Lifting the tarpaulin flap that hung over the back of the truck, he leaned out and looked skyward. Then, using his left hand to shield his eye from drivers of the trucks behind, Shahim unsheathed his laser and locked on to the satellite ranging unseen, far, far above them. The tight beam connected with the orbiting platform and he opened a direct channel to the AI. Providing a carefully edited version of his activities over the last twenty-four hours, he informed the AI and thus the Council that he was travelling with the warriors to make sure that they did not go too far. He posited, quite truthfully, that it would be very damaging to his credibility within the insurgent force for him to suggest that they not retaliate against the Pakistani army, and by instead assuming a leadership role in said attack he would be in a position to stop the soldiers before they became too emboldened, while also reinforcing his own reputation.

This was, after all, a natural consequence of what the Council had planned for him, he assured the AI. He would allow the rebels to break into the army base, even helping them to penetrate the base’s defenses, but he would stop them from getting hold of any of the serious weaponry. It would be just enough to give the insurgents the confidence that they would need to do it for real when it better suited the Council’s purposes.

Message sent, he pulled the awning back down and walked back up to the front of the truck’s flatbed.

The AI’s continued tracking of the convoy told him that there were two checkpoints between them and their destination. Time to run interference for his small force, thought Shahim. He had gathered over 450 men, but there were over five thousand stationed at the base fifteen miles down the road. He could even the odds for them, but he could not afford to have his force waste its momentum on small firefights at pointless checkpoints.

“Tell the driver to pull over!” he bellowed over the noise of the grumbling diesel. The message was passed and the truck duly pulled to the side, its fourteen fellow convoy-mates forming up in a long idling line behind it amidst the dust and diesel fumes.

Shahim jumped down from his truck, noting who followed him from amongst the fighters in his lead vehicle. Good, these brave souls would be his vanguard. Turning, he saw two junior leaders running up from trucks back down the trail. In the confusion after the devastating attack in Afghanistan only thirty-six hours ago, he had made sure his was the strongest voice. He was their proxy leader now. And he was shepherding them toward the fight of their lives.

The first of his new generals approached, asking, “What is it, Al Khazar? Why have we stopped?”