Long Shot by Azad

Author:Azad [Cudi, Azad]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780802146892
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2019-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

Come late November, ahead of our planned advance on the Black School, coalition planes had been hitting ISIS’ lines for days, raining down five-hundred-pound bombs guided by our spotters on the ground. Watching the planes from below, we could feel the world coalescing behind us. A month later, after two Islamists massacred twelve journalists and staff members at the offices of the Charlie Hebdo magazine in Paris, we watched as a French female pilot screamed overhead all night, bombing ISIS in run after run. She radioed our air coordinator on the ground. ‘I am a member of the YPJ too,’ she declared.

The air strikes were devastating. One rocket could blow a hole the size of a swimming pool in a building. The detonations would send eruptions of dust and debris hundreds of metres into the sky. Even if the jihadis survived, many would be deaf, blind and numb. Even so, this remained a street war. ISIS not only held its ground, often the jihadis counter-attacked during the strikes, trying to mingle with our forces so the strikes would stop. You had to respect their courage. Hundreds of them were vaporised but they were not giving up.

Once we reckoned the jihadis had been pummelled enough from the air, our teams would advance on foot. At this stage, the strikes would become as much a risk to us. Crossing no-man’s-land on the southern front one day, five of our men and women were killed by an errant bomb. There was also no way of knowing where ISIS had set mines or hidden pockets of fighters. And now that the jihadis were in retreat, sniping was becoming one of their favoured tactics. Rather than give cover from the rear, I began to advance with commanders directing the attacks. As he or she went forward, I tried to shoot down any Islamists fleeing the bombardment or staying behind in no-man’s-land. There were always a few die-hards.

The Black School attack was no different. We set off up the hill on a dark night in late November. As we were advancing, a coalition bomb wounded three of our fighters. To my left, one of our snipers cut down three jihadis holding out in the front yard of the Black School. After suffering a few more casualties and killing some more jihadis, we took the building. I’m sure I took my share of shots and kills, but now I struggle to remember how many. For weeks it had been just steady, methodical slaughter. When I try to recall that time, what I remember most is a vague feeling of rhythmic accomplishment.

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