WAHDABAD SENTINEL
YOUNG MARTYRS GAIN FOOTHOLD IN JAF, SECURITY FORCES ON THE RETREAT
In a statement released at 5:30 AM local time, a Zevriti National Army official, who declined to give his name, confirmed rumors that the army group engaged in fighting radical Islamic militants in Jaf is now withdrawing. He went on to add that the withdraw is only “temporary”, and that the forces will be returning to regime-controlled territory to be replenished and possibly relieved by other units. The aforementioned statement marks the first time that regime forces have lost significant ground in the now year-long conflict with the Young Martyrs and affiliated militant groups, and may possibly signal the balance is tipping in favor of the latter.
The conflict in Jaf began in the later-half of the Arab Spring, with Islamic fundamentalist groups engaging in thousands-strong protests against the secular regime in place under President Abdul Malik al-Saqqaf. The protests were initially met with offers of negotiation from the government, but soon deteriorated after a number of leaders within the reform movements were found dead within their homes and workplaces. As with most stages of conflict in other nations during the Arab Spring, protests devolved into large-scale clashes between demonstrators and police. By June of 2015, martial law was implemented in half of Zevretin’s major governorates, in an effort to suppress dissent. This was met with fierce armed resistance on the part of the fundamentalists, who organized into a militant group by the name of Shuhada Alshshabab, or “Young Martyrs”. Groups from outside Zevretin have pledged their support for the Young Martyrs, including Ansar al-Sharia and Al-Qaeda.
Fighting has largely been concentrated in the easternmost regions of the country, especially within the Jaf Governorate. Until now, regime forces have been successful in their efforts to hold back the aggressive advances of the militants, isolating them to the cities of Aizdihar, Nitaq, and Manar (along with some minor villages linking them together). For the time being, there is no knowledge of why the regime was forced to retreat, and if militants are in control of any cities beyond their strongholds. President Saqqaf is expected to issue a statement on the advancement of the conflict later today.
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JAF GOVERNORATE, ZEVRETIN
Zevriti Republican Guard, 3rd Motorized Infantry Brigade, Company A
4:23 AM
Fahim had been in one too many skirmishes to count, and here he was faced with just one more- and yet this time, he was afraid. Shrapnel tore through the driver’s side of the Hilux technical to his left, nearly tipping it over as he ducked behind it for cover. Surrounding him was the last village before endless plains that marked Jaf’s westernmost border, now dotted with convoys of retreating regime tanks and troop carriers. Before he could turn, yet another chunk of shrapnel struck the technical, this time burying itself near the bumper with a loud screech. Forced with fight or flight, Fahim chose the latter, holding his AK-74m above his head and firing blindly in the direction of the advancing enemy. After squeezing off several rounds, he pushed himself onto his feet, sprinting into an adjacent alleyway alongside his comrades. A boy (by most standards) new to the unit covered their retreat, pushing the stock of his PKM into his belly as he fired. He sprayed in long bursts as he back-peddled, screaming vulgarities of all kinds as he did so. On the opposite side of the dirt road, other members of Fahim’s unit squeezed off volleys of fire behind the cover of another vehicle. Although this blockade was very crude, it had proved extremely useful against the ill-equipped militants that had been charging the village entrance for over an hour. Now in the alleyway, Fahim turned toward the others across the road, waving them away desperately so as to prevent their own deaths. After only a couple more seconds of exchanging fire, the group opposite Fahim took his advice and scurried down the road toward the next barricade; amid a hailstorm of bullets and rockets. Fahim split his group in half, diverting the boy with the PKM onto the rooftop with a veteran while motioning for the rest to retreat with the others. They nodded quickly, wordlessly jogging through the bullet-riddled ruins of the village they had called home for around a month. Having been there for so long, the unit knew every place to lay traps and every road to barricade in a last-ditch effort to defend the village.
As the thunder of gunfire grew ever closer to the entrance, Fahim clambered up a ladder onto the rooftop of one of the huts, meeting eyes with the boy and his partner on a roof just up ahead. He then turned back toward the second blockade down the road; the other men now readied in their firing positions at different angles. He reached behind him and pulled his radio from the back of his utility belt, bringing it up to his face.
“You all appear ready. Don’t worry, brothers, we won’t be martyrs today. Give me just minutes more and we will leave this place for good.”
A number of confirming replies crackled through the speaker of the radio, until Fahim at last switched the volume dial low and placed it beside him. He then squirmed forward, lying prone and pressing his weight into the stock of his Kalashnikov as the shouting of the enemy was resounding and close. Fahim closed his eyes for just a moment, in silent prayer, before they shot open at the first burst of PKM fire. The boy and his partner were already engaging militants at the entrance, clearly hitting true. Fahim racked back the bolt to his AK in anticipation, squinting his right eye shut and diverting all his effort into controlling his breathing. On the rooftop ahead of him, the boy laid hunkered down behind the edging of the roof as rounds impacted in and around the thick concrete. Meanwhile, the veteran soldier to his right burned through magazines in a vain effort to suppress the endless flow of fire and men that now flooded into the ruins.
Fahim himself was now engulfed in enemy fire, pressing himself into the concrete as best as he could as he attempted to focus in on the enemy combatants, now darting about aimlessly for cover. His eyes immediately snapped to a head resting behind his former position at the technical, and he promptly turned his rifle to face it. He exhaled, squeezing the trigger two times. In spite of the recoil, a fine mist accompanied the explosion of the figure as they slumped over onto the dirt. His gaze now snapped onto yet another silhouette, to which he fired another two times. The figure was punched backwards in a geyser of red and onto his back, writhing. A scream snapped Fahim out of his trance, and brought him scrambling from his vantage point back toward the ladder. His eyes darted to the roof ahead of him, confirming his fears. The boy lie in a fetal position over a pool of blood and shell casings, his PKM likely dropped in the alleyway below. Fahim’s eyes traveled further as he moved, only to meet with the veteran, who was now withdrawing himself. The two were mutually aware that without the suppression and force multiplier capabilities of the PKM, there was no use in staying. They would only be picked off.
A couple more footsteps and ragged breaths brought Fahim to the ladder, to which he swung one leg over and slid down. Explosions could be heard up ahead- the jihadists had already made it to the second blockade. Fahim cursed loudly and spun around, running and turning into numerous alleys in no particular order, simply to avoid running into one of the Martyrs. His wish was spat on by chance when a jihadist briefly paused in his step directly in front of Fahim. Fahim stopped as well, bringing his Kalashnikov to his shoulder and wrapping his finger round the trigger as the jihadist himself met eyes with him. Self-doubt was death. A dirt-caked finger squeezed the trigger rapidly.
Just up ahead, the blockade was being hammered by small arms fire seemingly on all sides. The remnants of the company had taken a beating relative to their size, though they inflicted significantly more damage to the advancing jihadists, primarily due to booby traps. Even still, a literal pile of bodies had gathered at the barricade, cut down by sharpshooters and machine guns planted in huts surrounding the main road. In essence, this had become a kill zone. The orders had been clear: inflict as much damage as possible, and wait it out until support arrived. This long into the skirmish, it didn’t seem as though anyone believed there would be any support.
Fahim continued past the bloodied corpse of his former adversary and into the street, his mindset still rooted in self-preservation. He quickly switched out magazines, tucking the used one in a back pouch before advancing. The gunfire seemed endless, with lulls few and far between. He started to realize his deviations from the path had got him lost, and the only thing to prove he was going the right way was the direction the bodies were facing on the road perpendicular to his. He nodded to himself quickly, choosing not to advance through the killzone but to simply continue in its general direction. As he grew closer the voices of both friend and foe alike could be heard, as the battle had deteriorated into grueling close-quarters combat. Spotting a gathering of militants at the end of the alleyway, Fahim ducked into another to his right, only to find a pair lying low on their haunches at the very end. He clenched his jaw, knowing he was closed in. He darted behind a nearby dumpster, watching the movements of the duo ahead intently. Amid the chaos, he could still decipher some of their words.
“…this goes…yes, yes, it’s loaded.”
“…-ake the safety cap off, idiot!”
“…God is Great, God is Great…”
Fahim’s eyes grew wide as he watched. It was clear they were loading an RPG or some form of launcher, likely to destroy the barrier ahead. Shaking with adrenaline, he rested the barrel of his AK atop the dumpster, flicking the RoF to automatic. As he prepared to fire, their words bled through the fighting yet again.
“…where the fuck…they going?”
“…-on’t know, fire it already! Fire, fire!”
Just as one of the insurgents mounted the weapon on his shoulder, Fahim let loose with his Kalashnikov. The two were ripped apart and sent limp into the dirt, their launcher hitting the ground with a metallic ping. Fahim stood up and ran toward them, crouching in their former position and peaking his head around the corner. Sure enough, the blockade stood empty. Had support finally come? Why hadn’t they said anything? He then reached for his radio, releasing its pouch was empty. He had left it on the roof.
“Fuck!” He groaned, standing up and propelling himself across the road, careful not to trip over any bodies. He began to grow worried as he clearly crossed the line into regime positions, and no one was present, save for a few of the dead. It seemed as though the insurgents in other parts of the village had not yet realized their withdrawal either, as there was no other movement. He made every attempt to conjure up the memory of the rendezvous point as he jogged, his heart sinking as nothing surfaced. He began to hear the rhythmic chop of helicopter blades somewhere in the sky ahead, though the clouds concealed it. Step after step, Fahim was losing hope, seemingly trapped in the walled-off ruin. Soon enough, footsteps accompanied his. His eyes grew wide, and after a few seconds more he turned, his rifle shouldered. To his luck, it was the soldier who accompanied the boy on the roof.
“We need to move. I know where to go.”
“Alright.”
“Yeah.”
The two huffed as they moved, their breathing ragged from doing so the past half hour, until they at last reached a small, man-made hole in the wall. The soldier ducked under it ahead of him, Fahim then following suit. As the two continued their pace, the thump of the helicopter blades became ear-splitting…enough so to draw Fahim’s attention. It was now hanging over the village, the intention clear. Fahim turned his head and ran with a newfound strength. As he did so, a rear hatch opened on the chopper, and out of it spiraled a crude but brutally effective weapon. The noise was deafening as it impacted. Fahim and his companion were thrown onto their knees by the shockwave, and only seconds after everything was deathly silent, save for the gradually quieter thump of the helicopter as it withdrew. Fahim rolled over, grimacing.
The entire village had been absolutely leveled. A cloud of dust hung over the destruction. Fahim pushed himself onto his feet, glancing over at his partner.
“…I never asked your name.” Fahim said, his voice quivering at the sudden loss of adrenaline.
“Rhana.” The soldier muttered, removing his helmet.
Fahim nodded, and turned toward the plains before them.
“They’ve only got a couple minutes’ lead on us. We should keep moving.”
“Alright brother. I’m with you.”
The pair trudged on, not caring to turn back and take in the death behind them.
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An isolated map of Zevretin and the ongoing conflict in the Jaf Governorate. Keep in mind, the country is in fact landlocked.
Red dots= Important regime positions
Red dotted line = Contested areas between regime/jihadist positions
Black= Cities relevant to the conflict