[h3]"Desperta Ferro!" - Part I[/h3]

Oujda, a city that lay literally at the end of the railway. Unlike Dakhla it did not have any draw for the average tourist, instead serving as more of a border crossing into Algeria than anything else. The most excitement the town usually saw involved running gun battles between Algerian Government troops and insurgents in the south of the country.

For the people here, mostly Jews, the Islamic population had been decimated or forcefully converted during the Rif War, nothing terribly exciting really happened. Until a month previously at any rate. The first soldiers that had arrived were Military Policemen. They had come into town in the early hours of the morning, taken over the border posts and declared the border closed, dropping the ancient battered steel bar across the road that was barely visible since only four families in the area owned a car.

Then came the engineers. Hundreds of them with huge earth moving machines that began to work on the western edge of the city. Supplies had poured in and the locals were treated to a first hand view of the Spanish Engineering core at work as they cleared the desert of large rocks, laid down power from massive generators, and constructed hundreds of hangers, offices, sleeping quarters, and more, from brown bricks that they did not bother to paint.

The completion of the airfield saw the arrival of transport planes that disgorged officers, fighter aircraft and bombers that lined up in neat rows beneath camouflage netting, and helicopters that carried the elite-Cazadores. 

The railway rumbled day and night as trains pulled in, unloading into a new and very primitive station that never the less did the trick as armoured vehicles and soldiers began to arrive in their thousands. The soldiers were billeted in the hastily erected barracks huts as tanks were carefully camouflaged and armoured cars raced through the desert. 

In the middle of it all, his door guarded by two military police in their red berets, was Juan de Oñate y Salazar, General of the Ejército de Marruecos. He was standing next to a very fragile wooden table while staff officers clustered around him. No one smoked, the General had forbidden it, though a few held a small glass of wine. The most they would be allowed on this hot day.

"Gentlemen, we are weeks, if not days away, from the next great step in the Reconquista that began 1200 years ago when our ancestors took their first steps in halting the tide of Islam. They retook Spain, we built and lost an Empire, our country began a downward spiral until his majesty, the illustrious King Alfonso XIII, took the fight to Islam here in Morocco and with Gods help, we crushed the heathen. Now it falls on us to carry on Gods work. It falls on us to smash Algeria."

A round of nods greeted the words and a growl of agreement came from the assembled officers. Forty years ago, when most of them had been young men, or even boys, the Rif War had raged across Morocco. They had grown up with the stories of the heroes who had fought in that war and joined the Army with dreams of becoming as famous and feared. Now it seemed, by the grace of God, their time had come.

"They are currently divided between the Government forces, mostly concentrated in the North, and the insurgents to the South. You, here," He stabbed his finger at the map. "Are the middle thrust of three that will come from Morocco and in to Algeria."

"A fourth attack will come from the sea, launched from the Spain herself to fall upon Algiers three days after our own attacks begin. We are to draw the enemy forces away from the coast and toward us."

He swept his finger across the map and over the Alboran Sea to Spain. To many of the officers this was news. The whole operation had been rather hush hush as a good portion of the units being committed had, until two months ago, been committed to the invasion of France. This new plan had been kept top secret until now. All of them were to keep it so, under pain of death, until the invasion began. Most of the soldiers thought they were being moved in to the area for training and reconditioning. 

"The Grand Viceroy himself, uninjured by the terrorist attempt on his life, will be crossing with the fleet for the assault on Algiers." This brought a surprised rumble of voices from around the table and every man stood a little taller knowing that Delgado would be joining them.

"You will be taking Conversion Squads with you. They are under orders to provide protection to any Christian or Jew who wishes it. Any Moslems will be given the choice between conversion or a meeting with God himself."

The Conversion Squads, known behind their backs as Death Squads, had been created for the Rif War and operated mostly in Spanish Morocco over the past twenty years, hunting down Islamic sects and secret societies within the Spanish province. Now they were being deployed with the army to convert the Islamic population, or kill them.

"I am sure I don't need to tell you that High Command expects this to be a hard fight." This was mostly true. There was no doubt that the Algerians would be swept aside, but the fewer casualties the Spanish took the better. "Air support will be key since the Algerians have very little to speak of."

"There will also be Portuguese units deployed with you." This brought raised eyebrows and the General held up a hand. "They are part of the Empire now and need to do their bit. Most seem keen to have something to do other than sit around and watch our lads run their day to day existence. We shall see."

"Lastly, the Foreign Legion will be leading the charge to the North." The Spanish Foreign Legion was infamous for its suicidal bravery and legendary for its cruelty toward the enemies of Spain. Made up of men who had been the given choice between a lifetime in prison, or serving their country, it was well known for being tough, cynical, and loyal.

"To God and Country." He held up his own small glass of wine.

"To God and Country." Echoed the assembled officers.