It was the wif-wif-wif of chiffon on silk that alerted the perimeter guard to the imminent attack.
“INCOMING!”
“On Friday?” The guard was incredulous but moved to take up positions.
The rebellion had grown in strength and the State’s compound was of critical strategic importance. Attacks were a constant threat but special days were normally peaceful.
Being Friday, the streets were empty, and the rebels used this to raid the secure zone without the risk of civilian casualties. The first wave was supported with mortar fire, attempting to take out gun posts. Weighed down by their formal dress, the Rim Guard took longer to reach their posts. Which was just what was planned.
The Outer Wall was breached and sequined insurgents poured into the inner compound.
Mortars and missiles flew overhead, scattering troops, allowing the rebels to penetrate further than they had ever before. Bodies littered the grounds, jewelry was crushed underfoot as each side battled for every inch of ground.
Halfway through the attack, the rebels lost air support, the belief being that they would have penetrated the grounds enough at that stage that further mortars would kill their own people.
It was the opening the security forces needed. Regrouping, they used the advantage of home ground and began to return fire.
***
The main attack was, however, merely a diversion. At the other end of the camp, a sapper team had reached the ammo dumps. They plundered what they could carry before pulling explosives from their clutch-bags, creating a set of bombs.
Mission complete, they withdrew to detonate.
***
The force of the ammo store exploding rippled the ground and knocked troops to the floor.
Gunfire paused as the flames leapt into the night sky – a red and gold flare. The Rebels, heels breaking, scattered and hobbled away before the security team could react.
They didn’t move fast enough. Yells and cries of anger punctuated burst after burst of gun fire. Those that moved too slowly very soon didn’t move at all.
***
A lone corporal looked over the battle ground as the clean up teams were working.
Rebel bodies, clad in off the shoulder dresses, sequined ball gowns or small cocktail dresses, were being examined for anything that might identify them. In the distance he could hear the fire fighters trying to bring the blaze under control and save what ammo they could.
Corporal Ito spat into the ground and announced to whoever would listen, “These separatists, they chose today to inflict maximum damage to us and the minimum to the populace. They fight us while clinging to the same traditions we do.”
He shook his head. “Attacking on Ball Gown Friday.”
He pulled his skirt to him, turned on his heels, and walked towards the barracks, rearranging his tiara, trailing a muddy and blood soaked train behind him.
