[h3]Tindouf, Tindouf Province, Algeria - June 1960[/h3][hr]It was a bright sunny day in the barren wastes of the Sahara. It was a beautiful sight to behold, the wonderful mix of white and crimson with speckles of green. The corpses which rot under the sun, the whelming sounds of gunfire, screams and explosions. The sound of shrapnel tearing through flesh, cutting through the lower buttocks and exiting through the groin. The anguished screams of the victim and the last, abrupt cry before the end. Hassan ignored this and kept on riding to glory. He was a farmer, a family man and a man of faith. He had been angered by the government's refusal to admit him into the "Feed the People" program. How dare they deny his plantation? Cannabis was as valuable as any other plant! And how dare they burn his farm down? Just because it was "illegal" under new law doesn't mean it isn't useful. How was he supposed to feed his family or most importantly, pay off his debts? He didn't want to be roughed up from some debt collector, his daughter sold off into the black market. It simply wouldn't do to lose another farmhand like that. So, like any frustrated and angered member of the peasantry, he filed a complaint. It was into the sixth month of no replies that he realised that the bureaucracy of the government was slowing his complaint down. Closer and closer the debt collectors came, the more anxious and desperate he was.

So, he turned to terrorism. Now, many would question the logic leap from peasant farmer to insurgent but it was quite simple to Hassan. He would join the Traditionalists, who had set up shop in his hometown with no resistance. It was desert Tindouf after all, the police were more likely to bum fuck you than actually fight crime. Then he could help overthrow the provincial government, make a country and then he wouldn't need to pay off any debts! At least, this was the fool-proof logic he foolishly believed in. He wasn't an educated man, born into a family of 12 with no formal education to his name. He didn't know what the word "insurgent" even meant and he wasn't fully aware of what it took to make Algeria bow to their cause. He had done some questionable things, things that Farmer Hassan would have refused to do.

Rape children to force conscription, maim those who refused to bow to them, kill the loyalists. There were villages who were condemned by their elders. They refused the true way, the freedom the Traditionalists were giving them. Couldn't they see that this was what Allah wanted? The Algerian government was oppressive, refusing to let Traditional Muslims to have a word in government. It was all "Islamic Modernism", where was the freedom of speech? Where was the democracy that we Algerians prided ourselves on? Couldn't they see that the Algerian people have been brainwashed into following an undemocratic government system? Those elders who refused to see the truth were stoned to death, with the fit men and women split off to fight and the other females taken to their "personal relief" camps. However, there were also villages who cheered as they rode into town with captured armoured cars and horses. They called them "freedom fighters", fighting for the right of free speech. For true freedom for all Algerians, to rid ourselves of the oppressors. To rid our ties to a false government, a false constitution and a false people who couldn't see past the lie. Every Traditionalist fighter sacrificed much to make sure that their cause would be achieved.

Their families were kept hidden from them to prevent distractions. They had been promised that they were kept in a separate camp away from the "pleasure camps" but Hassan wasn't so sure. He swore that he saw his only daughter, his sweet little Ana, being dragged off into a tent by two large men. But, that was of no consequence to him now. He needed to believe in Almami Zidane's words, to strive for success in his missions and to completely focus on his tasks. After all, he was a veteran fighter now. His bombing of that kindergarten in Tindouf shook the rest of the Algerian people to the core. He had shown that the Traditionalists were a hardcore group. He had proved them wrong, those silly northerners and the loyalist southerners. He had shown what they could do, what they were [i]willing[/i] to do for their cause. He was willing to throw his life away for the cause, for the freedom his family could gain. Even now, as he charged into battle in an open-roofed armoured car, a machine gun melting through the armour, he was ready to kill some infidels.

Surrounded by horses, camels and their riders, Hassan felt powerful as he let loose with the large cannon in his hands. Other cars followed him but lacked the firepower that he possessed. He killed one of the loyalists, their bloody bits going everywhere. It was an officer, that silly one who kept standing to make speeches. He laughed hard, whooping and hollering. His driver, a taxi driver from Oran called Ali, shouted with him. Freedom Fighter Hassan raised his fist, shouting in the top of his lungs. "FOR FREEDOM BROTHERS!" It was like a wave, cheers spreading across the men even as the enemy machine gun cut swathes into their ranks. One unfortunate man was caught mid yell, the bullet tore through his throat and he was sent tumbling into the sand. The man was ignored and the charge continued, they were nearing their goal.

As Hassan let loose with his cannon once more, wounding the loyalist manning the machine gun, he grinned from ear to ear. But then he saw one woman emerge from that tent, covered in blood. The infidels started cheering as the woman reached into her pocket - a sling. The farmer's eyes widened. He swore, shouting at Ali to drive faster as he looked around for a shell to reload with. He grasped the large round in the corner, standing up to see a lump of grenades heading in his direction. He muttered under his breath. [i]"God is great. God is great. God is great. God is great-"[/i] He loaded the round as time seemed to slow down. Everything became clearer in his vision. He loaded the round and fired, the cannon pointing towards the blood-covered woman. The former farmer began to roar, a fierce expression on his face as the explosives landed in his open roofed car. He died satisfied, knowing that he enacted true justice and revenge for his brothers who died that day. 
[hr]Sergeant Muhammad Lellouche watched as the last cannon round kick up sand in front of a smiling woman, covering her uniform in it. He barked at her to get back into position. "Specialist Samiya! Stop smiling you fuckin' idiot!" The harsh voice of her superior and her almost death kickstarted the woman into action, running back to position to fire at the Traditionalist forces. They had weathered much of the storm, cavalry once again proving ineffective against an armed immovable force. He swore that the Traditionalists could be downright foolish at times. Cavalry charges in open spaces were foolish, especially against a machine gun position. The armoured car was a surprise but didn't supply the breakthrough support the cavalry had needed. The gunner spent too much time joyriding than actually firing at them, for which he was thankful. The other cars soon followed suit but were more like modified personal cars rather than actual armour. The sheet metal welded to their fronts provided little protection to their occupants.

The remaining nine out of the squad of twelve continued to hold the line, pouring immense amounts of fire into the horde. The cries of men and animals filled their ears as they cut into charge that kept on coming. Their ammunition was running low and Samiya had run out of explosives, reducing her to collecting grenades from the normal soldiers. Hard targets like that armoured car were first priority, flankers second. Any horseman or camel rider caught trying to circle around their position was soon put to death. The machine gun continued to rattle on even as the operator bled into the sands, staining it crimson. The man was tended to by his ammunition carrier and loader, the woman desperately trying to keep the gunner alive even as she clutched a bleeding arm. Even still, the pair rained death upon all who came at them but it was obvious they were going to die soon enough. Many of the Traditionalists were focusing fire on their position, bullets impacting against the canopy and sandbags.

They inched closer and closer, trampling the bodies of the dead to get to them. Their vengeful cries shook every soldier to the bone but Muhammad made them hold the line. They were tired but kept up their fire, the 39ers doing their volume work while 36ers kept up with accurate body shots. Samiya went down the line to collect her explosives. She ducked and weaved under the fire, diving between covers to avoid death. She gave weary soldiers a small smile of encouragement before collecting their assigned pair of grenades. She proceeded to throw them in places where the Traditionalists bunched up and watched with glee as gore blanketed the dunes. She was her own one man army, like many experienced explosive specialists were. She caused death among the enemy ranks and with her on their side, chaos reigned for the enemy. She bolstered the men with the cries of a fierce warrior woman, shouting unladylike slurs at the charging enemy. 

"Cowfucker!" she yelled, throwing a grenade at an approaching vehicle. "Shit eating, bum-fucked traitors!" she roared, throwing a second grenade into a bunched group of slow camel riders. Samiya smiled and revelled in her own glory before running to the next weary soldier to relieve them of her toys. She was careful to circle around the bloodstain that was Lieutenant Bernard, nodding her head in solemn respect before returning to the carnage. He had rallied them in the initial charge, calling them to fight even if it was to the end. With that ridiculous heavy accented Arabic, he held the line for them. Since his abrupt death, the Sergeant replaced his role. He shouted at the men to keep firing, steeling their resolve and bolstering their confidence. They were fighting for the lives of their brothers and sisters. Every second they held, every enemy they slew, the lesser the burden the others would bear. Superior arms, training and leadership led to an extended hold. Three hours passed but still, the enemy came with a ferocity unseen. With technology that they shouldn't have, vehicles they didn't have funds for. If they weren't fighting for their very lives, the loyalists would have questioned this sudden deadly edge

They could not last forever though. One by one, the loyalists began to dwindle. The machine gun operator bled to death as his ammo carrier took over, tears streaming down her face. Samiya was pinned to a sand pile as a group of vengeful riders dismounted and concentrated fire. Several soldiers succumbed to previous wounds or died from being too burdened, the pain slowing their reflexes. They were being split from each other. Muhammad swore under his breath as one more man died from a stray round, piercing their skull. It was chaos all around now, every man fighting for himself. Scores of Traditionalists simply rode past the beleaguered few left standing. In the distance, engines rumbled and a loud horn was heard. Loud booming sounds polluted the air, another cavalry charge commencing. He was going to be overrun, he needed to make a call. "Noor! Get those horses back here, we're riding out!"

The youngest of the squad, who was tending to the horses behind a nearby sand dune, rode out with the other animals in tow. He stepped up to his own horse, flinching as a bullet grazed his shoulder. He glanced down at the red stain growing on his sleeve. He bit his lip at the stinging pain and reigned his horse under control, circling around the camp. "Retreat! I call a retreat! Ride brothers and sisters, we ride to our lines!" shouted Muhammad. He turned his steed around, grabbing for the Algerian flagpole lying in the sand. It was cut down from the tent by a horseless Tradie. He wouldn't let it fall into enemy hands.

The horses, trained and loyal, sped off towards their respective riders. Survivors clamoured onto their horses and whistled for them to move forward, Samiya throwing one last grenade before getting on to hers. One of them were cut down before they could even get on their horse. Another's animal was shot and landed on the unfortunate soldier, screaming in pain as his legs were crushed. The ammo carrier nodded at the escapees, leaving the machine gun and its operator behind, climbing her horse with dry tears. In their hurried escape, only five made it on their horses to ride out. They rode up the dunes, the mass of enemies bearing down on them. Muhammad raised the flagpole as they ascended, roaring and hoping to survive their deadly escape. One man was shot in the back as they went over the top, crying out in shock. Four left. In the distance, they could see Tindouf and an armoured column bearing down towards their position. It was up to chance now. They could be still be killed by the enemy behind and in front or by a trigger happy tanker. 

The four horsemen roared their throats out, heartbeat hammering their eardrums. Muhammad raised his pistol at an enemy rider in front of them and fired, bullets tearing a hole in the man's stomach. They rode as one, kicking up sand as both horse and rider fled for their lives. Bullets nicked their skin, impacted through limbs but still they kept their hardened gazes on friendly lines. They charged past confused enemy riders and ducked under bullets. Explosions kicked up the sand, showering them but they remained unflinching. One rider, so close to the finish line, was cut down by deadly crossfire. His abrupt yelp of surprise as his horse fell was cut off by the severing of his spinal cord. He died with shock and betrayal on his face, eyes towards the finish line. The three survivors continued to race forward, the adrenaline pumping in their blood. They passed the first friendly tank. They were met with silence as they charged past the armoured column, through to the walls of the town. There, they passed out in exhaustion, falling off their loyal steeds. 

Muhammad, the last to fall, caught a passing tanker's offhand comment. "Well, that was a thing that happened." He raised a one fingered salute at the tanker before everything went black.