“Blood can never turn into water”
Peace is not a welcome concept in Socotra. It died all too easily the first time around, when independence had ruptured the ethnic divisions of the island, leading to clashes and massacres. Peace had only returned in a halting form, a fragile tolerance, supported by shaky compromises and the acquiescence of an elite who saw in it an opportunity to retain control. It had remained a concept only half-permitted, never sanctioned.
Having never really regained life, its second death was a somewhat paltry affair. A stray demographic report had set matters aflame. It dictated that in 30 years, the plunging birthrates of the Al-Mahra ethnicity would ensure they no longer constitute a majority. It furthermore concluded that they would be replaced by the various collection of black minority groups, collectively known as the Shehras.
The report was a piece of fiction. It was filled with irregularities and erroneous figures. Its origins were traced to the website of an Al-Mahra extremist group, which had consistently railed against the ‘darkling hordes.’ Nonetheless, MPs decried it in Parliament. Its publication was broadcast from every Mahra mosque. Riots had ensued. Something must be done to prevent this calamity, the rioters had cried. The government agreed.
In truth, relations were already close to collapse. The Al-Mahra had long been the privileged group, and the original inhabitants. The Shehras were thought to descend from imported slaves, and had largely lived in the rural interior. Yet they had been slowly migrating out of the islands centre for a decade, first to the hills and finally to the coastal towns. This was the nagging terror, lurking behind every plea to order, every rioter’s chant. The Shehras were coming.
Disenfranchisement came first. Voter ID Laws placed people where they were born, not where they lived. In order to vote, the Shehras had to return along the dusty roads and goat tracks, back to their home villages deep in Socotra. For good measure, the rural regions were then gerrymandered to all hell. Yet this was not enough. The Shehras had their fill of the interior, and of repression. Protest groups mobilised, and on the week before the election day, those goat tracks saw a torrent of people pour upwards. That election saw a massive upsurge in voting for Shehras parties. Al-Mahra MPs in the interior, often descendants from feudal lords centuries back, who viewed their darskinned constituents with paternalistic affection, were unseated by clusters of acronyms, some, having been formed the week before. More surprising still, was the results around the coastal plains. It turned out that there were greater than expected Shehras minorities present here too, and they also voted. Each result meant the same thing. The Shehras were coming.
Removals came next. Forced deportations, where Shehras would be stuffed inside vans that rumbled up mountain roads. They would be deposited on hills, sometimes with beatings, and told not to come back. Violence had escalated. Some were killed rather than be removed; some were raped. Towns became ghettoised, and protests escalated. Fearing a breakdown in order, the government called in the army. But the army was not there to keep the peace. Their orders were to speed up the removals.
A batch of these orders were sent to a predominantly Shehras brigade. An administrative error had sent them to enforce order in the very same villages they were from. A soldier refused, and so the Al-Mahra Commander took him out in from of his men, and beat him. Supposedly, it was that moment that the tension, which had been slowly tightened, until it was but a single cord binding peace to Socotra, snapped. Soldiers came to the aid of their comrade, beating their commander. Civilians joined them, and quickly they formed a mob. Soon they were shooting at their old units.
More of the army mutinied over the next week. They joined Shehras militia in the hills, vestiges of old rebellions, and the first death of peace. Soon they began clashing with Mahra units. On the fear of more mutinies, the government cracked down on the remaining mixed-ethnic units — and Shehras villages besides — but this compounded the problem. Very quickly, a large rebellion had occurred, based in the uplands and armed with military equipment.
The rebels proved tenacious, and far more committed than their opponents. The army, unused for so long, was a mess. It proved no match for the highly motivated rebels. A series of mistakes followed. Government soldiers retreated to blockhouses and settlements, only to find that Shehras surrounded each, bombarding them and melting away before relief arrived. Stories of massacred garrisons pervaded, and Mahra soldiers quickly became unwilling to be posted in such isolated positions. They then began to assault the mountain fastnesses of the rebels, who now called themselves the Shehras Union. Units were expended attacking the upland fastnesses, ambushed by mortar fire and snipers as they ascended the slopes. The government moved up air squadrons to the hills, and begun the drawn out process of pounding the rebels into submission. At night, a band of rebels seized an airbase, and the helicopters within. Soon, they began flying again, this time by those pilots that had defected. The gunships found easy targets in the slow columns of trucks and apcs of the Mahra, who had expected aerial supremacy, and had no counter.
Coming under bombardment by their own airforce was a final breaking point for the Mahras. The government army collapsed, with soldiers streaming back to Mahra lands, abandoning masses of equipment. The Shehras Union followed them, first reclaiming their homelands. Then they moved in Al-Mahra territory. The rebels looted as they went, unleashing a few centuries of pent up rage. Mahra families fled before them. Those of Ehrani descent — mixed race — were targeted the most by the Shehras militias. One incident of particular note was Diabelhan. A notably tolerant town, largely removed from the political miasma of the capital. The military collapse had left it defenceless. Shehras Union forces drove up in technicals and repurposed tanks, jubilant. Survivors then recounted how they began to systematically murder the townspeople, Mahra, Ehrani, and non-rebellious Shehras, who were termed ‘race traitors.’ NGO estimates put the death toll at 4,000. Some were crushed under tank treads.
Socotra was in a state of collapse. The government at Hadibu was in meltdown. It was replaced by a military coup, the leaders of which then attempted to hold an election, only to then be overthrown again. People fleeing overloaded a cargo vessel in the harbour. Ships stopped coming close to land, anchoring offshore, their captains watching uncertainly as artillery rumbled out across the water. Shortages were reported, as was looting. Aid agencies responded with lethargy, at first unbelieving that the moderately well-off Mahra citizens could need their assistance. The government finally stabilised, under the strong leadership of President Abbas. Three days into his term, he began setting up makeshift defences around the capital (there were no resources for other regions), but it was feared that it might be too late. As the fourth week of violence ended, Shehras guns were set up over Hadibu.
This was the image that was captured. The barrels of Shehras artillery were stretched and distended over the bulbs of camera lenses, part of the sensor clusters mounted on UAVs. They relayed the scene elsewhere, until banks of vid-screens had the same facsimiled immersion, washed blue-grey and in grainy resolution. In turn they were reflected onto watching eyes, little squares of light etched into retinas. The Valarans found themselves glued to the images.
The Empire had a defence treaty with Socotra. It was made during the expansionary phase under Prime Minister Hesseren’s predecessor, when such agreements came cheaply and the Empire wanted a favourable port to dock its fleets. It seemed rather less cheap now. Hesseren was caught between his distaste of the Al-mahra government, and his obligations to protect it. Many in his party felt no obligations at all. They called for complete disengagement. Other voices were roundly for intervention, fearing massacres, or a loss of faith in Valaran guarantees. In perhaps the least surprising stance of anyone, the Foreign Ministry supported intervention.
In the end, two things decided matters. The first was the situation on the ground. Reports of the massacre at Diabelhan had filtered in. The prospect of the same occurring in Hadibu, in Qalansiyah, or across the coast made the present situation untenable. A humanitarian disaster loomed, and it would be on Hesseren’s watch. The second was Wagondia. The two nations had been in close contact over Socotra, but while the Valarans had dithered, the Wagains had acted. A task force had been readied, and now it offered a joint operation to resolve the crisis. Wagondia’s support was just what Hesseren needed to sway over the concerned voices in his Party. Its humanitarian record was impeccable (a point that could not be made for the Valaran Empire), and it gave any intervention the pure aegis of multilateralism. Hesseren’s Social Democrats may not trust the VRF to uphold the spirit of humanitarian intervention, but they could trust in the Wagains.
Task Force Maranea as the Shehras Union probed the defences of Hadibu. It had three objectives. The first was simple: to stall the Shehras advance, immediately eliminating fears of a massacre. The second was to break the rebel gains. This would facilitate Coalition forces to fill the space between the competing factions, stabilising the situation. The scene would then be made conducive to political negotiations. The pre-engagement consensus was that the Coalition had assembled a hammer to crack a nut.
It took six day of combat to force the rebels to terms. Two of those days had been aerial bombardment, forcing the Shehras Union back from the outskirts of Hadibu. The third day had seen twin amphibious landings. The Valarans had taken Qariyah, with the marines backed by a naval bombardment. This was said to have killed three dozen civilians. Meanwhile, the Wagain contingent landed Qalansiyah, an altogether cleaner operation. The fourth day had seen the VRF take the heights near to Qariyah in six hours of hard fighting. The Shehras were only driven back in the late evening, in part due to swarm of Scavard AGMs. As the fifth day ended, the Wagains had occupied Qyasoh, and the VRF were approaching Howlef, preparing to break the ring that enclosed the capital.
The Shehras Union had understood the point, delivered at the end of laser-guided munitions. They pulled back from Howlef. A ceasefire was declared. Negotiations were set up. Aid trickled in. In Astaria, the operation was declared a stunning success. Papers (for the mainstream media held considerable) ran hawkish editorials.
But peace had not been resurrected. As delegates wrangled their way around a power-sharing solution, flare ups occurred. Cattle raiding, clashes over aid shipments. The unity underpinning both groups began to fray. Shehras tribesmen and militas fought amongst each other, now armed with captured weapons and leaders with a taste for violence. The Mahra factions squabbled again, as if they were still in control. Some clashed over shares of land still under Shehras occupation, conveniently forgetting that they did not currently own it. Feuds were settled under the guise of retribution. The leaders of both sides quickly recognised that unity within their respective group could only be formed around opposition to the enemy. President Abbas was a particular proponent of this, resisting any concessions. Only a Valaran threat to remove him from Office kept him from walking away from negotiations entirely. For their part, the Shehras Union (though it seemed less unified by the day) was content to spin out negotiations, bogging down proceedings by making outrageous demands while they consolidated their positions on the ground. Abbas and his oppositie numbers fed off the provocations of the other, shoring up internal support. The whole process was stalling.
Yet for the most part, these problems were kept in private. The Valarans had a success to trumpet. It just needed a symbolic reinforcement of this victory. It was decided that a public spectacle was required, something gaudy and grand to top off the military triumph, and to distract from the absence of any achievement in the negotiations. Once that was done, the public and Parliament (and those editorials) could lose interest in the diplomatic impasse, and allow the VRF to discreetly clean up the mess it had delved into.
But in what form would this symbolic pronouncement be? It needed to demonstrate the newfound security of Socotra, the vigour of talks, the triumph of the VRF. That peace was alive, and not some corpse propped up by bayonets. The king needed a crown, so no one could point out that he was naked. Just the right of ornate drama, to set eyes and minds at ease. But what sort of event could achieve so many objectives, and sell them convincingly to those watching? Why, where was the Emperor when you needed him?
