Wallid did not understand why he had been chosen for this.
Another deep sigh escaped him as he discarded yet another wooden crate from the newly arrived ships, beneath the boiling sun beating down upon the docks of Benghazi, the great cranes hanging over the harbor like enormous iron beasts the Romans had brought from their own country.
Another among the hundreds he would have to unload and store today. Just another day since... since he no longer wished to remember.
If only he could blow them apart. Probably another shipment of weapons for the troops of the infidels, helping their armies in their bloody conquest of this holy land. His land.
If only he could destroy them. Even just one. Instead of helping the foreign invaders with his own hands, staining them with the blood of his brothers.
Even now, he did not know why it was him, chosen for this unbearable task.
Why give him such a burden to carry ? Why waste his abilities on work that any other man could have done ?
For as long as he could remember, he had been the most fitted for war and difficulties among the men of his tribe. Always the first to win their races, from childhood into manhood. Always the finest shot with a rifle, whether one of the old Ottoman pieces or the newer ones the Romans had brought with them. The best horseman of his clan. The keenest eyes in the desert.
So why?
Why did he have to remain here, wasting everything he could offer the Order, condemned to a role that filled him with shame while his brothers, cousins, fathers and sons fought... and died, with weapons, rifle scythes and swords in their hands against the Roman armies ?
Why was he only confined to the most shameful of all duties ? Him, Allah most skillful warrior of his clan ?
If grandfather saw him at this moment, Wallid knows he would burst in tears, fall on the ground, kneels, his face against the burning foreign black rocks of the foreigner's docks, and would plead, cry and beg him to forgive him...
Him, the most disappointing of his offsprings.
"Craaack!"
The wooden crate struck the dock with a dreadful crack. Perhaps he had simply been distracted and let it slip.
Or perhaps not...
Perhaps the burden of shame is too much to bear... even for him.
"Eh ! Maledetto barbaro ! Watch what you're doing ! Do you want to get yourself whipped ? Stupido beduino !"
He should not have done that.
He remembered what Omar, not... what teacher had told him.
Stay unnoticed.
"Your life belongs to Allah and to the struggle, not to your anger... An impatient fighter serves only his enemy."
Even knowing that, he did not regret this act, not in the slightest.
"Sāmiḥnī, sīdī." (Forgive me, sir.)
He lowered his head in apology, like a beaten dog. His heart pulsing in his torso.
He had to remain discreet. As revolting as this work was, he could not disappoint the Teacher.
"Speak a proper language, you cretino !"
the fat man barked, pearl of salive spurting out of his mouth.
For a fleeting instant, Wallid felt righteous fury rise inside him. He could already picture himself driving his fist into the foreign pig's face, delivering the justice the man deserved for trampling his homeland and insulting its people.
But that moment would have to wait.
Yes, he would have to wait.
Patience.
No matter how every part of him screamed to act now.
"Mi dispiace, signore. Non succederà più." (I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again.)
He repeated the words in the unholy tongue, lowering his head once more.
"Tsk."
The foreman clicked his tongue as he inspected the broken crate.
Several sacks had burst open in the fall. A strange yellow powder spilled from them, spreading across the dock in thin clouds that the breeze immediately began to carry away.
The labels bore only unfamiliar words. In his little roman has he knew, Wallid could not even understand half of the words written on it. Adorned with strange symbols that he never saw.
The foreman's irritation vanished.
His face tightened.
"Don't just stand there!" he snapped. "Get the whole team. I want every sack repacked before sunset. No, as quick as possible !"
He took an involuntary step backward.
"And be careful with that."
Wallid frowned.
The man was still staring at the powder.
"Bring masks. Cloths, scarves... whatever the fuck you can find. Cover your mouth and nose."
Another step back.
"And don't breathe the damn stuff if you can help it."
Wallid looked down again at the yellow dust.
What was so dangerous about it ?
"Sì, signore."
He turned to gather the rest of the Arab and Italian workers before the foreman suddenly caught him by the arm.
For a brief moment, Wallid's heart stopped.
Have I been discovered ?
"Oh... and tell the others to keep their distance until you've covered yourselves."
The man's voice had changed.
Gone was the anger.
Now there was only worry.
"Carefully. Do you understand? Carefully."
"Sì, signore."
Wallid nodded.
The foreman released him.
"Hurry, for Heaven's sake."
As Wallid walked away, he heard the man mutter under his breath.
"Sua Eccellenza will have my head for this..."
A brief pause.
"...assuming this yellow shit doesn't kill me first."
________________________________________
The following morning, the harbor no longer resembled the one Wallid had worked in for the last months.
Ships.
Everywhere.
Of course as one of the principal ports of Libya, Benghazi and its docks were more than accustomed to ships coming and going from morning to evening.
But never this much of them.
Not the familiar cargo steamers that came and went lazily throughout the year, but an entire forest of these immense hulls. Strecthing across the anchorage until it seemed they would almost pile up on one another, smoke hanged over the bay, forming like a second sky on the city.
Some of them were not moving, still waiting their turn outside of the port that was packed way over its norma capacity.
Others had already tied themselves to the quays, but were full of activity as if they were ready to move and leave as soon as possible, only resting in the port for as brief of a moment as what was needed.
Lots of dockers were running there and there, unpacking the ships of their transports, with a hurry that was never seen, the foremen were barking orders everywhere, even helping themselves in the tiring work, as if they feared they would be beaten like dogs if the work was too slow.
On other ships, the ramps were unloading packs of people, leaving constantly, most of then being sent to help the dockers as soon as their feet landed on Libyan's ground.
Some of them were the usual faces you expected of Italians, others were different, more tanned, and speaking in a tongue Wallid could understand.
Damned traitors. May you burn in Hell for this...
The Italians had always brought soldiers.
But never this many.
Wallid stopped for a brief moment beneath the warehouse awning. Before a barking at his side got him out of his thought. The voice being more than recognisable to him.
"What in seven hells are you waiting for ?
The rapture ?!? Come help us dammit !"
Wallid nodded before joining the big foreman, helping him unload a wooden crate that was filled with loads of shells, unrecognisable to him. New ones ?
But even as he worked tirelessly, he was still focused on what happened around him. Something he had perceived since he arrived.
Officers.
It wasn't strange to see some of them, they were always Romans officers wandering around and in the docks, but usually one could count them on the docks on one hand.
And they weren't ever particularly focused on working. Most of them strolling carefree or aimlessly around there. Casually as if this was nothing but a morning walk to stretch their legs.
The best you would hear of them would be sometimes a lieutenant barking orders. Sometimes even to infidels dockers, calling a sort of roman insult... sicilians ? Or something similar. Wallid wasn't particularly aware what the romans meant by this.
Perhaps at best would be a captain inspecting manifests, although Wallid could swear they were always passing pages so fast it was clear they werent really reading these.
Once in a while, for whatever reasons, it could even be a colonel, wandering about, accompanied by his escort, their white uniform making them seen by everyone in Benghazi, their polished boots never harbouring even the slightest bit of dust.
Today there were dozens of these men. Their shining boots making the sun blur into Wallid vision in more than one occasion.
And Wallid knew the harbor well.
He knew the faces of the officers usually stationed in this part of Benghazi.
But most of those today were complete strangers.
Lots of strangers.
Lots of soldiers.
Lots of machines.
More than he had ever seen.
Staff officers running all around with leather map cases. Military Engineers barking orders to anyone who dared be less than five feet from them. Wanderinf all around, making calculations and drawing things wallid could not see. Talking to each others aggressively with a burning passion.
Military policemen everywhere, even around the port, stopping whoever they deemed suspect and inspecting them before sending them away.
They were men whose uniforms carried enough gold braid to blind him beneath the sun.
Cars matched the pace of the boats, constantly arriving at fast speed, unloading more officers, before disappearing again.
Something important was happening.
Wallid could feel his heart souring at this sight. Even if he didn't understand any of this. He knew this announced dark times for the cause.
After an hour of this mess, the constant shouting suddenly ceased around one of the piers. Wallid, while working turned his head toward this.
Someone pointed toward the largest transport ship of them all. One who had landed since even before he arrived, as another of these Romans told him. Landed before he arrived, but had never loaded or distributed anything. Loats pf these Romans engineers and officers moving in and out of it, gesticulating while shouting to each others in their foreign language, in a hurry than was only matched by their visible excitement.
Then Wallid heard it. Roaring through the whole harbour.
Not any sort of human or animal voices.
But not any sort of engines either, or not at least the ones he knew.
As someone working in Benghazi, Wallid was familiar with the engineered metal beasts of the invaders, but this wasn't like anything he ever heard.
A deep metallic growl echoed inside the steel hull, followed by a violent clattering there weren't anything he could compare this to. Lots of these engineers descending tfrom the ship, smiles on their faces, as they soon made place for what was about to descent from the boat.
The entire loading ramp began to tremble. Wallid even thought it was going to break, but no.
Slowly...
Something descended.
For an instant Wallid wondered whether some enormous machine had broken loose inside the ship.
No, these infidels were far too happy for that.
Then it emerged into the light.
Iron.
Entirely iron.
Low to the ground, yet broad enough to fill nearly the whole ramp, nearly crushing its sides on it. A massive iron beast
It did not walked on rubber wheels. Like the cars he knew.
Beneath it, endless bands of linked metal bit into the wooden planks with a grinding scream, each movement accompanied by the sound of steel crushing wood beneath weight that should only correspond to houses or mountains.
Yes, a crawling mountain. Of iron and steam...
The diabolical thing advanced forward like some sort of monstrous insect. Demonic being that could only exist in some old crone story.
The beast's body possessed no face. Only a angled plate. With small black slits.
On it, was a short tube of iron, like the tusk of an animal.
The absurd smell reached Wallid way before the machine did.
Hot oil. Smoke of coal. Brunt fuel. And the bitter scent of metal that was heated until it was white.
It made him remember the forge of his grandfather's cousin. The smell was similar to this. But it paled in its size.
This smell was nothing like he ever experienced, in stakes he could not dream of.
The beast reached the docks, when this happened, Wallid could swear everyone in town stopped working to see this sight.
He almost thought the dock ground would be crushed under such a thing. And for some instant, it almost seemed like it, as the beast had some difficulties to pass from wood to concrete.
As the monstrous beast stopped at the center of the docks, a huge explosion of applaude followed from the packs of officers and soldiers all around. Engineers and soldiers alike even sending some waves of hurrah while throwing their cap in the air. As if celebrating a victory.
Among this huge crowd of exclamation and happiness, Wallid could only harbour a tired face, while his torso burned.
It burned even more as he saw some of his fellow dockers, not the romans one, joining the exclamation.
Why...
Ya Allah... Have we not been tested enough ? Why must Your servants bear such burdens ?
Yā Rabb, why must brothers rejoice while their own people are crushed beneath the weight of strangers ?
But as Wallid felt his heart descending into silent laments, lone cry among a sea of unholy happiness. Something occured, as the exclamations slowly died, breaking under the noise of another roar, similar to the one before.
Another beast followed, descending from the ship, to join its demonic brother. As if one hellish creature wasn't enough to plague the Lord's children.
Then another.
Then another.
Wallid stopped counting after the eighth. Forcing himself to stay still, as each new was followed by hurrahs. Before the lieutenant stopped all of this after the third one. Hurrying common soldiers and dockers to go back to work. Pestering the common men as the higher ones continued to watch the demonstration.
None of the dockworkers spoke anymore. Wallid especially. But not for the same reasons. Although in his heart, he knew that some of his brother's crys of joys were as real as the glitter of the dunyā. Their false demonstration still hurted him deep.
One of the officers, a man in a white uniform with a load of decorations from shoulder to belly, finally smiled.
"At last... It seems its Eccellenza promises were not mere words."
Be careful, Roman. Every tyrant believes his victory eternal... until Allah decrees otherwise.
At the end, any oppressor that walk on another man's land is simply passing shadows, just another servant deceived by Iblis.
Before Wallid had the time to try to number how many of these were parked in the docks, as troops already began to displace them, another noise erupted, a different one, but still quite similar, coming from another ship.
Different, slightly less loud, and higher. With a faster cadence.
A roar, followed by the sound of rubber striking rapidly on wood
This one was also massive, less than the previous ones for sure, different, he rolled on four enormous wheels.
It was smaller, but definitely quicker than the other beasts.
It's armor was sloped quite strangely, as thought the man who built this wanted bullet and wind alike to slide on its skin.
A small cannon sat above, liek a spear turned toward the direction it rolled to, although turning from side to side as the vehicle descended the wooden planks in a fast hurry, rapidly distancing the pace that any other car or horse Wallid had seen in his life.
It descended eagrly the ramp, bouncing over each joint in the timber before rolling on the concrete with a speed that surprised everyone here.
Then, as it parked, like for the other iron car, another same machine quickly followed it. Then a third one. Then a fourth.
Soon the pier was full of them.
To wallid this group of fast large iron beast looked like the qaṭī dhi'āb (pack of wolves) that he used to watch as a boy with his father in the great desert. Always ready to strike their sheep herd at the slightest show of weakness. Stalking the flock from afar, behind the large dunes, waiting for the slightest lapse in the shepherd's vigilance.
But this time, the predator bore an iron skin, black blood pulsed in his veins, steel was his fangs and his roar was filled with fire and smokes.
They were no creatures fashioned by Allah, but monsters born of man's own hands.
Some crawled on endless bands of steel, shaking the ground beneath them. Others sped across the docks on thick wheels.
The machines engines started to bark in group, like a pack of angry animals they started to leave, soldiers dispersing the streets around the docks of its crowds and vehicles, before waving toward them. The iron beasts entering the deserted streets in large columns toward an unknown destination.
At the same time, more ships continued to unfold in the horizon, landing in the port, joining the ones that were already opening their holds, following them in the same task.
More engines answered from inside, when it wasn't packs of shells and weapons, or humans from afar, carrying the same uniform he used to hunt in the desert with his brothers.
They kept coming. Waves after waves, a tide that never stopped during this day.
One after another.
One after another.
He had long since stopped to count or to even wonders about their numbers. He knew it would be senseless.
And he couldn't do it anyway, as from morning to the cold night, the activity in the dock never stop not even for a quick second.
Around him, Italian officers moved during all of the day. Carrying this unusual urgency he never saw them with.
Some maps were inspected, some bizarre calculations were made, messenger runned there and there, carrying unknown letters before leaving as quick as they came.
Engineers started to look around, talking about possible extensions of the port. Talking about new road leading to places, Wallid recognised some of them, despite their Italianized version, but most of them stayed a mystery for him
But, during all of this, a word kept going. Either susurred, shouted, whispered with excitement, fear or annoyance.
"Presto! Presto! Presto!"
An officer shouted in the air, was it to him ? To Wallid crew ? To his men ? Or just to everyone that can hear ? Wallid didn't know, but he heard what followed, this same thing he heard all day.
"Sua Eccellenza expect these crates to be packed and sent to Forte Giarabub before the end of the week. Hurry !"
Wallid eyes drifted toward a precise direction as he unpacked another wooden box. Toward the hills beyond Benghazi, and far beyond them. Toward the direction where his brothers in arm should be.
Wallid felt his stomach tighten. As one thought occupied his mind. An idea that pressed him, urged him. So much that he had to force himself to no flee and run on the spot.
Teacher... Teacher needs to know about this.