NORTHERN SYRIA—13:20 / 1:20 P.M. EET
Doron was on watch while Dima and Nir rested in the shade of the boulders. Although the sunshine was only occasionally blocked by the thin clouds, the temperature didn’t rise far beyond its pre-dawn low when it was near freezing. Nir was thankful for every article of clothing he wore, although ultimately it still wasn’t enough to keep from sporadically slipping into shivering fits.
So the one positive that came from the small arms fire suddenly sounding across the wilderness, pulling Nir from his half-asleep stupor, was that it kicked his adrenaline into high gear. For the first time since he left the helicopter, he was warm.
“I think it’s coming from that direction,” Doron said, pointing toward the hill that overlooked the road.
Dima scooted up next to them. “Sounds like a lot of AKs, but there are others. I would bet they’re M4s.”
“Kurds,” Nir said.
“I’m thinking so,” Doron said. “Guess they’re having a slight disagreement with one of the militias or with the Syrian army.”
It was obvious to Nir by the sound of the gunfire that the maybe-Kurds were outnumbered by the maybe-army-or-militia. “I want to go have a look.”
Doron looked at him like he was crazy. “Why? If we keep ourselves tucked away down here, there’s little chance of being discovered.”
“Maybe. But what if the fight comes this direction? Or what if a squad of AK-toting bad guys decides to go for a little off-road excursion over that hill? We’re sitting ducks. Worse, we’re blind sitting ducks because we don’t know what we’re up against. More information is better than less information.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Dima said.
“I could argue it,” Doron put in. “But that’s just because I’m contrary by nature.”
Nir laughed. “Okay, guys, yalla, let’s keep it low and tight.”
The three men left their cover and trotted toward the hill. When they got near the top, they dropped to the ground. Once they’d belly-crawled to the crest, the situation took shape below. Nir breathed a sigh of relief. Four pickup trucks definitely not army grade government issue were parked in a line on either side of the road. He’d much rather face these militia fighters than Syrian troops. He counted 16 armed men behind the cover of the trucks and surrounding rocks. Two of the trucks had Russian-made PKM machine guns mounted in the bed. Both guns had a man pulling the trigger and another reloading. Nir knew those rifles could fire 650 rounds of 7.62×54mmR per minute, which meant they could empty their hundred-round cartridge cans in just over nine seconds.
Whoever they’re firing at will get chewed up.
The ones on the receiving end of the fire were hard to make out. Nir pulled a pair of Steiner binoculars from his vest and looked down the crude road. At least three people were firing back.
“Do you recognize them?” he asked Doron, who was also looking through a pair of binoculars.
“Definitely Kurds. Trying to make out their insignia. Looks like a yellow pennant with a red star. If so, they’re the People’s Protection Unit.”
“That means they’re Democratic Union Party. Anti-Assad—”
“Depending on the day of the week,” Doron said.
He was exactly right. The belief in Israel was that, like the Palestinians, the Kurds never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity. If they would just band together, they would be a powerful force and could legitimately push for their own sovereign state. Instead, they split themselves into faction after faction—the two biggest groups the Kurdistan Democratic Party and the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan. The KDP was led by former president of the Kurdistan Region, Masoud Barzani, and was very much separatist in its leanings. The PUK was led by former Iraqi president Jalal Talabani. Many despised them, viewing them as collaborators. But these two Kurdish parties loathed each other.
This internecine conflict was the nature of much of the Middle East. In this part of the world, it was about tribes, not countries. Many of the nations didn’t even exist until after World War I. That was when the European victors divided up the former Ottoman Empire, and countries like Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Jordan were born. But no matter what lines you drew on a map, it didn’t change people’s loyalty to their tribes and territories. This group of Kurds in front of them was just another of the factions—another one of the tribal parties who would align themselves with you when your agenda fit theirs and shoot you when it didn’t. If you wanted to know why the Kurds would likely never have their own state, it was because the biggest enemies of the Kurds were the Kurds.
“Well, one thing we do know is that today they’re anti-militia,” Nir said. “And it’s looking like it will cost them their lives.”
The three men continued watching the battle. Two of the militia fell in the fight, but judging by the rate of fire, the odds were still strongly stacked against the Kurds.
“We should help them,” Dima said.
Doran responded with a quick, “It’s not our fight.”
After a few moments, Nir had decided. “I agree with Dima.” Then when Doron gave him a dubious look, he added, “Hear me out. Listen, if these militia guys come our direction, it’s three against 16 as it stands right now. Plus they’ve got those mounted PKMs. We’d be vulture food in seconds. But if we team up with our Kurdish friends, it will be 16 against us three plus at least four of them that I’ve been able to see. We’ve got them fully flanked, and with our element of surprise, our odds are a whole lot better.”
“And what if our, as you put it, Kurdish friends then come after us?”
“That would be both rude and quite unfortunate for them,” Nir said with a wink.
“I like it,” Dima said.
“Of course you do, Drago.” Doron rolled his eyes. “You get to shoot people.”
Nir said, “Doron, I really think it’s the smart play.”
“Sababa, I’m in. How do you want to do it?”
“They’ve been firing their AKs and listening to the clatter of the PKM for at least five minutes now. They’re half-deaf. Put your Galils on single shot. Let’s pick our targets and snipe them when the PKM is firing and let it cover the sound of our shots. I’ll be one, Doron two, and, Dima, you’re three. Let’s start with that group behind the far truck. The far target is one, next to him is two, then three. I’ll count five, then we shoot.”
The men all lined up the targets in their sites. It was somewhat of a long shot, but not out of any of their ranges. The PKM opened up again.
Nir counted. “One…two…three…four…five.” They depressed their triggers, and their targets dropped. None of the other militia fighters noticed the sound of their shots.
“Okay, mesquite tree is one, then boulder is two and three. Ready—one…two…three…four…five.”
Three more militia met their Maker. But this time one of the fighters saw them drop. He called out to the others, and they began looking around. The Kidon agents flattened. All firing from the militia stopped. Nir assumed it was because they were trying to find the location of the new attackers. He also noticed the gunfire from the Kurds had halted too. He hoped it was because they were advancing their position as opposed to running away.
M4 shots rang out, closer than before. There are my Kurdish chaverim.
The AKs started firing again.
“Okay, they’re obviously on to us. On five we take out the PKMs.”
“Root,” said the other two men.
“One…two…three…four…five.” They popped up to take aim, but the trucks were gone.
“Right! Right!” cried Doron. To the right, both trucks had looped around and were on their way up the hill. The three men opened fire, and the windshield of the nearest truck shattered. It swerved and began rolling sideways down the hill. The two men in the rear were thrown out. One landed in the path of the tumbling truck and was crushed. The other’s life ended due to a round from Nir’s rifle.
The second truck kept coming. The militia fighter manning the PKM pulled the trigger, and the gun started shooting out its large rounds. But the bumps from the moving truck kept his aim off. Suddenly, the front of his head exploded out their direction, and he dropped into the bed. Several rounds from Dima’s Galil found the driver, and the truck rolled to a stop.
The three men ran toward the truck and found the loader also dead in the bed.
Let’s hear it for the Kurds!
Dima and Doron jumped up into the back. Dima swiveled the machine gun around and Doron attached a new ammo box. The gun began firing, dropping fighter after fighter. Nir could see the Kurds now. There were six of them, and they were charging the militia. Soon, the last of the terrorist fighters were down.
Dima and Doron jumped out of the truck. Guns at the ready, the three made their way down to where the Kurds were looking for any threats that still existed. When they spotted the men coming toward them, they all lined up their sites on the Kidon agents.
“Drop your weapons,” their commander called out in Arabic, “or I will put bullets through your heads.”