Chapter 1330
The Arrogance of the War Faction
Chapter 1330 The Arrogance of the War Faction
The setting sun dyed the Kirkuk plain a dark red, and the steel skeletons of the oil wells silently pierced the sky in the twilight.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of sulfur mixed with unrefined petroleum—an atmosphere where wealth and danger coexisted.
Soldiers from the Abuyu Brigade are reinforcing their defensive fortifications.
Sandbags were piled up in layers to form bunkers half a person's height; barbed wire gleamed coldly in the last rays of daylight; 12.7mm heavy machine guns were already in position on several key high points, their muzzles pointing north toward Erbil.
"Sir, the checkpoint to the north reports that three civilian trucks are requesting entry, saying they are a supply convoy from Erbil."
The messenger's voice made Abuyu look up from the map.
"Have you checked it?"
Abuyu asked.
"We checked, and there was indeed food and medicine in the car, but..."
The young messenger lowered his voice and took a step closer, "The driver told me privately that they have a message from Chairman Massoud."
A sharp glint flashed in Abuyu's eyes.
He put down the red and blue pencil in his hand, which was marking possible defensive weaknesses on the map.
As he stood up, he instinctively pressed the Glock 17 pistol at his waist, the grip of which was engraved with a line of Kolde: "Victory or death."
"lead the way."
At the checkpoint on the edge of the camp, three dilapidated Toyota pickup trucks were parked outside the barbed wire fence.
The vehicle was covered in mud and had a cracked windshield, making it look like it had indeed traveled a long distance.
The driver was a Kolden man in his fifties, his face deeply etched with the lines left by desert winds and the passage of time.
He was wearing an ordinary gray robe, but his military boots gave him away.
Those were American-made military boots, issued only to officers in Kold's regular army.
“General Abuyu,” the driver said respectfully in Kolde, his voice carrying the distinctive rolled “r” of the Erbil accent, with a slight bow. “Chairman Massoud sends his greetings and wishes you to know that he is working to find a peaceful solution to the current situation.”
Abuyu did not respond immediately.
He walked around the truck, his fingers brushing against the cargo bed railing, his fingertips dusting off with a thin layer of dust.
Then he stood in front of the driver, with only a step between them.
"If Chairman Masood truly wants peace..."
Abyu finally spoke up in response: "They should first acknowledge my rights and status as well as those of my soldiers. How much blood and effort did we shed for the Kolde tribe back then? And then, because they were afraid of our strength, they drove us out of Erbil. Peace? What is peace? Anyone can talk empty words."
The driver looked around.
The soldiers at the checkpoint wisely retreated ten meters away, but still maintained their alert posture.
After confirming that no one could hear the conversation, the driver took out a sealed manila envelope from his pocket. The edges were worn, indicating that he had been carrying it for a long time.
"This is a letter written in the Chairman's own handwriting."
The driver handed over the envelope with both hands, saying, "You were once a hero of the Kolde people, and you should not become a sinner who divides our nation."
Abuyu took the envelope but did not open it immediately.
His gaze was fixed on the driver's eyes like a nail, the kind of look used when interrogating prisoners.
"Does General Barzani know I'm here?"
The problem came suddenly and directly.
The driver's facial muscles twitched almost imperceptibly, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened by half a millimeter.
This subtle change did not escape Abuyu's notice. A man who had been tempered in the flames of war for twenty years, his sensitivity to lies was ingrained in his very bones.
“I…I’m just a messenger, General.” The driver avoided the question, but the act of avoiding it was the answer in itself.
"It seems he knows."
Abuyu tore open the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper.
The letter was handwritten in Kolde, with neat and careful handwriting, which was indeed Chairman Massoud's style.
He quickly scanned the contents, a cold smile gradually creeping onto his lips.
"Masood wants to negotiate, but Barzani wants to fight."
Abuyu folded the letter and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his uniform. "Interesting. One plays the good cop, the other the bad cop? An old trick."
The driver took a small, earnest step forward: "The chairman hopes you can temporarily halt the expansion and give him some time to work. There are disagreements within the committee, and time is needed to reconcile them..."
“My patience is limited,” Abuyu interrupted him. “Go back and tell Chairman Massoud, three days. If there is no substantial progress within three days—I mean a written commitment, not a verbal guarantee—then all the oil wells in Kirkuk will be transferred to Abuyu’s control. Not just the ones we’re currently occupying, but all of them.”
He turned to leave, then stopped, turned his head to the side, and added:
"Also, tell General Barzani that if his troops enter within 20 kilometers of Kirkuk, my snipers will take out all the officers in his vanguard. I mean what I say."
The driver turned pale and wanted to say something, but Abuyu had already waved for the soldiers to see the passenger out.
The three pickup trucks turned around and disappeared into the deepening night.
Abuyu stood still, gazing northwards towards Erbil.
On the horizon, the last rays of light were fading, and darkness swept across the plain like a tide.
He took the letter out of his pocket and read it again by the light of the checkpoint.
The letter was very official and cautious, but it conveyed a message: Massoud genuinely wanted to talk.
It wasn't because of weakness, but because of shrewdness.
This seventy-year-old chairman knew better than anyone that civil war was a luxury the Kolds could not afford.
But Barzani is different.
The commander, a former soldier, believed in strength and thought that war was the only way to solve problems.
"Messenger!" Abyu suddenly shouted.
"Yes, sir!"
"Notify all battalion commanders that there will be a meeting at headquarters in one hour. Also, contact Bakda via encrypted channel and report to Mr. Song: the bait has been cast, now it's up to the big fish to bite."
At the same time, 200 kilometers away in Erbil, the lights of the military command post of the Koldeid Autonomous Council were as bright as day.
This is the brain of the entire autonomous region's defense system. The walls are covered with electronic maps and real-time monitoring screens, and the three-story underground command center can withstand direct artillery fire.
At this moment, the atmosphere in the command center was somewhat strange; everyone's forehead was covered in a dense layer of sweat. General Barzani stood in front of a huge tactical map, his laser pointer like a surgeon's scalpel, precisely targeting every key point in the Kirkuk region.
Red spots of light danced on the screen, outlining a chilling situation map.
"Abuyu, that traitor!"
Barzani's voice echoed in the silent command center.
"They have seized twelve key oilfield areas and control a region that produces 300,000 barrels of oil per day. If we don't act quickly, the entire Kirkuk will fall into their hands."
He switched to the image and zoomed in on one of the oil well facilities.
More than ten senior military officers were seated in the conference room, the lowest rank being a colonel.
Most people sat upright in their chairs with serious expressions, but their eyes revealed different thoughts.
Some were angry, some were worried, and some were scheming.
"General, Chairman Massoud has made it clear that he hopes to resolve this through negotiations."
The speaker was Aziz, the vice chairman of the Military Commission.
This bespectacled middle-aged man is a staunch supporter of Massoud and one of the few members of the committee who dares to directly question Barzani.
"negotiation?"
Barzani turned around, and the red dot of the laser pointer inadvertently swept across Hassan's face, leaving a bloody mark.
"Negotiating with a traitor? That will only encourage more separatist behavior. The Abuyu Brigade was once part of us, but now it has become an enemy occupying our land. Weakness will only invite more aggression; this is an iron law of history."
Aziz adjusted his glasses and insisted, "But a military solution could lead to a prolonged conflict, giving the 1515 militia an opportunity. The intelligence department's recent report indicates they are keeping a close eye on the chaos in Kirkuk. If we fight with Abuyu, they could stab us in the back at any time."
"That's precisely why,"
Barzani approached Aziz, the distance between them shortening to less than a meter, and looked down at Aziz, who was sitting in a chair.
This is a typical deterrent posture.
“What we need is swift and decisive action. We must resolve the Abuyu issue within a week, and then focus all our efforts on the 1515 threat. This is the only way.”
He turned to face all the officers, raising his voice an octave:
"Gentlemen, we are not facing a simple military problem, but a political example. If we ignore Abuyu's occupation of our oil fields today, there will be a second and a third Abuyu tomorrow! What will be left of Koldistan then? An empty shell divided up by various warlords!"
A low murmur arose in the conference room.
Barzani's speech was very persuasive, but the expressions on the officers' faces showed that not everyone was convinced.
The meeting ended at 10 p.m.
The officers left one after another, their footsteps echoing in the corridor like drumbeats fading into the distance.
Barzani left behind three people, including Intelligence Minister Qadir, Chief of Staff Farouk, and Special Forces Commander Rashid.
After the door closed, only the four of them remained in the command center.
Barzani's expression shifted from the firm and resolute demeanor he displayed in public to the cold and calculating one he took in private meetings.
"Masood is too weak."
He said this bluntly, then picked up the teapot and poured himself a cup of black tea without adding sugar.
"He thought the Americans would always support us, and that negotiations could solve everything. But look at Iligo now, power only respects strength! Saddam Hussein's downfall wasn't achieved through negotiations, it was achieved through fighting; our autonomy wasn't achieved through negotiations either, it was earned with blood over so many years."
Intelligence Minister Qadir nodded; this balding, middle-aged man was known for his caution.
“The general is right. But if we openly disobey the chairman’s orders, others will have something to hold against us. Although Massoud is old, his political foundation is still intact.”
"It's not disobeying, it's 'acting first and reporting later'."
Chief of Staff Farook replied.
He was a trusted confidant whom Barzani had promoted from platoon leader, and the two had been comrades-in-arms for twenty years.
“Once we recapture Kirkuk and hand over control of the oil fields back to the committee, what can Massoud do but celebrate? The people will welcome the victors, and those politicians on the committee are the best at playing to the will of the people.”
Barzani walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at the night view of Erbil.
In ten years, this city has transformed from a border town into a modern metropolis, with the lights of skyscrapers forming a sea of light in the night.
But beneath this prosperity lies a fragile geopolitical balance.
An autonomous region that has no access to the sea, is surrounded by four countries, and is completely dependent on oil revenue.
"Transfer the Sixth and Eighth Brigades from Malvote."
Barzani began to issue orders, his voice calm yet firm.
"The Fifth Brigade was transferred from Duhok, along with the Second and Third Battalions already stationed around Kirkuk, totaling 6,000 men. The heavy equipment included 24 armored vehicles, 28 artillery pieces, and 6 multiple rocket launcher systems."
He sketched the marching route on the glass window with his finger:
"Complete the assembly within three days, and launch the attack at dawn on the fourth day. The main attack will cut in from the north, which is the weak point of the Abuyu Line. Special forces will infiltrate twelve hours in advance to disrupt their communication nodes and command systems."
Farooq quickly recorded the orders, while Qadir pulled up the real-time status of the relevant units on his tablet.
"Should we notify Chairman Masood?" Qadir asked. This was a procedural matter, but also a political one.
Barzani remained silent for a moment.
The city lights outside the window reflected on his face, and the muscles on the right side twitched slightly.
"Notify him again an hour before the attack begins."
Barzani finally said, "Use encrypted telegrams, and make the wording formal. Say that in order to protect the resources of the autonomous region, my department has decided to take necessary military action. That's it, go and prepare."
The three saluted and left.
Barzani was the only one left in the command center.
He walked to the tactical map and ran his finger over the location of Kirkuk.
There, proven oil reserves are marked—45 billion barrels, accounting for one-third of Iligo's total reserves and 70 percent of the Kold'd Autonomous Okrug's fiscal revenue.
“Abuyu, my old friend,” he said softly, looking at the map, “you chose the wrong backer and the wrong time.”
Third update!
(End of this chapter)