That October dawn, the Hamas lad with the RPG already knew that it was going to be a special day. Had his unit of the Qassam Brigade not been practising for months to invade southern Israel and kill those Jewish pigs? But until these early hours, his leaders had not known that Allah had arranged a glorious bounty in reward for their piety. Only as the sun rose did they become aware that a music festival had started in the very middle of their assault-zone. Did this not prove that they were doing His very will? Paradise awaited them all, with 72 virgins each. Was it possible that he might even kill a festival Virgin, only to find her warmly awaiting him when his own time came? Why not? Did Allah not in Paradise bless a martyr’s service with delights unknown to the faithful on this earth?
His Toyota Land cruiser burst through the flimsy boundary wire-fence between Gaza and the land of the pigs of Zion as the horizontal rays of the morning sun glittered goldenly on the sloping sides of the festival tents. The heathen music could be heard thumping over the throaty roar of the boy’s Toyota diesel. Overhead, volleys of Hamas rockets were streaking towards their targets far beyond the the revelers. His RPG launcher was warm against his resting fingers, its baseplate rattling on the pickup’s floor.
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