by Oliver Tidy
With those salutary and familiar words filling Acer’s thoughts, Tanner accelerated after the lead vehicle into the night.
There was no chance of using the travelling time to get some extra rest. The route through the countryside that they were following was little more than a barely worn track in the natural terrain. They bumped and swerved and veered and jolted and shook and jerked and juddered and shuddered the sixty up and down kilometres to Aleppo.
They were stopped twice at checkpoints. Each time, after those doing the checking had spoken to those in the lead vehicle, they were waved through without a fuss. The men on duty, briefly illuminated in the headlights, wore a variety of civilian and military clothing. Nothing matched. They looked like a shabby, ill-disciplined lot to Acer’s British Army eye. They all had automatic weapons slung casually across their bodies. Like most conflict zones around the globe, the weapon of choice seemed to be the trusty Kalashnikov AK-47 or one of its variants.
Acer saw packages being passed from the lead vehicle to the rebel soldiers. He asked about them.
Tanner said, ‘One of the oldest conflict currencies to smooth the way and make someone happy.’
Acer said, ‘Cigarettes.’
‘Everyone in this war smokes. There’s not a lot else to do in the shredded asshole of the world, if you’re not shooting at someone.’
As they drove past a huddle of soldiers, Acer caught the glow of a cigarette in the darkness. He thought of the target it would make for a stealthy night-time sniper.
***
Day 5
34
There were still a couple of hours to go before dawn when they arrived at the outskirts of Aleppo. Acer was struck by how easy it had been to gain access to one of the world’s most fought-over and perilous cities. Their fixer had been called upon to earn his corn a couple of times when they were stopped by random patrols. Having him along for the ride, letting everyone know that those travelling with him were valuable allies to their cause, might have saved their lives. It certainly saved them time.
The closer they got to the city, the greater the number of armed rebels they encountered, to the point that by the time they were within the city’s official boundaries no one was paying them any particular attention – no one who had no business being there would have got that far.
The lead vehicle threaded its way through the suburbs on a road that seemed remarkably unscathed.
Tanner told them that they would not be able to progress safely beyond a certain point until he had spoken with the man who had the authority to grant safe passage for them. He said he had things to discuss with him in any case and he might as well kill two birds.
There were no streetlights working in their area of the city. It might have been a temporary power shortage or a blackout that was a more permanent effect of the war being waged with infrastructure-destroying weaponry and without the skills, personnel, money, or materials needed to repair things. The continuing darkness deprived Acer and Zeynep of a look at the state of the city’s outer limits.
Eventually they halted. They were parked outside what looked, in the shadows, like an industrial building. Despite it being still some way off dawn, there were a number of armed men about. Several stood around oil drums that had been turned into braziers with healthy fires burning in them. The light from the flames illuminated scenes that reminded Acer of other conflict zones he’d seen as a serving soldier: bedraggled troops, broken vehicles, and damaged buildings.
Tanner told Acer and Zeynep to stay in the vehicle while he went in to speak to the officer in charge. Dempsey and Reyna and the fixer all alighted, too. Acer saw them stretching in the firelight, heard them exchange greetings with those warming themselves in the chilly morning air. More cigarettes were exchanged.
Tanner was back soon. He opened his door and said, ‘He wants to meet you.’
Acer said, ‘Who does?’
‘The man who has the final say on whether you go across.’
Acer said, ‘In that case, we’d better speak to him.’
He exchanged a look with Zeynep and they got out of the vehicle. It was cold. Acer felt it through his light top and wished he had something warmer on or an extra layer or two.
They followed Tanner into the building as several pairs of eyes followed them. Acer began to get an uncomfortable feeling.
Acer’s first impression of an industrial building had been right. But now it was looking more like it had been converted into an army barracks. It was a large open space inside. The floor stains suggested heavy factory equipment of long standing had been removed. The far end of it was in darkness. There were a lot of men sleeping rough. There was what looked like a hot drinks station – steam rose from an ornamental copper urn. There were racks of weapons and tables of equipment. A stove had been rigged up in the middle of it. It was lit and the place was not cold. It smelled bad, though – dirt and dust, unwashed bodies and greasy clothes.
Tanner led them through a door into what might have once been the factory’s offices. In some of the rooms, lights burned. The room they entered was not big, not small. It had a desk, some chairs, a big table spread with maps of the city – and in one corner was a sleeping-cot. The chair behind the desk was occupied by a middle-aged fat man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard. He wore an army uniform and insignia on the epaulettes that meant nothing to Acer. The man looked tired, troubled and testy. He held a half-smoked cigarette absently between his nicotine-stained fingers. The smoke curled up to cloud the room.
Tanner said, ‘This is Colonel Sadat. He runs things around here. He speaks English.’ Tanner might have added this as a warning.
Colonel Sadat did not stand up or offer to shake hands. He acknowledged them with a hard, unfriendly look and a brisk nod – the serious gesture of a serious and busy man. He said, ‘Tanner says you want to go across. Into the red zone.’
Acer said, ‘That’s right.’
‘Why?’
Acer looked at Tanner for guidance. Tanner’s body language suggested to Acer that he would have to tell the colonel their reasons, in full.
Acer said, ‘We’re looking for someone.’
‘Who?’
‘A woman. Just a civilian. No one of any importance. A Syrian citizen.’
‘If she is of no importance, why would you risk your lives to find her?’
‘What I meant was she is of no importance to the bigger picture of what’s going on here. She is of importance to us.’
‘Why?’
‘We hope that she has some information we might be able to use in a personal matter.’
The colonel frowned at Acer. He said, ‘You are going to risk your lives crossing into regime-held territory just to talk to someone on a personal matter? I’m thinking you are maybe a bit crazy. Your personal matter must be a very serious one to bring you to Aleppo.’
It was not a question, but Acer felt it was expected that he would treat it as one. ‘It is. For both of us. You could say it’s a matter of life and death.’
The colonel smiled at that. ‘Life and death. You have certainly come to the right place for one of those two. You understand that if you are caught by forces of the regime, it is unlikely you will be seen again?’
Acer nodded.
‘Whereabouts in the west of the city do you need to go?’
Acer said, ‘The university.’
The man raised his eyebrows and stared at Acer.
Again, Acer interpreted this as meaning the man wanted more information. ‘The woman’s father held a position at the university. The family home was on the campus. We hope that they are still there.’
The colonel shook his head and made a face to express his doubt. He said, ‘Who are you?’
Acer told him his name. The colonel looked at Zeynep. She told him her name. He wrote them both down.
The colonel said, ‘You must have good contacts to have Tanner here working for you.’
Once again, Acer felt
he was expected to respond. ‘Not really. Just calling in a favour from a good friend.’
The colonel said, ‘A good friend would have advised you against such a foolish course of action.’
Acer said nothing. The colonel took and released a long drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray overflowing with butts.
After a long pause, during which the colonel looked only at what was on his desk, he said, ‘It is lucky for you that Tanner here is our ally.’ He raised his stare to look into Acer’s eyes. ‘You might see things that I would be interested to know about. If you are able to make it back alive, I expect to hear about them.’
Acer nodded.
The colonel said, ‘Tell me, do either of you have any experience of infiltrating behind enemy lines?’
Both Acer and Zeynep shook their heads.
The colonel laughed. It was not a nice noise. And then he coughed hard. He regained his seriousness and said, ‘I would wish you good luck, but you’ll need more than there is, I think.’
The colonel took out and lit another cigarette and turned his attention back to his paperwork. Tanner indicated with a jerk of his head that they should leave. He followed them out.
When they were well clear, Acer said, ‘He seems like a lot of fun.’
Tanner half smiled. He said, ‘He’s OK when you get to know him. But he knows what he’s talking about as far as this place goes. He’s been around from the beginning. He’s a survivor. He’ll still be here at the end. You know, if you do make it back it wouldn’t hurt anyone for you to bring him something.’
Acer said, ‘A present?’
‘I was thinking some useful information.’
‘We’ll keep our eyes open, but you know we’re only here for one thing.’
Tanner nodded. He said, ‘Come on. It’ll be getting light soon. We need to move forward.’
***
35
They went on foot. Reyna, Dempsey, Tanner, and two local Syrian rebel fighters, all heavily armed. Acer and Zeynep travelled in the middle of the little column, one rebel at either end. The memory of trooping through a city ruined by and still in the grip of armed conflict stirred a powerful memory for Acer. He suddenly craved the feel, the comfort, the reassurance of an automatic weapon to hold.
It was soon clear why they had left the vehicles behind. The streets of the district they were making their way along were quickly impassable by anything on four wheels. Even two would have had problems. The dim grey of dawn was lightening to revealing something of the level of destruction and devastation that had been wrought on this ancient and once most beautiful jewel in Syria’s man-made crown.
They scrambled over and around and wound their way through great swathes of concrete rubble piled high in the streets, shot through with twisted and buckled rods of rusting reinforcing metal, undisturbed from where it had been exploded and fallen. There wasn’t a building unmolested by the fingers of war. There wasn’t a pane of glass left anywhere.
Some buildings had escaped with comparatively minimal damage – just horribly pock-marked with thousands of rounds of small-arms ammunition, punctured by tank shells, artillery shells and the shrapnel of air strikes and mortar rounds. But still standing. Looking structurally stable. Most had not fared so well. There were apartment blocks missing the whole of their fronts, the interiors of the homes they had protected, the lives they had shielded, now exposed to view and the elements.
Furniture, fixtures and fittings, clothes and personal possessions lay strewn, splintered and smashed to pieces in the debris. Curtains shifted in the light morning breeze.
In the side streets they traversed, the detritus of the struggle littered every square foot of ground. Corrugated iron, shop-front parts, uprooted trees, concrete, wood, metal, rubber and glass all lay where they had settled after the blast that had made them part company from their home. On some of the walls that still stood, crudely daubed anti-government slogans spoke of the resistance to oppression that elements of the district felt.
Where a green space might have once been or a building had once stood was now just a pile of rubble.
And then there were the enormous craters, dozens of metres across. Bowls in the earth, the result of some truly apocalyptic explosives landing on the site, annihilating, vaporising, removing any trace of what and who had been there at the moment of impact.
A range of vehicles dotted their journey – civilian and military. Burned out, blown up, crushed by falling buildings. Nothing, it seemed, had been spared the impact of the conflict. Acer looked about him thinking that if the whole city was like this, then when the war was over, providing there was anyone left alive to care, they would be better off building a new city somewhere else, abandoning the site and the name of Aleppo, consigning it as a reminder, a stark warning, a wagging finger to future generations that no one ever won a civil war. There were only degrees of losing.
The air was tainted with the smells of destruction, of powdered concrete, broken drains, the smoke from dozens of fires and the putrid stench of things rotting.
They encountered people: pockets of rebel fighters moving with purpose, and civilians of all ages, from young children to the elderly, foraging among the remains of their homes, their neighbourhoods, for something, anything, to salvage for use or sentimental value or trade. This place, these people, the situation was all well past the idea of looting. This was now all about survival.
It gave Acer a post-apocalyptic chill, a hint, an idea of what could happen anywhere in a finely balanced world that was awash with the means and the inhumanity that it would take to destroy it all. Quickly.
The light grew rapidly. They took cover in one of many unsafe-looking, bombed-out buildings as the rebels and the CIA discussed something in Arabic and referred to an unfolded map.
Acer took a swig of his bottled water. He offered it to Zeynep. She accepted it while absently staring out over the desolation at a mangy, rangy-looking mongrel dog pawing at a mound of rubble in search of something or someone.
Acer said, ‘What a mess.’
She said, ‘It’s unbelievable. How can they do this to such a beautiful city? To each other? Who can truly gain from this situation?’
Acer said, ‘Human nature. We are a paradox. We’re the most innovative, creative species on the planet and the most wantonly destructive. We both know this is nothing new. All over the world people live together side by side for years, decades, centuries even – and then something sparks, and before you know where you are, you’ve got neighbours, literally next-door neighbours, attacking each other, killing each other in the street, trying to wipe out each other’s religion or culture. I don’t get it. I never have and I never will. As for who gains, let’s see who comes along in the aftermath to snap up the contracts for rebuilding the place. Whoever they are, you can bet on one thing: they won’t be Syrian.’
Tanner picked his way over to them. He said, ‘We’re nearly at a place they think you’ll be able to cross in relative safety. The emphasis is on relative. It’s still going to be hazardous. If snipers have been directed out to this neighbourhood from either side they’ll be taking pot shots at you. Don’t stay in the open a second longer than you need to. Run. Keep low. Keep small. Take cover. Short, quick sprints. Understood? And don’t run together. You’ll just make a bigger target. And if one of you gets hit, the other one doesn’t stop.’
It was a sobering and serious speech from Tanner, who seemed past trying to talk them out of their undertaking and was professionally focussed on the best way to keep them alive. His words were made more ominous because up until that point his interaction with them had been characterised by a certain relaxed and almost laid-back attitude to it all.
He said, ‘You have one thing in your favour this morning. Yesterday, the regime shelled their own troops here. Someone got his geometry wrong. Artillery rounds meant for over here fell on the neighbourhood you’re heading for. There’s a good chance that government troops might be relu
ctant to return so soon. In numbers at least.’ Tanner looked at them gravely and spoke in earnest. ‘It’s not too late to change your minds.’
Acer said, ‘What is it, Tanner? Something’s bothering you over and above the normal.’
Tanner said, ‘The guys with us have been talking. They’ve heard rumours that army patrols the other side are taking anyone who grabs their attention. They’re actively searching for people to detain.’
‘Taking them?’
‘Arresting them. Taking them back to their headquarters for interrogation. The articles of the Geneva Convention wouldn’t even qualify as asswipe material for these people. You understand?’ They nodded. ‘Look, I don’t want you going over there uninformed. If they take you, you’re dead. Both of you. Given where you’ve come from, who you are, what you’re doing there, they’ll get everything out of you. They’ll torture you, rape you – both of you – and then they’ll execute you and dump your body in the wasteland at the back of the city. Saves them digging holes when the dogs do their dirty work for them and there’s nothing left to dig up for war crimes trials in the years to come. I want you to know these things. I’m not saying I’ll sleep any easier but,’ he shrugged, ‘I might. Still, you don’t have to go.’
Acer said, ‘I do.’ He looked at Zeynep. ‘You don’t.’
She said, ‘Yes, I do. We’ve been over it.’
Tanner exhaled heavily and said, ‘I knew you’d both say that. I know we said no weapons, but, to be honest, I think your chances of survival might now be increased with a gun. And I know that if it were me going across, I’d want one.’ He removed his own handgun from its holster, a Sig Sauer P226, and handed it to Acer. He said, ‘You’re ex-military, right?’ Acer nodded. ‘Fifteen rounds in this one. No manual safety. That’s all you need to know. Aim and shoot. Keep it out of sight. No need to attract attention.’ With something of his more familiar side, he said, ‘I’d like it back. It has a certain sentimental value.’