Free Gift of Revelation by Robert Fleming Page A

resounding military lockstep. One more rock followed that one, and then another and another. Soon the young demonstrators were hurling bottles from all directions at the security forces, shattering glass on top of the vehicles and sending shards into the men cowering behind open doors. Elsa pulled me by the arm and yelled that this was a repeat of the clash at the University of Khartoum, when students faced off against the police and National Security and Intelligence Service officers. The noise was deafening. There were screams, shouts, shrieks, loud whistles, and pounding on pans.
    â€œThe government will not ask you again!” shouted the man with the bullhorn. “This is unlawful assembly. Leave! Leave! What is this going to accomplish? Nothing!”
    In a few minutes, a sixth of the protesters had fallen, and now the battle lines were drawn. The soldiers stepped over the dead and the wounded, slashing their batons at the men and women, who retreated as fast as they could. On the sidewalks, several of the soldiers charged into the crowd, smashing bodies with their reinforced batons, clubbing them with their weapons, stomping on and kicking the fallen between cars. I smelled the harsh odor of tear gas as three of the soldiers stepped forward and fired rubber bullets at the throng, knocking the marchers to the ground, injuring them in the face, neck, and stomach. Screaming at the soldiers, a few of the brave dragged the injured into the center of the crowd of protesters, where they tended to their wounds. From there they took the injured to cars on the edges of the protest.
    â€œDid you see that soldier kick the woman while she was crawling?” Elsa said above the roar of the angry crowd. “Things are really getting out of control!”
    A group of protesters smashed windows in the buildings on the street, while others turned over several cars and torched them with kerosene. Elsa pointed out the people who belonged to the opposition party known as the Umma Party, adding that the soldiers were targeting them with a shower of rubber bullets and directing more tear gas into that area. An officer waved to the thugs in the trucks and sent them storming into the crowd of protesters, who resisted them with fists against clubs but then relented given the sheer number and the violence of the troops. They punished the protesters, the clergy, the reporters, the cameramen, and the photographers alike. Watching the marchers drop one after another made me tremble with fear. Everybody was fair game.
    â€œThey’re smashing the cell phones of the kids so they will not post videos on Facebook,” Elsa said during a brief lull in the action. “They do not want news of the government’s harsh treatment of these people to get out to the world. This is happening here and in seven other cities in the country.”
    There was total bedlam. The soldiers who had been behind the trucks and armed cars were now chasing down the marchers, beating them where they stood or where they were hiding between buildings or cars. With rifles drawn, they ordered a number of the protesters to their knees and told them to put their hands behind their backs. Some of the other protesters tackled the soldiers to prevent the arrested men and women from being loaded into the trucks. The soldiers retaliated by yanking women by their hair, slamming them into the sides of the vehicles, punching them in the face until they were bloodied, and throwing them cruelly onto the concrete. The men and boys suffered an even harsher punishment. More rocks and bottles sailed through the air, and chants of “No high prices” and “No corruption” rang out, as young and old, their voices hoarse, demanded justice.
    Behind us, tires burned and more tear gas bellowed up from amid the protesters. More reinforcements for the government arrived, the frenzied bloodletting suddenly went up a notch, The soldiers cornered terrified running bodies