Chapter 2218 - 888: Peace Bridge? (Part 4)

He turned around and looked at the adjutant. "Tell the Leader, the Turks are retreating. The Syrians are fighting. Assad is still alive."

Mexico City, on the top floor of the "Feathered Serpent Temple"

Victor looked at the battle report that had just arrived.

The 4th Armored Division counterattacked, the Turks' first line of defense was breached, and the front line command post was taken out. The Turkish fleet is retreating north. Assad is still alive.

He put down the battle report. Bramo stood in front of him, holding another piece of intelligence.

"Bennett's people sent back from Damascus. Before Assad left, he locked the complete list number 317 into the safe at the Presidential Palace. The key was given to the Minister of Defense. He said: 'If I don't come back, give this to Lieutenant Alvarez. Tell him, the Syrians won't forget.'"

Victor stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the traffic on Paseo de la Reforma had thinned. The sun was setting, casting a golden light on the entire street.

"Tell Bennett to make that list public. Not now. Wait until Assad is dead. When he's dead, the whole world will know how many people he killed. When he's dead, those holding up his photos won't be holding them anymore. When he's dead, Syria can live."

He turned around and looked at Bramo. "Tell Lieutenant Alvarez, don't withdraw the coffee stall on the bridge. Brew a pot of coffee every day, place it on the table. Whoever comes, drinks. If a Syrian comes, serve Syrians; if a Turk comes, serve Turks. If a Mexican comes, serve yourself a cup as well."

He paused. "Tell General Morales, don't withdraw the fleet. Stay outside Haifa Port. Wait. Wait for Assad to die, wait for Syria to fall into chaos, wait for the Turks to tire of fighting. When it's time for someone to clean up, we'll come out."

Aleppo, Northern Suburbs battlefield

It was getting dark.

Maher's tank stopped by a dry riverbed, opposite the Turks' second line of defense. Trenches, barbed wire, anti-tank missile sites, and at least twenty tanks. Cannons aimed in his direction.

"General, not many shells left. Less than five per vehicle."

Maher poked his head out of the turret, looking at the opposite bank. The Turkish positions were very quiet, no gunfire, no artillery fire, only the sound of the wind.

"They're waiting for dawn."

The adjutant stood beside him. "So, do we wait too?"

Maher shook his head. "No. When it's dark, they can't see. We'll sneak up for close combat. Up close, their missiles can't hit us. Up close, our shells can be traded one for one."

He jumped off the tank, crouching by the river, looking at the opposite bank.

"Tell the brothers, get ready to cross the river."

The infantry of the 4th Division began to ford the river. The water was not deep, only to their waists, but it was cold, bone-chillingly cold. They held their guns, walking forward step by step, water splashing and reflecting silver in the moonlight.

The Turks on the other side discovered them. Machine guns fired, bullets hitting the river, creating lines of splashes. Some fell, carried away by the current. Others kept moving, raising their guns, firing back across the river.

Maher stood in the middle of the river, water up to his chest. Holding his gun, he kept moving and firing. Bullets whizzed past his ears, like mosquitoes in summer.

The opposite bank drew closer. Fifty meters, forty meters, thirty meters.

The first soldier reached the opposite bank. Then the second, third, and fourth.

The machine guns fell silent. Explosions from hand grenades came from the trenches. There were shouts, cries, and screams.

Maher climbed ashore and knelt on the riverbank, gasping for breath.

"General, how many crossed?"

He turned back. People were still crossing the river, one after another, like a herd of ants wading through water.

"At least a battalion. Still going."

He stood up, holding his gun, and charged into the trench.

Assad stood by the river, watching those soldiers rush to the opposite bank. The wound on his leg was numb from pain, his left leg felt like it wasn't his own, dragging behind as he trudged through the mire.

He also entered the river.

The water was cold, bone-chillingly cold. He gritted his teeth, moving forward step by step. Bullets whizzed overhead, shells exploded in the distance, and the firelight reflected on the water like a broken mirror.

Across the river, Maher was clearing the trenches. Assad climbed ashore, squatting in a shell crater, panting heavily.

"Mr. President!" Maher came running, his face covered in blood, "The Turks' second line of defense is broken! They're retreating north!"

Assad lifted his head. To the north, Turkish tanks were retreating, forming a line heading north. Their headlights shone, resembling a string of moving fireflies in the night.

"Pursue," he said.

Maher hesitated. "Mr. President, the brothers have been fighting all day, without food or water, and we're low on ammo—"

"Pursue," Assad interrupted, "Pursue until they can't run anymore. Pursue until they surrender. Pursue until they leave Syria."

Maher looked at him, looked for a long time. Then he turned, running back to the tank.

"4th Division, pursue! Target—the Turkish border!"

Forty tanks, in a column, charged into the night.

Assad stood by the river, watching those tanks grow smaller and smaller until they vanished into the darkness. He lowered his head, looking at the HK416 in his hand. The magazine was already empty. He threw the gun on the ground, sitting by the shell crater.

The night was black, without stars. The wind blew from the north, bone-chillingly cold. He remembered what Lieutenant Alvarez said: "Mr. President, bridges aren't for escaping. Bridges are for crossing." He had crossed the bridge, drank coffee, and came back. Came back to fight. When the fighting was over, it was time to die. When dead, all would be well.