Chapter 1869 - 1399: The Abandoned Pawn (Part 2)

He quickly wrote on a blank order form.

"Issue a sternly worded order, number... use Ministry of Defense order number 174. Title: 'Notice on the Immediate Cessation of Unauthorized Military Actions.' Content: General Samir is required to immediately stop all military actions not approved by the Ministry of Defense, withdraw all troops beyond the defensive zone, and submit a written explanation within 24 hours."

He looked up at Amir: "How stern should the tone be? Use phrases like 'otherwise face disciplinary action,' but don't specify what the action is. Vague, always vague."

"Cc the American Embassy?"

"Of course. Send it through secure channels, then have the press office 'accidentally' leak it to the Al Jazeera correspondent in Baghdad."

Fadil thought for a moment and added: "Also, have the finance department formally notify the Tenth Division that due to 'budget audit and procedure compliance checks,' military funds for this month are delayed, the specific release date 'to be notified separately.'"

Amir noted on the tablet: "If Samir disobeys..."

"He's obviously not going to obey." Fadil smiled wryly: "Do you think I'm doing this to force him to comply? But at least the Americans see that we've 'made an effort.' We've issued orders, we've halted funding, we've done everything a 'sovereign nation' should do. Whether the orders are executed... that's another matter."

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

"This is politics, Amir. Acting is more important than doing. Gesture is more important than result. As long as we are acting, posturing, no one can say we didn't try."

Meanwhile, in the capital of the Kold Autonomous Region, Elbil, at Masoud Mansion.

This stone building, constructed during the Othman period, is located in the center of the Old Town.

At this moment, only a desk lamp was lit in Masoud's private study.

The dim light illuminated a corner of the oak desk, leaving the rest in shadow.

The bookshelf was filled with books in Arabic, Kurdish, English, and even several Chinese military theory works.

Masoud sat on a high-back leather chair, slowly raised a porcelain cup, and took a sip of the warm red tea inside.

The tea was slightly hot, carrying the musk grape aroma unique to Darjeeling.

His son, Chairman Masoud of the Military Committee, stood before the desk, having just reported three urgent calls from Washington.

"The Americans are very anxious," Little Masoud said: "The first was from the Assistant Secretary of State for Middle Eastern Affairs, the second from the Deputy Director of the National Security Council, and the third... was Walter himself."

He glanced at the notes in his hand.

"Walter's exact words were: 'The long-standing friendship between the Kold Autonomous Region and the United States is built on mutual trust and support. The current event is testing this friendship. We hope Chairman Masoud can demonstrate leadership to prevent further escalation of the situation—which is in our mutual interest, including the region's future status.'"

Masoud put down the teacup, creating a faint clink against the wooden table.

"They are threatening us," his breathing grew heavy: "Threatening us with support for the independence referendum."

"Yes, Father." Little Masoud nodded in acknowledgment: "And they know what we desire most."

Old Masud remained silent.

After a while, he sighed deeply: "Song Heping saved my life. More than once. If it weren't for him during the Barzani coup, I'd already be resting in the family grave."

Little Masoud nodded: "Father, how do you plan to handle this matter?"

Old Masud stared at the lamp for a moment, then slowly spoke: "Those Americans... they say they support our right to self-determination, they support our 'legitimate demands.' But in reality? They only see us as pawns to constrain Baghdad and Tehran. When needed, they give us weapons, but when unnecessary, they sell us out. Remember when the 1515 Armed attacked Kirkuk two years ago?"

Rashid's expression turned somber: "I remember. They promised to support me in defending Kirkuk, but when the 1515 Armed advanced, they did nothing, only issued a statement condemning it verbally."

"So."

Masoud stood up and walked to the large map on the wall.

On the map, the Kold Autonomous Region is marked in green, the Mosul Region circled in red.

"Now they need us to pressure Abu You. If we don't cooperate, they'll use the independence referendum to threaten us."

He turned around, the dim desk lamp casting deep shadows on his face, the scar on his face twisting in the light, as if coming to life.

"But we didn't say we're not cooperating." Old Masud's mouth curled into a sly smile: "Son, have you called Abu You?"

"Three times, he didn't answer."

"Then keep calling. Call every ten minutes, use the encrypted satellite phone, record the call time, duration, and 'failed connection' result. Have the communications office prepare a detailed call log, format it formally, include timestamps, make it look like a serious work record."

Little Masoud seemed to understand: "Then we send this log to the Americans, showing we're 'trying to contact'?"

"Yes." Masoud returned to his desk and sat down again: "But Abu You is on the front lines, communication is difficult, that's a normal situation, right? The priority of battlefield commanders is combat, not answering calls. That's military common sense; the Americans themselves understand."

"But if they suspect we're acting..."