Thursday, 11 April, 11:05 hours GMT (16:05 Local)
Standing beside the Prince of Terror, each with an AK47 slung across one shoulder, two bodyguards watched Li’s approach. Each took a step forward, increasing the defensive perimeter around the Arab.
Almost reaching the bodyguards, Li stopped two meters away and waited impassively.
The man before him planned to change the world even more than his father had before him. Li brought him weapons to fight his foe as never before, to change the world utterly. Yet this Arab pretended not to notice the men who made possible his next step.
Ignoring the bodyguards, Li waited expressionlessly for the Arab to turn to face him and provide the targeting information. Once he had the coordinates, he would enter the targeting data into the on-board flight control system of each missile, along with the final launch sequence and the detonation altitude for each warhead.
He would launch the weapons. He and his men would return to civilization.
He stared at the back of the Arab impassively.
The bodyguards took another menacing step forward, each un-slinging and then gripping his AK-47 as he brought the rifle across his chest, muzzle angling up into the darkening sky.
Li ignored them still, awaiting the attention of the silent man in the dirty linen.
Having been ordered to command a unit of the Special Forces of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea to deliver covertly and for immediate use six Medium Range Ballistic Missiles with mated thermonuclear warheads, and to provide the final guidance and targeting expertise required to launch the missiles as directed, Li was about to complete his mission.
China had 20 million Muslims within her borders, mostly in the Xinjiang. They were allowed to practice their religious beliefs, but China accepted no Sharia, no fundamentalism, and no terror whatsoever. Those who began to foment trouble were quietly, quickly and simply killed, along with their families. China had too many people to worry about to allow criminal acts of a few, acts that were an economic and political drag on the entire nation and society.
Though not a Muslim, Colonel Li had been raised in the Xinjiang and spoke fluent Arabic, the language of the educated Muslims, in addition to Mandarin, the official language of the educated Chinese society to which he belonged.
As the Arab continued to ignore Li, the two bodyguards raised their weapons threateningly to Colonel Li, an expression of menace on the face of each man.
In Li’s experience, expressions didn’t harm men; violence did. These Arabs, who believed that honor demanded man-on-man combat, who engaged in primitive forms of fighting in order to achieve this perceived “honor,” never had been able to grasp that battles are won by formations of men killing other formations of men quickly and efficiently; or by superior technology, or both.
Honor had nothing to do with modern combat.
History taught Colonel Li that Arabs always imported their combat forces and weapons when facing enemies from beyond their lands. From the Middle Ages to today, Arabs had been unable to fight the superior forces, weaponry and discipline of the West.
The countries of the East, on the other hand, had proved masterful at importing whatever technology was required to defeat whatever opponent appeared, leaving traditions out of the equation.
Traditions didn’t win wars. Overwhelming, rapidly-delivered violence did.
The Americans had proved this to the Arabs three times in the recent past. Still, they refused to learn.
When Islam fought Europeans in the Middle Ages, Li knew, they achieved their successes with weapons, discipline, men and even uniforms imported from Europe.
Yesterday swords, catapults and uniforms; today missiles and nuclear weapons. How, exactly, they retained their belief that they were to conquer the world when they couldn’t fight a local war without imported weapons was quite beyond him.
Colonel Li turned his attention to the bodyguards now moving yet another half-step closer, each still with a look of menace on his face.
As the man on his right raised his foot to step to within arm’s reach, Colonel Li reacted.
Instantly stepping forward with his left foot, his right hand shot out and grabbed the barrel of the closest Arab’s rifle as it came up.
In one continuing motion he twisted the muzzle downward, grabbed the stock with his left hand, shifted his weight to his right foot, twisted the butt up and, leaning into his work, drove the AK47 up and back with both hands, smashing it into and through the man’s mouth, shattering his bad teeth and lower jaw as they met hard wood in a crushing blow, knocking the bodyguard backwards onto the sand.
He nearly simultaneously executed a powerful roundhouse kick with his left foot, catching the second bodyguard on the tip of the chin as he stepped forward, snapping his head around and breaking his neck, killing him instantly.
Both men dropped to the ground; one in pain, coughing, gagging on his own teeth and blood, the other one dead.
His actions had taken fewer than two seconds, far too little time to allow any reaction from the Arab or his men.
Li dropped the AK47 on the ground beside him and stood looking into the eyes of the Arab now facing him.
The DPRK troops behind Colonel Li kept their weapons leveled at the Arab and his men. The Arab leader raised his hand to his men as they began yelling and pointing rifles wildly about, quieting them. He understood, even if his men did not, that bullets striking the missiles behind the Koreans would destroy the entire operation. Missiles with bullet holes in them do not reach speeds of thousands of kilometers an hour and race accurately toward their targets; instead, they are torn apart by forces acting on the holes in their skin – even if none were to have their propellant ignited by bullets piercing their fuel compartments.
Colonel Li calmly said in fluent, educated Arabic, “Your men may play at being an army, at being ready to fight real soldiers.” He spat easily upon the body of the dead man. “But they are only playing; they have no idea of how a real soldier is trained to fight.”
He returned the expressionless look of the Arab. “Your men may not interfere with me or my men. Understood?”
The Arab slowly lowered his hand. A momentary flicker of interest in his eye betrayed his surprise at Colonel Li’s fluency. Behind him his men quieted.
Without turning his head, Colonel Li brought the Arab’s attention to the missiles. “Your shipment has been delivered. The payment has been received. Our helicopter will be here shortly. We can engage in combat and heroics, or we can target and launch your weapons. The choice is yours.” He watched the eyes of the Arab for a long moment. “We will not do both.”
The Arab raised a hand and motioned forward one of his men. The two men’s eyes never left each other as the man trotted over. Hand extended behind him, the Arab reached for and was handed a scrap of paper. The man returned to the group.
“These are the targets,” the Arab said, holding out the paper. On it were three sets of map coordinates.
Colonel Li ignored the paper. “Your man needs attention,” he said.
The Arab looked down at the pain-filled, bloody face of the man starting to get up, drew a pistol from within his robes and shot him dead.
The Chinese officer watched this impassively, almost as if he had expected it. The Arab replaced his pistol inside his flowing, dirty robes and looked back up and said bluntly, “Target the missiles. How long?”
Li reached forward and took the paper from the outstretched hand. Turning it, he read the longitude and latitude of the targets. Recognizing instantly the cities represented by the coordinates, he realized that the lack of originality of these people never ceased to amaze him. Israel. Of course. Haifa, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem. Two warheads each. Just to make sure, he supposed.