This organized pause...
He shifted his gaze, looking toward the interior of the brick factory.
Most of the Kurdish soldiers had let down their guard; some were inspecting the plant area, others were chatting, with only a few sentries keeping watch.
"Idiots," Rosenberg muttered under his breath.
He was about to call out a warning again when things took a sudden turn.
07:20, inside the brick factory.
The first to notice the anomaly was a Kurdish machine gun crew stationed at the southern raw material yard of the brick factory.
They were operating a PKM, positioned in a half-collapsed brick shed.
The young shooter was Kareem, nineteen years old.
He was idly fiddling with the scope when he suddenly saw something move in the direction of the old kiln across the yard.
He squinted.
The kiln had been abandoned for years, its door damaged, the inside a pitch-black cavern.
Another movement.
