Ibrahim Al-Haj stood in the back of the armed pickup truck, holding an AK-47 assault rifle equipped with an EO 552 sight in his right hand, and a radio in his left hand, his eyes under the black mask fixed on the silhouette of Isriye emerging on the horizon.
"Falcon! Falcon! This is 'Sandstorm', do you hear me?"
The radio was filled with static, with no response.
"Damn it!" Ibrahim kicked the truck's metal body hard, the sound of the clash particularly piercing in the hot air.
His second-in-command, a big-bearded man with a face full of scars, came over and said in a low voice, "Master Ibrahim, Falcon Squad has been out of contact for over an hour, they might..."
"Shut up!"
Ibrahim turned his head abruptly, a flash of furious fire in his bloodshot eyes.
"They're fine! The government forces in Isriye ran away long ago; those spineless dogs wouldn't dare resist!"
At this time, corpses appeared on both sides of the dirt road.
