BXBX NOVEL Chapter 233 - Episode 8: For Whom The Bell Tolls
Chapter 233: Chapter 27, Episode 8: For Whom The Bell Tolls
The scent of thick smoke and burning flesh filled Aloadin Lodgings, a sacred ground of 1,000 years.
“Oh, Allah, why did you bring such evil to the holy grounds of Aloadin! Ah!”
Bansiri staggered after a sudden gust of wind pushed him back. A storm followed the first wave of fire.
Woosh—
The valley engulfed the flames like a whale. There wasn’t a fire dragon like it. From the stream of fire to corpses, everything was engulfed. Fragmented rubbles from buildings, ashes, corset metal plates, flaming plywoods, clothes, and even detached human limbs swirled around the fire. Nothing else could describe it other than the flames of hell.
Was it a dream?
Slap slap—
Bansiri kept slapping his cheeks. His ringing ears regained its hearing slightly. The sound of fire, wind, and his subordinates’ painful screams and shouts could be heard all at once.
He turned around. The left side of the building had completely collapsed. His bedroom was originally on that side. The right side had similarly tilted 30 degrees to the right, but it hadn’t collapsed. That was originally the security personnel and officers’ dorms. It was a relief.
Bansiri stared blankly at the burning training centers. As the third person in power within the ANO, Abu Bansiri was one of its founders. His secondary position was lieutenant colonel of the Syrian Presidential Guard Brigade. He’d anticipated the rise of a true Islamic country for over a decade. He’d tolerated a dangerous life by putting aside his greed and safety. He hadn’t even gotten married.
He had connected the ANO organization with the Mukhabarat, dragged the Soviets to participate in constructing an air defense system in the north, and ensured that the CIA had biological weapons. It was the groundwork for the nationalization of all oil fields in the east.
If they nationalized all the oil fields, there was no way that Mitterrand would remain still in his anger. Mitterrand would no longer threaten Syria if they crushed the French jets with the Berkut, Dvina, and MANPADS. They had been on the brink of completing their preparations.
When the organization’s reputation improved, applicants overflowed. It had been a chance to expand the organization. 400 trainees and 95 Horazan suicide special forces were on fire. They would have wrapped up the 14-months training in the next three days. Everything that he’d created for the past 15 months was now in flames.
He experienced a phantasmagoria of his past dangerous life. As the central power of the Assassin’s faction, Bansiri was a noble. In his youth, he had left to study abroad in the Soviet Union. He had graduated from the M. V. Frunze Military Academy and started his career as an officer in the Syrian Army.
In 1968, Bansiri had volunteered to enter the KGB’s spy training education center. His hatred towards France and Turkey, who had taken advantage of his country, became his motivation. Syria didn’t have enough strength to resist. If one lacked strength, the enemy’s power could be reduced. The method that Bansiri had chosen was terrorism and assassination.
He had been taught confidentiality and ideals in the Marx–Engels Institute of Moscow. Four months later, he had moved to Lenin Institute of Technology to receive two years of spy training.
He had learned physical training, close-combat, several weapons training, techniques of destruction, the composition and usages of poison, the use of cameras, wiretapping, methods of communications, and several assassination techniques. Two years later, he had received concentrated training of six months on explosives technology and anti-torture techniques.
Bansiri had returned to Syria after three years of training. In 1972, he had combined forces with Abu Nidal and Samrin, who ran a small terrorist organization and founded the ANO. The ANO became Assad’s hidden knife.
He had been assigned the major general of Aloadin’s training centers and concentrated his efforts on training terrorist warriors. Abu Nidal led the ANO to attack Assad’s enemies. Abrahim Samrin led their sub-organization, the Black September Organization, and inflicted random terror. It was a two-sided plan to hide the organization’s identity.
“Did I fall into Gehennom?” Bansiri murmured.
There was nothing he could do. His mind went blank. His body floated.
Gehennom was Arab’s hell. There was no one and nothing there. There wasn’t any sound, color, space, or time. There was no pain or hunger. Nothing could be done in the given eternity. It was just himself.
The perceived time was long, but it was only mere seconds in reality.
“Sir Bansiri! General!” His subordinate ran over with a limping leg.
His subordinate’s scream reverberated around his ears like a mosquito. His consciousness returned. He had to understand the situation first. He could mourn his losses later.
That wasn’t an external bombardment or an air attack. The culprit was part of a destructive mission team. How? He questioned. Aloadin’s front was guarded by the ANO while the Syrian special forces guarded the valley.
To infiltrate Aloadin, one had to cross 300 meters of empty land and get through the six meters wide circular metal and electric fences. There was a guard post with watchmen rounding the premises every five minutes. What about the land grenades around the fence? The pikes with poison? An outsider couldn’t possibly infiltrate the perfect defense terrain and boundaries.
Bansiri shook his head. The enemy had already infiltrated, and the aftermath was clear. Perfection wasn’t something permitted to humans. He and the organization had similarly achieved impossible feats.
“How are the security personnel?”
“52 out of 66 can still fight, sir. All 20 officers are also safe. They’re rescuing members crushed underneath the collapsed buildings!” Jarkawi shouted.
His hearing hadn’t returned. Since he couldn’t hear, he shouted.
“Phew, that’s a relief.”
The security personnel and officers weren’t idiots who swung their knives and shot their guns around. They were well-educated and had specialized skills.
Those who gathered because of religious beliefs were the true core of ANO. If the rat b*stard had installed the explosions properly, he could have lost all 66 security personnel and 20 officers. If they were gone, ANO would have to retreat from their grand stage.
“Jarkawi, control the chaos by sending the security personnel and officers into the training centers. I fear there might be a second wave of explosions. Were there any losses at the castle’s walls?”
“I’ve just received a message. There were no losses.”
“Tell them to tighten the security. Shoot anyone who’s lingering around.”
Jarkawi immediately raised the walkie-talkie and gave quick orders.
“Abwar, prepare the castle guards for code red. Shoot anything that’s moving within the perimeter. Prepare the mortars.”
Beeee—
The walkie-talkie rang, and a red light came on.
“What is it!” Jarkawi shouted.
“Commanding officer reporting the losses in the training centers. Four barracks, six tents, 140 out of 212 out of commission, 250 out of 367 trainees out of commission, and all 95 Horazan dead.
“Wha…what?” Jarkawi stuttered.
There couldn’t have been a greater manpower loss. Bansiri turned and looked helplessly at his subordinate.
“We have 72 in numbers as all 117 trainees and Horazan are dead.”
“What? Are you saying there are only 189 out of 674 soldiers alive?” Bansiri shouted.
Jarkawi silently nodded.
“My subordinates, my poor subordinates are…” Half-spirited, Bansiri fell to the floor.
Oh, Allah! Are you telling me this isn’t a dream! What did I do wrong for you to test me with such tribulations? Like throwing away an old pair of shoes, why are you abandoning a slave that only lives for your will?” Bansiri furiously kicked and punched the air.
“Sir Bansiri!” Jarkawi shouted.
Even if he was mad, he couldn’t blame Allah. If anyone else had overheard, he would have gotten into trouble.
“Hehehe, it’s unbelievable that an explosives terrorist has attacked the great ANO. Jarkawi, take the security personnel and eliminate the fire. Officers must lead the members to look for that rat. You must catch that rat. Mobilize the security personnel to control this chaos.”
“Yes, sir!” Jarkawi raised the device and began to throw orders in a frenzy.
“Damn, even the storages were attacked.”
Bansiri pointed towards the inner parts of the valley where red flames raged.
“Is this a dream?” Jarkawi turned his gaze towards the burning valley.
“B*stard, stop muttering and move!”
Surprised, Jakwari grabbed his rifle and ran towards the training centers.
“F****** swine, I’ll tear your limbs apart.” Bansiri gritted his teeth.
Ruman had suffered great losses, but its command team had survived. When the security personnel made their move, the chaos started to die down.
“Ah!”
Bansiri ran into the half-blown building. He had to cooperate with the chemical explosives division and Syrian air defense strategic team located inside the valley. The unknown destructive mission team might have infiltrated the place too.
“Hah!”
Bansiri pulled out his rifle in surprise. The chicken coop had been abandoned in a corner while the underground entrance had been blown away. Bansiri ran down the stairs as though he’d gone mad.
“Ya illahi, hakan hada!”[1]
The secret room had been destroyed. The CIA intelligence agents and his subordinates, who had been working together, were now headless corpses. Even the Berkut emergency control room had turned into particles.
“The safe, what about the safe?”
Nothing. The golden safe had been emptied, leaving behind a black sheen. His thin veins exploded from the overwhelming rage.
“Aaaaagh, dalkis al kwadiru, kunta jjabanan!”[2]
His sorrowful cry resounded in the basement.
Black Mamba, who was enjoying the fireworks, flinched.
“Damn, which b*stard’s cursing me out?”
He dug his ear with his pinky.
Beeee—
It was the danger siren. A strong searchlight projected from above the castle’s wall. He was caught.
“Huh!”
Black Mamba sprinted to the best of his ability.
Babababa—
Bullets poured like rain. It was the machine gun field above the wall.
More machine guns joined in the orange light’s direction.
Flick—
Flick—
Black Mamba, who launched his shadow steps, flickered left and right. The searchlight, as well as the entire group of machine-gun shooters, couldn’t catch up.
“What the hell is that guy doing?”
He was so surprised that he nearly tripped on his feet. Like a madman, Jamal was screaming to the skies with both of his hands raised.
“Allah has sent Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa. Land of corruption, land of a 1,000 years, greet Azrael’s arrival with joy! All evil souls, greet my master, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa. Poor souls, seek Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s grace! Bismillah! Allah—”
The guy had lost his mind. He was causing a scene in the middle of a hail of machine-gun bullets. He wasn’t Emperor Nero looking down at a burning Rome, so what was he doing?
“That b*stard’s mad.”
He grabbed Jamal’s waist and thrust his body away.
Papapa—
Several bullets landed near him. Others landed on Black Mamba’s back. There was a firm protective barrier on his back. The backpack, which carried 360 kilograms bars of gold and 4,000,000 dollars, blocked the 7.62 millimeters bullets.
“Argh!”
The moving force of a 7.62 millimeters machine gun bullet ranged around 4,000 Joules. He was tossed as though a bull had pushed him. Black Mamba didn’t resist the impact and reduced it by twirling his body like a spinner.
Papapa—
The sound of rocks shattering under the bullets’ force was scary. If he’d been a moment late with his actions, he’d have turned into a beehive. Even then, he was worried about the condition of the bundled money.
The searchlights traveled towards him from the walls. There were at least five machine guns. The rock that he had used to conceal himself started breaking apart. The rock, which had been there for a long time, suffered.
He’d flipped their place inside out, but they were counterattacking almost instantly. It meant that those b*stards weren’t newbies but from the main force.
“Is the wall intact?”
Since it was one kilometer away from the radius of impact, it should have withstood the shock from the explosions. There was no reason to worry about the mortars mounted on the wall. The 76 millimeters mortar had a minimum range of at least 1,000 meters. He’d be bothered if those b*stards took out an RPG-7 or grenade launchers.
“Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, you’ve saved my poor life, ohhh!”
Jamal cried once he saw Black Mamba’s back. There were bullet holes all over the backpack.
“Oh, let go, old man, you’re distracting me!” he shouted back and released the duffle bag with the grenades.
The searchlights directed the allies to the target. However, it also revealed the enemies’ location to Black Mamba.
“Hmm, I should give you a gift since you gave me something.”
Blue sparks emanated from Black Mamba’s eyes. His back, which had received several bullet shots, ached. If he hadn’t been carrying the gold-filled backpack, he would have died.
He numbered his targets. There were four mortars mounted on the castle’s wall, five machine gun camps, and seven watchtowers with searchlights.
Beeeeeep—
This time, the signal was long. Black Mamba grabbed Jamal’s neck just as he was preparing to throw the grenades and shoved him under a rock. The moment gunpowder flashed by the wall, a great explosion rang from the bottom of the hill.
Crash—
Rock fragments and dust drifted in the air. It wasn’t the kind of power that an RPG-7 should have.
“Ugh, those f****** b*stards, there’s nothing they’ve done right!” Black Mamba shouted.
It hadn’t been a North Korean 76 millimeters field artillery, but an OTO-Melara Mod 56 howitzer. They couldn’t have reached a range of 300 meters, otherwise.
A list of the OTO-Melara’s specifications came to his mind. It had a barrel of 1.47 meters, a limited range of 11 kilometers, an elevation of -7/+65, a muzzle speed of 416 meters per second, and weighed 1,273 kilograms.
Black Mamba’s face turned yellow. Its biggest advantage was its elevation. It was an impressive weapon that could shoot a target at a distance of 300 meters by entering a negative elevation. Well, OTO-Melara did make great artillery guns, after all.
Black Mamba hurried. Setting the OTO-Melara to a negative elevation would be disadvantageous as it would destabilize the landing point, but there were five b*stards up on the wall. If all five of them started shooting fire, he didn’t know where he would end up, but Jamal would turn into soup.
[1] “F***, oh my God!”
[2] “Aaaaagh, those f****** heathens, f****** b*stards!”