An Unwelcome Development

And I still need a 'coin purse' no matter how wrinkly or crinkly to keep my Zeds and flash drives in! ;-)

 

Zengunfighter...................please..xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxx0xxo9xxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 

There was a previous book?
Rancher

 

Yep, a pretty good one too…the sequel is getting there as well. ;-)

 

I've never heard of it, is as good as yurr storry?

Rancher

 

I bumped it up for you…enjoy. ;-)

 

great

 

What b d Zed n alls dem 'democrat' voters & alls dat sheet? ;-)

 

They're just targets...

Rancher

 

"Targets!" Yes, "Runnin Targets!" ;-)

 

Well, I finished the first book and am now back to this one. I decided to reread the first part of this one, so I could better tie it into the first book. Now I'm ready to read, but there isn't anything new here. I guess I should have read the other book much slower.

 

I'm writing as fast as I can!
“Turn right” Sadie followed my request as we exited the compound on our way to the Palestinians. Another right had us at the scene of the recent dog fight. I wanted to see if there were any dogs lingering around. Adding to the mental to-do list was organizing a team to eradicate the now feral pet dogs.
I expected to see the bloating, stiff, sad bodies of the dogs Sadie and I had killed. Instead, the road was clear, only pools of blood remaining where just an hour ago a bunch of dead dogs laid.
I wasn't the only one to notice. “Where did they all go?” Jacob wondered out loud. “Did the surviving dogs drag them off? “
“If they were willing to eat a human, I'm sure that they will eat each other.” I could feel Daniels' shiver in the rear seat behind me. I ran some rough numbers in my head, dead dogs in pounds and quantity, versus remaining dogs and came up short. A self satisfied smirk twitched the corner of my mouth, unseen by my traveling companions. There's nothing better than problems that solve themselves with the bonus of helping take care of other problems.
I sat back just a little bit in my seat, relaxing, realization that we probably wouldn't have to worry about packs of feral dogs attacking humans after all. At least not after another week or so.

The trip to the Palestinian area went smoothly. We were, after all, traveling through land we held and secured. First ours, then the Frenchies, to the border they shared with the Arabs. George, good to his word, had made certain that everyone had been alerted to expect us. Passing through the Frenchie territory reminded me of the Allies rolling through liberated Europe. Everyone that saw us waved, huge smiles on their faces.
That did wonders for my own moral.
We were making a difference.

Nearing their far border, I considered what we were about to do. I had mixed feelings. I was a bit conflicted. After 9/11 it was hard not to be suspicious of Arabs. Intellectually, I knew they were individuals and should be treated that way, but emotionally, trust was hard to come by.

I was friendly with a number of them, having trained quite a few store owners who were applying for a firearm license. Others I saw on a regular basis as I patronized their businesses.
Now here I was, contemplating helping them to defend against members of our armed services. That might result in them shooting at, or possibility wounding or killing them.
How was I supposed to feel about that?
Where was my loyalty supposed to lay?
Had the National Guard's status changed? Where they really still the country's armed forces? What command structure still exited? Were they operating under National Command Authority?
Or had a rogue general gone off the reservation, having slipped his leash. Or his master had dropped the leash and we didn't know whether he was still alive or not.

I had lots of questions and no answers. That was job one.

Uzis and Kalishnikovs. That's what the men at the Arab road block were armed with. They shared an intersection with the Frenchies, marking a border. I'd heard rumors for years that they had these types of weapons hidden away, and I never knew whether to believe them or not.
Now I knew. That lead me to wonder if they had anything heavier. But, if they'd had RPGs they probably wouldn't have bothered with the fake IEDs. Unless they were being cagey. Something middle eastern men were good at.
I didn't note any tension between the two groups, nor towards us. Quite the opposite, they were glad to see us, grins and smiles spread across bearded faces. Their mood was infectious, it's always good when people are happy to see you.
I saw it coming, but was in no position to do anything about it, still in our vehicle, working our way through the Frenchie roadblock. All I could manage was a warning.
“It's about to get loud!”
One of the Palestinians, the youngest by the look of him, stuck his AKMS' muzzle in the air and ripped off a magazine worth of celebratory gunfire.
I cringed at the sight. The obvious safety issues, to both those of us here, as well as those down range of the arcing trajectory of the 123 grain bullets. It also spoke of ingrained attitudes about firearms that would present certain challenges to the people working with him. With them.

“We're going to train those people?” Jacob's expressing equal parts disdain and doubt, two things which would be serious impediments to doing just that. Looks like I'd be teaching at several levels to a couple different audiences, simultaneously.

“Don't know yet. I haven't decided yet.” Although, really, I had. Still, I needed to talk to these folks before I fully committed. But the fact remained that we needed them as allies, if at all possible, and I'd trained enough of them in the past to have a pretty good idea of what was required of me.

The other three men glared at the youngster, the nearest to him aiming a cuff at his head that he barely managed to dodge, the muzzle of his now empty rifle sweeping around in all three axis. While they might not have minded his pumping thirty happy rounds into the air, he'd embarrassed them all in front of their guest.
I was sure we hadn't seen the last of the punishment he'd receive for his transgression. I nodded to myself.
“What?” Jake didn't miss much.
I shook my head in reply, then added. “I'm hoping that's what's going to help us, if we do decide to train them.”
“What?” Jake repeated.
“Tribalism.” I looked at Sadie, nodding, and let her go on. “Their standing in their tribe is of the utmost importance to them. They need social acceptance, the approbation of their fellows. This is peer pressure in the highest degree. Doing something to embarrass or otherwise hurt the tribe can be a death sentence. If the elders decree that Zed must be obeyed in the matters given to him to handle, Zed will get that obedience.”
“Wow!” Jacob shook his head.
“Yup. Should be interesting!” I turned in my seat and smiled at him. It took a second for him to return the smile with an unsure one of his own. Daniels sat there, keeping his own council.

The road blockers waved us through, the young fellow with the happy trigger finger staying back, slump shouldered. It turned out that I knew two of them from my classes. I was gratified to see that at least with them, my gunhandling lessons had stuck.

We were glad to see each other in that unique way when you discover an acquaintance has made it through, is still alive, after a horrendous experience. It draws people together, giving them one, very significant thing that they had in common. It transcended social status, race, sex, or any of the other artificial delineations we create to separate 'us' from 'them'.

I'd gotten out of the Jeep, alone. The others didn't know these men, and I wanted to keep it short. Still, actual human contact was called for, and so we shared handshakes, and daps and hugs. I made sure to include the youngster, hoping to make him feel better, and to demonstrate to his peers that I didn't hold the airborne burst against them.

A minute later and we were at the compound that had been the source of much speculation over the past decade. Built by the family that owned the largest grocery store chain in the territory, it was situated on the peak of a mountain, running along the top, with a three hundred and sixty degree view. The Atlantic to the north, Caribbean to the south, including a commanding view of the town's harbor, eastward the BVI, St John and a double handful of small cays.
The large metal gate was swinging open as we approached. No people visible, the guard shack's windows tinted, giving no hint as to what it contained. Sadie drove in, along what was for St Thomas, a rather long driveway, to the enormous main house. A very large wind turbine spun at the top of its hundred foot tall tower. It had always impressed me by it size, driving by on the road. The effect was magnified greatly, being directly underneath it. There were several parabolas on the roof, ranging from small Dish Network antennas, up to what I guessed was a twelve foot in diameter satellite dish. Like you use to see dwarfing some redneck's double wide back in the 80's.

More smiling faces greeted us in the drive, by the house. Again, I recognized some, but not all of the men. The lack of women reminded me, again, that I was dealing with a different culture. I looked at Sadie, wondering if I made a mistake bringing her.
“I get it. I got it. I've been dealing with these guys for better than two decades.” She saw my speculative look and put together what was in my mind. I nodded, knowing she was right. Besides, they wanted MY help, not the other way around.

Reaching for the door latch, Jacob stopped me with a question. “Do we bring our long guns?”
The greeters all had pistols displayed on their belts, but no rifles. I made a quick judgment call. “Yes. They expect men to be armed. We'll play it by ear if they want us to put them up inside. I'm hoping they offer us food soon.”
“Yeah, I'm hungry, no doubt.” Daniels broke his silence.
“It's not about the food, it's about being guests. Which has a special bond with these people. Expect bread and salt, in one form or another. Unless I miss my guess.”

Ali, Jamal, and Amad, the ones I knew the best were in the forefront. We greeted each other warmly and I made introductions all around. Amad was in his twenties, a local cop, and a fair hand with a gun. We'd trained together any number of times and he was no slouch. Ali and Jamal were contemporaries, bridging generations and cultures. There was no hesitation when it came time to shake Sadie's hand.
Next we were introduced to several greybeards. They were aloof and watchful, unblinking eyes staring out from heavy brows. Sadie recognized who she was dealing with and stayed back a step, not attempting to shake. From the dead fish I was presented with, she wasn't missing anything.
Nazeer came around from the side where he'd been keeping a low profile, but now that the main players were out of the way, he came up quivering like a puppy, happy to see his master after being left alone all day. We greeted each other warmly. Nazeer was a short, crippled up fellow. His infirmities were a challenge in my class, but we met them together and he passed successfully, through his determination and my patience. He'd been eternally grateful ever since. He wore his Kahr PM9 with obvious pride, something he'd earned on his own, despite his physical limitations, and now had his badge of manhood, just like his peers, the pistol taking the place of the traditional jambiyah of centuries past.

We were invited in. I managed to notice the shoe rack in the foyer. Our guests would have been too polite to mention it if we'd kept our shoes on, but it wasn't necessary. One faux pas avoided, I'm sure there were more that we'd have to navigate around.
Passing through several large rooms before ending in a large comfortable room, full of deep, saturated colors and intricate geometric designs. Two steps down had us on a heaven of carpets upon carpets upon carpets. A large low table dominated one side of the room, surrounded by sumptuous cushions. Our hosts bade us sit. I found a place to set my M4, off to the side, and my companions followed my lead.

We'd barely sat before women appeared bearing food. The older ones dressed in flowing long sleeved dress sort of tops, coming to the ankles, displaying the pants they wore underneath. Younger women wore more modern, western clothing, including jeans, but they too, were covered from wrist to ankle. Young and old alike wore head scarves. In a way I felt bad. Our invasion of their home necessitated them covering up in front of non-family members. Us being here prevented them from being comfortable in their own home.

Plates of unleavened flat bread, bowls of nuts and dates, and what we were told was lamb but I suspected was more likely goat, as well as a variety of fruit was placed on the table as we made ourselves comfortable on the cushions. Daniel caught my eye after seeing small bowls of coarse salt being set around the table. I gave the subtlest 'I told you so' shrugs. Almost as subtley he rolled his eyes and shook his head.
What? After all this time, he expected humble? From me? We shared a grin, easing some of the tension that had built despite our hosts' attempts at making us feel at home. Not that we felt threatened, mostly, but that we would put a foot wrong dealing with an unfamiliar culture and thus give offense.
Ali sat on one side of Sadie, Amad on the other, not to isolate her, but to make a statement of their acceptance. I sat near the head, a greybeard to my left, Jamal to my right. We made small talk for the next half hour, eating and drinking in between. It was hard, as there wasn't much that was small to talk about. We lived in momentous times.
So we fell back to tales of times of 'before', when things were 'normal'. Before too long postures eased as the combination of comfortable surroundings, food and drink seduced us. Laughter broke out around the table in response to one or another humorous antecdote. I surveyed the table and those gathered around it and thought that as long as you weren't in a hurry, this was the way to run a meeting. Get everyone softened up and collegial before getting serious.
This was their show, the Palastinians, and I was in no hurry to move things along. I worked at being in the moment, as this was a particularly good one to be in, and took in as much as my senses could offer. Sight, of course, with all the glorious colors and detail of the room. Shared laughter, the rustle of fine fabrics as one of the women brushed past to take an empty bowl away. Her perfume mixing with a trace of incense, and the spicy food on the table. Plush carpets and plusher cushions easing my contact with the ground, guardians against my old nemesis, Gravity.
My revelry brought thoughts of the “Old Man of the Mountain” and I smiled to myself wondering if I was being recruited to be a Hashashishan. At that point my wandering eyes met the hooded hawk eyes of the eldest of the elders. He gave nothing away, and, I realized, he hadn't said a word the entire time. I suppressed a shudder, wondering if he'd somehow read my thoughts.
I knew he couldn't, not directly, but I got the impression of deep perceptive ability, honed over many years and much experience. Which gave one such as him something bordering very close to mind reading.
He leaned over and spoke quietly to Jamal, in Arabic, his eyes never leaving mine. A brief sentence or two and he resumed his position. While it was a small thing, everyone noticed, and conversation halted, heads turning our way, expectantly.
Jamal nodded his understanding and acceptance of his role. Looking around the table, acknowledging everyone, at last he looked at me.
“Zed, we thank you and your people for coming out here today. We know the danger that what used to be a simple trip now entails, and we appreciate it.” He took the time to look at the other three of my party in turn. They all nodded, sucked into the gravity of the moment. “As you know, we have some trouble. And we find ourselves in a precarious situation which I believe you can appreciate” He was looking at me, as was everyone else. I nodded my understanding and for him to continue. “You know we've been threatened.” Another nod on my part. “And if it was just a bunch of thugs, things would be simple.” Jamal paused. I thought the opening was deliberate, so I didn't make him wait.
“But it's not a bunch of thugs, it's remnants of the government.” Now I need to tread carefully. “And your people have a history with that government. I know you to be peaceable citizens, which puts you in a very awkward situation.”
“Just so. We don't want to fight them, this National Guard.”
“For several reasons” I interjected. Jamal nodded. Elder Elder still stared.
“On the other hand, we don't want to turn over what we have.”
“For several reasons” I repeated.
“You understand the complexity.”
“I see at least some of it. What you have stored away represents your family's net worth. Your wealth. Give it up and you are impoverished and at the mercy of others. You also question who you are giving it to. Do they have legitimate authority? If they are, you'd want to cooperate. But probably not to the point of beggaring yourselves.” There were nods around the table. They'd had this conversation before.
“So, given all of that, will you help us?”
I paused, gathering my thoughts. I looked at Daniels who shrugged and nodded. Jake didn't bother with the shrug. Sadie let me know that she had my back.
“Just to get this straight, so there are no misunderstandings, you want our help in not fighting, yet keeping all your stuff. Is that about right?” I grinned to take what little sting there might have been, on the face of it, the absurdity of the proposition.
“I might have put it slightly differently, but yes, that's right.” Jamal agreed
“Are you willing to fight, if that's what it comes down to?” I need to know the depth of the commitment.
“reluctantly, yes.”
“Reluctantly isn't going to cut it, Jamal. Not if you want our help. I won't put my people's lives on the line for reluctantly.” I was a bit more forceful than I wanted to be, but I need to make a point.
Jamal put up his hands, placating me. “I stated that poorly. We are reluctant to get into a fight. However, if it becomes needful, we will fight to the last man.” The table erupted into a clamor as hands beat on the table in approbation of his pronouncement.
That's what I'd been looking for.
I held out my hand. Jamal took it. “Deal”.
Our agreement witnessed by an unblinking pair of hawk eyes.

 

Buckle up. This is gonna make the bangers look like a pigeon shoot

 

One of my dearest friends is a Palestinian Christian…our paths crossed when he was just a young man selling spumoni on the Lebanon beach to the US Expeditionary Force that I was with…many, many, many years later we met in Seattle of all places; we had a good chuckle when I mentioned that I was there to protect the US nuclear weapons that were ready to be deployed…but we had our way and just turned and went back to Vicenza, Italy…an almost 'non event' to be soon forgotten. My friends family owned and still owns Hadad Farms on the Galilee (Lake Geneseret) in israel…the only pig farm in Israel unless times have changed. Turn up the heat with the rag heads…we love it…their imaginations know no limits when it comes to cunning, friendship, deceit and every deception imaginable, all in a handshake. ;-)

 

I hope I'm doing justice to these interactions..
Also had some fun with Zed, who's ancestors would have numbered in the ranks of the Crusaders, imagining himself being recruited to be one of the storied assassins.

 

You're doing just fine…over the years I've known a few Arab folks, both islamic and christian…individually I have found them to be some of the warmest and nicest people in the world, and all of the islamics lived up to their reputation as 'pirates.' It's a sorry state of affairs, about the only thing that would fix it would involve a very hot, bright glow on the horizon over Mecca…it'll only get worse…being a 'people' person it saddens me and short of giving them exactly what they all say they want, I can't imagine a solution. Brings us, all of US, back to that old 'tribalism' thing I've mentioned. ;-)

 

Sorry to rush you, Zen, but you should feel pride in your book when you have the readers begging for more. And I'm sure you do have that pride.

 

Zen,
I have known several Palestinians in my time... you have it about right, especially if you plan on doing 'business', be prepared for the 'small talk phase', then, prepare to get ripped to shreds in the negotiations by folks who can take 'poor mouth' drama acting to whole new levels. ...

Zed needs a recon/HUMINT, I can't imagine this is anything but a warlord wannabe lacking any legal authority...

 

"Power comes out of the barrel of a gun!" No guns, no power! Now, about that 'purse' fo me Zeds, n alls dat sheet & stuff. ;-)

 

I believe you meant to say Sir;
"POLITICAL power emanates from the barrel of a gun."
-Mao Tse Tung (Zedong... whatever)