Aztlan
by
J. D Parker
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Copyright by J D Parker. For information contact
[email protected] or see aztlanbooks.com
This is book one of the Aztlan Series
Prologue
The key to terrorism is fear. By killing and injuring innocent people the fear begins. The real terror comes when other innocent people are afraid it will spread to them. This is when people are willing to change their behavior. They are willing to give up freedoms to try to feel safe. They are willing to stop helping others that can’t defend themselves because the price becomes too high. This is when terrorists win. Some people aren’t willing to give up their freedoms. They fight back.
Chapter 1
Gaza Strip June 1990
“Kamal, come on. Everyone is going to the square to play soccer” a young voice shouted through the open window.
“Mom, I’m going to play soccer.”
“Kamal, take Rahil with you so he can get out of the house.”
“Mom! He’s too little to play with us and I can’t watch him and play soccer too. Do you really want him roaming the marketplace? It’s dangerous.”
“Not any more dangerous than anyplace else here, take him and keep an eye on him while you play.”
I can’t believe I’m stuck with him again.
“Come on, Rahil. Let’s go.” Kamal said reluctantly.
The Gaza Strip was the only home Kamal and his family had ever known. It was a wretched place filled with out of work men with vacant looks in their eyes who struggled to feed their families on a daily basis. Many of the businesses were boarded up and those in the market square that were open were often out of food. As the group of barefoot boys ran, they had to jump over open sewers overflowing with waste and dodge piles of rotting garbage. Their soccer field was a dirt and gravel area on the side of the market place square. Kamal and his friends got ready to play their daily soccer game with a worn out soccer ball and boxes to outline the goals.
“Can I play soccer with you and your friends?” begged Rahil.
“Shut up, Rahil. Just sit there and watch. Maybe when you grow up you can play. You’re just a little boy.”
“Raji lets his brother play. He’s my age.”
“Yeah, but he’s good. Just sit there and watch. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
“Kamal, let him play. He’s not that bad. We could use another player.”
“Shut up. He’s my brother and he’s not playing.”
Rahil started sobbing, watched them play for a few minutes and then slowly wandered over to the marketplace. A few minutes later the boys heard a bomb go off several miles away. They started cheering and dancing.
“That was in the Israeli quarter!” they shouted happily.
From the market place one of the men yelled, “Boys, take shelter. They might send an air strike.”
As the boys ran for shelter they saw a rocket hit the marketplace. They dove behind some sandbags as several more rockets landed in the surrounding neighborhood. After the barrage stopped, one of Kamal’s friends yelled out,
“That last one was near our houses.”
As the boys jumped up and ran for their houses, Kamal was torn between sprinting home and looking for his brother. He headed for the marketplace as he watched his friends disappear around the corner.
He saw the smoking ruins of a shop ahead, ran for it and in front of the shop he discovered several people leaning over a small body. Kamal pushed through the crowd only to see his brother lying on the ground in a pool of blood. He gathered his brother in his arms and realized he was not breathing. A man gently put his hand on Kamal’s shoulder and said,
“It’s too late, son. He took a bad hit from a piece of the rocket because he was standing in the open when it hit. He didn’t take cover like everyone else. There is nothing you can do now. I don’t know where his mother is. He shouldn’t have been here by himself.”
Kamal started crying hysterically, picked up his little brother and ran for home. He rounded the corner and looked ahead to see his house in flames. Screaming he dropped his brother and tried to get in the house but was pushed back by the searing flames. One of his neighbors grabbed him.
“You can’t go in, it’s too late. The house took a direct hit. Everyone was in there except for you and your little brother.”
Several of the neighbors gathered around and kept Kamal from entering the burning house. As the house collapsed into a pile of debris shooting sparks against the surrounding structures, Kamal sat on the ground beside his little brother’s body sobbing, his eyes glued to the flaming ruins. The neighbors asked each other if there was any other family. One of the men said,
“I remember them talking about an uncle that teaches in the special camps out in the desert. I will send word of what happened and let Kamal stay with us until we hear back.”
Chapter 2
“Kamal, your uncle is here to see you,” said the neighbor as he ushered a man into the room.
Kamal’s uncle entered and found the twelve-year old boy sitting on the floor in the corner watching him with wary eyes. Kamal had brown hair covering his forehead and his arms and legs were coated with streaks of soot from prowling through the remains of his house. He was wearing only shorts and an old T shirt. Kamal looked up at a man with a long graying beard dressed in a flowing robe and turban.
“You’re my uncle?”
“I am your mother’s brother. I have been very busy teaching young men like you and have not been able to come here to see your family. It is dangerous for me to be here now. There is a price on my head.”
“Do you teach in the camps in the desert?”
“That’s what I do.”
“Did you come to take me there? Why did you come here if it was dangerous?”
“Because you are family. Would you like to go back to the desert with me?”
The boy’s eyes were burning. “Will you teach me to avenge my family’s deaths?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“Kamal, thank these people for taking care of you. Do you have anything you need to take with you?”
“All I have is the clothes I am wearing. Everything else was destroyed by the rockets.”
Kamal stood up and turned to his neighbor.
“Thank you.” he stated without feeling.
His uncle turned to the neighbor and stared deep into his eyes.
“We will be leaving now. It would be good if you didn’t speak of this to anyone.”
The neighbor initially tried to return the stare but quickly backed away.
“I support what you are doing and won’t tell anyone that you were here.”
Kamal was guided out the door by his uncle. They walked for several blocks through the depressing town as Kamal noticed everyone pointing at his uncle and talking in hushed voices.
The boy was curious. “Do they know what you do?”
His uncle cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. “We need to get out of here. There are always people around that would turn me in for a small amount of money.”
“Then
they are traitors to our people.” Kamal spat out with fire in his eyes.
“There are always traitors. You must always watch for them.”
They approached an old dusty car covered with dents.
There was urgency in the uncle’s voice. “There is my car. Get in. Hurry. We need to get to a safe house.”
“How do we get through the checkpoint in your car?”
“We don’t. This car stays in town. We have a building near the border with a tunnel. We will go through tonight.”
Several hours later Kamal huddled with his uncle in a dark tunnel with dust in his eyes and dirt falling on them as the walls vibrated when trucks passed overhead.
“Is the tunnel safe?” asked a wide eyed Kamal.
“It’s safe. Only move when you hear the trucks. Their noise hides the noise we make so no one discovers the tunnel. Crawl that way.”
Kamal crawled through the darkness feeling his way with his hands stretched out in front of him, pushing through spider webs that scraped across his face and landed in his hair. It seemed like hours spent in the darkness, trembling as he waited and only moving when the trucks were overhead as they were constantly pelted by dirt from the top of the tunnel. He heard scurrying feet and cringed as he felt small furry bodies brushing against his legs as he crawled. Kamal finally saw a light ahead and spotted small red eyes peering at him as he crawled into a dank basement. He stood shivering while his uncle emerged behind him with his robes dirty and dust falling from his hair and beard. His uncle stood up and brushed off his robes.
“We’re safe now, Kamal. We have a car waiting and will be at the camp by dawn.”
Several hours later Kamal looked out the car window at dusty brown tents scattered on the desert floor. There was nothing green or living within sight. The air was already shimmering from the heat of the sun baking the desolate rocks. He heard shots on the other side of a hill. His uncle said,
“Kamal, we have a school and a mosque here. You will learn and train with the other boys.”
“Will you teach me how to fight the Great Satan and avenge my family?”
“We start today.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “What will I learn to do? Will I become a suicide bomber?”
“Is that what you would like to be?”
“Yes, I want to avenge my family.”
“You will get your wish. There is one of the staff. He will get you set up and acquainted with how we operate. I need to see the Imam.”
Kamal was taken inside a large tent with a dirt floor where he saw a number of bedrolls stacked in the corner.
“Here is a bedroll. You will sleep in this tent with all the other boys your age. Keep all your personal items in that locker. We will provide you with anything else you will need. The tent through that opening is where the food is served. The outhouses are behind the tent. It’s not as nice as you are used to. Is it?”
Kamal looked over the tent that was to be his new home, smelled the dust and odor of too many bodies living in a small area, turned to the staff member and said,
“This is my new home where I will learn to avenge my family. When do I start training?”
“Today. It will be difficult. It’s not like living in the city.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”
That’s what they all say the first day, he thought. We’ll see how you do after a few days.
Later that day Kamal’s uncle was talking to the other staff and being questioned by the Imam.
“Do you know anything about the boy?”
“I never saw him until yesterday. He lost all his family to an Israeli air strike.”
“We need to test him and see what he can handle. We usually have more information on what a boy is like before we agree to take him in. Bring in Hasam.”
The men watched Hasam swagger into the tent. He was one of the bigger, older and more experienced boys. The Imam told him,
“Hasam, we have a new 12 year old boy. His family was killed in an air strike. I want to know what he is made of. Find out what he can handle. You can scare him, but don’t injure him. I know he has been through a lot, but he is of no use to us if he’s not strong and willing to fight.”
“Yes Imam, I have done this before. I will take care of it tomorrow after class.” Hasam said as be bowed in respect to the Imam.
As Kamal attended class he tried to concentrate to learn as much as he could. He quickly became acquainted with several boys his age. He noticed a large, older boy watching him.
One of the boys said, “That’s Hasam. Watch out for him. He likes to pick on the younger boys.”
“Are we allowed to defend ourselves when he does?”
“Of course. We’re sent here to learn to fight. But he’s big, mean and unpredictable. Be careful.”
After class Kamal walked over to the table at the front of the class, grabbed a knife and hid it under his clothes when no one was looking.
The next day after class Kamal was walking to the tents with a couple of other boys his age when he was shoved violently to the ground from behind. He rolled over and saw Hasam standing over him.
“Get up little boy. I need to teach you a lesson. I saw how you were looking at me earlier.”
Kamal slowly got up while facing Hasam. The other boys crowded around to see what would happen. Hasam smiled, came up close to Kamal and suddenly threw a punch. He was shocked when it landed in the air as Kamal ducked and punched Hasam as hard as he could in his side. A surprised Hasam fell on his back as all the younger boys started pointing and laughing at him. He jumped to his feet and circled around Kamal more wary this time.
“Now you’re really going to learn a lesson, you little street rat.”
Hasam pressed his attack as Kamal easily evaded his thrusts. His anger grew at each miss until he finally charged directly at Kamal to try to wrap his large arms around him. Kamal dodged him again and kicked him as he flew past. As Hasam got ready for another rush he saw one of his friends sneak behind Kamal. As he rushed this time his friend shoved Kamal toward him from behind. Kamal, off balance, was thrust into Hasam who immediately grabbed him in a bear hug. Kamal felt himself being pulled off the ground with his arms pinned to his side. Hasam held him tight for a minute, sneered at him and said,
“Now you learn your lesson.”
Kamal let his body go limp and pulled his head back. As Hasam lowered him to the ground, he let his legs bend until he felt the ground under his feet and Hasam start to lessen the pressure on his arms. He suddenly snapped his head forward as hard as he could while driving up with his feet. He caught Hasam on his nose with the front of his forehead. Hasam’s nose was shattered and he screamed with pain as blood started shooting out of it. Kamal pulled back his leg and kicked Hasam as hard as he could in his crotch. As he fell to his knees retching, Kamal clenched his hands together and crashed them down on the back of Hasam’s neck, forcing him to the ground. Kamal spun around beside the prone body, jumped high into the air and landed on his back with his knees, driving his chest into the ground and knocking the wind out of Hasam as he pulled out his knife.
The Imam was interrupted during a meeting.
“You need to come out here. We have a situation with Hasam and the new boy, Kamal.”
The Imam strode into the classroom and saw Hasam lying on the ground on his stomach with Kamal sitting on his back, pulling his head back by the hair and holding a sharp knife to his throat, toying with him. There was a small amount of blood trickling down his throat and a large amount flowing from his nose. No one could see through his beard to notice the smile form on the Imam’s face.
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t here when it started. When I got here Kamal said if we come closer, he will slit his throat.”
The Imam slowly walked over and sat by Kamal. He looked deep into his eyes and said,
“Your pr
oblem is with the wrong person. I asked Hasam to find out what you are made of. So if you have a problem with what he did, your problem is with me. So that knife should be at my throat instead of his.”
He then took a long knife from his robes, pointed the sharp end at himself and held it out to Kamal,
“Release Hasam, put down that toy knife and take this real one.”
Kamal returned the Imam’s stare, dropped his knife on the ground and got off Hasam. Hasam crawled away from Kamal, jumped up and ran over to the other boys, rubbing the blood from his throat and nose. Kamal took the long knife from the Imam, turned it so the handle was facing the Imam, grabbed it carefully by the razor sharp blade and held it out without saying anything, never breaking contact with the Imam’s eyes. The Imam smiled in satisfaction.
“We need to talk. Come to my tent with your uncle. You can keep the knife.”
Back in the tent the Imam sat cross legged in his tent observing Kamal and his uncle.
“I have to say I’m impressed. Hasam has several years and much weight on you. I have never seen him lose a fight.”
“He has a weakness.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s afraid to get hurt or die.”
“Are you?”
“It doesn’t matter either way to me.”
The Imam looked at him for a long time as Kamal never broke and returned his stare. After several minutes the Imam said,
“I need to talk to your uncle. Wait outside.”
After Kamal left, the Imam asked his uncle,
“I might have special plans for him. Has he formally entered into adult membership in the Muslim faith?”
“Do you mean has he been circumcised yet? I don’t think so. Usually it’s done right at puberty. He just turned 12, and not all boys are circumcised anymore.”