Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 189 Brings Liberation to Damascus (Part 1)

The Golan Heights are only 60 kilometers from the outskirts of Damascus, and the previously captured Duma is only 25 kilometers away, which is already within the firing range of the M109 self-propelled howitzer.

For armored forces, it's a matter of simply stepping on the gas and running them over.

The garrison in Zion deployed numerous defensive positions in villages on the outskirts of Damascus. The soldiers stationed there were on high alert, having received the highest alert orders from their superiors.

The Zionist forces in Damascus are mostly veterans who have participated in at least two Middle East wars. These troops are in high spirits because they have never been defeated in their battles against the Arabs over the years.

"The command in Tel Aviv has been absolutely terrible since spring!"

Sergeant Ilan leaned against the window of a civilian house, wiping his rifle. The smell of gun oil mingled with dust. "This year we've lost several times more territory than last year! The Hashim Valley, Yarmouk, the Golan Heights. We fought so hard to win these places back then, and now they've handed them over so easily!"

"Perhaps the Arabs have truly produced a general who excels in warfare."

Corporal Mosh chimed in, "From last year until now, the number of generals who have fallen to Amir is almost enough to fill an entire staff. Even General Laden, who was known as the 'Iron Wall' alongside our lieutenant general, was defeated by him. And this year, there's Shmuel. He's practically taken over all the generals in Zion!"

That's all nonsense!

Sergeant Yilan's face darkened: "If you ask me, that Amir is nothing but a petty scoundrel who's good at sneak attacks! Crossing the Hashim Valley, the blitzkrieg against Kunetra—every time he won, wasn't it through his cunning?"

Sergeant Zhuang Sen, standing to the side, hesitated to speak, because this tactical style was exactly what their General Yeshavishen loved to use.

Some in the Zion army now refer to Amir and Yashawishin as the two pillars of the Arab and Zion armies.

"Once we drive away these camel cavalry, the wealth and women of Damascus will be completely in our hands! Arabs are only fit to be second-class citizens!" another soldier in the same platoon laughed.

However, before he could finish speaking, a sharp, tearing sound came from afar, instantly drowning out all the noise.

"Artillery fire—!"

Sergeant Zhuang Sen's expression changed drastically, and he immediately crawled into the nearest foxhole.

Immediately afterwards, a barrage of shells rained down on their defensive positions, causing the ground to tremble violently and mud and gravel to fall like raindrops.

Sergeant Ilan scrambled into the foxhole, pulled out his binoculars, and peered through the peephole toward the distant Golan Heights.

Under the scorching sun, he saw countless tanks, with blue flags tied to their antennas, pressing down on their fortified position like an overwhelming tidal wave.

The enemy immediately launched a saturation barrage, overwhelming the defending troops and leaving them with no chance to retaliate.

"Did you see that, Yilan?"

Sergeant Zhuang Sen lowered his binoculars and muttered, "This is the head-on battle you wanted. That Amir has come to send us to hell."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Bandar lowered his binoculars and calmly issued the order: "Artillery, extend your fire! Armored units, advance along the predetermined route!"

The artillery positions, consisting of Ant's D-20 howitzers and the United States' M109 self-propelled howitzers, tore a gap nearly ten kilometers wide in the outer defenses of the Zion Army.

Lu Lin devised a very simple and brutal combat strategy for them: to use artillery shells to plow a road to Damascus for the front-line troops.

Because this is the fastest and most efficient way.

All the fortifications seemed ridiculous in the face of heavy artillery fire. The only drawback was that the division's artillery ammunition was being consumed at a rapid pace.

"Everyone."

Bandar gave his command team detailed instructions for the operation: "After we enter the city, we will encounter fierce resistance from the Zionians, but we should not engage in street fighting with them, but instead make a deep infiltration towards their headquarters and municipal buildings. Commander Hafiz of Surria has marked out the exact locations for us."

We must seize key transportation hubs along the route, establish secure passages, and divide the defenders of Zion into several parts.

Faced with such an extremely aggressive and risky tactic, one staff officer couldn't help but say, "Why don't we adopt a tactic of advancing building by building? This is the most commonly used urban tactic on the modern battlefield, which can prevent our troops from being cut off and isolated."

"You must have joined my staff after last autumn."

Bandar glanced at him and replied, “If you had participated in the siege of Ghanam, you wouldn’t say that. We adopted a cautious approach, but according to post-war statistics, Ghanam’s population was reduced by 40%, although many of them were refugees or were massacred by Zion before the war. But this tactic was a disaster for civilians.”

The staff officer shuddered at the thought of Damascus's population.

Bandalton paused, then continued, "But Damascus's massive population is not only a hindrance to us, but also a ticking time bomb planted by the Zionians."

You might as well think about it: the people of Zion only have tens of thousands of people to guard this giant city. If that's spread out among each soldier, how many civilians would they have to guard? Twenty, forty, or eighty?
"If we put pressure on them, we can force the Zionians to concentrate their forces against us, thus reducing their control over the city. At that point, the entire city's inhabitants will become our warriors."

The staff officers exchanged glances, and one of the majors sighed after hearing the explanation: "But ultimately, this will still drag civilians into the war."

"This is unavoidable."

Bandar said solemnly, "The real suffering is being trapped in a cage with no hope in sight. As long as the Arab coalition can end this war as quickly as possible, the casualties can be minimized."

The adjutant chuckled, "You're speaking more and more like the Commander."

Bandar gazed at the billowing dust rising in the distance: "Forward! We will wash our tracks with the blood of Zion."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Captain Harry's Hammerhead Battalion took the lead, breaking through the gap created by the Allied artillery bombardment directed by Lu Lin, and is rapidly advancing into the heart of the city.

It is worth mentioning that although Bandar lost most of the Chieftain tanks captured from the 210th Division during the assault on the Yarmouk Valley, the Ghost Division not only quickly returned to full strength after conquering Quneitra and capturing equipment from the Zion Central Army, but also obtained a large number of valuable repair parts.

At this moment, Harry was directing a newly painted Chieftain; his original MBT-70 had been sent for major repairs due to engine failure.

Despite its numerous malfunctions, the Chieftain's heavy armor and fierce firepower still make it arguably the most formidable weapon in the current "armor-and-ballistics" combat on the Middle Eastern battlefield.

Furthermore, the hard surfaces of Damascus relieved the pressure on its heavy weight, allowing the Chief to perform even better than the lighter M60A1 here.

Now, it's the Zion defenders' turn to experience the terror of a 120mm rifled cannon.

Harry's command vehicle was positioned at the rear of the column, with half of his body leaning out of the turret, scanning both sides of the street.

Just then, he saw an old woman emerge shakily from the dilapidated street corner, followed closely by her daughter-in-law and young grandson.

"Stop the car!" Harry ordered immediately.

The steel behemoth, weighing over fifty tons, came to a sudden stop, and the cannon barrel swayed slightly.

"This... General,"

The old woman looked up at the blue eagle flag fluttering on the tank and cautiously asked, "I've never seen this flag before... Are you an Arab team?"

"Yes, old man,"

Harry pointed to the flag, speaking as gently as possible, “We are the Double Will Army, the vanguard under Commander Amir. Leave the fighting here to us. You and your family should retreat quickly towards Duma Village in the rear. There is a relief point there that will provide food and safe shelter.”

The child beside him suddenly looked up, his eyes shining: "Gibrald?"

"What did you say?" Harry didn't hear him at first.

The old woman quickly pulled her grandson behind her and explained, "Now everyone in the city is saying that General Amir of Shuangzhi is the sword chosen by God, the reincarnation of Gabriel, and an angel sent to punish the sins committed by the people of Zion."

A hint of surprise flashed across Harry's face: "The Zionians are so tightly controlled, how did this news get around the city?"

He originally thought that only their own troops dressed like that!

"It was all said by the resistance organizations in the city."

The old lady shook her head: "They are very well-informed and have always kept in touch with the outside world, encouraging us not to give up hope."

But then the old lady changed the subject, her voice choking up: "But the government forces of Surria have been unable to enter Damascus. The Zionians treat us like animals, stealing our food, breaking into our homes to arrest people at will, and killing people indiscriminately in the streets, General!"

We are suffering, General, we are suffering.

"If we don't do something, we really won't survive." Harry was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Go quickly, may God protect you."

The old lady thanked her profusely and hurriedly led her family to the back of the house.

Captain Harry's command vehicle continued forward. The "Hammerhead" battalion, in coordination with mechanized infantry, had essentially wiped out the remaining enemy forces in the village.

At that moment, the driver in front reported: "'Alpha Wolf,' you'd better come and take a look."

Captain Harry drove up and was greeted by towering walls and barbed wire that stretched across the block as far as the eye could see.

Captain Balf spat with disgust: "The Zionians have erected barbed wire and high walls in the city to make it easier to control these people. They treat people like animals."

Should we blast it open?

“Of course!” Captain Harry said decisively. “Major General Bandar’s orders are to go straight for the heart and clear all obstacles. Whether it’s a wall or a tank, roll over it!”

"High-explosive shell loading!"

The loader swiftly lifted a heavy high-explosive shell from the magazine, used his waist to skillfully slide it into the breech, then closed the breech and shouted, "High-explosive shell, good!"

Harry took a deep breath, locked his sights onto the middle of the wall through the scope, and yelled, "Fire!"

"boom--!"

The Chieftain tank's massive body jolted violently, and its cannon spewed out blazing flames and thick smoke.

The shell struck the concrete wall precisely, blasting a huge hole in it instantly. Debris and bricks rained down, and the deafening roar echoed for several blocks.

Sunlight streamed down through the gap, illuminating the narrow street behind it.

"Forward!" Captain Harry swung his arm forward forcefully.

The steel torrent roared, relentlessly crushing the ruins as it continued its advance into the heart of Damascus.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Damascus, Sahia district.

Corporal Eli of Zion shoved an old rifle into Gadir's hands.

“Listen, Gadir,” Eli spoke rapidly, the distant artillery fire growing increasingly intense, “we’ve been ordered to assemble immediately and stop the Dual-Zion tanks. You stay here for me and keep an eye on these houses. If anyone dares to come out, whoever they are—old people, women, children—shoot them! Understand?”

Gadir's hands trembled, his face deathly pale: "But... Mr. Eli, I..."

"Don't you dare?"

Eli interrupted him sarcastically, patting Gadir's stiff face. "Think about all the good things you've done lately. You think they'll pretend nothing happened just because you put down your gun? Don't dream! If we're finished, you'll be the first one hanged!"

During the occupation of Damascus, some people, under coercion or enticement, chose to cooperate with Zion, and were known as "traitors."

Gadir is a traitor.

After saying that, Eli ignored the nearly collapsed Gadir, turned around, and ran towards the assembly point with several other Zion soldiers.

On the deserted street, only Gadir remained. He gripped the cold rifle tightly, leaned against a dilapidated wall, and looked around in terror at the densely packed windows on both sides.

He could feel countless gazes fixed on him from behind the window—indifference, hatred, anger… these gazes seemed to pierce through him.

The immense pressure left his palms sweaty and his legs trembling uncontrollably.

In the same neighborhood, inside a house, Omar and Khalid peered out the window, carefully observing the situation outside.

"Khalid, can you hear that? The gunfire is getting closer!"

Omar lowered his voice, barely able to contain his excitement, "The army must have broken in! Even that Zion bastard ran away, now only that mad dog Gadir is outside! This is our chance!"

Khalid nodded, but his expression remained grave: "I know, but Gadir has a gun. He may be a coward, but if pushed to the limit, he's capable of anything."

Omar was silent for a moment, then realized that they had to find their own opportunity to escape before the Zionists returned.

So Omar took a deep breath and suddenly shouted at Gadir downstairs, "Hey! Gadir! You scum! How does it feel to betray your country and your people?"

Gadir was startled by the sudden shout, and frantically pointed his gun at the source of the sound: "Who?! Who's speaking? Omar? It's you, you bastard! Come out here if you dare!"

Omar, hiding behind the window, sneered, "You bastard, you personally offered your own sister to the Zionians to sleep with, what else wouldn't you do?"

Gadir was as if a sore spot had been exposed, and the butt of his rifle was slammed heavily against the wall.

"Do you remember? Last month, you reported the old tailor Samir to the Zionians over half a bag of flour, which resulted in him being beaten to death in the square!"

Omar still didn't show himself, but his voice grew even louder: "And Aisha! That sixteen-year-old girl next door! You led the Zionians into her house and raped her in front of her parents, you beast! You get scraps from the blood of your neighbors, how can you sleep at night?!"

Gadir's face flushed crimson, shame and anger temporarily overpowering his fear. He hysterically yelled at the window, "Omar! Shut up! If you don't come out, I'll burn this building down! You lowly people deserve to be trampled underfoot!"

Omar's voice, like a cold judgment, echoed throughout the deathly silent neighborhood: "Look around you, Gadir! Who do you think you can scare with that gun? Everyone you've hurt is waiting to take your life!"

"You're talking nonsense! I was forced into this!" Gadir waved his rifle wildly. "Who dares to come any closer?!"

Just then, Khalid also stood by the window, his voice steady and powerful: "Neighbors! Not a single one of Zion's lackeys shall be spared!"

After saying that, he threw a flowerpot at Gadir.

The flowerpot fell to the ground with a loud bang.

This signal, like a wildfire, instantly ignited the entire street.

Countless windows burst open with a roar, and all sorts of debris poured down like raindrops.

"Kill this traitor!"

"Avenge Samir!"

"For Aisha!"

Then the angry crowd surged out of the house, engulfing Gadir's terrified figure like a flood. He raised his gun in vain, but before he could pull the trigger, a brick smashed down on his head.

He screamed and was instantly swallowed up by the angry crowd.

Fists, kicks, sticks, and stones rained down on him like a storm.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Gadir had already been beaten to death.

Even on his deathbed, his face still bore an expression of extreme terror.

"I'm leaving with my family now. Are you coming?" Khalid looked at Omar, his eyes still seeming to hold an unextinguished flame.

“No,” Omar shook his head. “Once the army breaks in, they will definitely need guides. I will go and show them the way. I have been waiting for this day for too long.”

Khalid looked at the other man and finally patted Omar on the sturdy shoulder: "Be careful, brother."

"the same as you."

As Shuangzhi's troops stormed into the city, scenes like those in the Sahia district were playing out simultaneously on dozens or even hundreds of street corners in Damascus.

People, long imprisoned by fear, finally broke their chains and washed away the city's shame with the blood of traitors.

The flames of liberation spread along the streets and alleys, gradually converging into a raging tide that engulfed the entire city.

(End of this chapter)