War on what ?

The world... a pearl of pure chance, of pure victory over the limitations of life. It is the crown jewel of all living things in the galaxy, young and old. As the sun shines, its rays rush into the atmosphere. The shine reflects onto the forests of Russia, the snow enhancing it as if angels were wandering in the depths.

In Holland, the clear grass shines with pure simplicity and bright from the sun; a wave of a breeze comes over. The grass moves as one; stationary in position, even if you batter it with rain or snow or drought. The cities of England work heavy while the cities of America sleep in their beds of comfort.

All is right in this world.

Or, at least in the world the media cares about.

In the deserts of the Middle East, people struggle to live. A neglectful President Al-Furalri has worked to kissing up to the West, as well as bigger nations. His people are neglected, while he gains wealth. His cities are built to last, but his people are not. And when the people go away, the cities stay to rot within out themselves. Many people yell out against the opression of poverty and misfortune of their once-proud nation, but no one responds.

At least, no one outside of their own lands.

In Iraq, a movement of people rages silently, as if like a snake in the Egyptian tales; looking for what it seeks, although blinded. Even if it is blinded, it can smell it's prize. And now, the snake is preparing to bite...

Fourteen in the morning. Two o'clock PM for the American's standards of military time. Riyaz Al-Majed, a man that looks of simplicity and leadership, has not of the latter description. He is a man of difficult past; of a hatred of hardships for his people, as well as the horrible leaders of his country. He was a people's man, always knowing what they wanted. In 1998, he finally snapped. He began organizing by speaking out against President Al-Furalri, against the man's lies to get into office. He spoke of revenge for the people, and he promised that when the time comes, he will help his people to their feet, to march them on to a new destiny, to a new conquest.

The man put on a pair of sunglasses, and a red beret with the symbol of his own faction on it. He straps hard battle clothing to himself, and pulled open his bed-side drawer. There, a Desert Eagle awaited him. Not just any, but it was a golden plated Desert Eagle. It was given to him by an Ultranationalist Russian by the name of Victov Stukov, a supporter of his cause. The Russian approached him, and gave him funding for his rallies, and his men. Al-Majed was able to equip his men with AK-47's, as well as Gewehr 3 'G3' assault rifles, as well as Samopal vzor 61 'Skorpion' submachine guns, and the SSV-58 'Dragunov' sniper rifles.

Today, they had decided that they were going to get more firepower. President Al-Furalri had placed a military post where a small security detail was held. However, that would not be a problem. Not for Al-Majed.

He opened his door, and let it close heavily behind him. His military boots clanged against the wooden sandy floors, and creaked the boards of the stairs. When he reached the ground, he reached cold cement, and he opened his door. Outside, a busy Iraq city of Salah ad Din was at busy work to continue existance in this foresaken land of religion.

He took out his cellphone; it was time to attack.