[b]Arab al Ma'azi, Egypt[/b]

Two beige, boxy open air land rovers cut through the dry, untamed heat of the red desert on an aging dirt back road. Sand surrounded them on all sides, flowing in wave-shaped dunes between ancient rust-colored ridges and outcrops of orange stone. There were no clouds in the sky, only sun. Leyla felt aware of her growing hunger, and the need for constant water that she could not fulfill.

When they had started their trek through Egypt's western desert, Leyla had given them a few simple rules: Move quickly, do not steal, and do not harm the locals.

They broke the first rule quickly enough. The dry summer heat had done them no favors, and they had been forced to stop along the road to fix their battle-scared Landrovers. When one overheated, they had to wait for it to cool down so that they could replace the water in the radiator. That had meant sacrificing some of what they held back for drinking. Nobody had wanted to lose that water, but the alternative was to walk and that would have hurt them much more. Another time, the shrapnel fragments of a bullet that had struck the vehicle at the Battle of Suez managed to chew through a belt. One of the soldiers was able to fuse the pieces together with a heated knife, and with that they were, at least for the time being, back on the road.

But now it looked as if they would have to break their second rule; they would have to steal. Leyla did not like that at all. They were alone out here in this foreign place, disconnected from the support of their homeland. That meant a disadvantage in any fight. To invite trouble, that was the worst thing they could possibly do. One warlord with the right resources could swat them like a gnat. They were helpless.

But they were threatened by death in a new way now. They were running out of the essentials, food, fuel, and water. What little money they had was traded away early on, and the few people who would talk to them refused to barter for anything but their guns, or their vehicles. One grossly old man with sun-scorched leathery skin had even suggested that she trade her body, but the big man Barentu had stepped in and denied him with a brusque "No" before she could fully take in what was being asked. Barentu had been protective of her ever since he accidentally dropped her on her head during the Battle of Suez. Now they were down to half-empty fuel tanks, a dwindling canteen for every one of them adding up to seven, and the bland flatbread they had traded their blankets for in the first village they stopped in.

They were running out of options. They were leaving the land around Cairo where the heart of Egypt lay and entering the southern half of the country, where the warring Turkish and Egyptian warlords of the north held no power. Southern Egypt was in the hand of Islamists, who's methods of government had hardly changed in one thousand years. They ruled through religion and untrained militias here, ruling the villages that farmed the Nile's silt rich plain. Food was plentiful enough here. It would be a tempting target for the hungry northern raiders if times were good.

But temptation wasn't what drove her to make the decision to break their second rule. It was necessity. Life or death. 

When she told them, nobody questioned. The Ethiopian soldiers in her entourage were tough men, but they were not tacticians. The field agents of the Walinzi were picked from the educated, and they were given further training in a myriad of topics. For a nation as poor and thinly spread as Ethiopia's Pan-African Empire, a small force of educated men and women with the ability to act resourcefully made up for some of the strength of arms it lacked. Men in the Ethiopian military knew this, and they were taught to respect the Walinzi almost as much as they would their own officers. There was no official superiority in rank, but an understanding still existed, and that understanding had put Leyla in de-facto command.

There was still doubt, she knew. She wouldn't have kept them in control this long if it hadn't been for Barentu. He was the strongest man in the group without question, and she knew that none of them wanted to cross him. Without him, she may have been Walinzi, but she was also a woman. For many of the men who joined the army, who grew up in villages and were used to a world where everybody had a roll to play, the idea of a woman telling soldiers what to do could not seem natural. She saw the way they looked at her. 

Junedin was an older man, and kind. His skin was a dull, bloodless brown, and he kept his greying hair cut close to his head. He war a devilish looking beard which clung to the bottom of his chin  and reminded Leyla of a wildebeest. His uniform was unbuttoned, showing curly patches of white hair on a torso that looked mummified. A wooden Ethiopian cross hung from a leather band around his neck. He had been a priest before he left the church to fight against Sahle six years ago, and though he had left the church, he had not left the religion. 

And then there was Heruy. He was young enough to have been a child when Yaqob had become emperor. She knew he had lived a hard life - it showed on his face, and in his underfed frame. His eyes smoldered with pent up rage, and they seemed further apart than they should be. Much like Junedin, his hair was cut short in a way that made it easy to manage, and it ringed his head like the faint outline of a hat. Whatever his past had looked like, his experiences had made him angry. There was contempt on his face when she gave orders that he did not like, and sometimes she could feel his eyes watching. It was those four who occupied the first Landrover. Barentu drove, and Leyla sat on the passenger's side, her eyes flitting across the brightly heated desert that surrounded them on all sides.

Leyla thought about her own image now. There was a bandage cloth made from a portion ripped off of Barentu's olive green uniform wrapped around her head. She still had her trench coat, though sweat and dirt had turned it a muddy, diseased looking brown. Her hair had frizzed out in the heat, making her head twice as big of a target as it otherwise would have been. 

"We should limit the raiding party." Junedin said. He had a gentle voice, underlined by a low-toned fatherly benevolence. "Just you, I, Heruy, and Barentu." he said. As he said the last name, he eyed the watchful giant. Barentu was just shy of seven foot in height, and he had the body mass to match it. 

"That was my plan." Leyla replied. "We will have the others posted in the hills to watch and wait. If there is trouble, I want them ready to come down." 

Junedin put an arm on her shoulder and squeezed. She felt the bones of his knuckles pressing into her skin. They felt liked knots in old rope. "Very good. You could have been my daughter." he said. "Or maybe a wife if I had ever took one."

They passed a sign. It was a quaint wooden thing with words painted across it in Egyptian Arabic. "Arab al Ma'azi 1km" it said, a rough estimation. She could see how the dirt road began to descend down from the high desert toward the river plain below. 

"Pull into the sand." she said with sudden urgency. "We want to see what we are up against."

When they stopped, it felt as if the weather had instantly grown hotter. In the Landrover, the feel of the air rushing by them had made the heat seem bearable. Now the atmosphere around them felt like the heated air above a roaring bonfire. She was beginning to sweat, and they began to walk.

"How does a woman join the Walinzi?" Junedin asked. "I have always been interested."

"I went to school until I was seventeen." she answered. 

"That is a lot of school." Junedin said. His voice sounded like he was mocking surprise "I was seeking God at that age. Before that age, as it truly was. I do not remember how old I was though."

"I tried to join the Walinzi" Heruy barked, his voice under toned by a seething unpleasantness. "They turned me down. I know how to fight, but they turned me down." He looked at her with the pouting eyes of a jealous child. 

"The Walinzi took me because I was young and had the schooling." she said. "Ras Hassan's daughter was one of the first agents after the Homeguard reformed into the Walinzi. They don't look at gender as much as other groups do."

"Daughter?" Barentu asked.

"The Queen." Junedin explained. 

"Oh." Barentu grunted. "I did not know that she had been a fighter."

Sandy dirt shifted beneath their feet. They approached the apex of the hill cautiously. She wondered if they could be spotted from here. "Hold back!" she heard Heruy snarl. Hearing him now wasn't the first time she had suspected him of mutinous thoughts. She saw Barentu turn around to face down the smaller man. Leyla saw this as her chance.

"Don't." she put her hand on Berentu's fatigues. The cloth felt hot to here skin. "We will approach slowly. We still have to see what is on the other side." They obeyed.

They could see the river near the horizon. It was a shimmering silver line, sharing more the qualities of a mirage than those of a body of water. The place where water met sky was a blur. The edge of the river was marked by the lush green vegetation that had attracted people to this place since the beginning of civilization. It was a dark green, a green that advertised water and life, and the place where that green bordered the red desert contrasted so sharply that it hurt her eyes.

"See down there." she pointed to a small village just below the desert ridge line. "That corrugated metal building with the central air unit. That's a warehouse."

"It doesn't look like it should be there." Junedin said. He sounded thoughtful, but his tone still grated on her. It didn't sincere. "Good work, young woman."

Regardless how he said it, what he had said was true enough. The corrugated metal was dented and dust-stained, but it did not look like it was part of the desert world that the village belonged to. Arab al Ma'azi was traditional looking, with straight mud brick buildings stacked next to each other in an unplanned mess. The shutters and door frames were painted with cheery bright blues and reds, which contrasted with the ruddy consistency of the architecture.

The warehouse was not the only thing that stuck out. It was connected to a strip of blacktop that lead to a building near the river. She could not discern what the second building was, but she suspected it was was a dock of sorts.

"The Turks were trying to improve their infrastructure." she said without pause. She was confident of this. "They were losing in Armenia, and they knew part of it was because they couldn't move supplies quick enough. That is what this warehouse is. Government-purchases supplies."

"There are no Turks here." Barentu swallowed. "Are there?"

"No." Leyla said. "But the Ottoman government only just collapsed this year. There will still be supplies in there." she thought for a moment. "But there will be men loyal to whoever rules this place. This won't be easy."

"There will need to be order!" Heruy interjected. "We need to look at the danger here. I don't think our party is disciplined enough to do this. We need..."

[i]A better leader. A man.[/i] She completed his sentence in her mind, and interrupted him before he could finish. "A plan." she said in feigned agreement. "I have one. This is what we will do..."

--

Leyla felt exposed, like the world around her was much too large. They were sprinting across the stretch of desert that sat between them and the village, just four armed Ethiopians in unwashed uniforms with sweat pooling on their faces and nothing to hide them. She kept her hand near her holster, prepared for whatever challenge the Egyptians might have for them.

Nobody saw them. Or, at least, nobody saw them as far as she could tell. When they reached the shadow of the warehouse, she welcomed the cool, wet sensation that the absence of direct sunlight gave her skin. They stopped to catch their breaths, so that it was just the sound of the four of them breathing and the hum of a central air unit sitting next to the building. As they panted, they prepared their equipment. Clips clicked into guns, and knife holsters were unbuttoned. Leyla pointed toward the end of the building and nodded. She watched as Junedin and Heruy went to stand guard. Before he left, Heruy shot her a last hateful look.

Would he do his job? She had to trust that he would. He felt like the type of man who knew to follow orders when it came to combat. He was prideful and angry, but he knew what was at stake when battle was joined.

The warehouse had a backdoor near the central air units. That was convenient, she thought. It seemed too convenient, and it made her nervous. She went to jimmy the lock and found it open. That was also too convenient. Her hair stood on end as they went inside. 

The feeling of the cold air as it burst out of the open door and washed across her entire body was impossibly beautiful. It felt like a cool bath after a hard day in the sun, or like a bed after being awake for thirty hours. As she entered with her gun drawn, she thought the warehouse was being kept at freezing temperatures. She was surprised to see that a gauge near the wall read "66f". 

Barentu followed her in, his gun drawn as well. They scanned the warehouse carefully, but it was a wide open building with few places to hide. The shelves themselves were scantily stocked, but there were so many of them that it did not make a different. These were simple tin shelves mounted to hollow poles, open on every side so that Leyla could see from one end of the building to the other with little obstruction.

Barentu looked at the gage and his face twisted. "That is a strange temperature." 

Leyla was surprised. Barentu had not seemed like a perceptive man to her. "They couldn't freeze this entire warehouse." she replied. "That would take more power than they have here. Those central air units have their own generators."

"They aren't attached to the electricity grid?" Barentu asked. He was trying to whisper, but he was not good at it, and the deep trumpet sound of his voice snuck out at times. 

"The village is. They get power from Aswan. But they don't get it reliably enough to send it all to this warehouse. I'm surprised they can keep it this cold."

"This is important." Barentu suggested. "They will try to keep is cold."

Leyla nodded. "Let us just get what we came for." she said. "Look around."

They took different paths through the warehouse. Food and water was their priority, but they were also looking for weapons and car parts. The warehouse was full of food. It was all canned and packaged, most of it Turkish in origin. They were both stuffing backpacks as they went.

"I wish we could pull the trucks up." Barentu said. He was speaking now, and his voice carried so far that Leyla cringed. 

"No." she said. "We would have to fight then." He did not answer.

The Turkish food were things she had seen before. Most were vegetables - chick peas, lentils, tomato paste - and they were packed in dull brown-labelled cans with the words printed in flat Turkic script. She grabbed a few of them, careful to pick what she thought would carry the most energy. She was a can of Chocolate sauce and quickly grabbed it as well. 

On another shelf she found Spanish food, and it fascinated her. There were tins filled with tomato-flavored crackers, and short cardboard boxes with the words "Tortas" printed on them. She found a tiny can with a picture of a smiling, bright-eyed little girl wearing an over-sized robin's egg blue flamenca dress. The label said "Flan". She tossed it in her bag and continued looking. Nearby, she found a stack of cans of Gazpacho soup which featured the solemn image of a Spanish flag posed above a long stretch of text. That made her curious. She had learned Spanish while serving in Armenia as part of her extended language training, since it was a language the Ethiopians had been expecting to need to know for a long time now. She read the first few sentences and realized at once that the text on this soup was nothing less than a nationalistic plea.

[center][i]'Communism is a coordinated war on your traditions. Chairman Hou and his servants only move to further their plan, and that plan is the annihilation of the church and the slavery of all people worldwide. That is why the Communists invite all Socialists to their scheming councils in Beijing. Leftists and Unionists will lead you into the dragon's maw if they get a chance. Let's not give them a chance. Do not give money or votes to leftist causes, and report all communist activity to the local authorities.'[/i][/center]

She smiled. It was such a ridiculous thing to find on a soup can. She tossed the can in her bag and continued.

Gunfire rang out. It pierced the silence and, in an instant, the situation had changed

Her head darted up like a cat. She hadn't counted, but it had been a cluster of shots. Ten or twelve, and they came from outside. They were muffled by the metal walls of the warehouse, but she could hear them echoing in her ears. After the first burst, there was a second. Maybe seven this time. A firefight. She felt instinct kick in, and she began to move with the methodological speed of a lioness stalking a its next meal.

"They are in trouble." Leyla barked to Barentu. "We can't do anything in here. Follow me."

She held her sidearm with both hands, pointing it on the ground as they prowled. She slowed down as she approached to door, mentally preparing herself for what was on the other side. She took a deep breath, clearing her mind of clutter and putting herself in the moment.

The door swung open and threw her off balance. A man rushed in and grabbed her, holding her tightly against his chest facing away from him. It all happened in one smooth motion, as if he had seen her through the sheet metal. She watched her gun slide across the floor, and she saw Barentu's wide-eyed look as he tried to figure out what to do, but she could not see the man who held her like a human shield.

 Leyla was a hostage now. How had that happened? This man had moved too fast to be a simple militiaman. She could feel it in his arms. This man had been in the military before. He had the instincts. There was something else though. He had wrapped his arm around her chest at first, but quickly shifted his grip. That hadn't been tactical. That had been a squeamishness about breasts. The man holding a gun to her head was uncomfortable that she was a woman. 

"Uoooooh, Don't kill me!"  she moaned, giving her voice the pitiful blubbering sound of young girl. 

She allowed herself to cry. She was happy to let her fears burst out of her in expression0, but that was not why she was crying. These were tactical tears.

"Shut up!" he said in local Arabic. "Cry at your partner if you want to cry. Tell him to drop his gun."

Barentu was aiming, but there was fear in his eyes. He did not know what to do.

"Uoo-oooooo-oooh!" she moaned again. "I think I just shit myself."

She felt what she wanted; the hesitation that showed itself in the confused loosening of his muscles. She knew instinctively that she had only bought herself a quick moment, so she acted quickly. She shifted violently and elbowed him in his stomach. When she was free, she kicked him in the place where her elbow had landed before. The Arab fell back, and it was Barentu's turn. The gentle giant shot the Arab in the face, and it was done.

When the man was holding her, she had been unable to see his face. She saw him now - a man in his late thirties or early forties, bearded and dressed in aged fatigues. That had been an Ottoman uniform, but an old one. The colors were faded, and the seems had fallen to tatters long ago. She figured him for a veteran of the war that the Turks had fought to take this land. When that war was done, he must have settled here.

"Do you need time for yourself?" Barentu asked. He looked nervously at the door, his eyes wide and his mouth agape so that bright white teeth contrasted against his dark skin.

"What?" she asked, retrieving her gun. 

"You... your shit?" he asked.

"Shit? Oh. No! I didn't shit myself!" she protested. 

"Oh." he said with simple acceptance.

"It was a ploy." she said. "Now come on. The shooting stopped and nobody else came in here. I think we won." They left the warehouse.

The village was filled with the acrid, burning smell of gunpowder and the coppery, fecal stench of men who had died violently. There were five bodies bleeding in the dirt street, and they were all Egyptians. But what had happened to Heruy and Junedin? 

A child ran into the street, her arms outstretched in a way that was desperately stiff. Her wailing was so shrill that she sounded like a Hyena. Leyla watched the child attach to the bleeding corpse of a man and stay there, her head buried in the mans chest. That left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was reminded of the tears she had summoned in the warehouse. The sun was on her now, but her realization of that fact was slow. She felt dirty again.

"Barentu!" she heard Heruy yell. "Walinzi! There is a problem!"

"A problem?" Leyla shouted back. She saw the young soldier near a distant cluster of dwellings.

"It is the priest!" he shouted. "Come! He is making trouble for us!"

Leyla jogged forward, and Barentu followed. 

She was struck by how empty the village was. People were hiding, she knew. But where? The thought that there were people in all the quiet buildings they passed made her feel uncomfortable. She eyed each one carefully, expecting a trap. She detected the smokey, floral scent of incense wafting from an open window as she passed it, and the scent made her feel dizzy. It did not belong here.

That was when she heard the screaming.

Junedin had dragged a woman out into the street and bent her over a brightly painted stoop, her robes pushed up so that the priest could have her. She was shrieking. That was a sound that made her sick to her stomach. It was a sharp, ear-piercing sound, broken by sobs that bounced in time with Junedin's pumping.

"Stop!" Leyla screamed. The priest looked at her with dead eyes and an animal's frown. That was not a look she had expected from him. It was worse than anything she had seen from Heruy. In the background, she heard the approaching sputter of truck engines, but she ignored that. This was all she could see.

"Stop this or I will kill you!" She pulled her gun and edged toward the cruel scene that was playing out in front of them. Barentu moved faster, his strides covering distances she couldn't help to reach.

The big man grabbed the priest by the collar and yanked. He slipped out of the woman, and his wrinkled member bobbed stiffly when pulled him free.

Leyla held her gun in her hand. Furiosity burned in her veins. She could feel anger in her skull, making her light headed as every raging fiber of her body begged her to execute the priest. He was on his knees, naked and pathetic from the waste down.

She flipped the handgun in her palm and, with the force of everything she was down to the marrow, she slammed his face with the grip. Junedin went sprawling.

The shock of the blow jolted through her hand and up her arm. It was white hot pain, and she wondered if she had broken something. Her rage fizzled down, and she took a moment to analyze the situation.

Barentu had helped the victimized woman to her feet. She had been whimpering and fighting, but when Junedin hit the ground she stopped to gape. The Priest himself spat bloody teeth, and his lips were wet from the red that filled his mouth. Below, his sexual enthusiasm had shriveled.

"You... Bitch!" he coughed. His voice was a monstrous roar from the blood bubbling in his mouth. He tried to scramble to his feet, but that was a struggle. "You whore! You cu..."

She cut him off. "We should leave you here!" she yelled. 

"Now isn't the time" she hear Heruy's voice. He was dutiful and to the point now, and when her eyes met his she realized that he was looking at her with a sense of respect she had never seen in him. "The Landrover's are here."

The other men had arrived. "Take him." she said. "He's ours, but we have to go."

"The warehouse?" Heruy asked.

"We take what we need and leave." she said. "That hasn't changed."