Chapter 1794 - 1373: Civilians

The soldiers of the government army's special operations company opened fire.

PKM machine guns, AK-47 rifles, RPG rockets...

The firepower instantly covered the group.

The dozen people at the front fell instantly.

There were civilians and armed militants.

Blood splattered on the ruins, and screams pierced the morning air.

"Ceasefire! Ceasefire!"

Mahmoud shouted over the radio channel, "There are civilians!"

But it was too late.

The gunfire was too dense, his voice drowned out.

Moreover, once firing starts, it's hard to stop.

Government army soldiers saw people fall, others still moving, and continued shooting.

Civilians began to scatter and flee, but bullets came from all directions.

A woman holding a child was struck by machine gun fire, both falling together. An elderly man raised his hands to surrender, but was hit in the chest by a bullet.

Children cried out searching for their parents, but the parents might already be dead.

Finally, someone realized there were innocent civilians ahead.

"Ceasefire! There are civilians!"

The commander of the government army's special company urgently ordered his soldiers to stop firing.

The sounds of gunfire gradually subsided.

But the 1515 armed militants seized the opportunity, mingling with the civilians to begin their counterattack.

They used the civilians as cover to shoot at government army positions.

A few bullets hit the walls of the textile factory, one penetrating a window and hitting a mercenary's shoulder.

"We can't shoot! We're suppressed!" the government army's platoon leader shouted over the radio, "We need support!"

Mahmoud was so anxious he was grinding his teeth.

They had killed civilians, and now, hesitant to act rashly, they were completely suppressed by the 1515 militants, and casualties were rapidly increasing.

"Sniper teams!" Mahmoud ordered, "Eliminate the militants, but only shoot confirmed targets. Absolutely no civilian casualties."

The two sniper teams from the mercenary camp quickly moved into action.

They weren't using regular sniper rifles, but highly precise International AXMCs with .338 Lapua Magnum calibers, with an effective range of fifteen hundred meters.

Bang—

The first shot.

A 1515 gunman hiding behind a woman was shot in the head and fell.

Bang—

The second shot.

Another RPG launcher using a child as a cover was hit in the chest.

The snipers were cautious, only targeting the most threatening figures.

But the battlefield was too chaotic, with civilians and militants mixed together, often indistinguishable.

Moreover, the 1515 militants were also learning.

Seeing their companions being precisely shot, they knew there were snipers present.

So they clung even closer to the civilians, even grabbing civilians to shield themselves.

The government army had already suffered heavy casualties.

A platoon of thirty-two, twelve already down, the rest suppressed by fire unable to lift their heads.

"Retreat!" the platoon leader finally ordered, "Retreat to the textile factory!"

The survivors began to retreat, but the retreat process was even more dangerous.

They were exposed in the open, becoming live targets.

Four more were hit during the retreat.

Finally, only sixteen made it back to the textile factory, six of whom were wounded.

Civilian casualties were also severe.

The remaining government army soldiers either hid back in the basement or lay in the ruins too scared to move.

The first contact on the southern line ended in failure.

Mahmoud's face turned ashen.

He looked at the scene through binoculars, grinding his molars to dust.

Bodies everywhere, blood flowing, buildings burning.

Civilian bodies mixed with soldier bodies, indistinguishable from one another.

"Report to command," he communicated to his superiors via encrypted radio: "South line encountered civilian shields, government army special platoon's misfire caused significant civilian casualties. Our losses: sixteen government army killed, ten wounded; civilian casualties estimated over a hundred. Requesting further instructions."

He paused, then added, "Recommend changing tactics. Forceful assault will result in more civilian casualties."

The radio was silent for a few seconds.

Then Song Heping's voice came through, eerily calm, "Command received. South line pause attack, switch to monitoring and interception. Repeat, pause attack. I will coordinate other directions."

"Understood."

Mahmoud put down the radio, leaning against the broken wall.

He looked at the hellish scene outside, clenching his fists, his nails biting into his flesh.

War, dirtier and more brutal than he imagined.

In the center of Tikrit City, inside an underground command post.

Abu Omar al-Zakawi, though not his real name, he liked this name, after his spiritual mentor.

Sitting in the dim basement, listening to the explosions above.

He was the highest commander of 1515 in Tikrit, responsible for the city's defense.

Two years ago, he and his accomplices captured here, slaughtered all the "heretics" who refused to convert, turning it into a stronghold of the "Caliphate" in northwest Iraq.

Now, retribution had come.

"East line, enemy tanks have entered the city, clearing out the outer districts."

A subordinate reported to him, voice trembling.

"West line, the first breakout attempt failed, losing over two hundred men. North line, the Kurd people have established a bridgehead, advancing towards the city center. South line... the south line is quiet for now, but our civilian shield tactic succeeded, the enemy stopped the attack."

Zakavi sneered.

Civilian shield tactic?

That was his trump card long prepared.

He knew these "Crusaders" and their lackeys wouldn't dare massacre civilians, so he would use civilians' blood to stall them.

"How many people do we have left?" he asked.

"Those capable of fighting... about ten thousand," the subordinate said, "But ammunition is plentiful, the tunnel system intact, every district has snipers and IEDs. We can hold out for at least a month."