Doomsday Warrior 12 - Death American Style - Plot & Excerpts
They kneeled before him on their prayer rugs, each unfolded out, so that two hundred squares of fabric with two hundred souls prostrate atop them filled the main quadrant of the oil tanker. “Oh, Allah, we who are about to join you in Paradise send our prayers of thanks now—that you will allow us to die in your name, in your spirit.” He bowed toward Mecca as his followers made themselves even more prone, grinding their foreheads into the rugs and the hard steel beneath. “We who are about to join you,” they all intoned as part of the sacred ritual. “We are joyous, oh Allah,” Dhul Qarnain went on, spreading his arms wide to the heavens, as far above him steel covers were sliding back, revealing the star-spattered sky like an explosion of diamonds everywhere above them. “For we shall know Paradise. We shall know the dark-eyed houris, the pomegranates falling into our hands, the cool breeze of the afternoon, the call of the dove as our music, and the nectar of the angels as our wine.
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