Constantinople
_____________________________
Admiral Muhittin attempted to conceal a smile as he walked up the gang plank onto his ship The Avnillah. How could he help smiling? Cheers of hundreds of citizens emanated behind him as he boarded the most modern ship in the Ottoman Navy, and it was his ship. But finally, he thought, the time to honor his country and Allah was here. Islam and the Empire would not and could not die out in this time of modernity.
After absorbing the cheers of the crowd for a few minutes, he turned to his chief engineer, telling him to begin the steam engines to depart. Him and his fleet would be ready and in position at the outbreak of the war. As the steam began to rise, he turned and headed into his quarters.
He scanned his orders again, although he had already read and memorized them. He was to clear out the Suez Canal of the Italian infidels. The idea that they now controlled Egypt, a Muslim land, petrified him. He would be able to assist in the changing of that, however.
After reading several passages from the Qur’an, he rose to the main deck where he observed the grand spectacle of Constantinople.
He truly felt a sense of glory seeing hundreds of vessels chugging along the sea, with the Hagia Sophia looming up on the skyline. How could anyone resist a power such as this? It was during a moment like that when he felt he could tackle the royal navy. One of his favorite officers, Yusaf Sinan, approached him and revealed similar thoughts when he said “the Italians are going to be absolutely thrashed.”
“That is just what I was thinking, my friend.”
“I will not rest until that plight is eliminated from Misir*.”
Egypt had been owned by the Italians a good decade or two, and from what Muhittin had read the Arabs there were being unrightfully and cruelly oppressed.
“We should have never allowed those Christians to lay a foot on that land, we should have crushed them before they even got there” exclaimed the Admiral.
“I would have to agree. It is a disgrace, an absolute disgrace.”
“They did actually deploy us though, I was stationed in the red sea. Oh I was so anxious to fight, but the Sultan never gave the command to fight. I’m telling you, it would be a different world today had he just allowed us that war. Now I would like to talk longer, my friend” added the Admiral, glancing at his watch, “but I have some matters to attend to.”
“Understood, sir” saluted the officer.
It was this versatility between talking as an old family friend and as a sailor of inferior rank that made Muhittin admire him so much.
Over the next few days as they neared the Canal, Muhittin drilled his crew rigorously. Calling his crew to battle stations at odd hours in the morning, and when the circumstances allowed, drilling the gun crews, he felt confident.
He received a letter from the past evening as he was approaching the Suez that, despite international law, the Italians were warning against any Austrian or Ottoman ships entering the Canal, saying it was an intrusion into the Italian Empire. "Damn them" he muttered, infuriated by the letter, although soon relieved reading, “But the Sultan has agreed with the Monarchy of Austria-Hungary that you are to proceed through, and fire if fired upon.”
Had Muhittin not been a high ranking officer in the Navy, he would have screamed with joy. Instead he just smiled, ordered the crew to redirect the ship to a more direct course, and leading the fleet, war in her grasp, the Avnillah sped towards the canal.
Egypt
_____________________________________
The prison train began to speed southward as its pistons sprung into action. Shackled at his legs and hands, Kareem sat seemingly helpless, staring out the tiny barred window at the setting sun. The man he had been subjected to share a cell with was trembling and soon burst out into tears.
“Your crying only strengthens them, you know” stated Kareem, still staring out the window.
The man looked up, a confused expression on his face. “You don’t seem to understand, we are going to die! By this time tomorrow we will hang, picked on by the vultures!” At this he began to cry even more.
“If that does come around, you will be within the warm embrace of Allah” began Kareem, “but if I can do anything about that we will be out of here by tonight. What are you here for?”
The man appeared interested, then explained, “only a robbery, my family has been very poor. Ever since the Italians moved in they robbed me of my land to build a bastion of cement. I began robbing what we needed from the bastard I began to work for. They caught me, and I was locked up a few weeks before being sent here. I am ruined” he exclaimed as he once again burst out into tears.
“Be you a man? Stop crying, it insults our dignity. I have been on this train 3 times before.”
The confused man seemed annoyed, saying “you lie, I am no imbecile. This takes you to be killed. There is no return from here!”
“Exactly”, reposted Kareem, after looking around to make sure no guards were watching. “I have a lock pick in my hair. When I bend down behind you feel for it and take it out. Then give it to me.”
The prisoner looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eye. “But what if?”
“Do you ever want to see your family again? Or do you want to remain on the path that only leads to death?”
After a pause he responded, “Ok ok, bend down, ill do it.”
With the pick in the hands of Kareem, he was quickly and silently able to unshackle both of them, but he warned they must keep them on unlocked, as not to make it noticeable. He began to mutter the plan to his cellmate, who now seemed rather enthusiastic about the affair.
Their hearts beat quickly as the guard walked by, and Kareem slowly got up. As the guard turned to feed the man in the cot across from the two, Kareem sprung into action wrapping his handcuffs around the mans neck and pulling towards the cell. The prisoner, doing as instructed, grabbed the mans gun and then wrist, which the key ring was attached to. Fumbling through, he found the number of their own cell, and unlocked it as the guard let out his last attempt at breath.
Kareem picked up the gun and the two men bolted towards the door.
“Due hanno scapare” screamed another guard, who Kareem quickly lodged two bullets into.
Kareem slammed the door open and jumped out, a shot echoing in his ear. He rolled on the ground as he noted his fellow fell out less gracefully. A few shots were fired from the train, but it continued on, until out of sight. I guess the conductor wasn’t aware, afterall we were close to the back, thought the fugitive as he walked to his comrade.
“You did well, for your fir”, Kareem stopped short. He had noticed the two neat red spots slowly expanding on the mans white tunic. Kareem said a little prayer, thinking its better just one of us departed, rather than both.
At that, he set off north, keeping a reasonable distance from the tracks, ready to return to his old ways of life.
Beirut
_____________________
The squat Arab began to pour the wine into Massimo’s cup slowly and deliberately, allowing it to hit the side of the glass and slide down. “This is one of my personal favorites, the Marquis Des Beys,” explained the seller, “It is grown at a Vineyard known as Domaine Des Tourelles.” After pouring just a very small bit, he stood back, and placing his hands behind his back, watched Signor Massimo.
First the Italian merchant observed it carefully. The color was satisfactory he thought, better then most he had ever purchased from the area. He leaned it over the white table clothe, and nodding in approval added “aged in oak, correct?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
The Connoisseur nodded and then began to swirl the cup, observing the legs, which took a long enough time to recede. He carried on by sniffing the wine. It had a pleasant Bouquet, the aroma was very fruity and integrated surprisingly well. He took the first sip, swirling it in his mouth. From what he could tell so far it was actually a very good wine, although he dared not allow his face to show it. After the second sip he nodded his head, careful not to show too much satisfaction for fear of a price raise.
“Well sir, I think we have a deal. I will take the 10 crates.”
“Excellent, excellent Signore” exclaimed the Arab as he rushed forward to shake his client’s hand. “I hope we can do some business in the future.”
“Oh I am sure I will be back, thank you. Have it loaded onto my boat by sunrise.”
The Next Day
On board La Venta Seconda, Massimo began to unscrew a bottle of wine for his officers. Captain of one of the Mediterranean’s larger clippers, he was renown in Napoli and Roma for his excellent wine, olive and date imports from the eastern Mediterranean. As the last traces of Lebanon disappeared along with the sun, he began to serve the wine along with the fish that the upper class of his ship were privileged to enjoy.
“To a safe return” cheered Massimo.
“And to the money that comes with it!”
Soon they were all immersed with playing dice and drinking the fine wines that were found in great abundance on board the ship. After much drinking Massimo erupted into song, singing La Marcia Reale. He was soon falling asleep as he slurred the last words “Vival’italia. Viva Il re! Vivail re!”
None of the officers or crew had taken any notice of the light that was silently and slowly following the clipper.
*Egypt
