The following story, while based on facts, has had details embellished in the interest of readability.
Thin fog hung gray and trembling over the barren landscape. Short trees, no taller than a man, squatted thirstily like unmoving dwarf sentinels watching the dawn rise over the low, cracked hills. The scent of sulfur lay reluctantly in the hollows, wishing for a breeze to scoop it out, while blades of grass clung tenaciously to small patches of wind-deposited soil in the gaping cracks of hard lava rocks.
In the midst of this wasteland is an oasis of civilization braced against the dawn’s early light. The most prominent feature of this city is a swift, wide river neatly bisecting it, its banks paved to prevent erosion into the tightly-packed houses beside it. Rows of neat red brick homes, steel-sided factories, gardens, and open-air shopping malls stood side-by-side on the streets of this bustling city.
It was not bustling today.
From a distance, it would be difficult to see what’s wrong. It would be difficult to notice the lack of people in the streets; at this time of day, the sleepy town would normally have few pedestrians, anyway. It would be difficult to discern that school was not in session, for the children would usually be indoors. It would be difficult to point out the gaps between houses where rubble lay instead of factories. It would be difficult to see the bloodstains in the streets where men, women, and children lay dying the day before.
It is not difficult to hear the crack of gunfire, droning of tank engines, and explosions of mortar fire.
The city’s name is Division. The name came from a different era, when the single river that flowed through the town divided at that point. Over time, development altered the flow of the river and confined its banks to the set course which it has followed for the past hundred years. The city has since been noted mainly for its profusion of cathedrals: over 200 for a population of nearly 300,000. One very large church for every 1,500 people.
That’s a heck of a lot of cathedrals. And they’re not cookie-cutter boxes, either. Each is a work of art, with a rich history and intricate design.
Whether the population is religious due to the profusion of churches, or if the large number of churches is due to an extraordinarily religious population is a matter of some debate for the residents. What is a fact, though, is that the city is at the heart of worship in the area, home to large contingents of several major religious factions.
Located 49 miles from the capitol of the state, the city has long been overshadowed by its larger neighbor. It enjoyed quiet prosperity under the governor, and boasted that several of the governor’s advisors were raised in the area.
Division has had troubles over the last thirteen years, though. A bomb set by foreign nationals, intended to destroy a bridge spanning the impassable river, instead killed dozens of people shopping in a marketplace nearby. The town’s largest employer was shut down when it was discovered that, in addition to the normal consumer goods it was supposed to produce, it was also manufacturing illegal weapons. Loots and rioting in the wake of a regime change in the capitol had left much of the city’s infrastructure in shambles.
But the city was recovering. Locals elected a new mayor, who was known to be on good terms with the current regime. They hoped that this election would prevent the new power’s mostly foreign police forces from occupying the city.
Their hope was in vain. The new police moved into the former headquarters of the old regime, and, if rumors were to be believed, immediately began harassing residents, paying residents to spy on their neighbors, and making life difficult for the townspeople. Neighbors began disappearing without warning, then resurfacing with stories of uncomfortable interrogations, and more of the locals became very concerned.
Several hundred residents held a meeting at a local school to decide what, if anything, they should do about the occupation. Most walked out of the meeting deciding to do nothing to interfere. A few, many of them well-known local leaders and religious figures, decided to stage a protest.
Unfortunately, some of them decided to conceal firearms under their clothing for the demonstration.
The new police forces, of course, were interested in the proceedings and in maintaining order at the demonstration, smoking and jabbering at one another in their foreign language as they lounged by their jeeps.
Predictably, either an armed protestor or an armed policeman drew a weapon.
Predictably, someone pulled a trigger.
After the smoke cleared, fifteen protestors lay dead or dying on the ground. Most of the dead were unarmed. None of the trained and battle-hardened police soldiers were injured, while sixty-five protestors were hurt in the firefight.
Outraged residents didn’t know what to do. To stage further protests seemed folly, and would invite more killing. To do nothing would be to approve of the actions of police. A few decided to take matters into their own hands.
Several veterans of the protest massacre were hungry for blood. Only a few were desparate enough to attempt revenge for the atrocity, however, and planned a bold move.
The occupying police force was accustomed to hiring mercenaries to guard their supply caravans. These mercenaries, though armed and many ex-soldiers, were easier targets than the regulars responsible for the shootings at the school.
They decided to take some of the mercenaries hostage in exchange for release of their disappeared neighbors, and an apology from the ruling regime. It seemed a simple plan: drop a couple of hand grenades beneath a parked mercenary truck, disabling it. Surround the truck, force the men inside to come out, film them using a hand-held video camera, and present demands. It was desparate, but the men saw their situation as being desparate. The outsiders were destroying their way of life, providing easy liquor for the youth, promoting acceptance of pornography, and getting away scot-free with shooting nearly a hundred people at a peaceful protest rally.
Word of their plan leaked out, and they found themselves followed by others who claimed that they “wanted to help”. The plan worked at first, but the grisly end of that episode has been widely publicized. Even teenagers participated in the gruesome murder and mutilation of the four mercenaries in that vehicle, while thousands more looked on and either did nothing, or approved of the atrocity.
The name of the city of Division, in Arabic, is pronounced Fallujah.
Today, the city is under siege by U.S. forces. Roads into and out of it are blocked, and U.S. officials are demanding the surrender of those responsible for the killings. The U.S. has lost around sixty soldiers in attempting to retake the town as of this writing; around 600 residents of the city of Division are now buried in mass graves as a result of the fighting. Townspeople had to convert soccer fields into graveyards to handle the dead, and more dying are piling up every day.
The question of the moment is: what to do? Conservatives are screaming for blood, some demanding that the city be carpet-bombed into oblivion after leafletting the populace to instruct them to leave and go through U.S. checkpoints for inspection on the roads out. Liberals are demanding we leave the country, calling it “ungovernable”. Many moderates think we’re in for a lengthy occupation, on the order of the next 30-40 years, similar to that required to subdue Germany after World War II.
What do you think?