Chapter Twenty-eight

 

 

February 18

Hasoms

Western Syria

 

Justin wondered how much time had passed since he had seen Mustafa. The small window near the ceiling of his cell let in only a sliver of light. He stood up, walked to the window, and listened. No sounds came from outside. He had heard gunfire and engine noises about half an hour ago. But he could not be sure about the time.

He shrugged and paced around the small room. What will Mustafa do? He seemed like a logical man, who gets common sense. It’s more beneficial to him personally and to the Peshmergas’ cause in general to let me live. But if this is my end, I’m not going down without a fight.

Justin tightened his fists. His left hand throbbed, as the wound had been reopened. But he bit his lip and shrugged the pain away. Yes, Justin, you can do this. You’ll get out of this alive.

He paced the room for a few more minutes, then sat across from the door on one of the cleanest spots in the floor. Most of it had dark stains. Blood. Blood and urine, considering the stickiness and the stench. You will get through this, Justin. You will.

When the cell door opened, he drew in a deep breath. Was it time to know his fate?

“Get up, up,” shouted one of the two gunmen who entered the cell.

It was the same pair that had brought him out the first time.

Justin struggled to climb to his feet.

The other gunman lifted him by the arm.

They’re not being rough, he thought. Obeying Mustafa’s orders, or is this a good omen?

The gunmen escorted him to Mustafa’s room. The door was open a crack, and one of the gunman pushed it slowly. Mustafa was the only one in the room. Justin glanced at the window to Mustafa’s left. Plenty of daylight came in, along with shouts of joyful voices. Mustafa was sitting cross-legged. His rifle was near his right hand. A round copper tray with a teapot, two tea cups, and a small sugar bowl was set in front of him.

Justin’s heart jumped to his throat, but he tried to contain his excitement. Is . . . is this really what I think it is? My captivity is over.

“Secret Agent Hall, please join me in having some tea.” Mustafa said in a warm voice and gestured for the first gunman to remove Justin’s handcuffs.

The gunman did so, then they both stepped back, but stayed in the room.

Justin glanced at his bleeding hand. The bandage had been stripped away, and the hand was coated in sand and dirt. The handcuffs had chafed against his wrists.

“Thank you. I’m grateful for the honor. But what does this mean?” Justin said in a warm, appreciative tone as he sat across from Mustafa.

“I checked your story, Hall. It all lines up. You were telling the truth.” Mustafa reached for the teapot and poured a generous amount into Justin’s cup, then into his own. “Sugar?”

“No, thanks.”

Justin picked up the cup and held it with both hands. The strong aroma of the black tea filled his nostrils. Justin was a coffee man, but he was not about to refuse Mustafa’s hospitality. The tea was still too hot to drink, but Justin took a very small sip and waited for Mustafa to speak again.

He said, “Everyone I talked to had nothing but great words about you and your bravery. It seems you’ve done a lot to help our people and our fight.”

Justin gave Mustafa a small nod.

Mustafa continued, “But in the last battle, you allied yourself with the enemy, who, like cowards, ambushed my brothers. That act must not go unpunished.” His voice took on a grim tone.

Justin nodded again. “It was very unfortunate, tragic, an error that could have been avoided. My responsibility in those killings is minimal. I never raised my hand against your fighters.”

Mustafa offered a shrug. “That may be the case, but I have three dead men. Their families will never see their husbands, children, brothers. And I lost three great fighters.”

“I understand,” Justin said in a somber voice. “Whatever I can do to ease their pain, I will do it.”

“I’m glad you’re offering yourself, Justin.” Mustafa took a sip from his cup, then gestured with his hand toward the window. “Out there, in the fight, you didn’t do much. In fact, you just ran, like a scared dog, and never fired a shot. Now, considering what others are telling me, you’re a great fighter. Still, I haven’t seen anything to prove those claims.”

Justin thought he knew where Mustafa was heading with his line of reasoning, but decided it was better to listen until the end.

“And with my men decimated, I can’t launch the attack that was in the works. And here’s where you come in.”

Justin leaned forward. “I’m honored you’re considering me, and I’ll be glad to be of assistance.”

Mustafa gave Justin a quick flick of the wrist. “Wait until you hear about the mission before you thank me. I was planning to attack the next village, Al Zahtani. ISIS overran our forces there a week ago, pushing us back. They’re better armed, having stolen heavy weapons and tanks from the Iraqi Army and driven them across the border. They have two tanks and have positioned them at the southern entrance to the village, making our advance almost impossible.”

“Almost,” Justin said.

Mustafa grinned. “Yes, the key word. The plan was to send a small force to disable those tanks, which would open the way for a full-on assault. Now that three of my fighters are dead, you will take their place in the strike team.”

Justin nodded. “How small of a force?”

“Four men, one vehicle. Surgical strike, as you would call it. In and out.”

Justin frowned, but refrained from shaking his head. What Mustafa was demanding was next to impossible. A single shot from the tank’s main weapon would pulverize the vehicle, regardless of how well armored it was. Snipers, especially anti-materiel rifles, would also cause severe damage to a bulletproof SUV or truck. “What sniper rifles do they have?”

“Not sure, but they’re large caliber. Probably Zastavas M93 or Kovrovs, since we’ve seen those rifles when we’ve captured ISIS strongholds.”

Justin’s frown grew deeper. Those were both 12.7mm sniper rifle models, created to punch through thick walls and pierce light-armored vehicles. “And do we have those rifles?”

“We do, yes, and of course you can use them. But the winning element in this mission is the surprise. Get to the tanks, blow them up, come back.”

“Yes, very easy,” Justin said in a sarcastic voice.

Mustafa shrugged. “My fighters were going to attempt it tonight, during the Ishaa, the evening-time prayer. You’re not saying you’re afraid?” His voice rang with a blend of disappointment and scorn.

“I neither said nor implied such a thing. It’s an extremely difficult op, for sure, but if Peshmergas are going to do it, I’ll join their ranks.”

Mustafa gave Justin a small smile. “That’s great. Since you’re praised for your skills, I want you to lead the team. Come up with a plan and get ready to move out soon.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You have a couple of hours at the most to make preparations.”

Justin nodded and sipped his tea. “That will be enough.”

“Once you’ve taken care of this and come back, if you come back, there’s still the matter of compensation for the fighters’ families.”

“Yes, we’ll take care of that as well.”

“Great. Now may God guide you and the other fighters. Inch’Allah.” If God wills.

“Yes, if God wills it.”

Justin drew in a deep breath. Yes, we will need God’s hand in this operation. We’ll give it all we’ve got.