2:

Eastern Mosul – November, 2016

The next day, 2nd Battalion advanced into East Mosul. They were the tip of the spear. A long column of Humvees advanced through deserted farm fields at a turtle’s pace, which, to an outsider, may have looked like the Iraqi army was attempting to sneak up on the fortified city en masse. But in reality, this tactic gave mine-resistant trucks the opportunity to set off IEDs and let wily jihadis spring from hiding places and expose themselves to superior collective firepower. Heavy machine gun rounds flew off the bulletproof window of Ahmed’s Humvee. The soldier manning the turret blasted back indiscriminately.

Major Salaam’s voice came in over the radio. “Conserve your fucking ammo! It’s going to have to last all day.” A rocket-propelled grenade from a second-story window hit directly right of them. The column spread out while a tank fired a shell at the window, collapsing the building. Major Salaam spoke over radio to his soldiers spread between armored vehicles. 

“Don’t fire shells at anything that can be done with bullets. Any one of these houses could have civilians,” he added. A moment of silence. “That house fell from a Daesh bomb, right?” The unit chimed their affirmations over the radio at the Major. 

“Sure did!”

“Definitely, Daesh.”

“What house?” said Ahmed.

Ahmed’s phone rang as the column approached a wall surrounding a hamlet. “Hello darling, how are you?” He mouthed, ‘It’s Zeinab!’ to Ayman in the next seat covered in scalding shell casings. 

“Are you going into Mosul today? The news says the army is there in the East,” came Zeinab’s simple yet comforting voice. 

Ahmed raised his pupils. “Yes. But I am miles away from the fighting,” he lied. “Where are you? At home? Don’t touch my stuff, ok?”

“Shut up. Why does it sound like you’re in a tank?” She replied.

“Because we’re maneuvering around Erbil. We’re putting up berms... There’s no fighting here, darling.” 

Ahmed covered the receiver with his palm as a tank raised its barrel to fire. BOOM!

“Oh really? What town are you in now?”

“We’re in…Kalak,” he answered too slowly.  

“You don’t seem sure. Who is next to you? Let me talk to him.”

“I’m sure. I have to call you back later.” 

“Be safe! I love you. I’m always thinking of you.”

“I love you, too. Tell Karim to be a good boy.”

“It’s his birthday tomorrow!” shouted Zeinab. Ahmed hung up before a bulldozer could be heard breaking through the wall of a town. The bulldozer backed up, and the troops waited for the dust to settle. But civilians had already begun fleeing toward them. The black-clad soldiers stepped out of their vehicles to train their weapons on them, and Major Salaam shouted over a megaphone. 

“Slow down! Approach slowly, or you will be shot!” His command sounded like a Soviet officer in Stalingrad warning his troops not to retreat. “All of the men, remove your shirts or die!” They mostly did as ordered. One man didn’t seem to get the message and he continued forward with fists clenched in the air. A spurt of blood shot from the right side of his neck as he collapsed to the left. The commandos made an example of him as fleeing women began to jog again. “I said stop!” But the body detonated, as they had expected, and the explosion swallowed up the back of the crowd. Several soldiers abandoned their phalanx and ran in to hustle some women and elderly behind the vehicles, taking advantage of the gap made by the suicide bomb.  

“GUNNERS COVER THE FLANKS! ALL OF YOU SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!”

The soldiers ushered terrified civilians behind their lines.