He had no idea how to use guns. Triggers, cocking, levers for reloading, etc. he had an idea about, but no practical familiarity with guns as weapon for a man. In his hands he had some sort of rifle. It had a switch for fully automatic and burst. Since he didn't have any known supply of ammunition other than what was in his cartridge, he went for burst. Their voices threatened through the windowless second floor, like they were on rooftops nearby. They were hunting someone. He would not be quarry. If they presented their bodies, he would fire projectiles into their heads and move after each volley. No matter how outnumbered he was, he would continue to kill them, one by one, two by two, until they were no longer a threat or he was dead.

His beautiful girl and son were already landing from their ferry across the sea. They would be safe. It was him against a fate, one which carried its threat through wrongness or evil. In his heart, he knew that he had not wronged anyone in any way that gave justice to the assault he faced. Men of hearts they were unsure of had fled, given up their wives or daughters, watched their sons slain in the hope that their miserable lives be spared. More often than not, the final conclusion was several rounds to the head of the man who had sold everything he loved to save a life not worth living.

Good men, loud men, men who spoke with great conviction about righteousness and god were all among those whose families they watched brutalized and whose lives ended without any hope for redemption or salvation. These were sad stories, they lived, and sad endings they found. Omar had been more quiet than most. He was aware that god had the tendency to make men eat their words. To him, tolerance, understanding, and forgiveness were the only ways that one might find their way to a life blessed and under the auspices of god. It was part formal training, but mostly he knew this in his heart.

They had accents from other countries, though he could understand one man from the South. He overheard, "They live like pigs, they will die like dogs!" Girls screamed too nearby for Omar to handle. He clenched his eyes and begged that mercy be made for them, that justice fall upon their attackers. Where, he seethed under his breath, did the Quran say anything about this? These men were savages, brutes, djinn making the devout seem evil. They made a mockery of all that was good and all that was love. It was not Omar's place to understand, but he could not understand how they should be allowed to live in such grotesque blasphemy.

Above, their boots clunked on his roof. He heard them make their way over to the Macias' home by rooftops. They were probably looking for valuables and women. How sick was all of this. Omar felt like he should have emerged to the roof to assassinate the most he could of them while they were still on the roof like vultures. How many families would he have protected? How many tears would he have held back from mothers, daughters, brothers and fathers? What sickness was this?

So many centuries ago, the arabs were at the forefront of architecture, medicine, astronomy, chemistry, math, and physics. Now they were mere pawns for great bloated beasts like the United States and her vicious appetites. He had met few americans. The ones he had met did not harbor any particular patriotism, in fact more of a sheepish almost embarrassed guilt for their nationality.

Where was the good for all of this? "All things must work together for good." he had been taught and knew by his heart. Where, then, was the good for the humiliation of his people at the hands of US and Soviet armed militaries. Their motive seemed clear: To establish the most docile and dependent regime they could and maintain them under their control. For the control of oil, Israel, and the fear and respect in the hearts and minds of people.

We are a civil, and peaceful people. We were, at least, until the Soviets came in and natural selection quickly eliminated all but the most piggish wardogs of us. Cross-eyed and brutal, without the sensitivities and love that man has for his brethren. It was all about who could command the most fear. One of the oldest most profane ways society could play out had done just so. When the Soviets had left, their arms were abandoned to the warlords. The U.S.A. came in with more arms and technology to make sure that the C.C.C.P. was kept at bay, and that no oppressor could ever exploit us again.

Omar was going to leave for Morocco when night fell, but he had to make it through the day first. Bearded men sat around a table with maps and drank scotch to determine the options they had for subjugating the city. Omar had paid his old friend Jacque for transport across the Algerian border in exchange for more money than any of the working class would make in two or three years. It was a cost that was not prohibitive, for it was a cost for life. Omar was buying his own life. That's how his life became so valuable, to himself at least.