Chapter 1333
Power Rift
Chapter 1333 Power Rift
5 points in the early hours.
Masoud's office is located on the top floor of the regional government building, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire Erbil city center.
The seventy-year-old man was standing by the window with his back to the door, holding a string of amber prayer beads in his hand, each bead smooth and translucent from being rubbed.
The office door was pushed open roughly, and Barzani strode in, his military boots making a clanging sound on the marble floor.
He didn't knock.
This in itself is a form of protest.
"Chairman, I'm already at the front lines. Why are you sending someone to forcibly recall me at this time?!"
General Barzani's voice was laced with anger, but even more so with disdain.
He was dressed in full combat gear, with a pistol at his waist, as if he had just returned from the front lines rather than from military command.
Masoud slowly turned around. The morning light shone in from behind, shrouding his face in shadow, except for his strikingly bright eyes.
"Six thousand soldiers."
Massoud spoke, his voice eerily calm.
"Twenty-four armored vehicles, eighteen artillery pieces, and six rocket artillery systems. Troops drawn from the provinces of Mahot, Duhok, and Suleimani. The plan is to attack the Kirkuk Abyu Brigade's defense zone after dawn today."
He took a step forward for each number he said.
Seven steps later, he stopped in front of Barzani, the two of them less than half a meter apart.
The old man was a head shorter than the general, and his thin figure appeared fragile in front of the general's burly physique, but his aura completely overwhelmed the general.
"Who gave you that authority?"
Masoud asked, his voice still calm.
Barzani's jaw muscles twitched: "The power to defend our national resources. The power to quell rebellions. The power to prevent separatist forces from growing stronger."
"The committee did not authorize this operation; it only instructed you to prepare for military action!" Massoud said. "As the Supreme Leader, I did not sign any military orders. As the Supreme Commander of the Military Council, you arbitrarily mobilized more than a brigade, crossed the red line, and prepared for war—what is this called, Barzani? This is a mutiny!"
"This is called necessary military action!"
Barzani finally erupted, his voice echoing through the spacious office.
"Uncle Massoud, you're getting old! You've been sitting in your office for too long and have forgotten how the outside world works! Abuyu has seized our oil fields and wounded and killed our people! And what do you want to do? Negotiate?! Negotiate with a traitor?!"
“Call me Chairman,” Masoud corrected him, his tone as cold as ice and his expression stern: “In this office, there are only Chairman and General, no uncles and nephews.”
He walked back to his desk, took a document from the drawer, and slammed it onto the table.
"This is a diplomatic note sent by the US embassy half an hour ago. It wasn't sent through diplomatic channels, but directly to my private encrypted email account via intelligence. Do you know why? Because the Americans believe our military system is no longer reliable! They believe that there is a split within the Kold'd militia, and the supreme military commander may have lost control!"
Barzani grabbed the file and quickly scanned it.
His face went from furious ashen to shocked pale.
The document's attachment contained an excerpt from the fabricated evidence of "Balzani's secret contact with Turkish intelligence."
“This is a frame-up!” Barzani roared. “I have never, and will never…”
“I don’t care whether you have it or not,” Massoud interrupted him bluntly. “I only care what the Americans think, what the Bakhtas think, what the international community thinks. Right now, everyone is laughing at us. Oh! The Kolds are fighting amongst themselves, the general is going to slap the chairman in the face, the autonomous region is going to split!”
The old man finally raised his voice, an outburst after suppressing his emotions for too long.
"You think this is proving your toughness? This is destroying everything we've fought for over decades! You think Kirkuk's oil is everything? Let me tell you, international support, political legitimacy, and stable autonomous status—these are our true lifelines! And these were earned with credibility! What you're doing now is smashing our credibility!"
Barzani crumpled the document into a ball and threw it on the ground.
"Reputation? Chairman Massoud, your fancy political jargon is useless on the battlefield! When the 1515 militants attacked in early 2014, it was I who led the soldiers to defend Kobani! It was I who used three thousand men to hold off the attack of eight thousand extremists! What did the Americans say then? They said, 'We will provide air support, but you will have to rely on yourselves on the ground!' It was a victory we won with our blood, not at the negotiating table!"
"So you're going to treat your own people the same way now?" Massoud rubbed his temples wearily. "Half of the soldiers in the Abuyu Brigade have relatives who fought alongside you! Their commander, Abuyu, was also one of your former subordinates! You want to let the blood of the Kold people stain the Kold land?"
"If they pick up a gun first, they are traitors!"
Barzani slammed his fist on the table.
"There is only one way to deal with traitors! That is to kill them!"
The two stared at each other, and it felt as if electricity was crackling in the air.
This is a clash of two philosophies: one is the prudent weighing of veteran politicians, who believe in diplomacy, compromise, and that long-term stability requires timely concessions; the other is the absolute logic of soldiers, who believe in force, loyalty, and that betrayal must be cleansed with blood.
After a long while, Masoud looked away first.
He walked to the wine cabinet and poured two cups of tea.
He pushed a glass towards the edge of the table.
"Sit down, Barzani."
Barzani did not move.
“I order you to sit down,” Masoud commanded.
Barzani finally pulled out a chair, sat down heavily, and then picked up the teacup and drank it all in one gulp.
"There's been progress on Bakda's side."
Massoud also took a sip of the drink; the amber liquid swirled in the glass.
“Song Heping set out conditions, which were very demanding, but not unnecessarily negotiable. The Abuyu Brigade would be reinstated and given the same treatment as regular troops; Abuyu himself would be appointed to a position in the committee’s military department; and in addition, he would support Samir’s incorporation plan.”
Barzani looked up abruptly: "You agreed?"
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Masoud said. “But I agree to continue negotiations. Saif will have a third round of contact tonight. If the conditions can be adjusted, for example, if Abuyu’s position is limited to deputy, and his troops are reorganized and redeployed so that his troops can be dismantled and no longer pose a threat, then we can indeed consider accepting it.”
"This is surrender! It's a shameless surrender!"
Barzani stood up again, and the chair was pushed to the ground with a loud bang.
"This is telling everyone that as long as you're ruthless enough, you can extort anything you want from us! Tomorrow there will be a second Abuyu, a third Abuyu!"
"What do you want?"
Masoud also stood up, and the two faced off again.
"Fight? Six thousand against three thousand five hundred. Even if you win, how many casualties will there be? Five hundred? A thousand? Besides, do you know that Song Heping's mercenary battalion has already been deployed to your flank? Do you know that Samir's troops are also moving north?! In the end, what will this bring? What will it bring? International humanitarian condemnation? The US severing ties? Bakhtar taking the opportunity to send troops for 'peacekeeping'? Have you thought about that?!"
He walked up to Barzani, his finger almost poking the man's chest: "I'll tell you what I've thought about. I've thought about who would benefit the most if we fought amongst ourselves—those bastards from 1515! They're just waiting for us to start fighting so they can stab us in the back! I've thought about how our finances would collapse if we lost three months of Kirkuk oil revenue, and we wouldn't even be able to pay our soldiers' salaries! I've thought about what history books would write twenty years from now if we split up—'The Kold's were just one step away from establishing G, but they were destroyed by internal strife'!"
Barzani's chest heaved violently, but this time he did not refute.
"Now,"
Massoud stepped back, straightened his traditional robe, and restored the dignity of the chairman.
“I’m giving you two choices. First, order your troops to halt their advance and return to their original positions, then we can sit down and discuss how to handle this crisis. You will still be the Supreme Commander of the Military Council, and I will still be the Supreme Leader; we can still work together.”
He paused, emphasizing his words: "Second, if you insist on fighting, then at tomorrow morning's emergency committee meeting, I will propose suspending you from your duties and establishing a special investigation committee to review this unauthorized military movement. At the same time, I will directly order the frontline troops not to fire the first shot, and anyone who disobeys will be treated as a traitor."
"Uncle, are you crazy?!" Barzani's eyes widened. "You want to seize my power?"
“I am upholding the authority of the committee,” Masood said coldly. “The choice is yours.”
The office fell into dead silence.
The city outside the window was fully awake, with cars flowing through the streets and the faint sounds of vendors calling out from the morning market.
This is a peaceful scene, an ordinary scene, yet it is built on a fragile balance.
Barzani stared at Massoud for a full minute, then slowly bent down and picked up the chair that had fallen to the ground.
He didn't sit down again, but straightened his back and gave a standard military salute.
“Mr. Chairman,” his voice was stiff as iron, “I will seriously consider your suggestion.”
After saying that, he turned and strode away, the sound of his military boots fading into the distance in the corridor, each step heavy and resolute.
Masoud stood there, staring at the door that had closed again, without moving for a long time.
He knew that some cracks, once formed, could never be mended.
Barzani did not return to the military command at the front.
He had the driver drive around the city three times to make sure there were no tails before turning into an inconspicuous two-story building on Suleimani Street.
This was one of his safe houses, not even recorded in the military commission's files.
His trusted men were already waiting in the house, following his instructions before he left.
Chief of Staff Farooq, Intelligence Minister Qadir, Special Forces Commander Rashid, and Commander of the 1st Mechanized Brigade Tolhan.
Seeing Barzani's ashen face, all four men stood up, none daring to speak first. "Sit," Barzani said only one word before slumping back onto the sofa.
He ripped open his collar, as if something there was choking him and making it hard to breathe.
Farouk asked cautiously, "General, how did the talks with Chairman Massoud go..."
"He wants to take my power."
Barzani interrupted him, his voice hoarse.
“The committee will meet tomorrow. If I don’t agree to withdraw the troops, he will propose suspending my duties and establishing an investigation committee. Do you know what that means? A complete overhaul of the military committee. All of us will be out of a job, sidelined, or even court-martialed.”
A collective gasp filled the room.
Kadir was the first to react: "He couldn't possibly do that! Your prestige in the army..."
“Prestige?” Barzani laughed, a bitter laugh. “What does a soldier’s prestige mean in the face of politics? Massoud has been manipulating the committee for twenty years. He’s helped every member, and he has dirt on every single one of them. Passing a resolution is a piece of cake for him.”
Rashid clenched his fist: "Then we'll..."
"What will we do?"
Barzani stared at him, blood slowly creeping into his eyes.
"Bring troops into the government building? Arrest everyone on the committee? That's a coup, Rashid. You and I both know how likely a coup is to succeed."
Thorhan, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke up: "General, actually... Chairman Massoud's concerns are not entirely unfounded. If we go to war with Abuyu, the casualties will indeed be very high. And what about Song Heping's side..."
Barzani turned his head sharply, his eyes like knives: "Even you've wavered, Torhan? Have you forgotten how Abuyu treated you back then? When you first received American aid, he stole the twenty Humvees that were supposed to be given to your brigade! Half of your soldiers are still riding in beat-up pickup trucks!"
Torhan lowered his head and remained silent.
Silence fell in the room again, with only the ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock.
It was a memento left by Barzani's father; every swing of the pendulum felt like a countdown.
After a long while, Barzani slowly stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, the street scene of Suleimani Street unfolds.
Fruit vendors were calling out their wares, women were haggling over prices with their baskets of vegetables, and children were chasing and playing in the alley.
The lives of ordinary people are mundane, trivial, and fragile.
“I was sixteen when my father died,” Barzani suddenly said, his voice very soft, as if he were talking to himself.
“In 1988, Operation Anfar. Saddam’s planes sprayed poison gas over Khalabja. My father took me and my two older brothers and we fled into the mountains. But he inhaled too much poison gas, his lungs rotted, and he coughed up blood clots.”
He turned around, his eyes bloodshot: "Before he died, he held my hand and said, 'Son, if we, the Kold's people, want to survive, we cannot be weak anymore. Every concession will only bring more slaughter.'"
“I remembered those words. In the 1991 uprising, I took up arms. In the 2003 war, I led my troops to cooperate with the US military as collaborators. In 2014, I held Kobani for 47 days against the attack of the 1515 militants, watching my comrades fall one by one, but I did not retreat a single step.”
He walked up to the four people and looked at them one by one.
"The sacrifices we made were not for sitting at the negotiating table today, compromising with a traitor, or bowing down to a so-called strategist from the East! The fate of the Koldeans should be in their own hands, not manipulated by outsiders!"
Farouk licked his dry lips: "General, you mean..."
"Masood is getting old."
Barzani's voice suddenly turned cold.
"He's afraid of conflict, afraid of losing American support, afraid of all risks. So he chooses compromise, chooses to concede, chooses to trade our interests for temporary peace. But how long can such peace last? A year? Two years? Once Abuyu has secured his position, once Samir becomes a major general in the regular army, once Song Heping has complete control of the Northwest, what bargaining chips will we have then?"
He took a deep breath and uttered the decision that had been brewing in his heart for a long time: "Since Massoud wants to seize my power, then I will overthrow him first! Since the committee has lost its courage, then let's replace it with someone who has the courage to lead it."
After saying that, his gaze swept over the people present again.
Everyone saw two words in Barzani's eyes—
coup!
Kadir's face paled: "General, this is too risky! Massoud has a high reputation among the people, and many tribal elders support him. If..."
“What if what?” Barzani pressed closer. “What if he dies?”
The room fell silent instantly. The four people stared wide-eyed, unable to believe what they had just heard.
“General…” Farouk’s voice trembled, “You mean…”
"I pretended to agree to his order and invited him to Kirkuk in person so that he could announce the withdrawal order and appease the troops' anger..."
A cruel smile tugged at the corners of Barzani's mouth.
"Once he arrives at the front, arrange an 'accident.' The Abuyu Brigade's artillery fire 'accidentally' hits the Chairman's convoy—what a perfect script. The rebels murder the highly respected Chairman, arousing the indignation of all the Kold'd people. At that time, as the supreme military commander, I will have no choice but to step forward to take charge and mobilize all forces to avenge Chairman Massoud."
He walked back to the sofa and sat down, his posture relaxed, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Public opinion will be on our side. Those fence-sitters on the committee will tremble with fear and cooperate obediently. Even if the Americans have suspicions, they have no evidence. And Abuyu—the murderer of the chairman—will be forever nailed to the pillar of historical shame."
The plan was ruthless and meticulous, with every step calculated.
Rashid was the first to react; having come from a special forces background, he had seen too much darkness.
“General, what are the details of the operation? Massoud’s security is very tight. He has at least a platoon of guards when he goes out, and his vehicles are bulletproof. To create a ‘mistaken attack’ on the front line, we must ensure that he actually enters Abuyu’s firing range, and we must also ensure that he… is certain to die.”
"This is your job."
Barzani looked at his confidants.
"Farooq is in charge of troop movements, using the pretext of withdrawal to move troops loyal to Massoud away from Erbil. Qadir is in charge of intelligence, ensuring Massoud's itinerary is accurate, and monitoring the Committee and Bakda's reactions. Rashid, your men are responsible for 'escorting' the Chairman to the front lines. Remember, make sure he arrives at the designated location alive, but don't give him a chance to leave alive."
He finally looked at Tolhan: "You stay in Erbil. As soon as you receive my order, lead your men to seize the government buildings, television stations, radio stations, and communications hubs. Do not shed blood. If you encounter resistance, fire into the air and try to capture them alive. What we want is control, not slaughter."
The four people looked at each other.
This is not a drill, not a simulation, but a real coup.
They were fully aware of the risks involved.
If they succeed, they are heroes; if they fail, they are traitors who will be hanged in the square, and their families will be implicated.
"I need your answers."
Barzani looked at them. “Now, right here. Those who agree, stay. Those who disagree, leave—but I guarantee that anyone who walks out this door won’t live to see tomorrow morning.”
This is an ultimatum, and also a pledge of allegiance.
The wall clock was still ticking, the second hand circling around and around, like the Grim Reaper pacing back and forth.
Farouk was the first to speak, his voice hoarse: "My life was saved by you, General, from the battlefield of Mosul. I'll take it."
Kadir closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his eyes were filled with determination: "The intelligence department has seventeen of Massoud's spies. I have already compiled the list. We can deal with them before the coup begins."
Rashid grinned, revealing a sinister smile: "My men are ready. As long as the general gives the order, Erbil won't even have a dog barking for 24 hours."
Three pairs of eyes turned to Tolhan.
The commander of the mechanized brigade broke out in a cold sweat.
He thought of his son, who had just turned one month old, his wife's gentle smile, and his father...
That old teacher taught him from a young age to be loyal and upright.
But he also thought about the future when the Koldeids might never be able to build G.
“For Koldestan,” Thor Khan finally said, his voice barely audible, “I’ll do it.”
Barzani laughed.
That was genuine, heartfelt laughter.
He stood up, walked to the liquor cabinet, took out five glasses, and filled them with whiskey.
Alcohol is contraband in the Koldeid-controlled area.
Drinking it best aligns with the oath of "rebellion".
“For Koldestan.” Barzani raised his glass. “For a powerful Koldestan who will never bow to anyone again.”
The five cups clinked together, making a crisp sound.
The strong liquor burned my esophagus and my conscience.
Second update, 10,000 words completed.
(End of this chapter)