Iraqi Intifada

Posted 13:10 GMT
Mangala spoke:

Does this look familiar? A crowd of innocents. A provocation from their midst. An exchange of fire. Many dead.

The Iraqi intifada has begun.

Problems of Empire

Posted 09:10 GMT
Mangala again left Washington and flew back again to Baghdad, like a demented commuter unable to find the proper spot. Looking down, he saw a commotion, an

Mangala spoke:

These are the problems of Empire:

You know you are good. You know you have come to build democracy and the good life for those under your care. Though armed with a gun, you want most of all to help those in need. You are a big, friendly American soldier with stories of American altruism echoing in your skull.

When faced with civilian demonstrators who wish you gone, at a place such as the conservative Sunni city of Fallujah, when you see some before you armed with AK-47s, when you come under fire, even with death at your shoulder, you turn to your sergeant and plaintively ask, "Hey Sergeant, can we shoot?", seeking a moral compass for necessity. And with permission, you fire, and 13 civilians are dead and 75 civilians are injured, among them three young boys.

Perhaps you then pause, afterward, and ask, "What happened? Why am I here?" as the spinmeisters of either side praise your restraint or call you out of control criminals who shot anyone who moved.

You ask, like Pilate, "What is truth," and you no longer think quite as much of building democracy or bringing the good life or helping those in need. You are a big, friendly American soldier, trying to get through the day, each day, with a bit of idealism intact, until no one, not even you, knows what really happened outside that school in Fallujah on a fine spring night in Iraq, nor thinks about it, nor cares.

My poor friends, thus is life: You live awhile in idealism, hopeful of memories to come, and you live a while in cynicism, unhappy with the memories you've made, and you live awhile uncaring, sustained only by memories and making new ones no more.

And then you die.

U.S. Troops Fire on Iraqi Protesters, Leaving 13 Dead, Scores Wounded

Posted 05:10 GMT
Thus it was written.

Freedom

Posted 09:11 GMT
Mangala, now back in Washington, D.C., listened intently as the squeaky voiced defense chief expounded on Iraq's future.

"You want the Iraqis to govern themselves," he said. ""f you're suggesting, how would we feel about an Iranian-type government with a few clerics running everything in the country, the answer is: That isn't going to happen"

Mangala smiled. "Ah, freedom!" the god of war and empire exclaimed. "Frank Sinatra-style. Free to do it my way. Thus has it always been with empires."

U.S. Warns Iraqis Against Claiming Authority in Void

Posted 05:11 GMT
Thus it was written.

So sorry

Posted 13:12 GMT
Mangala mused:

If the Americans, having gone to war over weapons of mass destruction, fail to find such in Iraq, must they return the country to the former regime, with a graceful note of apology accompanied by flowers?

Tea party

Posted 09:12 GMT
Mangala spoke:

Empire, like its sires war and revolution, is not a tea party. Each births an altered future screaming in pain on a high mound of broken crockery, laced with bones and flesh, watered by blood.

France proposes U.N. end sanctions against Iraq.

Posted 05:12 GMT
Thus it was written.

Martian Consequences

Posted 09:12 GMT
Now Mangala, although mainly an Earthan god of war and empire, had a deep affinity for Mars and kept up his Martian connections, past, present and future.

He left the corner of 16th and J in Washington, D.C., launched himself out of the atmosphere, streaked through space and time, and soon found himself on his planetary namesake, eavesdropping on a conversation in a small, well camouflaged ground vehicle. He knew these men--Art, Coyote, Sax and Nirgal. Once, at a time in his present's past but our present's future, he had been introduced to them by a friend, Kim Stanley Robinson, who had done so much when Mangala was but a young god to explain the truth and meaning of the planetary Mars.

In the vehicle, the four seemed to be discussing a military action of some sort.Now Mangala had a deep interest in military affairs in light of events on Earth. He bent down and listened.

"Is there a chance we'll kill these miners?" Art asked, pulling at his big whiskery jaw.

Coyote shrugged. "It might happen."

Sax shook his head back and forth vehemently.

"Not so rough with your head," Nirgal said to him.

"I agree with Sax," Art said quickly. "I mean, even setting aside moral considerations, which I don't, it's still stupid just as a practical matter. It's stupid because it makes the assumption that your enemies are weaker than you, and will do what you want if you murder a few of them. But people aren't like that. I mean, think about how it will fall out. You go down that canyon and kill a bunch of people doing their jobs, and later other people come along and find the bodies. They'll hate you forever. Even if you do take over Mars someday they'll still hate you, and do anything they can to screw things up. And that's all you will have accomplished, because they'll replace those miners quick as that."

Mangala withdrew his presence from the vehicle and pondered what he had heard. In a sudden lapse from reality, he imagined the tight-voiced defense chief he had met in Washington, friend Donald, listening to Art, somehow transported to Iraq, say, "You go up those rivers and kill a bunch of people doing their jobs, and later other people come along and find the bodies. They'll hate you forever." And in his mind's eye, Mangala could hear friend Donald reply, "Henny Penny!" and "untidiness!"

Mangala sighed. Even on the old homestead, there was really no respite from Iraq. He launched himself from the surface and headed back to Earth.

Retired general Garner arrives in Iraq to begin reconstruction

Posted 05:12 GMT
Thus it was written.

Legacy

Posted 09:18 GMT
Mangala spoke:

Oh ye rich of the Earth, ye mourn the relics and productions of scribes and artists long dead, yet ye have little time in your heart to mourn the dead.

Museums and libraries are important for what they say to those now living. Thousand made dead in but a score of days past no longer possess the consciousness, the soul, the memes to serve as vehicles of enrichment.

Truly the lost treasures of Baghdad were the legacy of all human kind. Truly each man or woman of the World lost to the violence of war is also the legacy of all human kind.

Pentagon expects long-term access to key Iraq bases

Posted 05:19 GMT
Thus it was written.

Sunnis in Iraq protest U.S. occupation

Posted 05:19 GMT
Thus it was written.

Waterpipes, sewers and profit

Posted 09:13 GMT
Mangala spoke:

It has been said, The business of America is business. Truly, it is the business of the world.

The award of a large $680 million contract to an American company to rebuild Iraq's infrastructure marks the true transition from war to peace.

When the story moves from missiles, tanks and death to waterpipes, sewers and profit, the normal has once again entered human life.

U.S. gives Bechtel a major contract in rebuilding Iraq

Posted 05:13 GMT
Thus it was written.

Power without end, Amen

Posted 09:13 GMT
Walking through the warm Washington night, cherry blossoms shining slickly in the dark, Mangala mused:

How to describe it? This event of overwhelming importance in the history of this world. How to show what the Americans have wrought?

Shock and awe, at the outset, tripped off the tongue, becoming the Shaq'n'al, a thing of monstrous threat and beauty. When it failed to produce the intended result, it became a joke, a potential trademark for a video game.

Yet the Shaq'n'al and that which followed were something new in the world. Think of this: A people now has the ability to cast terrible fire from the sky to destroy a single house, barely disturbing the structures on either side. A quiet spring day, a mild breeze, a flash, and death. A force unstoppable. Death without warning, without even a moment for dignified suffering or to make peace with one's god.

This is power on a scale wielded heretofore only by the gods, absolute, untamable power to be used without cost to the user. And if it can be wielded against the Iraqis, then how can the Koreans feel safe? Or the French? Or even Americans who dissent from the wisdom those who govern them?

Imagine a gathering of dissenters on the Washington Mall, and a government that wants them dead. One military order, one special bomb from the Shaq'n'al arsenal, and they are gone, turned to vapor, in a blink of time. The gardeners and the groundskeepers will have some work, but Lincoln's memorial will survive, intact and unharmed.

The Shaq'n'al means this:

The age of successful resistance is over.

The age of national liberation is over.

The age of revolution is over.

And, too, the ages of dissent, democracy and freedom.

What ages follow depends, largely, on the goodwill of those who govern. But be their will good or ill, it can no longer be successfully opposed by countervailing force.

Bush urges U.N. to lift sanctions on Iraq

Posted 05:13 GMT
Thus it was written.

Iraqi leaders gather under U.S. tent

Posted 05:14 GMT
Thus it was written.

Dark thoughts

Posted 09:14 GMT
Mangala strode the dark streets of Washington, D.C., the mockery of the squeaky-voiced defense chief ringing in his ears. "Henny Penny," the god of war and empire muttered. "The sky is falling. Henny Penny!"

He paused at 16th and J Street, an intersection accessible only to gods and wizards, calmed his thoughts, and spoke:

There is an arrogance to power. This comes as a surprise to none. But the nature of that arrogance is often less apparent. It is this: Power uses pessimistic means to achieve outcomes, and and insists that all within its ambit meet power with optimism. This is a form of unilateral disarmament. Power says, "I shall be effective because I anticipate the worst. You must bow, as an ineffective, because I command you to cheer my outcome with optimism and to put on a happy face. From these twin characteristics of power does much evil flow.

Major combat is over as Tikrit falls

Posted 05:14 GMT
Thus it was written.

Marines rescue seven U.S. prisoners

Posted 05:15 GMT
Thus it was written.

Eventline

Posted 05:31 GMT
Looters ransacked the National Museum of Antiquities in Baghdad, smashing irreplaceable treasures from Sumeria to the Abbasid Caliphate. "Our heritage is finished," said the museum's deputy director, Nabhal Amin. "Why did they do this? Why? Why?"

Marines advance on Hussein's home town

Posted 05:29 GMT
Thus it was written

Untidiness

Posted 13:16 GMT
Mangala judged the war was well winding down and decided to leave for a time the land between the Tigris and the Euphrates. He launched himself up into the realm known only to gods and goddesses and flew to the west, to another capital city, much smaller and quieter than that of the land he had left.

Mangala aimed at a building designed in the shape of a mystic pentagram and entered a well-appointed office, where he found himself face to face with a gray-haired man declaiming into the phone in a voice wound so tight even the god of war and empire feared that it would snap.

"Friend Donald, friend Donald," Mangala said soothingly. "Calm yourself my friend! Hang up the phone and put your cares aside."

Mangala smiled as Donald Rumsfeld hung up the phone, gaped in disbelief, and exclaimed in a voice replete with disgust, "My goodness."

"Friend Donald, thee and thy troops have done well. Think of what thee and thine have accomplished! If I am the god of war and empire, as surely I am, then ye most certainly deserve to be known as the secretary of war and empire. A step up from defense, is it not?"

Rumsfeld continued to gape.

"I have come from the valleys of the Tigris and the Euphrates, my friend, where the people are going through an orgy of looting and reprisals. What thinkest though?"

Rumsfeld made a sound of disgust before the question had been fairly asked. "Well, I think the way to think about that is that if you go from a repressive regime that has -- it's a police state, where people are murdered and imprisoned by the tens of thousands -- and then you go to something other than that -- a liberated Iraq -- that you go through a transition period. And in every country, in my adult lifetime, that's had the wonderful opportunity to do that, to move from a repressed dictatorial regime to something that's freer, we've seen in that transition period there is untidiness, and there's no question but that that's not anyone's choice."

"But friend," Mangala countered."It seemeth thou wouldst defend the acts of criminals. No rule says a people must fall to looting if the police are removed. No law in thine world or mine demands revenge and reprisals for evil done by others. My colleagues and I tossed out an eye for an eye ages ago." Mangala paused. "And what is happening looks very, very bad, akin to anarchy and lawlessness."

Another snort of disgust from Rumsfeld. "I picked up a newspaper today and I couldn't believe it. I read eight headlines that talked about chaos, violence, unrest. And it just was Henny Penny -- The sky is falling. I've never seen anything like it! And here is a country that's being liberated, here are people who are going from being repressed and held under the thumb of a vicious dictator, and they're free. And all this newspaper could do, with eight or 10 headlines, they showed a man bleeding, a civilian, who they claimed we had shot -- one thing after another. It's just unbelievable how people can take that away from what is happening in that country!"

"A narrow view, Mr. Secretary, unworthy of one who would govern others," Mangala said sadly. "With power comes responsibility and the need for wisdom. This is the first law of empire."

Turning away sadly, Mangala left the office of the gray-haired man, who was snorting and gaping still.

Rampant looting sweeps Iraq

Posted 05:16 GMT
Thus it was written.

Helter Skelter

Posted 13:16 GMT
Mangala watched the disorder between the rivers with growing disgust, turned his face toward London and Washington, and spoke in a mighty roar:

Idiots! Fools! Optimists! You thought your liberation would bring happiness and stability to Iraq. You thought all men were made in your Anglo-Saxon image.

You expected the 4th of July. You got Helter Skelter.

Fate save us all from those who fail to expect the worst!

Nasty, Brutish and Short

Posted 09:16 GMT
Mangala stretched his back--he had long been standing with one toe in the Tigris and one in the Euphrates as the Iraqis, Americans and British had worked out their common destiny and he was tiring of it all.

Glancing down he saw looters in Baghdad emerging from a hospital with heart monitors, gangs forcing their way into private homes and emerging with loot, women raped, a 16-year-old boy caught out of his neighborhood beaten to death, and Uday's prize horses galloping free down the expressway pursued by disappointed looters. Glancing down at Najaf, he saw followers of one Shiite cleric converge on two other Shiite clerics and hack them to death, putting a damper on the planned reconcilliation meeting.

Mesopotamia was becoming a bit crowded, a tourist destination of sorts, as the famous dead and still-living thinkers dropped by to see how the affray was playing out.

In the crowd Mangala picked out Richard Wrangham and Dale Peterson, whose book "Demonic Males" Mangala had read with great admiration, strolling through the country arm-in-arm with Thomas Hobbes.

"Hail, friends!", Mangala said. "A shocking scene is it not."

Wrangham and Dale looked down at the violence, and as true Boston intellectuals, formed a theory. "Species with coalitionary bonds and variable party size--let us call them the party-gang species--are wont to kill adult neighbors," they said in unison. "The underlying formula that links the deliberate killers of the world looks clear, simple, and ignominious. Killing is possible in party-gang species because it is cheap. Power corrupts. Low risk breeds assassins."

Hobbes, standing next to them, sniffed at the ignominious scene before him, and said, "Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of war, where every man is enemy to every man, the same consequent to the time wherein men live without other security than what their own strength and their own invention shall furnish them withal. In such condition there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving and removing such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."

"Friend Thomas, thou hast said it best," Mangala said. "The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."

Kurds seize oil hub in northern Iraq.

Posted 09:16 GMT
Thus it was written.

The Cusp

Posted 08:31 GMT
Mangala spoke:

O Americans, O Iraqis! Now come the difficult days. War is easy by contrast with the tasks ahead of you.

America must choose:

Are you liberators come to help then make a speedy return home, before you outstay your welcome? Are you mentors, come to stay for half a year to get things started right before waving farewell as friends? Are you an imperial conquerer, prepared to stay forever to ensure the future goes your way?

Do you seek to mold the hearts of a people, as you did in Japan and Germany? Do you seek to install a corrupt gang, as you did in Vietnam? Do you seek to make Iraq safe for American business, to make it a fast-food bastion? Are you content to leave the Iraqis to work out their destiny, true to their culture and their history?

Iraqis must choose:

Do you welcome democracy, a rarity in Dar al Islam? Do you seek an Iraqi way, different from the rest? Will you split apart in violent struggles for power? Do you seek revenge on the former lords of misrule? Do you seek revenge on your American invaders or liberators?

You must ask, Who governs, and how? You must ask, Are we capable of governing ourselves?

Friends, you are both at the cusp, the decision point from which a thousand and one futures spring. You choose in the dark, but choose you must.

Pepsi and Hamburgers

Posted 04:32 GMT
Mangala glanced left to Lebanon and saw a man in distress, sipping coffee and shaking his fist at the television.

"Friend Mohammed al-Shahhal, what troubles you," Mangala asked.

Al-Shahhal looked up at Mangala and replied, "Those who applauded the collapse of Lenin's statue for some Pepsi and hamburgers felt the hunger later on and regretted what they did."

Mangala stood silent, lost in thought.

We Are Still Here

Posted 20:19 GMT
Mangala spoke:

I hear you ask, "What is victory?", like a mob of small pilates concerned with matters less important than truth. Victory is easy to define.

For the Americans, victory means, "No one is shooting and we are still here."

For the Iraqis, victory means, "No one is shooting and we are still here."

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Hussein's Baghdad Falls

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

Change de Regime

Posted 16:19 GMT
Mangala spoke:

Death, cheers and loot. Thus it is when the future comes crashing into the past.

Dancing in the Streets

Posted 12:19 GMT

Mangala looked down at the joyful scenes in Baghdad, people dancing in the streets, looters carrying off Compaq computers and dragging the head from one of Saddam's statues through the street, and his heart filled with a deep sense of relief that the killing was almost over and peace was nearly at hand.

For a god a war knows war, knows the pain of war, knows the suffering of war, knows the evil of war however good its results.

"No more war," Mangala said happily. "Next, empire."

Nature of the World

Posted 08:29 GMT
Mangala spoke:

War is the great clarifier. It demonstrates best the nature of the Wir Auld, the realm of men and women.

Here is the nature of the world: It is a place where you can die for being in the wrong hotel or near the wrong restaurant at the wrong time by sincere people acting on the wrong information who later say, We did not target you.

Such is the nature of the world. Is that what you learned in civics class?

Authority melts in Baghhdad as U.S. forces tighten grip

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

Involvement

Posted 11:31 GMT
Mangala spoke:

War is a dangerous game, for the teams, for the spectators, for all near the field of play.

Journalists strive for non-involvement in the story, yet in war, they cannot help but be participants, because they are there. The deepest involvement in the war story is death, as reporters and photographers in the Palestine Hotel learned to their sorrow.

Be careful out there.

U.S. forces seize 2 Hussein palaces as armor reaches heart of Baghdad

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

Lamentations

Posted 11:50 GMT
Mangala sensed rather than saw a presence behind him.Wheeling around, he saw the glint of a axe, and holding it his fellow immortal Conan, newly arrived from Valhalla.

"Conan," said Mangala heartedly, if a bit nervously in the presence of the heavy weapon. "Behold this post-modern invention: humane war. They are liberating, these Americans, eliminating evil and building nations, all with great precision and kindness, as though they were gods. Such improvements over your day!"

Mangala paused thoughtfully. "Look around and tell me, Conan, what doest thou consider best about war?"

Conan rapped out an answer as though he had been asked the question many times. "Crush enemies," he said scornfully. "See them driven before you. Hear the lamentation of the women."

Mangala gaped at the legendary hero. "Conan, thou surely art a barbarian," Mangala said, and turned back to the face of humane war.

Mandate of Heaven

Posted 07:50 GMT
Mangala spoke:

Like a debate, a rally or a burning flag, battle is political speech, an argument that must be answered. The American raids into Baghdad say this: We are here, we can go to any place of our choosing at the time of our choosing, and you can do nothing about it. It is a logic the Iraqis cannot answer.

Under the emperors Chinese governance held the theory of the "mandate of Heaven". When all went well, Heaven smiled upon a regime. When all went sour--corruption, famine and failure--the mandate of Heaven had been withdrawn.

O Saddam, the mandate of Heaven hath been withdrawn from thee and thine.

It is over.

Eventline

Posted 01:40 GMT
Thus it happened: Having established a base at Baghdad's civilian airport, the Americans conducted demonstrations of force within the city, astonishing all.

U.S. tightens hold around Baghdad

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

Fallen Statues

Posted 19:16 GMT
Mangala watched as yet another group of American soldiers toppled yet another image of Great Saddam. "It is said that democracy can never be exported, but you have proven them wrong!" Mangala said, clasping his hands with glee. "Such playful boys. Know ye not that lasting revolution comes from the hearts of the people, not from the guns of outsiders? When the Iraqis were ready, they would have overthrown Saddam's icons themselves as a mark of their transition to democracy, as you did the statue of King George in New York at the outset of your own grand adventure. But you in your imperial haste have denied them the opportunity. To steal from another the opportunity to do right..." Mangala shook his head in disbelief.

U.S. troops open battle for Baghdad

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

U.S. forces put squeeze on Baghdad

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

The Rhetoritician

Posted 11:08 GMT
Mangala bent down and lowered his face into Baghdad, into the secretmost hiding place of Great Saddam.

"O Saddam," Mangala whispered. "Surely thou seest that thy day is done. Why doest thou continue in this bloody, hopeless cause?"

Saddam looked up at the God of War & Empire, and said these words:


"In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate, fight on until there are no more troubles.

"O great people, O men of our valiant armed forces, O young men of Iraq, O mujahideen, who carry the honor and trust of jihad. O glorious women in your beloved, dear Baghdad, which is glorious with its people. Peace be upon you.

"The enemy, O beloved, tries in vain to shake your steadfastness and your heroic confrontations. Therefore, they started bypassing the defenses of the armed forces around Baghdad, just as in other Iraqi cities, avoiding confrontation, or testing and avoiding us where found us strong and holding fast.

"Instead, they pass us by and drop from the air here and there, just as we have expected them to do. The landings and the movement are mostly on the roads, in small numbers of vehicles and evildoers, in a way that makes it possible for you to resist and destroy with the weapons at hand. Perhaps you remember the valiant Iraqi peasant and how he shot down an American Apache with an old weapon.

"Strike them hard. Strike them with the force of faith wherever they come near. Relying on God, the powerful, the great, resist them whenever they come close to you and trespass upon your venerable city, O people of valiant and beautiful Baghdad. Stick to your principles, your patriotism, the honor of men and women, the faith and the honor of the oath.

"O people of Baghdad and Iraq, our beloved, you are now the tower of faith and glory. You will be victorious and God willing, they will be defeated and cursed.

"God is great. Glory is to God and victory is to Iraq. God is great. Long live our nation. Long live Iraq. Long live Palestine. On to jihad. Their dead will go to Hell, and the living will be covered with shame. Our martyrs will go to Heaven, and our living will have glory and pride. The glory and the approval of God, the merciful, the compassionate, will be yours, you Iraqi men and glorious women of Baghdad and Iraq.

"God is great, God is great, and damnation to the criminals."

Mangala stared a minute, and said, "O Saddam, I can see that thou art a poor strategist, but a rhetorician of renown. If high-flown words were missiles, thou wouldst have won already." And he stood up, withdrawing his face from Baghdad, and settled down to watch the end game of this great chess match called war.

Elan and Fear

Posted 03:56 GMT
Mangala spoke:

Armies act and take their motive from elan and fear. The Coalition has known elan in its lightning thrust up the two rivers. The Republic has known fear as the invader sliced into its national body.

Now, at Baghdad's gate, each army learns its true worth.

For the Iraqis, all ambiguity has been removed: They known where the Coalition stands, they know the Coalition's goal, they know its power, and they need only to decide whether to sell their country cheap or dear.

For the Coalition, ambiguity abounds. For the mighty Republican Guards melted away, and where they stand and what their intention might be, the Coalition does not know.

Elan grows from the extremes of success and of failure, for in the end, when all is hopeless, an army discovers the inner sources of elan, discovers a willingness to fight to utter destruction.

Fear grows from the too little knowledge of the enemy's place and intentions.

Elan says, "We are at the gates of Baghdad. Victory is at hand."

Fear says, "It has been too easy. Where is the trap?"

500 Lives

Posted 03:30 GMT
Mangala spoke:

This is the magic of numbers.

One 19-year-old American soldier, a woman, rescued from captivity.

Ten Iraqi women and children shot dead by American soldiers at a checkpoint.

Five hundred Iraqi soldiers killed in an attempt to retake a bridge.

This is the gradient of numbers: From heartfelt joy too a certain sadness to indifference. The life of one young woman from one side balancing 10 women and children from the other and overbalancing by far the deaths of 500 military men.

Five hundred lives! Five hundred lives!

What are 500 lives? Five hundred women, after 500 moments of passion, investing 375 years in carrying children in the womb. Five hundred moments of pain, then happiness at 500 first cries of life.

Five hundred first steps by 1,000 small feet.

More than 10,000 years of life, 120,000 dawns and 120,000 dusks, 360,000 meals. Family, friends, anger, love, innumerable prayers to the ears of God.

One battle. Five hundred deaths.

Baghdad-bound forces pass outer defenses

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

Justice of Nations

Posted 09:55 GMT
Mangala watched the preparations for the Battle of Baghdad, great movements of men and machines, explosions and fire by day and by night. A figure stalked past, drawing Mangala's attention.

"Thomas Paine! My friend!" Mangala called. "How goest the purest heart of the best of revolutions?" Gesturing, he continued enthusiastically, "What thinkest thou of thy countrymen's great justice?"

Paine sourly surveyed the scene. "No going to law with nations," he snapped. "Cannon are the barristers of Crowns, and the sword, not of justice, but of war, decides the suit."

Jamming his hat down hard on his head, Paine nodded briskly to Mangala, and stalked off in the direction of Philadelphia.

Barristas Flee!

Posted 17:21 GMT
As the pace of action quickened south of Baghdad and battles raged near the site of old Ur, Mangala glanced to his left, toward Israel, and saw an extraordinary sight: Barristas in the Jewish State's six Starbucks, hurriedly packing cappuccino machines, coffee beans and scones, preparing to shut down operations as a result of war and lagging business. As Mangala watched, he could only think that this, perhaps, was a portent of cataclysm to come--when Starbucks pulls out, surely apocalyptic events will follow. But on further reflection, a portent of what, he was at a loss to say.

He turned his gaze back to the valleys of the Tigris and the Euphrates, which had never known a Starbucks, and whispered softly, "Soon, soon."

Forces resume Baghdad advance as Army takes on key defenders

Posted 17:00 GMT
Thus it was written.

Illogic

Posted 08:44 GMT
Mangala surveyed the battlefield, and spoke:

The pattern is clear. The Coalition with the skill of a chessmaster shapes the board to its liking, and the Republic strikes here and strikes there like a snake pinned by a hoe, without purpose and without hope.

Saddam has fallen prey to his own illogic. If he stays in place, he shall surely perish. If his army attacks south, they will surely fail and die. If he moves troops to the north and withdraws, the city will fall and his moving will attrack fire from the sky.

O Saddam, thy days are numbered. Wilt thou bring down your people in your fall, and are they foolish enough to follow you into the abyss?