- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,838
SECRET
In the dimly lit intelligence briefing room, two Shadowy figures flickered against the stark white walls. A large table dominated the center, covered with a spread of maps, satellite images, and reports. Seated at the table were two high-ranking officers wearing military uniforms, Lt. General Tasar Kılıç, Commander of TSK-Irak Forces Ground Operations, and General Salih Zeki Çolak, the Tactical Commander of Operation Tigris Shield.
The two scanned the documents with a practiced eye, his brow furrowing in frustration.
“It’s hard to believe we’re relying on Iraqi intel,” Kılıç began, his voice low, “We’ve seen how unreliable they can be. How can we trust they’ve actually spotted Bahoz Erdal, Besê Hozat, and Mustafa Karasu?”
Çolak's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Trust is a luxury we can’t afford right now. If they’re right, and we wait too long, we risk losing the opportunity of a lifetime.” The clock on the wall ticked ominously.
“What about the Iraqi intelligence?” Kılıç continued, shifting the conversation back to the tip-off. “Are we sure this information is reliable? They’ve been known to mislead us before.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves,” Çolak shot back, his frustration palpable. “We have a visual on the target. We can’t allow uncertainty to dictate our actions. We strike now. No more deliberation.”
“Visual confirmation from the Air Force isn’t enough,” Kılıç continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “If we launch an airstrike based on flimsy intel, it could backfire. The backlash would be catastrophic. Not just politically, but also for our forces on the ground. We are facing daily attacks from militants and the local population is getting restless.”
Çolak's gaze flickered to the documents again. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even further. “Then what do you suggest? We do nothing? We let them slip through our fingers again?”
“General,” Kılıç replied, his voice edged with calm, “we have to consider our options carefully. I won’t be responsible for a strike that leads to us striking Iraq's enemies, not our own, or, worse, causes collateral damage based on flimsy evidence.” He exhaled sharply. “I seriously can not stress the reality of the ground situation. The Iraqis are not fighting the PKK and the people are turning against us. I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. An airstrike in a city center, seriously.”
A heavy silence settled in the room, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock. “Have we considered alternatives?” Çolak finally asked, “Do you think we could send special forces on the ground to kill/capture…do you think the Iraqis would do it for us…you said it yourself. The Iraqis will not fight them and are too corrupt. It is too densely populated for a raid. We’d be sending our men into another Black Hawk Down.”
Kılıç shook his head, frustration etched in his features. “You underestimate the Iraqi government’s ability to spin this. They’re not our allies. They’re merely partners of convenience. They do not have any desires here except to keep us preoccupied enough to line their pockets. If we strike the PKK leadership, it’ll have a ripple effect on the organization, and even worse we might actually hit the wrong target, especially on such light intelligence.”
“We need to act now, before they disperse,” Çolak urged, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “We can’t allow them to regroup or seek shelter. They’ll only grow stronger, and our window is closing.”
Kılıç leaned back, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. “Fine, let’s assume we proceed with the strike. How are we going to hit them in such a densely populated area?
“It is a risk we have to take. We do it,” Çolak replied. “We don’t have the luxury of time. We must strike. Prepare the briefing for the strike team.” He leaned back, momentarily lost in thought. “We use special diameter bombs to hit the building and level it.”
Kılıç shook his head slowly, the tension in his posture grew. “That only deals with those in the vicinity of the strike, it is likely civilians could be inside, or the PKK has munitions that cook off. If you carry on with this strike, it’ll put our men in the field at danger for retaliation.”
“If we don’t we allow our people to be at risk every day.” Çolak said as he slammed his hand on the table. “Enough is enough. Our men are already targets. Every day. Every second. How many more funerals do you want us to attend.” Çolak replied as he got up and left Kılıç to ponder on his own.
“The airstrike needs to happen within the next hour,” Tasar conceded, his voice a low growl. “But we have to consider the consequences. We can’t afford another scandal.”
“Scandal?” Çolak scoffed, the contempt in his voice unmistakable. “What we’re talking about here is much larger than a scandal, Lt. Kılıç. This is about dismantling their leadership before they can enact their plans and recruit others. If we hesitate, the fallout will be catastrophic. We’re at war. Let the historians debate whether we were right or wrong. Let them write their books, hold their conferences, and pass their judgments. But let them do it in the safety we create. If we fail today, there may be no one left to judge us tomorrow.”
Kılıç’s hesitated. “Listen,” Kılıç said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “If we proceed without considering the consequences, we’re not just risking our positions. We’re risking lives. Innocent lives.”
“War is not innocent, General,” Çolak snapped, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “These men are responsible for countless deaths. We’re not here to play nice. We’re here to eliminate threats. We cannot let empathy cloud our judgment. Spending too much time with the locals has made you soft. That is truly disappointing.”
Kılıç's voice lowered even further, the intensity sharpening. “You know as well as I do that the fallout from this could be catastrophic for our forces on the ground. The PKK hasn’t been able to respond because of the air tempo. However we haven’t been able to make ground movement because of local constraints, Peshmerga forces operating on the other side of the border, and a general hostility to have us leave.”
“Then we ensure it doesn’t go south,” Çolak replied. “We’ve planned for contingencies. Our forces will be in position, and we have air support ready to engage. It’s time to show them the consequences of their actions.”
“What if the Iraqi intelligence is playing both sides?” Kılıç pressed. “We’ve seen it before. They could be using us to eliminate their own enemies. We don’t know who else is at the meeting.”
Çolak's eyes narrowed. “If they are meeting with the PKK, then they are working in conjunction with them. We are not here to play the Iraqis' game. They gave us information that is actionable. Therefore we will act.”
Kılıç took a deep breath, considering his words. “What if the Kurds don’t want the PKK to bring violence in the region? Maybe the Kurdish elders and factions are trying to tame the PKK. What if we are destroying a real chance for legitimate peace?”
The room fell silent for a moment at the insulation. Çolak's eyes flickered with something, perhaps admiration, perhaps annoyance, but he held his tongue for a moment.
“I understand that,” Çolak's insisted, “but we must also be mindful of the paths we choose. Every action has consequences, yes, but we have to make choices about life and death every day. By allowing possibility to govern us not reality we put the future of our families, our soldiers, and this country at stake. We must react with the present. I will recommend this to the joint operations center for targeting planning. Have your men readied for potential land incursions General.”
