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From Ashes: The Third Batswedan Civil War


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From Ashes

The Third Batswedan Civil War


The air around Jakasse cracked with the sound of gun fire in the distance, lightly shaking the window panes within the wood-paneled office.

"And our options?", General Samuel Nyantah leaned further into the leather swivel chair.

"Full barrage and ground deployment, of course. Taking Sena-Koye would cripple the NRD to the point of surrender, and take out their leadership." The much-younger military officer, barely fitting into his fatigues, stated.

"That's only taking care of one of them, though." Dialla Sacko, with his imposing figure created by years in the Batswedan Armed Forces, completely dwarfed the younger gentleman. "Clearing out the NRD does secure our position in the lower counties, but we have no position at all in Tswe County outside Danolle, much less up north. And that may cause us to lose what little gains we have along the Tsweda. And, to be honest, I would want to deal with the fanatics before they become emboldened."

Nyantah almost smirked at this statement. "Dialla, they already have been emboldened. I heard another mosque went up in flames in Nsango last night. Almost the entire Salamic community in the town was forced inside before the UAL lit it up. And south Tswe's basically one theocratic hellscape under Sharia with al-Fadel at the centre."

The younger military officer looked beyond Nyantah to the map behind him, a topographic image defaced with red lines and crude formations. Nyantah was right, the Christian fundamentalist United Army of the Lord had control over almost the entire north, lightly populated as it was. Closer to the mighty shores of the Tsweda River, the lines and formation complicated, attempting to depict the various pockets and front lines between the legitimate government, the traitors and corrupt bureaucrats within the National Renewal of Democracy, and the separatist Latso Liberation Front. In the corner, the extremist Salamic group Hand of God had carved out a fiefdom around the town of Sussiam.

"Outside of our march on Sena-Koye", Nyantah continued, "we need to get control of these stories. Last thing we want here is the AN blocking any of our movements and demand any ceasefires."

"We have the diplomatic support of the Garindinans and the Mikochins, they'll block any measure hampering our efforts." Sacko stated. "Plus the Garindinans have re-committed themselves to keeping us armed."

"That's a positive, at least." Nyantah sighed, looking towards the windows. "Hopefully those come before this all shatters."


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A map of the current conflict in Batsweda, with the military government in red, the National Renewal of Democracy (NRD) in green, the Latso Liberation Front (LLF) in blue, the United Army of the Lord (UAL) in purple, and the Hand of God in yellow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


"Āiftaḥ āl-bābi! Ālan!"

Adjusting her hijab, Hana Bemah opened the door to her modest two-room abode. In front of her, a large man filled up the doorway. It was Suliman Banahene, one of her neighbours.

"Oh, good evening Suliman. Who is everything?"

A silence filled the air, until Suliman finally spoke. "I assume you are staying within curfew." It was a statement, not a question.

No, it was threat.

"Of course. Have a good night, Suli-"

Before she could even finish, the large man was walking away down the street. Removing her foot from the doorframe and closing the door, Hana double-checked the locks.

"Wanyiyi ce, who was it?" A voice rang out from the second room.

"Suliman. The bastard didn't even let me ask how his mother was doing. I used to babysat that brute, you know. Now he's a lackey for the imam."

"People change, Hana". Michael emerged from the room, two small daughters in tow.

"How was their studies, Michael?"

"Fine enough. This science book's old though, need to get the pencil and update it at some point."

"You wouldn't have to if they could go back to school."

Hana felt her waist brought closer to her husband, and peck on her cheek.

"We'll survive, and they'll be back before you know it."

Hana's brow furled. "We could leave. The border is right there, we could be with my sister in Yien."

Michael's own brow furled in response. "She's in a refugee camp, Hana. And she had to leave, her husband was a target."

"And you aren't? You're Christian, that's as much as a target as being on al-Fadel shit-list."

"Momma, bad word!" A small protest emerged from the younger daughter, Abena.

Bending over, Hana lowered herself to Abena's eyesight. "Yes, I did. I'm sorry sweetie. How about you and Mariam play in the other room."

The two girls scampered into the second room, with Hana gently closing the door. Turning back to Michael, she adjusted her hijab once more. "They're going after anyone. The Asantes next door disappeared five months ago, and Adam was the most pious man in Sussiam. I can't go outside after 7, Michael. My girls can't get an education."

Her face reddening, Hana composed herself. "I love this town, it's where I grew up. But I love you more, and this place is no longer a place I can call home. Michael, we need to leave for Yien."

Michael stood there, silent. Then, he finally spoke. "Okay, we'll pack for tonight."

Edited by Konalani (see edit history)
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