SWNOVELS Chapter CHAPTER ELEVEN
Attack on the Ojibwe Village
Soon the sun would be up, but the gibbous moon was only half set, and so the light was part the pale white of night, mixed with the red-gold of dawn. As the rogue band of terrorists looked out at the village of the Ojibwe, everything was clear, but other-worldly looking; almost two dimensional in that weird illumination.
Abdul felt joyous, knowing his goal was so close. None were about- the large communal campfire had burned down to a bed of red coals, ready to prepare the breakfast meal of the savages he was sure. It was just as he had pictured it: a primitive campsite, ringed with small cabins, wigwams, and various forms of walled tents. Large stacks of firewood, and venison haunches hanging nearby made up the scene of contented savagery, people happy to live in harmony with Nature, with minimal technology and intrusion into their ancestral lifestyle.
It made Abdul Jawaad angry- these people were like animals, knowing and caring nothing for Allah and his commands, giving women equal rights to that of men, and not even hostile to other religions! His religious fervor overtook him, at least, whenever he wanted to kill people he attributed that to his ‘religious duty’. But, he did so love to watch them all die at his hand! He signaled to the men behind him as he raised his weapon, ready to spray the whole village with automatic fire. Nodding once at the terrorist to his right, he waited while Labeeb aimed his rocket launcher at the largest tent. Another man to the left readied his grenade, and then, Abdul signaled to attack.
From his own rifle, and from all around him the guns of his rogues all just went ‘click-click-click-click’. The rocket launcher went ‘KA-thunk,’ and then the rocket fell impotently with a thud upon the ground. The hand grenade flew on cue through the air, and landed on the threshold of a large communal hall constructed of logs- and then just thunked to the ground like a stone, inert. From behind him, Abdul Jawaad heard one of his black rogues say “M-th-er-f—ker!!”
And then, directly before the radical Islamic terrorist Abdul Jawaad, appeared Wulf Gott. Emerging from the log hall, he strode towards the leader of the band attacking his village casually, with no alarm whatsoever, as if he had been waiting. Abdul and the men behind him leaped to their feet, some drawing knives from their belts or boots; Abdul had a long curved knife in his hand, passed down to him from his ancestors. His hand shook in his anger, in his so-far inability to shed the blood of these savages and this- barbarian! ‘And after all’ he thought, ‘it is but one man that approaches!’
Wulf was painted again in warrior fashion, with wide stripes of blue and black across his face and muscled torso. He wore only a warrior loin cloth, such as he wore when hunting to be more like the beasts he sought, and had a single long feather in his long tawny hair. His eyes blazed bluely as he approached, weaponless, but he appeared like a lion with his claws retracted. Every part of his sinewy movement depicted menace and strength.
Sensing his chance, Abdul screamed “At him now, for Allah!” - and his followers boiled up out of the woods behind him, knives ready for slashing, and with rifles held like clubs by their stocks.
Abdul reached Wulf in record time, and the barbarian was smiling grimly. No fear at all registered in his face, only a righteous anger. The terrorist slashed with his knife, which the barbarian avoided with a fiendishly quick motion, and then a large hand locked itself around the Arab’s wrist. With a quick twist, agonies flowed through Abdul’s arm, and the curved knife fell to the earth. His wrist was broken!
From behind the terrorist rogues, exactly eleven young women boiled up out of the forest! One screamed a challenge, a blood-curdling yell cultivated in training- along with weapons, physical culture, and singing, of all things. For, to these tribespeople, all real skills were honorable and to be desired. The five remaining blacks, and six jihadists all turned about, startled.
Eleven maidens of the tribe, dressed in buckskin, were before them, all unarmed. Volunteers all, they had undertaken this defense of their village at the instigation of Akula, the medicine man and tribal elder. Akula had said that to dishonor these evil attackers was fundamental to the cosmic order of the Great Spirit; and since their false religion held that these men should dishonor women- the Arabs through their false religion, and the blacks through their degraded culture, why then women should prove them wrong.
The women attacked! Wulf spun the helpless Abdul about, and held him so as to watch the battle. Abdul watched, incapable of movement in that iron embrace, as a buckskin clad woman, scarcely more than a girl, grasped the down thrust arm of one of his terrorist men, stopping the knife he held from striking her breast. Without missing a beat, the girl ripped the curved blade from his hand, and slashed his throat from ear to ear! The Arabian fell, spurting crimson.
A black man, grinning with satisfaction, swung his rifle barrel at another young woman’s head. Ducking with uncanny quickness, she rose quickly, kicking him in the groin. As he dropped the gun, she picked it up, and struck him across the face, splitting his skull.
And so it went- the superbly trained, all female force of tribeswomen almost instantly smashed, knifed, and otherwise utterly decimated the rogues that had come to kill them. And, almost worse for them than dying, was the sense of utter defeat at the hands of those they had spent their lives denigrating as lower than themselves, as sub-humans- these “sub-humans” showed that they were completely their superiors- physically, culturally, and mentally, as they outwitted, outfought, and just plain exterminated these self-proclaimed enemies- enemies that had no business attacking them, and should never have invaded at all! Most died, quickly and ingloriously, and justly. Only one large black man had fallen and, striking his head on a large rock, had fallen unconscious. After that, he was left alone as helpless, and unworthy of being slain in such a state.
Abdul Jawaad was force to watch, watch as his whole worldview unravelled before his eyes! No virgins in paradise would be awaiting his men, no glory- only dishonor and disdain. Warriors of Allah killed by so many girls? His head whirled, his wrist pounded out a signal of pain-and he fainted.