Osman was scared. It had been years since he had seen active combat. He felt on edge but scared as well. He didnt recall feeling scared when he had been a younger man serving in the army. He wasnt scared for his own safety but rather for his young family. His wife and two girls would be left all alone if he perished today. If he was sure that Saddam would survive the night then the fear would have lessened, he knew that his boss would take care of his widow and children. But none of that was certain now.
Random rounds of gunfire still echoed out in a staccato in the Baghdad night. The nights were starting to get warmer but not uncomfortably so. The Palace Guard numbered 30. All arrayed around the most likely point of entry, the South East gate of the compound that was closest to the Republic Bridge which traversed the Tigris and led to East Baghdad. Osman had taken a punt that the invading force would take the shortest path to the compound which also happened to be one of the few thoroughfares and bridges wide enough to allow tanks to cross unimpeded.
Saddam and Kamal Gegeo had joined them at the gate much to Osmans protests. "Sir you are not safe here. We cant protect you while also pushing back the invader!"
"Commander nowhere is safe if we dont manage to keep the traitors out. And I dont want you to focus on protecting me. Focus on fighting back. The only way i survive is if we win."
Saddam said all of that in an even and calm tone and Osman was thankful for it. Many of his subordinates were young men who would be seeing action for the first time. In his past army life, Osman had seen what a jittery participant could do to the morale of a squad before a firefight. So he reluctantly acquiesced to Saddams presence. Not that he had a choice.
There was silence amongst the gathered men as they peered into the deserted Yafa street for signs of the assailants. Five minutes passed and then ten and then twenty.
"Do you think the police might have been able to hold them off?" Kamal whispered.
"With handguns?" scoffed Saddam. "I think not."
Another five minutes passed, the tension not giving way in the slightest. Then Osman felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Commander, I've had a thought," began Saddam.
This was no time for niceties so Osman just grunted.
"Those building lining Yafa," Saddam pointed to the four, five storey residential buildings that lined leafy Yafa street. "They would have terraces no?"
Osman grunted," yes most definitely."
"The traitors will be expecting us to hunkered down in the compound, a static enemy to be faced in a full frontal attack," Saddam continued. "What they wont be expecting is a funnel in which a retaliatory attack comes from higher ground."
Osman processed what Saddam was saying quickly, a consequence of heightened senses and adrenalin.
"Whatever window of opportunity we have is running out fast. What say Commander?" Saddam urged.
Osman made the call.
"You, you and you retrieve metal ladders and planks. Squad A move to set up position in the buildings to the left. Squad B set up position in the buildings to right. I want complete coverage of the length of available terrace. Take cover behind the terrace walls facing the street."
They moved out quickly as soon as the smaller detachment had retrieved the ladders and planks. The apartment building were empty on the inside, the residents barricaded within their homes. Saddam and Kamal followed Osman and Squad A into the first building on the left. They ascended the creaky wooden stairs rapidly and as quietly as they could manage and burst out into the terrace. The sounds of gunfire had started drawing closer to their position.
Due to their low numbers theu could only afford to have 2 men per terrace. The rest laid down the metal ladders in the gaps between terraces over which they laid the planks and then shuffled forward.
"Men," Osman whispered into the walkie talkie he was carrying. "Hold fire until the vanguard reaches the barricade of the Palace. Eyes only until then. Lights out."
His breaths came in short huffs. Saddam was on his second cigarette, crouching behind the wall so that only his eyes were above the parapet and the burning light of the cigarette was hidden.
And then they came. Five army jeeps carrying about thirty soldiers rolled right up Yafa street.
"Get ready," osman whispered, more to himself than anything.
They watched as the first two jeeps turned so that they presented their sides to the Palace gates and all the soldiers scrambled out of their vehicles and took cover behind them. They waited there, probably confused that they hadn't faced any gunfire yet.
Osman was thrilled internally. The plan had been a good one. The soldiers were armed with high quality assault rifles while Osman, his squads, the President and Kamal had aging Ak47s or carbines. Two of the jeeps had mounted machine guns and the gunners were facing the gate ready to fire.
Osman took deep breaths and counted to three.
"On my mark in three," he whispered into the walkie talkie.
He willed himself to rise and then with a shout he rose and opened fire on the arrayed soldiers below.
To his side he felt Saddam rise with a great shout and begin pummeling the sitting ducks below.
Their accuracy was for shit. The darkness of night was broken up by the bright flashes of the guns in their arms. For what felt like eternity but was only really a minute they fired without receiving any reply.
Then the machine gunners pivoted their weapons and got into the act. It was thunder and lightning. A spectacle worthy of the heavens.
To his right Saddam screamed and fell clutching his face. The cement of the outer facade of the terrace wall was chewed up and flecks of cement flew like sawdust. The bullets whizzed part his head and Osman instinctively fell to the ground cupping his hands over his ears. The sound was awesome and frightening.
The machine gun fire felt like it went on for eternity. Osman began screaming at some point. He wanted it to stop. He knew that his men had stopped returning fire. It was a nightmare.
On and on, cement and paint chips splattering him. Bullets narrowly missing popping his head.
And then someone tugged his arm and yanked his hand away from his ear.
"Up! Get up! Get up damn you! Fight back! Let em have it!"
Osman could scarcely believe his eyes. The President, blood pouring down the side of his face, ear mangled beyond recognition was standing tall despite the hail of bullets. He had a manic look in his eyes. One arm propped up his AK47 and he fired down at the traitors below them. The other threw the walkie talkie to him.
"Give it back to them! Motherfuckers! Get up!"
And then Osman was ashamed. And then he got angry, his blood boiled.
"Fire back boys! Fire back on these fuckijg traitors!" He stood up and leaned over the parapet and chose his target, ignoring the bullets whizzing past his head. He lined up his carbine and unloaded two shots at the nearest machine gunner. The first missed but the second one seemed to hit him because the traitor slumped over his gun, clutching his neck.
Osman sprinted across the makeshift bridge onto the next terrace and yanked the cowering Palace Guards by the collar and slapped them hard on the face.
"Fire back!! Let em have it. Send a bullet up their asshole!"
He stood to the side of his now upright men and again began firing into the street. The man next to him went down, there was a spray of red mist hanging in the air. But Osman didn't stop. He kept shouting and firing. Then he went to the next terrace and the next.
The entire fight lasted no more than ten minutes but it felt like an hour. The firing petered down and Osman was still standing leaning over the parapet.
The jeeps were shot to shit, smoke emerging out of their engines. One of them that was close to the Palace gate was on fire and would probably explode.
Saddam crossed the terrace and walked up to Osman. He had lit another cigarette. Osman didnt say anything, just grabbed the Presidents face and turned it left and right, examining it. A bullet seemed to have carved a path across his face from the end of his lips across his cheek, under his eye and then taken out the entire top half of his left ear, cutting open a blood vessel along the way. It was a mangled mess but Osman had seen worse. So had Saddam probably.
"You got a bullet through and through," said Saddam pointing at Osmans shoulder nonchalantly.
He was right, a bullet had left a hole through his shoulder and only now was the pain emerging.
"Squads converge on the street. Check for wounded. Kill any survivors," osman said into the walkie talkie.
They assembled five minutes later at the head of Yafa after executing about ten soldiers and taking their weapons, ammo, provisions and a few walkie talkies to try and catch what the rest of the traitors were saying.
"Nice little fight," Kamal grinned lopsidedly when they converged. His eyes were wide. Shellshock, Osman thought to himself. A problem for another day.
He heard a clicking sound next to him. Saddam was busy lighting yet another cigarette.
"Can I have one sir?" Osman asked.