[b]Highlands outside of Adrigrat, Ethiopia[/b]

Ras Rais watched from horseback, feeling the unfiltered mountain sun warm the neatly starched fabric of his uniform. A cavalry saber hung in its scabbard, resting on the side of his horse so that he felt its pommel pressing against his belly. A mounted aide was at his side, lazily holding a staff displaying a forked banner in the Ethiopian colors: green, yellow, and red. He had always respected the aspects of military life that established discipline and stern professionalism in soldiers. He liked the aesthetic of the thing too - the kempt uniforms, the sight of a unit on the march, people identified by unit number. It was an organizing force, and that organization kept him at ease. 

He could not help to feel out of place here, as he watched villagers dressed in homespun white loiter along the road, watching, praying, and shouting. Several of the men labored to help his soldiers push an aging howitzer out of a rut. They had brought draft horses to pull the weapon, but they had become a hindrance here. Women and children fed the unlimbered horses. Some admired the howitzer, rubbing their fingers to feel the rough brown-green paint, and the cold steel beneath. A couple of the women slid leather-strung kitabs and crosses over the barrel - symbols of their superstitions, and their fear. Seeing their religious trinkets reminded how different he, a Muslim Somali, was from these people. 

Rais was unsure about their plans here. The highlands held most of old Abyssinia's population, but the most potent industrial city was Addis Ababa. To the south-east, the deserts of the Afar Depression posed and obstacle for invaders, where dry flatlands stretched for miles and temperatures rarely dropped below 100 °F. Historically, this had created a barrier against invaders, but the modern stretch of paved roads had changed that. 

Damn the roads.

It hadn't taken him long to understand that their modernized system of roads gave the Spanish an advantage. They were more mechanized, and undoubtedly more prepared for the modern styles of warfare that took cities and solid transportation networks to a level of paramount importance rarely seen in African tradition. Hassan had recognized this, and he had ordered their defenses concentrated in the highlands.

There were advantages to fighting in the mountains, Rais could not argue that. Here, where most of the people lived, Spain would have a hard time finding support. Guerrilla warfare could be waged here with the help of the locals. Also, the road-network which kept the major industrial cities connected efficiently to coastal ports was less effective in the mountains. Here, pave roads wound and took sharp turns. Many roads were dirt, like the one he was on now. Others were cow-paths, where only off-road vehicles could travel. 

But he worried whether or not the military could supply itself if the capital fell. Without the industry of the cities, or the steady supply of overseas trade, how would they arm themselves? Guns needed ammo, and that was something that simple villagers or tribesmen couldn't supply. They had succeeded before, in some ways, when they fought the Germans in the Civil War six years ago, but that was a different enemy, and a very different war. The Spaniards would control both fronts, and they were more prepared to do so.

His soldiers continued to trudge up hill, slowly, and carrying on their backs more than just their personnel kit. They carried equipment to prepare their defenses - tents, coils of wire and rope, boxes, metal panels, electrical equipment, and artillery shells. Their march had taken them across the rough terrain for miles in the dry highland heat, and they were tired. Rais watched them drag past, one by one, paying little attention to the gun stuck in the road. For Rais, it bothered him to see this sort of disarray. There was not enough regulation. They marched casually, only worried with their load and their sore feet beneath them. Men did not always wear the same uniform, and they rarely kept their uniforms completely on. Men marched with beards, or mustaches, or bushy hair. They slouched, and looked at their surroundings with contempt instead of diligence. Even their weapons were hardly ever the same, requiring their units to carry middling numbers of several types of ammo rather than plenty of one or two types. He knew they would use some of it to hunt - a waste they could not afford, and one he would have a hard time curtailing.

Some of these problems he would work on in the field. Uniformity would not be a realistic goal, but discipline would have to be. Both should have been enforced before, but their government was a poor one. Money had been spent on quantity, not quality. Rais despaired the unignorable reality that their Spanish foes would be better than them. They had the equipment, and the training. It would be up to the Generals to see the enemies mistakes, and to know how to exploit them.

There was another thing on their side. A thing that included the poor state of the highland roads.

From atop this ridge, he could see for miles. Thiswas Ethiopia's mountainous homeland, where most of its people lived. It was red stone-faced mountains, and thick rocky ridges. There were short, green plains dotted with brushy forests. There were meandering creeks and rivers, crossed only by small bridges and tentative fords where, when the wet season commenced, flooding would wash out most of the crossings. Across the plateaus and hillocks, hiding in every valley between every mountain, were thousands of small villages, and they would be ready to oppose any invasion of white skinned Europeans. They would be farmers, and goat herders, and priests. They would hide soldiers, and guerrillas, and under-cover Walinzi agents capable of more than simple sabotage. And this place was not unique. This war would also reach the thick jungles that hugged the Congo river, and deserts of the Sahara where rumors of Spanish atrocity across their border were already known. These places were the heart of the continent, large enough to drown most of Europe and so wild that Ethiopia held most of it only in title. This was the Fortress Africa, and it would be the greatest obstacle to the Spanish. 

Rocks crunched and shifted. Rais watched as the howitzer pulled out of its trap. The horses regained a momentum. He listened as the villagers celebrated, hooping and smiling for a brief moment. Dangling from the howitzer's thick, steel neck, its new trinkets jingled.

"Ras" he heard a familiar voice, and watched as the aide of his Quartermaster General, called out. "Ras, Quartermaster Daud begs your audience. He says he had information you would like to know."

Raid took a deep, cleansing breath. The fresh air smelled like dirt and dry plants. "Yes. Where is Daud?"

"He is in the house of one of the village elders" the aide said. "I will take you to him, if you wish."

Raid nodded, and dismounted.

The village was small. Most of the buildings were simple homes; round, cobbled-stone walls with thatched roofs so thorough that they looked like they had been made by bees. There were lean-to's made of sticks, and smaller huts made out of mud, but most were the same multicolored stone. Between them, there were roughly built pens for goats and cows. On the opposite end of the village was a church. Though it had the same type of thatched roof, and was built from the same sort of stone as the other buildings, its arched doorways and simple cobbled columns gave it a peculiar, roughly Roman look. 

People buzzed around the village, fascinated by the soldiers their their commander. Children stood silent, wearing traditional wrapping clothes in white and cream and beige. Some dodged around, hiding behind their elders. Others stood in place. To a few, this was a temporary distraction, and they continued playing as if nothing were any different in their lives.

The Elder's enclosure was larger than most. His house was surrounded by a stick fence, where a goat grazed in the presence of several clucking chickens. The animal smell was strong - a scent defined by piss, herbivorous shit, and a mustiness still harder to explain. Off to the side, within another fence, was a small personal garden. Rais followed the aide inside.

There was the distinct smell of candle smoke, some of it stale from gathering on the rugs that covered the dirt floor. Spices hung along strings across the walls, and added to the smell. On the furthest wall, there was a tapestry depicting Saint George slaying a serpent with a polestaff. The image had none of the complexities of western realism. It was simple, one dimensional, and wholly native. 

The elder was not so old - in his fifties, maybe, though had had chose to grow a storm-grey beard. He was wrapped in a deep blue cloak, and sat at a simple wooden table with his son by his side. The son was a young man. He held a round-shield in one hand, and a Great War era German rifle in the other. Across the table from them was the Quartermaster - and Arabic man, balding, small, and wearing a uniform covered in dust. A map was splayed across the table.

Rais took off his hat, and ducked so that he missed a gourd-pot hanging from the ceiling as he walked toward them. The Quartermaster noticed him and nodded a salute. "Ras, this man has information we can't find on the map." he beckoned Rais over. "Come here, see this." When they were all around the same table, the elder pointed.

"This place here, in the valley below. There is a well here." the elder explained. "It is old, and my people prefer the one closer to us, but I do know that this well will provide." he explained. "In the time of my grandfather's grandfather, our village was further up the ridge, near here." he pointed to a place near the pinnacle of the ridge. "It was a rough place, but we had enemies because there was no unity in the country. It was easier to defend. When the rough days were gone, we moved down here."

"How do you know?" Rais asked bluntly. "Have you used it?"

"I used it when I hunted several years ago. It was not long ago, because the Emperor was still royal Yaqob. The water from that well was good. It had been many years since a drought had hit us here, and I know the water is still good."

"He showed me something else." Daud said, excited. "The topography is hard to read on this map. This area is so rough, it isn't surveyed as well as it could be. He has told me, though, that this road follows the route his people had immigrated on, but it isn't the quickest way down to the main road." he drew a line along the map, curving near where the new well was. "Erosion has made this path. We will have to look at it, but I think it might simplify our supply problem. He says there is a footpath there that we can follow. Of course, we should probably mark it."

Rais nodded. "Good. Do that." he could see how useful that would be. It could shorten supply runs by nearly half a day, and it would be harder to detect for Spaniards on the ground. Even a few hours of confusion could be enough to take dozens of enemy lives with the guns they were placing in the heights."

"We will need to take more measures to deal with enemy aircraft." he pointed out. "Do you think we could bring some smaller flak guns?"

The quartermaster grasped his chin in thought. "Maybe... those paths won't support trucks, put if we take the guns apart..."

"We are already doing that in some of the rougher locations." Rais affirmed. "It can be done."

"So we will do it." the Quartermaster replied.

[b]Western Desert, Egypt[/b]

Leyla had spent a long time painfully suspended in and out of consciousness. Her torso revolted in pain, from the burning place in her side where she had been wounded. In her head, she heard explosions, large explosions with the force of thousands of pounds of TNT, echoing in her head. It was, after a while, like a storm thundering in her skull. She felt as if she knew where it had came from. [i]The Aksum[/i]. She didn't remember seeing ship explode, or hearing about it. It was something she knew in the pit of her stomach. She didn't question her knowledge until she woke up.

Her body was sore. The sun was rising in the east and washed the sky in glowing stripes of color. Red, then blue, then purple. She felt the unprotected chill of the desert that surrounded her. There were no sounds of weapons discharge, nor were their signs of corpses or burning war-fires. All she sensed was the sound of trickling water, the hiss of the wind, and silence stretching as far as she knew. The silence was the best part. Even though she didn't know where she was, she was not afraid for the first time in days.

Surrounding her were a dozen or so people, all sleeping on the sand. A few were covered in blankets, or wrapped up in sleeping roles, but most slept unprotected on ground. She could tell immediately that they were Ethiopian soldiers.

She sat comfortably for a while, wrapped up in a bedroll and covered with a blanket. Her back rested against a pillar of rock. She noticed a statue overlooking them, its crumbling base forcing it against a rock. Wind and time had worn at the face, but the work was undoubtedly Egyptian. It wore a long crown, and held its hands out in a welcoming gesture. She wondered why it was here, in the middle of nowhere. A guardian for the nearby spring? She knew very little about the ancient Egyptians, but she knew they took some pride in their monuments. It was surprising to see one decaying out here.

Her thoughts wandered to the more recent past. What had happened at the close of the Battle of the Suez? She knew in her gut that the [i]Aksum[/i] had exploded, but she couldn't remember how she knew. There was a sense of an explosion, but no memories. It bothered her. It should have went off in the canal, but the counter attack - the last thing she remembered - left her with doubts. She [i]felt[/i] that they had failed, but she needed more than that. 

And what had happened to her partner? Elias had disappeared in the fighting. She did not see his face here with the soldiers.

The battle haunted her. She could still see the wounded, there mangled bodies burned into her brain. She had killed before, and she had seen people die in the field, but the fiery violence that dominated pitched battle was more brutal than anything she had witnessed before. It was bodies shredded into red mush, and the sick smell of burning flesh. She knew that she would see it again, and she accepted this. It was part of her job, an experience she would have to grow callous to. She dwelled on it, intellectualizing her experiences. This was life. Every soldier in history had went through a similar education. She remembered the religion of her youth, and how the ancient Israelites spent several days in the desert cleansing themselves after battle. There was a hint of something beyond religion there; the story of every warrior coming to terms with their war.

It bothered her to think that he partner had possibly met the same fate. She couldn't get past that so easily. Was that man a crater now? The thought disturbed her. For strangers to be desecrated in battle, that was something she could rationalize, but for somebody she knew so well... She had knew his thoughts. He had a personality, and a youth, that was worth more than a Spanish artillery shell. Worth more than a canal. 

"Woman." a voice called out from nearby. She had fallen into a trance, forgetting about what was in front of her until then. The voice startled her. She gasped, and felt her ribs sting from the exertion.

"I'm sorry." the voice responded. She saw him in his sack, awake and staring at her with tired yellow eyes. He was big, and she knew that he was the man who had carried her away from the fight. Her breathing calmed. He looked concerned, like he was struggling to think. His hair was a knotted bush of neglected dreadlocks, and a patchy beard covered his face. His voice was deep, but it was not harsh. He sounded empathetic, if not worried. "Agent." he said, correcting himself. "I am sorry."

"Sorry?" she asked. Why was he sorry? He had saved her.

"Your head..." he replied. "When the... the ship..." he looked down, and she could tell that he was sincere about being sorry. "I dropped you." he said.

"Dropped?" she replied. "On my head..."

"You wouldn't wake up for a long time." he replied. "Two days. We were afraid you might die."

Two days. Had she lost that much time?

The other men started to wake up, slowly and one at a time. They looked used, and tired. She was certain that they hadn't had any sleep. The battle had taken a toll on them. And, she realized, they were retreating. When they seen that she was awake, they focused on her. She could see expectation in their eyes, as if they were waiting for her to answer their problems. What had happened in the time she was out?

"The ship..." she remembered, "Did it..."

"No." one of the men said, wistfully. "They stole it and took it out to sea."

That was it. They had failed. The Spanish would not slow down, and there was no way for her to get home before the enemy landed there. Another realization slowly dawned on her. Everything she had witnessed, everything she had suffered or lost... it was all in vain. They had not sacrificed their lives - a sacrifice suggests something was gained from their sufferings, or their death. There was no sacrifice here, just loss.

Elias...

"Did you see another agent?" she asked. She watched her companions hopefully, looking for any sign that they might know. 

"I do not know." the larger man said. She could see him thinking, the wheels in his head spinning slowly just behind his eyes. "Many retreated, but we have all been scattered. Are you looking for somebody?"

"A partner." one of the soldiers interrupted. "You Walinzi come in pairs." he paused for a second, like a dog waiting for a reward. "No, I have not seen any more of your kind. If he got away, he may have went south. We went west."

[i]If he got away.[/i] [i]If[/i]She felt her chest drop when she heard those words. "West." she asked. "To Cairo?"

"West because it is away from the canal." the larger soldier replied. "We do no know where we are going. Or where we are. We thought you might know."

"Know..." They hadn't planned for a route. "We have to go south, to meet up with our people."

As dawn turned to day, they prepared to leave. Leyla had to struggle to stand. Any pressure she put on her torso caused her side to convulse in fresh pain. When she did get on her feet, she lifted her shirt to see what the damage was. Her side was bruised from her waist to the middle of her ribs - a sickly colored mix of purple, red, and yellow. Her skin was sensitive to the touch, but there was no sign of blood, or any open wound.

The big man lifted her things for her. He looked at her sadly, and it made her feel uncomfortable. Did he know something she didn't? He looked different than the other soldiers - older, maybe in his forties. He wore his uniform unbuttoned, revealing a bony chest, and he had a Chinese rifle slung over his shoulder.

"I am Barentu" he introduced.

She smiled. "I'm Leyla."

"I am sorry about your partner, Leyla." he said sincerely.

"Elias..." she replied. "He can take care of himself. Right now, we need to worry about us. How near are we to Cairo?"

"Halfway, I think." he said uncertainly. 

"We cannot go there." she said. "Egypt is in anarchy. We don't know what is safe. I heard the Turks rule some of it, but I also read that the Turks say that we rule in Egypt, and that isn't true."

"It is unsafe." Barentu thought. "Where do we go?"

"We have to find another road south. Avoid any large towns, avoid stealing, pay for everything. We can't afford to fight our way home."

Barentu nodded. "I will tell the others that this is our plan."

She took one last look at the statue, its detail more apparent now that the sun had risen into the sky. It looked content - almost smiling. Weather had worn down most of its features, but what remained was an image that was remarkably peaceful. If she ever retired, she wanted to have a house in a place that felt like this. She walked away, and followed the other men toward the road, where two military land-rovers stood waiting. She looked them over, seeing the bullet holes left in their sides, and a smear of blood running down the fender of the first one. She shuddered.