The Stages of Mohammedian Terrorism
Abdullah surveyed his polyglot army. Islam was nothing if not inclusive, and before him stood the results of that belief. He knew they came from over sixty-four countries, from Yemen to Iran to Indonesia to the United States.
Abdullah smiled broadly. Millions of Mohammedians had dreamed over 14 centuries or reestablishing the caliphate, but only he and his allies in the State Department, White House, Pentagon, Homeland Security, all of America, really, had actually done it.
Not that he did not have help. The weak and craven former President Barak Hussein Obama had given the Muslim world so much over the years. From his submission speech in Cairo, Egypt when he first became president to his giving 150 billion to the Iranian Islamic State in his last year in office to his welcome of hundreds of thousands of Muslims to the American homeland, he had done so much to facilitate this moment.
He took special glee in the successful recruiting of so many American Jihadi’s. The millions that the Saud family had paid over the past 30 years to recruit American Muslims to Wahabbism and jihad had been money well spent.
The greater amount the Saud family had paid to use Washington D.C. and New York public relations firms and to retired employees of the American State Department and the White House to push the line of their peaceful, religious intentions had been even better spent.
They would be useful for this fact. He knew this well because he had learned techniques to drill hatred into the fabric of the lives of suicide bombers against the Israeli’s. This same blind rage and hatred would now lead these bands of nationality organized death squads to carry out their mission with results he had perfected over the years in the Middle East.
On both flanks he let the special Yemeni Al-Qaeda cell that had mastered the Japanese death cults techniques to use their own devices -- limited amounts of poison gas with which to gas out the outer security forces within the Pentagon. They were good at this and were able to purchase large amounts of the chemicals they needed easily in the open American market.
Alawaki may have been droned, but he knew how to manipulate naive Americans because he grew up among them. Fortunately, he passed that knowledge to his acolytes before his early death, and that knowledge was critical to the success of this new caliphate.
Storing toxic chemicals in rented lockers in Rockville, MD and Annandale, VA had been tricky, but they had hidden them among common food and cleaning products so they easily blended with any of a hundred Asian restaurant rented supply storage spaces. Unlike the American guards they were about to overwhelm, they had also distributed the correct gas masks and antivirus formulas to his men.
In the center were his longest allies and most trusted fighters, the hundreds of cell members who had formed and reformed over the years in sixty-four countries worldwide and wherever desperate and despotic rulers were willing to provide safe harbor for certain missions from which they could always distance themselves -- for the right price.
International terrorism had been a good living for Abdullah, but it was not money but the burning desire to crush the homeland of the money and people that supported the Zionist state and prevented his people from living in peace in their ancestral homeland that drove him to such creativity and destruction.
“Walid Nasr...” he heard one of his many code names over his cellular phone. “...this is Shahin Ordoubai at the White House. We are in full control. Repeat. We are in full control. Undertake capture and neutralization of the Oasis and then overtake the date gro
Abdullah gathered his senior staff around him and barked last minute instructions. “The penalty for disobedience is death. All of you have rehearsed this time and again at the scale-to-model training camp in Iran.
We had Israeli buildings substituting for American buildings but by now you remember which is which. Tanaka -- you will lead and precede no further until my troops arrive to secure the beachhead. Carlos -- you know about cutting phone lines, downing power transmission centers...all that you learned in Peru will be useful today.
Fahad and Mohammed will strike hard and fast at the Kennedy Center and the Pentagon simultaneously. The Kennedy Center is the staging area until the Pentagon is secured by our forces. Now move. Shalem Malekim.”
“Malekim Salem!” they shouted in unison.
The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts is a cavernous, white marble edifice only a mile from the nerve center of military operations for the entire Western World -- the Pentagon.
Abdullah, as a student at George Washington University in the early 1970’s, had observed this many times. It was a memory that proved useful when he planned his assault on the Pentagon thirty years later.
It became clear to him that such a building could be easily taken, secured and used as a base of operations for an assault on the Pentagon. The Americans had plenty of firepower with which to defend the Pentagon from various bases in the area, but it was most vulnerable from the Potomac River.
Having studied how the British sailed into the heart of Washington and burned it to the ground during the War of 1812, Abdullah was convinced he could repeat their success with his own forces because of the overwhelming technological superiority of his forces’ weapons.
The international arms merchants, including American arms companies ever eager to increase sales as long as it was deniably not known to them who the final customer really was, had opened up their arms storehouse to him in the past decade. Although he did not have a stealth bomber or a Titan missile, he did not need such weapons for what he was about to undertake.
The 1993 World Trade Center bombing and Oklahoma City bombings had finally convinced his financiers that what he had preached since the early 1970’s was true: America was such a free and open society that a well-organized, carefully orchestrated and professionally executed and coordinated attack on the American land and its people could bring it to a grinding halt in a day.
All the subsequent probes killing American recruiters, tourists, diplomats, soldiers, religious and so many others, only reinforced the belief. Phase Two of that attack was about to begin.
From inside the old Soviet Union, now Russian, mission on Sixteenth Street and their compound on Wisconsin and Calvert streets, Russian spooks were keeping careful tabs on Adbuallah’s movements and the success of his forces. Many of the older ones had been stung by the loss of prestige, money and power they had suffered since Russia had become a “democracy” and their decision to cast their lot with the July Fifth Strike force was now paying dividends.
Well knowing that power is relative, they quickly grasped that in the new world Russian might would soon equal American might, insomuch as they would survive this crisis unscathed whereas the Americans would be devastated. Theirs would be a large payoff for such a small amount of free intelligence. Providing Adbuallah with the details of the Pentagon’s building master plan was an easy intelligence coup that would now pay massive dividends in terms of Russian power and prestige.
And a building is all the Pentagon ever was. Built by John McShane, a Philadelphia builder who’s fortune went to an order of nuns his only child, a daughter who belonged to the order, it was built in the 1940’s to meet the realities of that time -- plenty of office space for the Department of War’s newly expanding personnel and equipment.
Despite recommendations over the years to distribute its personnel, functions, and offices to other, less centralized locations because of the security risks involved in having so much of America’s defense nerve center so exposed; it was kept alive by its proximity to Congress.
The top brass at the Pentagon liked the fact that they could plead their various causes before the myriad committees that approve Defense Department spending only fifteen minutes away at the Capital and White House. This inertia and lack of strategic planning on the generals and admirals part would now cost thousands of American lives.
Massoud Moussavinejad, Mina Nafahati Salimi, Farroukh Najmadadi, and Sonia Mohadjer loaded their troops onto the first four of what would eventually be over one hundred and twenty buses to pull in front of the Kennedy Center. Massould Moussavenejad’s bus closed off the entrance to the usual tourists while the other buses headed toward the underground parking lot.
When the doors of Massoud’s air conditioned charter bus opened, he stepped forth with two fully-loaded AK-47’s, plastic explosives, a dozen grenades, two side arms and three knives. Rather than being dressed for the show that would not happen on the many stages of the Kennedy Center, he blasted his way through the doors that opened the way for a band of forty two black garbed terrorists to rush in fan out to various corners of the building.
The skeletal shift of ten guards, only two of whom carried side arms because of the difficulty of obtaining defensive guns due to the District of Columbia’s severe gun control laws, were easily smoked by the invaders.
Below ground, an unarmed Kennedy Center guard, Markus McCall, startled by the buses seeking to enter on his watch when all he usually encountered was the cleaning crew, quickly opened to glass in his booth and shouted, “Hey, man, whatcya doin’? Ya can’t bring that thang in heruh?! Get that outta here now! I ain’t axkin’ you again!”
The driver of the first bus, Bahram Mohamoudi, put his AK-47 through the opening in his side window and emptied a clip into Markus McCall, whose bloody and bullet riddled body slumped to the ground.
Two other Jihadi’s, dressed in guard’s outfits, ran out, cleared the body from the booth, and pushed the buttons that opened all doors to the huge underground parking lot of the Kennedy Center. It would now become a terminus for weapons and personnel for the assault on the Pentagon and other critical sites in the Nation’s Capital.
The convoy of buses drove by rapidly and, as practiced so many times in Iran, fanned out on various floors according to function. Explosives and missiles on the bottom floor, food, water and uniforms in between, and small weapons and ammunition on the top floors.
Those who had practiced secure and hold the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts went above to take up positions on all four sides at the top and at strategic locations throughout the massive structure.
What had been built at the heart of the Nation’s Capital at the insistence of Jacqueline Kennedy to honor her assassinated husband to provide a panoramic view of the its many landmarks would now provide the perfect assault platform for Abdullah to launch his weapons to eviscerate that very heart.
His men and women now had clear shots at the White House, Capitol Hill, the Naval Intelligence Command, Andrews Air Force Base, Fort Meyers in Arlington, The Treasury and every other federal government building, including the fortified FBI building that mere mortars could now rain down upon is such number as to incapacitate.
The New Executive Office Building and the Old Executive Office Building could be raked with .50 caliber fire. The World Bank, InterAmerican Bank, Riggs Bank et al were within firing range of small arms fire. The Central Intelligence Agency could now be hit and hit hard by rocket, mortar and small missile fire.
The Kennedy Center was so deep in the nerve center of the Nation’s Capital that any effort to retake it risked completely bringing down the very physical structure of the United States Government the very retaking was designed to accomplish. It was the kind of Catch-22 that delighted and amused Abdullah, who was now planning for even greater death and destruction than in the original plan.
Those who were to mount the assault on the Pentagon were assembling gear and reviewing maps of the interior of the building for crucial offices and computers that would be seized first.
Common fishing flat bottom boats that would carry groups of two to six were unloaded by the dozen and placed on the heads of the attacking columns. They had been purchased at sport and hunting stores over the years and stored away, along with the guns and ammunition the same stores provided for this assault.
“This is a message for all,” said Nadim Khourk-Khousand, who, once this operation was completed planned to kill Abdullah and take over the organization himself and bend it to his ends. “Permission to proceed granted.”
The Japanese explosives and chemical weapons experts and death cultists rose from their positions on Roosevelt Island, on the banks of the Potomac, from stores in Pentagon City that ran contiguous to the Pentagon itself and which provided low paying but fine spy postings for dozens of their members in the previous years, and proceeded with the Samurai’s fanaticism and fatalism to their assigned duties.
Those underground in Pentagon City braved gunfire from guards and marines to place explosives on the gargantuan underground steel doors that were meant to protect the Pentagon from just such an event.
Unfortunately for those guarding the Pentagon as well as those inside it, the cultists had calibrated their explosives to be sufficient to the task of blowing those doors wide open.
And they had enough suicide bombers willing to brave the gauntlet of bullets to end up close enough to those doors that when the timers all clicked their cylinders into place the blast that erupted left a 300 by 500 foot hole in that entrance that drawled the size of the previous one.
Now those who had perfected their chemical weapons skills on the commuters of Tokyo ran forth to spray their deadly gas into the hole which, because of the explosion, was now sucking oxygen from that entrance into every hallway, office, air shaft and pipe in the Pentagon.
Serumdid the trick in Tokyo in experimental amounts. It now did the same trick in much larger doses to the Americans trapped in the Pentagon who, for all their bravery, courage, intelligence and training, were now the innocent victims of bad federal policy meeting at an intersection with fanatical international terrorism.
What Pentagon employees, civilian and military, that did escape the building were cut down like hay by the cutter of thousands of small arms, mortars, and grenades opening up on them.
Dazed and incapacitated by the gas, they stumbled about until a hail of bullets cut them down and they formed hundreds of dead human mounds across the acres of the Pentagon’s parking lot. The military epicenter of the Western World was now a Mausoleum of Americans and their hopes and dreams.
As a side action, Abdullah made sure that a number of his best troops and medical personnel took over the American Red Cross medical center just behind the White House on 17th Street. He knew that this would be a long seize and he wanted these facilities available for the patching and healing of his troops that could then be returned to battle again.
As well, he sent bands of Jihadi’s to the George Washington, Howard University and Georgetown Medical Centers. This was to be a long bloodletting, and he knew he would have to have enough blood to supply his forces.
The Jihadi’s who were now invading the Pentagon by the hundreds from the Pentagon Metro Station underground entrance now called back by cellular phone to allow the second assault to begin.
As planned, one group snaked its way across the Potomac in fishing boats. From the south, dozens of Marine and Army helicopters from Quantico, Fort Meade and Fort Meyer swooped down to rake them with cannon and missile fire.
As they did, the stinger missile teams atop the Kennedy Center rained into them, causing the sky above Washington to explode up and down the river. Their assault had ended some Jihadi’s lives, but that attack now continued with a vengeance.
As Abdullah had planned and thus left untouched, CNN was now broadcasting live to the nations of the world his assault on the Zionist lackeys and pimps.
Scenes of American marines splayed across the Pentagon parking lot with various limbs missing, American aviators being blown out of the sky not in some distant land but in the Nation’s Capital, and the full panoply of death and destruction was now being magnified under the microscope of the Washington media who knew they were in the maelstrom of the century and were going to broadcast it live and uninterrupted because it was great TV and magic in the ratings wars.
Although the full details of what was now happening were not being relayed to the American people and the world, they did not have to be: The evidence was in the pictures and those pictures had already formed indelible memories in the hundreds of millions who saw them.
The American giant had clay feet that were quickly being cut out from under it. The only question that remained is whether it would tumble or get a new set of feet.
Within the Pentagon itself, there were rooms within rooms that even the Russian and other intelligence services had no idea existed. These were command and control rooms sunk so far down into the earth that they were sure to survive waves of thermonuclear explosions.
Within one such room an Admiral Stanley Hirsch was repeatedly sending signals to satellites to appraise American forces in the States and worldwide of the details of the assault as he received them.
To his great alarm, many of the transmissions he was receiving back were so compromised, garbled, and intermittent he could not be sure that even his most fail-safe system was operating as intended: To be the last line in just such an event.
He was a workaholic who had gone through three wives until he found one willing to put up with his eighty to one hundred hour work week. He was a driven man who had started his career as a teenager who enlisted at sixteen rather than face jail time for petty theft.
He took the test for officer candidate school at the encouragement of a Flag Officer who had taken a shine to him years back. He passed with flying colors and his life since had been a nonstop whirlwind of ever-increasing rank, responsibility, and service.
All of this responsibility rested squarely on his slight five foot four frame, and he stroked his beard nervously as he had remembered the Orthodox Rabbi’s in his neighborhood in Brooklyn had when faced with riots that the Mayor and police of New York had failed to protect them from.
Although not a religious man, in his heart he now let out a cry for help from God that careened through his spirit and into his men and women at the controls. He knew he had weapons stored only meters away with which he could mount a counter attack.
He also knew that only his chambers had separate air ducts to secret locations miles away in the Catoctin Mountains to protect their air supply.
Upon instant reflection, he decided to keep his location secret and relay intelligence to any and all forces organized to counterattack, a counterattack that he bet his rank was even now being organized and set in place.
His bunker had elements of SKIFS, the concrete and steel bunkers that were resistant to Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) that were so common in the area. What made his unit unique was that it was made from composite materials that were blown into the ground hundreds of meters below the surface to form enormous bubbles that where invisible to all surveillance methods.
When the computers and communications equipment lines were run into the structure they were back crossed into the Pentagon itself to appear that that is where they originated. In short, every transmission that went into or out of the Pentagon went through Admiral Hirsh’s bubbles.
He knew to what advantage that fact could be put as long as this battle raged, and he was now barking orders to his subordinates to ensure full exploitation of that advantage.
With what information his intelligence officers could gather as to troop strength, weapons, vehicles, strategy, and plan strength and weaknesses, he broadcast to various receiving posts. The first one he sought and reached was on an farm in West Virginia.
Decoded, it read: “Fire Station One is on fire and fully compromised. Fire Station Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen the same. Our air bubbles are secure and all transmissions should be through us. Does anyone copy?”
General Watson directed a fierce stare at his assistant of the past year, Colonel Edward Stone. Stone waited tensely. The General nodded and he transmitted back. “Big Beavis this is Head Butt. Hold tight. We have relief units on the way. ETA twenty-four hours.
All remedial and direct action to free ensnared Poppa and all Poppa’s children are under way. Critical need now for hard data. Anything and everything you can provide will bring big dividends when the chips are cashed in. Can you provide the gamblers dream and give better odds to the gamblers against the house.”
Admiral Hirsch nodded to the full line of men and women and then tugged at his ear three times to signal approval for transmission of all the information at their disposal. He would now download billions of bits of information in seconds onto computers in a system developed in the 1980’s to replace the Internet when that venue became too crowded by civilians.
That system now whirred into action and carried terrorist records and files, psychological profiles, satellite photos of terrorist takings and movements all over the world, as well as opening up lines that supplied locations and coordinates for plans, supplies and personnel that were propositioned just as they had been before Desert Storm.
“General Watson this is Stan Hirsch. I can hold out as long as you need me here. I have all I need. I would suggest you leave the Pentagon for now and concentrate on the rest of the area. But for us, everyone is dead from sirim gas.
From what my officers tell me, you have a good chance of getting some special ops guys in because these attacks have enjoyed their initial success but are not going to be able to hold their ground against the right counterattack.”
“Thank you Admiral Hirsch. That’s all I needed to hear. I will contact you in fifteen minutes to allow others to receive from your post.”
General Watson turned and smiled at Colonel Stone. “Give McKenna’s team first crack at the White House. You were a baseball player once, weren’t you Colonel?”
“Yes. Just farm team stuff, Sir?”
“But, despite rules against it, no doubt you still chew. Am I right Colonel?”
Colonel Stone turned his eyes down. “Yes, Sir...”
“Then give me some chaw! It’s been twenty years off the stuff for me, but I think I deserve some chaw, don’t you?”
Colonel Stone smiled and handed him a bag of Indian Head chew.