered what Ali Bawarzi had said and knew he was right. “How close are the infidels now to entering Riyadh?”
“Armored columns from the Bahrain bridgehead reached Riyadh yesterday. Large armored columns from Kuwait have just arrived, and the infidels attacking out of Jordan are expected to arrive sometime tonight. In addition, the Americans have sent armored forces into the southern desert to encircle our troops on the Qatar and UAE borders and link up with their forces holding the perimeter of our nuclear facility. Our forces in Jeddah have not been able to dislodge an American force in a bridgehead south of them.”
“Do we have any battle-ready units still intact?” asked the king despondently.
“There are no full-strength fighting units left in the kingdom, Majesty. My old 15th Armored Brigade may be the strongest unit we have left. They have taken up positions in eastern Riyadh, near Causeway #40. They may be able to slow the infidels, but they cannot stop them.”
“How much time do you think we have left?”
“If we contest every city block and house, we can probably continue to fight for another forty-eight to seventy-two hours, but based on the morale of our troops, I’d say it will all be over within twenty-four hours in Riyadh.”
Prince Bawarzi’s observation hit Mustafa like a punch in the guts, and the king grew quiet, mulling over the failure of his plans as he paced the floor. Where have we gone wrong? How could this have happened? Why did our Arab and OPEC allies not come to our rescue or honor our embargo? Did I overstretch by taking on both the Americans and China, or was their partnership inevitable?
Bawarzi remained quiet as he watched his leader come to his agonizing moment of truth.
“Prince Bawarzi, we have but one thing left to do, and that is to die in glory, taking with us as many infidels as Allah has given us the power to do. I will join the 15th Armored Brigade and go down fighting. Are you with me?”
Bawarzi snapped to attention and said, “It will be an honor and a privilege to die with you, King Mustafa, in our last glorious battle with the infidels. I would want it no other way.”
They shook hands solemnly and then headed for the armored troop carrier that would carry them