posted on Jan, 23 2007 @ 05:53 PM
President Saddam Hussein of Iraq caused many tensions throughout the world. My grandfather said that Saddam was a terrible and throuroughly pathetic
man, a man who didn't care about life; a dastard in his best uniform. Saddam was heinous, cruel to the people of his country, even committing the
most rephrehensible crime of genecide, testing chemical and biological weapons on Kurdish men, women and children, killing thousands of those who did
wrong by being a Kurd.
In 1991, the Butcher of Baghdad launched an invasion into Kuwait; the desert storm continuing to grow more severe every minute. Saddam atacked
Kuwait's oil refineries, sparking off a war with the United States of America; the storm was now a hurricane.
American troops raced across the desert to Kuwait's aid in the beginning of Operation Desert Storm. America was a powerful, opulent country back
then, easily defeating Saddam's army and pushing them back to Iraq.
Some of the vehicles in the American arsenal were relatively quite new and quickly gained good reputations. The Humvee was proved to be quite
versatile in the environment, on road and off. The M-1 was powerful, killing the older Soviet T-72s with ease. The Apache covered ground quickly,
escorting troop-deploying Black Hawks to their destinations.
And the stealthy Nighthawk with its faceted surface went right under Saddam's nose and bombed Iraqi forces.
Desert Storm was just the beginning of something more terrifying.
I awoke from my slumber, the sun's warm rays penetrated the cellar window and refurbished my face with its clean light. I sat up and glanced out the
cellar window. The Venerator had survived the night, leaving the vanquished U-boats behind beneath the blue-grey ocean, dousing the victems of
the defeat. I heard heavy footsteps echo through the walls. My cellar door opened and a tall, burly Asian walked in, donned in a navel uniform. His
minute eyes with beady, black irises set in his fastidious sun-kissed face and his mouth was formed into a permanent frown. He set his cold eyes on me
and sternly said, "Alright, Muslim. Tell me who your leader is."
I looked up with impassive eyes eyes, dreading his insidious look and replied, :My name is Abdul. It is I who is the leader."
The Asian cuffed me and asked again, "Who is your leader?"
I answered him once more, "I am the leader."
He cuffed me once again and said, "You just can't wait to meet the captain." The Asian chuckled as he left the cellar, closing the door behind
I huddled in the corner, precariously, I closed my eyes and waited for the sun to give way to the moon; then I would plan my escape.