Rogue Forces

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.”

“Yes, sir,” the major said, “but may I recommend we fire only smoke into the Citadel? You know how some revere that place, especially in the Kurdish region. They—”

“I don’t need a history lesson from you, Major,” Ozek snapped. “Get going on that list immediately. Same procedures as before: smoke to disperse the residents and mark for accuracy, high explosive to bring down the roofs, and white phosphorus to burn the place down. Get on it.”

Just as he dismissed the artillery commander with a wave of his hand, a soldier ran up to him and saluted. “Gunship is moving into position, sir.”

“About damned time.” He went back to the command post vehicle and grabbed the radio microphone. “Resim One-Eight, this is Sican One, how do you read?”

“Loud and clear, Sican,” the pilot of the AC-130H Spectre gunship reported. “One minute to on station.”

“Show me Tango One,” Ozek said. A television monitor flared to life, showing the sensor image being transmitted from the gunship. It showed a wide-angle image of the southern part of Irbil, about eight hundred yards south of the Citadel. The sensor operator switched to narrow field of view and zoomed into an overhead view of the Irbil bazaar. He followed the main highway south along the edge of the bazaar until crossing a major avenue, then started counting buildings as he continued south. “Just south of the bakery, north of the apartment building…that’s the one,” Ozek radioed. The sensor operator had locked onto the headquarters of the Masari Bank of Kurdistan, one of the largest banks in northern Iraq…and widely known to support the PKK through money laundering, international money exchange, and collecting donations around the world.

“Resim is locked and ready, Sican,” the pilot reported. The AC-130 began a left orbit around the target, with a side-mounted heads-up display and Instrument Landing System–like director needles showing the pilot exactly where to position the plane.

“Proceed, “Ozek said, then stepped out of the command vehicle and looked to the southeast. This was his first time seeing an AC-130 attack in person…

…and he felt a little disappointed. Most AC-130 attacks take place in darkness, where the muzzle flashes of the aircraft’s 40-millimeter cannon and 105-millimeter howitzer lit up the night like nothing else. He saw the howitzer round hit and a column of smoke arch into the sky before he heard the BOOM! of the gun and the explosion on the ground, and he wished he had stayed to watch the hit on the screen—he was going to have to wait for the video replay.

He went back to the command vehicle and looked at the sensor image. Smoke still mostly obscured the view, but the bank building looked obliterated, as did parts of the bakery and apartment building facing the bank. The precision of that gunship was amazing—that shot was from over twenty thousand feet overhead!

“Looks like a good shot, Resim,” Ozek radioed. “No signs of antiaircraft response. If you’re good to go, we’ve got quite a few targets on our list. We’ll be firing some mortar rounds from our position into the north part of the city; they should be no factor for you. Let’s have a look at Tango Two.”

OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT, THE PINK PALACE, ANKARA, REPUBLIC OF TURKEY

LATER THAT EVENING

“It’s the first encounter with an Iraqi military unit,” Minister of National Defense Hasan Cizek said as he entered President Kurzat Hirsiz’s office. “Report from Tall Kayf, north of Mosul. The brigade based at Nahla has reappeared and reoccupied their base.”

“Any contact with our forces?” Hirsiz asked.

“Yes, sir. A helicopter pilot and a crewmember were injured when his aircraft was shot down by an Iraqi man-portable air defense missile.”

Hirsiz waited, but that was all Cizek had to report. “That’s it? No other casualties? What about the Iraqis?”

“No casualties, sir.”

“What did they do, throw water balloons at each other? What do you mean, no casualties?”

“They didn’t fight, sir,” Cizek said. “Our unit let the Iraqis and the American engineers who were out at their reconnaissance plane back into Nahla Air Base.”

“They let them back in? The Americans, too? I ordered that plane dismantled and brought back to Turkey! The Americans were allowed back onto the base with parts from the plane?”

“The unit commander was going to stop them, but the armored commando and the robot threatened retaliation with their weapons and from an orbiting unmanned aircraft. Then the Iraqi brigade arrived. The unit commander saw he was outnumbered and decided not to engage. The Iraqis and Americans did not engage as well. They went into the base, and the security unit went back to their posts.”

The anger Hirsiz felt at having his orders ignored quickly subsided, and he nodded. “That was probably a good decision on the commander’s part,” he said. “Send a ‘well done’ to his parent unit.”