Acts of War

FORTY-ONE

Mahmoud was gently nudged awake after having slept for over two hours. He opened his eyes and squinted into a dark face framed by a cerulean sky.

"The soldiers are near," said Majeed Ghaderi. "They are coming, just as Hamid said they would."

"Allah be praised," Mahmoud replied. He took a moment to stretch on his grassy bed, then climbed to his feet. He wasn't rested, but the nap had been enough to take the edge off his exhaustion. Retrieving his canteen, he turned his face up and spilled water on his eyes. He rubbed it in vigorously and looked at Majeed.

Majeed was Walid's cousin and had been his devoted aide. He had been instructed not to wake Mahmoud until it was almost time to attack. The teenager had been quiet during the ride through the mountain pass, and his eyes were still red from crying for his dead cousin. But now that the moment was at hand, there was strength in those eyes and eagerness in his voice. Mahmoud was proud of the boy.

"Let's go," said Mahmoud.

Mahmoud followed Majeed. They crossed ruts cut by melting snows and backed carefully around large boulders to the PKK position.

There were fourteen Kurdish sharpshooters deployed in the low peaks. A radio had been placed beside a rock below. A campfire had been built and snuffed. The Syrians would spot those. Then, following regulations, they would leave their Jeeps and crouch behind them. They would set up a covering fire, and one soldier would walk ahead to examine the site. And they would find themselves in a lethal cross fire from fifty feet above. The Syrians covering the peaks would be taken out first. By the time the others shifted their fire to above, they would be dead. As many of the Syrians as possible would be shot in the head. Hopefully, their uniforms would not be stained with blood. The Kurds needed ten of them.

Mahmoud joined the others. They watched as the Jeeps moved in. They raised their weapons. They waited until the soldiers had climbed out and taken their positions. When Mahmoud nodded, they raised their rifles. When he nodded a second time, they fired.

Many of the Kurds on the cliff hunted wild turkey, boar, and rabbit to feed their families. And because bullets were scarce, all of them were accustomed to hitting their targets on the first shot. The first volley involved ten Kurds firing at the soldiers closest to the foothills, including the soldier who had gone to examine the campsite. Nine of the Syrians died instantly. A tenth was wearing a helmet. He took two shots to the throat before he went down. The remaining Syrians looked up. They froze for the moment it took them to spot the gunmen. In that moment the remaining Kurds opened fire. The rest of the Syrians went down.

Pistol drawn, Mahmoud led a contingent of Kurds down the hill. All of the Syrians were dead. Mahmoud waved to the others in the foothills, and they hurried down. Ten bodies were stripped, and then all of the dead were piled into one Jeep. Dressed as Syrian Army regulars, ten of the Kurds climbed into the remaining two Jeeps. As the rest of the team covered up all signs of the encounter, Mahmoud brushed dirt from his colonel's stripes and led his team through the arid plain.

Because Turkey and Syria had both closed their borders to tourists and travelers, the M1 highway was relatively deserted. Upon reaching the modern road, Mahmoud and his party of nine turned south for the twenty-five-minute ride to Damascus and the end of over eighty years of suffering.