One man can change the world with a bullet in the right place - Malcolm McDowell
From Author: Rarely do I write notes to my stories, but this is one of those stories that requires one. I must remind my readers, that I am no Islamophobe, racist, and conspiracy nut. This is a work of fiction and may offend you. Knowing that, enjoy this latest story. More to come. 29062010.
Shattered Citadel: Shooting God
Dubai, Holy Islamic Empire, Earth [Sol], 09122054
He had snuck into the Holy Islamic Empire on a fishing boat, off the horn of Africa. In the dead of night his ship met a native boat with a crew sympathetic to their cause. He boarded dressed like a native with nothing but a AK-74 and a small fortune in Chinese Yuan. He slowly made it northward, bribing or lying his lay past Islamist checkpoints. Narrowly avoiding getting killed by roaming bands of jihadists, who killed Muslims and none Muslims alike. They were on a mission to cleanse Africa of non-believers and impure Muslims. After nearly three months he had finally reached Dubai, he was six days early.
Upon arrival the first thing he did was to scope out the entire area around the Deira Clock-tower where his target would speak. He walked through every open space, every alley, tree and roof he could access in a four mile radius from the clock-tower. He found a building just beyond the perimeter of the security ring that had begun to form in preparation of his targets arrival. This building's roof had a clear vantage point to the clock-tower and plenty of hiding spots.
Unfortunately the only way to the roof was through an old man's apartment. He couldn't take any chances of him going to the authorities or breaking his cover so he had to kill him. He regretted taking the old man's life, but he did it as painlessly as he could. Doing God's work, wasn't always pretty. He silently broke into his apartment in the night and suffocated him as he slept. He tossed the old man's body in the tub and filled it with a mixture of bleach and NNZ to mask the smell of rotting flesh before it had a chance to decay.
He left the apartment one last time to meet sympathetic contacts within the city for a weapon, he had to ditch his AK-74 to enter Dubai, but now he needed a sniper rifle. It took him nearly a day to find anything he could use for his mission, he happened upon an ancient Chinese made JS 7.62 he bought from a man who used to be a pilot for Emirates Airline before it was seized by the HIE. He stripped the rifle down to its parts and tossed it into a trash bag with scrap metal. He was stopped five times on his way back to the apartment by Islamist soldiers and each time they frisked him and checked his bag, but each time they let him pass.
At the apartment he poured the contents of the trash bag on the floor and rebuilt the large 1030mm long rifle. He loaded the rifles five round magazine with Soviet Type 53, 7.62 x 54mm rounds. He held the twenty-two pound rifle in his hands and nodded disapprovingly. The rifle had to be more then fifty years old, but he'll just have to make it work. His ghillie suit took him more time to build, he tore apart burlap sacks, sand bags and placed gravel on the suit to camouflage himself against the color scheme of the building and its roof. Once everything was ready, he filled his Camelbak hydration system with enriched water and took his position on the roof.
He watched from his rooftop hiding spot as the entire area around the clock-tower became more of a fortress as the days passed. Mobile SAM batteries, wind spirits installed, snipers and random patrols ringed the newly constructed stage. The massive black and green banners of the Holy Islamic Empire were erected around the golden stage. Its central podium towered above the stage and reminded him of two out stretched hands cupping the air. For the last two days he had remained perfectly still in his hiding spot, any movement would give him away to the anti-sniper snipers. From his own count he knew of at least sixteen of them. He laughed at himself, they either had no common sense or no business being snipers. One wore a bright red turban that gave away his position and another spent his time nervously flicking a switchblade around that gave off a glare that anyone that knew how to look could find.
That last night passed without incident, he was hungry, but couldn't move so he just sipped water from his Camelbak. The water inside his hydration system was enhanced with all the vitamins he needed to survive, but it seemed to do nothing for his hunger. After dawn the streets below him began to slowly fill with people until it was completely packed. Out of every window poked out the heads of Dubai's citizens, some roofs were filled to capacity. All of these people were trying to catch a glimpse of their leader, who was to appear before them at any moment.
He spotted some movement behind the stage and watched as two teenage girls were dragged up the stage by Islamist soldiers. One of the girls was being difficult to her handlers and suffered a pistol whip to her face that resulted in blood pouring from her nose. Following them up the stage was a tall man dressed in a long flowing gold and black robe with a blue turban. He took the podium and the amassed crowd went insane. They cheered and chanted, “laysa ilah, bal Allah.” The man lifted his arms into the air and the crowd went silent, the man began to speak in a loud angelic voice that filled the air. He blocked out his words and began to make his adjustments for his shot.
His aim had to be steady and true, so much depended on him hitting his target. He had literally one shot, after one shot his cover would be blown and he would most likely be dead in minutes. The Islamist soldiers below had the latest in Chinese anti-sniper technology, the Wind Spirit. The platform could detect the slightest deviation of air pressure and pin point the exact location of every shot fired in a five mile radius. His JS 7.62 had only a range of 800 meters and his target was more then 1400 meters away, he had to aim high. So far the wind had been consistently five miles to the northeast, he had to pray it stayed that way. In his mind he went through the calculations and it wasn't good, he was a good sniper but not that good.
His target suddenly turned and left the podium towards the two captive teenage girls behind him, he took a sword from their captors and waved it in the air. The crowd roared in approval and began to chant, “Thakar Wahid!” The leader of the Holy Islamic Empires nom de guerre, that name brought a cold chill to his spine. Thakar Wahid, the one male. He had heard it once before, in the ancient texts of his masters. His order had been peaceful and dormant since the last Crusade more then 700 years ago, but the world needed them again. A year ago he was a sniper for the Royal Marines, but since his activation by the Order he deserted the Marines and trained exclusively for this mission. Now he was here, adjusting his aim to his targets new position. This man had to die. He had done the impossible, united Islam under his banner. Only one other man in history had done this, Saladin. Saladin united Islam to repel the Crusaders from the Holy Lands, but this new man was a monster. It was foretold that he would awash the world in blood. He recited the prophecy from memory,
“Out of the country of Greater Arabia
Shall be born a strong master of Mohammed,
He will enter Europe wearing a blue turban.
He will be the terror of mankind.
Never more horror.”
Thakar Wahid had already killed hundreds of thousands, if not millions to unite Islam and create the Holy Islamic Empire. He thought to himself, “how bad can this guy possibly get to be named the 'terror of MANKIND'?” Thakar Wahid raised his sword and slit the throat of the captured girl closest to him. She folded over unconscious onto the stage and bleed out as the crowd cheered in approval. Thakar Wahid grabbed the second girl by the hair, who's nose was now covered in dry blood. She screamed and twitched, but he just yanked her head back. Exposing her long neck. He lifted the blade to her neck, but a thunderous crack intercepted him. Thakar Wahid spun around, his head spurting out a fountain of blood which covered the girl. In the midst of the confusion she freed herself and jumped into the crowd. Stunned silence fell over the crowd as their leader crumbled onto the stage and was whisked away by his soldiers. The crowd screamed and panicked as a massive fireball engulfed a building behind them, showering them with burning debris.
The Grand Hall, London, European Union, Earth [Sol], 10122054
He switched off the television as a call come through to his cell phone ear piece. “I just heard the news on BBC. Wait, putting you on speaker.” He placed his ear piece on his coffee table and went off to fix himself a drink. “Did he make it?”
“No way to know for sure, we'll have to wait and see.”
“That's true. The news said nothing on Abdul Al-Mumīt Mohammad Al-Malak ibn Nidh'aal ibn Abdulaziz Al-Hasa. It states that an assassination attempt on his life was foiled, but I don't believe that. Colour Sergeant Yasu Ullah was the best man for this job. It was a blessing that he joined us when he did, no one else could have come even close.”
“Your faith in him is well founded. Our sources within the HIE say that he managed to get one shot off and that it blew the 'terror of mankind's' jaw and lower portions of his face clear off.”
“Bloody hell! Is that bloke dead?”
“He should be, but hes still hanging on. God willing he will die and mankind will be spared.”
“God willing...” he downed his sixth shot of scotch and switched the television back on. The screen was full of millions of people, all chanting together, “Imbratoryya Islamyya Muqaddasa!” A cold shiver ran down his spine and he nervously played with his ring. He ran his fingers around the large letter 'G' and along the straight edges of the symbolic instruments molded into his ring. He watched the crowd chant and began to chant himself in Latin, “Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.”
The other man, still listening. Joined in with the chanting. Their voices filled the room and drowned out the chanting from the television.
TRANSLATIONS:
Laysa ilah, bal Allah (Arabic) No God, but Allah.
Abdul Al-Mumīt Mohammad Al-Malak ibn Nidh'aal ibn Abdulaziz Al-Hasa (Arabic) Name: Servent of the bringer of death, Muhammad the King, Son of Nidh'aal, Son of Abdulaziz, the Saudi.
Yasu Ullah (Arabic) Surname: Jesus belongs to God.
Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam (Latin) Not to us, Lord, but to Your Name give the glory.
From Author: Rarely do I write notes to my stories, but this is one of those stories that requires one. I must remind my readers, that I am no Islamophobe, racist, and conspiracy nut. This is a work of fiction and may offend you. Knowing that, enjoy this latest story. More to come. 29062010.
Shattered Citadel: Shooting God
Dubai, Holy Islamic Empire, Earth [Sol], 09122054
He had snuck into the Holy Islamic Empire on a fishing boat, off the horn of Africa. In the dead of night his ship met a native boat with a crew sympathetic to their cause. He boarded dressed like a native with nothing but a AK-74 and a small fortune in Chinese Yuan. He slowly made it northward, bribing or lying his lay past Islamist checkpoints. Narrowly avoiding getting killed by roaming bands of jihadists, who killed Muslims and none Muslims alike. They were on a mission to cleanse Africa of non-believers and impure Muslims. After nearly three months he had finally reached Dubai, he was six days early.
Upon arrival the first thing he did was to scope out the entire area around the Deira Clock-tower where his target would speak. He walked through every open space, every alley, tree and roof he could access in a four mile radius from the clock-tower. He found a building just beyond the perimeter of the security ring that had begun to form in preparation of his targets arrival. This building's roof had a clear vantage point to the clock-tower and plenty of hiding spots.
Unfortunately the only way to the roof was through an old man's apartment. He couldn't take any chances of him going to the authorities or breaking his cover so he had to kill him. He regretted taking the old man's life, but he did it as painlessly as he could. Doing God's work, wasn't always pretty. He silently broke into his apartment in the night and suffocated him as he slept. He tossed the old man's body in the tub and filled it with a mixture of bleach and NNZ to mask the smell of rotting flesh before it had a chance to decay.
He left the apartment one last time to meet sympathetic contacts within the city for a weapon, he had to ditch his AK-74 to enter Dubai, but now he needed a sniper rifle. It took him nearly a day to find anything he could use for his mission, he happened upon an ancient Chinese made JS 7.62 he bought from a man who used to be a pilot for Emirates Airline before it was seized by the HIE. He stripped the rifle down to its parts and tossed it into a trash bag with scrap metal. He was stopped five times on his way back to the apartment by Islamist soldiers and each time they frisked him and checked his bag, but each time they let him pass.
At the apartment he poured the contents of the trash bag on the floor and rebuilt the large 1030mm long rifle. He loaded the rifles five round magazine with Soviet Type 53, 7.62 x 54mm rounds. He held the twenty-two pound rifle in his hands and nodded disapprovingly. The rifle had to be more then fifty years old, but he'll just have to make it work. His ghillie suit took him more time to build, he tore apart burlap sacks, sand bags and placed gravel on the suit to camouflage himself against the color scheme of the building and its roof. Once everything was ready, he filled his Camelbak hydration system with enriched water and took his position on the roof.
He watched from his rooftop hiding spot as the entire area around the clock-tower became more of a fortress as the days passed. Mobile SAM batteries, wind spirits installed, snipers and random patrols ringed the newly constructed stage. The massive black and green banners of the Holy Islamic Empire were erected around the golden stage. Its central podium towered above the stage and reminded him of two out stretched hands cupping the air. For the last two days he had remained perfectly still in his hiding spot, any movement would give him away to the anti-sniper snipers. From his own count he knew of at least sixteen of them. He laughed at himself, they either had no common sense or no business being snipers. One wore a bright red turban that gave away his position and another spent his time nervously flicking a switchblade around that gave off a glare that anyone that knew how to look could find.
That last night passed without incident, he was hungry, but couldn't move so he just sipped water from his Camelbak. The water inside his hydration system was enhanced with all the vitamins he needed to survive, but it seemed to do nothing for his hunger. After dawn the streets below him began to slowly fill with people until it was completely packed. Out of every window poked out the heads of Dubai's citizens, some roofs were filled to capacity. All of these people were trying to catch a glimpse of their leader, who was to appear before them at any moment.
He spotted some movement behind the stage and watched as two teenage girls were dragged up the stage by Islamist soldiers. One of the girls was being difficult to her handlers and suffered a pistol whip to her face that resulted in blood pouring from her nose. Following them up the stage was a tall man dressed in a long flowing gold and black robe with a blue turban. He took the podium and the amassed crowd went insane. They cheered and chanted, “laysa ilah, bal Allah.” The man lifted his arms into the air and the crowd went silent, the man began to speak in a loud angelic voice that filled the air. He blocked out his words and began to make his adjustments for his shot.
His aim had to be steady and true, so much depended on him hitting his target. He had literally one shot, after one shot his cover would be blown and he would most likely be dead in minutes. The Islamist soldiers below had the latest in Chinese anti-sniper technology, the Wind Spirit. The platform could detect the slightest deviation of air pressure and pin point the exact location of every shot fired in a five mile radius. His JS 7.62 had only a range of 800 meters and his target was more then 1400 meters away, he had to aim high. So far the wind had been consistently five miles to the northeast, he had to pray it stayed that way. In his mind he went through the calculations and it wasn't good, he was a good sniper but not that good.
His target suddenly turned and left the podium towards the two captive teenage girls behind him, he took a sword from their captors and waved it in the air. The crowd roared in approval and began to chant, “Thakar Wahid!” The leader of the Holy Islamic Empires nom de guerre, that name brought a cold chill to his spine. Thakar Wahid, the one male. He had heard it once before, in the ancient texts of his masters. His order had been peaceful and dormant since the last Crusade more then 700 years ago, but the world needed them again. A year ago he was a sniper for the Royal Marines, but since his activation by the Order he deserted the Marines and trained exclusively for this mission. Now he was here, adjusting his aim to his targets new position. This man had to die. He had done the impossible, united Islam under his banner. Only one other man in history had done this, Saladin. Saladin united Islam to repel the Crusaders from the Holy Lands, but this new man was a monster. It was foretold that he would awash the world in blood. He recited the prophecy from memory,
“Out of the country of Greater Arabia
Shall be born a strong master of Mohammed,
He will enter Europe wearing a blue turban.
He will be the terror of mankind.
Never more horror.”
Thakar Wahid had already killed hundreds of thousands, if not millions to unite Islam and create the Holy Islamic Empire. He thought to himself, “how bad can this guy possibly get to be named the 'terror of MANKIND'?” Thakar Wahid raised his sword and slit the throat of the captured girl closest to him. She folded over unconscious onto the stage and bleed out as the crowd cheered in approval. Thakar Wahid grabbed the second girl by the hair, who's nose was now covered in dry blood. She screamed and twitched, but he just yanked her head back. Exposing her long neck. He lifted the blade to her neck, but a thunderous crack intercepted him. Thakar Wahid spun around, his head spurting out a fountain of blood which covered the girl. In the midst of the confusion she freed herself and jumped into the crowd. Stunned silence fell over the crowd as their leader crumbled onto the stage and was whisked away by his soldiers. The crowd screamed and panicked as a massive fireball engulfed a building behind them, showering them with burning debris.
The Grand Hall, London, European Union, Earth [Sol], 10122054
He switched off the television as a call come through to his cell phone ear piece. “I just heard the news on BBC. Wait, putting you on speaker.” He placed his ear piece on his coffee table and went off to fix himself a drink. “Did he make it?”
“No way to know for sure, we'll have to wait and see.”
“That's true. The news said nothing on Abdul Al-Mumīt Mohammad Al-Malak ibn Nidh'aal ibn Abdulaziz Al-Hasa. It states that an assassination attempt on his life was foiled, but I don't believe that. Colour Sergeant Yasu Ullah was the best man for this job. It was a blessing that he joined us when he did, no one else could have come even close.”
“Your faith in him is well founded. Our sources within the HIE say that he managed to get one shot off and that it blew the 'terror of mankind's' jaw and lower portions of his face clear off.”
“Bloody hell! Is that bloke dead?”
“He should be, but hes still hanging on. God willing he will die and mankind will be spared.”
“God willing...” he downed his sixth shot of scotch and switched the television back on. The screen was full of millions of people, all chanting together, “Imbratoryya Islamyya Muqaddasa!” A cold shiver ran down his spine and he nervously played with his ring. He ran his fingers around the large letter 'G' and along the straight edges of the symbolic instruments molded into his ring. He watched the crowd chant and began to chant himself in Latin, “Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.”
The other man, still listening. Joined in with the chanting. Their voices filled the room and drowned out the chanting from the television.
TRANSLATIONS:
Laysa ilah, bal Allah (Arabic) No God, but Allah.
Abdul Al-Mumīt Mohammad Al-Malak ibn Nidh'aal ibn Abdulaziz Al-Hasa (Arabic) Name: Servent of the bringer of death, Muhammad the King, Son of Nidh'aal, Son of Abdulaziz, the Saudi.
Yasu Ullah (Arabic) Surname: Jesus belongs to God.
Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam (Latin) Not to us, Lord, but to Your Name give the glory.
Battle of Hattin, July 4, 1187.
SC: Shooting God
Thu, 11th November, 2010
A sniper deep in the Holy Islamic Empire has one shot to change the course of history.
Comments Greatly Appreciated. Feel Free to Leave One Here.
Comments Greatly Appreciated. Feel Free to Leave One Here.
