Rogue Forces

“This is not the time or place for an argument, guys,” Whack said. “Why don’t we take this back to the base? It’s almost dinnertime, if I’m not mistaken. Why don’t we all sit down, have a meal, and take a load off?”

IRBIL, IRAQ

THAT SAME TIME

“Where’s my damned air?” General Besir Ozek shouted. “They’re ten minutes late!” He grabbed the microphone out of the communications officer’s hand. “Resim, this is Sican One. Your squadron had better get their shit together or I’m coming back up there to kick your ass!”

Ozek was in the cab of an ACV-300 command post vehicle, part of headquarters company of Third Division, which was smashing through eastern Iraq. Ozek’s forces were ordered to proceed only as far as Irbil Northwest Airport, seize it for resupply and to cut off trade and commerce to the Kurdistan capital, and hold, but he had ordered a mechanized infantry battalion to proceed to the outskirts of the city itself.

The battalion had established a security perimeter in a large area that had been cleared of older buildings to make room for newer high-rise housing, northwest of the city itself. He had good visibility all around him for any signs of counterattack from peshmerga, PKK, regular Iraqi forces, or the Americans; so far none of those fighting organizations had meaningfully threatened his army, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The peshmerga was the biggest threat. Reports differed as to the size of the peshmerga, but even the most optimistic estimate made them twice as large as the four divisions Ozek had at his command, and they had some armor as well.

And there had been reports of growing resistance in Iraq. Like good rats, the PKK was deep in hiding, of course, but the Americans were starting to become restless, and the Iraqi units that had mysteriously disappeared right before the invasion were starting to pop up. Ozek had heard some reports of contact with American and Iraqi forces near Mosul, but no word on any casualties so far.

Ozek picked the area for other reasons as well: he was just north of Sami Abdul Rahman Park, a memorial park for a slain Kurdistan Regional Government official and PKK sympathizer; he was also well within mortar range of the parliament building of the Kurdistan Regional Government, so the Kurdish politicians should be able to get a good look at his army advancing on their city.

Ozek exited the command post vehicle and shouted, “Major!” A very young-looking infantry major stepped quickly over to him. “Our air is late, so you’ll have to continue for a few more minutes.”

“We’ve dropped on every target in the list, sir,” the battalion commander said. “We’ve reattacked the top ten on the list.”

Ozek pulled a slip of paper out of his jacket. “I made up a new list. The defense ministry was talking about targeting businesses in Irbil that support the PKK…well, until they give me the official go-ahead, I found a bunch of them myself. Those are their addresses. Find them on the map and drop.”

The major studied the list, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, sir, this address is inside the Citadel.”

“I know that,” Ozek said. “It’s a bazaar that has shops owned by some of the same guys we’ve already been bombarding. Why should they be left out?”

“But it’s inside the Citadel, sir,” the major repeated. The Citadel of Irbil was an ancient stone wall in the center of the city encircling the archaeological ruins of the original city, which dated back to 2300 B.C. Although the city had been occupied by many nations over the centuries, the Citadel had been considered sacred ground to all of them, and some sections of it were a thousand years old. “What if we hit the archaeological sites?”

“I’m not worried about a few mud huts and cart paths,” Ozek said. “I can look out there and see a Kurdistan flag flying from inside that place, so I know the PKK hides out there. I want those shops brought down. Do it.”

“With respect, sir,” he major said, “our job is to root out the PKK. They may run and hide in the cities, but they don’t live in Irbil. Our scouts and counterintelligence units tell us the peshmerga have been shadowing us, but they haven’t dared make contact. We shouldn’t give them a reason to do so. We’ve already shelled targets in the city; bombing the Citadel might be the last straw.”

“I understand you are afraid of the peshmerga, Major,” Ozek said. “I’ve encountered them more than once in my career in the border areas. They are good in the mountains and the outback, but they are nothing but glorified guerrilla fighters. They’re not going to come after a regular army unit in a frontal assault. They have never fought as anything other than tribal enforcers. They’re just as likely to fight each other as us. In fact, I would welcome the chance to get a few of their battalions to engage us—destroy a few of their braver units, and the whole Kurdistan conglomeration might fold once and for all.”