Rashid clenched his fist: "Then we will..."
"What will we do?"
Barzani stared at him, bloodshot eyes slowly creeping in.
"Lead troops into the governnt building? Arrest the committee mbers? That's called a coup, Rashid. We both know the odds of a coup succeeding."
Tor Khan, who had been silent, suddenly spoke: "General, actually... Chairman Masoud's worries aren't entirely unfounded. If we go to war with Abu You, the casualties will indeed be significant. And on Song Heping's side..."
Barzani abruptly turned his head, his gaze like a knife: "Even you are wavering, Tor Khan? Have you forgotten how Abu You treated you in the past? When he first received aid from the Arican people, he seized twenty Humvees ant for your brigade! Half of your soldiers are still riding in battered pickup trucks!"
Tor Khan lowered his head and remained silent.
The room fell into silence again, with only the ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock.
It was an heirloom left by Barzani's father, every swing of its pendulum felt like a countdown.
After a long ti, Barzani slowly stood up and walked to the window.
Outside was the bustling scene of Suleiman Street.
Fruit vendors hawking, won bargaining with baskets, children chasing and playing in the alleys.
The life of ordinary people, mundane, trivial, fragile.
"I was sixteen when my father died." Barzani suddenly spoke, his voice very light, as if talking to himself.
"1988, the Anfal campaign. Sadam's planes sprayed poison gas over Haraabja. My father fled into the mountains with and my two brothers. But he inhaled too much poison gas, his lungs rotted, coughing up blood clots."
He turned around, his eyes bloodshot: "Before he died, he held my hand and said: 'Son, if we Kurds want to survive, we must not be weak again. Every concession will only lead to more massacres.'"
"I rembered those words. In 1991, during the uprising, I picked up a gun. In the 2003 war, I led my team to cooperate with the US Army as guides. In 2014, I held Kobani for forty-seven days, resisting the attack of the 1515 Ard, watching comrades fall one by one, but never retreating."
He approached the four people, looking at each one.
"The sacrifices we made were not for sitting at the negotiating table today, compromising with a traitor, bowing to a so-called strategist from the East! The fate of the Kurds should be in Kurdish hands, not manipulated by outsiders!"
Faruk licked his dry lips: "General, you an..."
"Masoud is old."
Barzani's voice suddenly turned icy.
"He fears conflict, fears losing Arican support, fears all risks. So he chooses to compromise, to give in, to trade our interests for temporary peace. But how long can such peace last? A year? Two years? When Abu You secures his position, when Samir becos a regular army Major General, when Song Heping completely controls the Northwest, then what bargaining chips will we have?"
He took a deep breath and voiced the decision he had been brewing for a long ti at heart: "Since Masoud wants to take my power, I will take his life first! Since the committee has lost its courage, then let's replace it with soone brave."
Having said that, his gaze again swept over the few people present.
Everyone saw two words in Barzani's eyes—
Coup!
Kadir's face turned pale: "General, this is too risky! Masoud has high public prestige, many tribal elders support him, if..."
"If what?" Barzani pressed closer to him, "What if he dies?"
The room instantly went silent. The four people widened their eyes, unable to believe what they heard.
"General..." Faruk's voice trembled, "You an..."
"I pretend to agree to his command, invite him personally to Kirkuk, let him personally announce the withdrawal order, to calm the troops' anger..."
Barzani's mouth twisted into a cruel arc.
"When he gets to the frontline, arrange an 'accident.' Abu You Brigade's artillery 'accidentally' hits the Chairman's convoy—such a perfect script. The rebels assassinate the revered Chairman, stirring the indignation of all Kurds. Then, as the highest military commander, I have no choice but to step in to take charge, to mobilize all forces to avenge Chairman Masoud."
He returned to the sofa and sat down, relaxed, as if unloading a heavy burden.
"Public opinion will be on our side. Those fence-sitters in the committee will be so scared that they'll comply obediently. Even if the Arican people have suspicions, they will have no evidence. As for Abu You—the murderer of the Chairman will forever be nailed to the pillar of historical sha."
The plan is cold and ticulous, each step calculated.
Rashid was the first to react; coming from Special Forces, he had seen too much darkness.
"General, what about the implentation details? Masoud's security is very tight; he travels with at least a platoon of guards and his vehicles are bulletproof. To create an 'accident' on the frontline, it must be ensured that he is indeed within Abu You's firing range, and also ensure that he... is certain to die."
"That's your job."
Barzani looked at his confidants.
"Faruk is responsible for troop movent, using the withdrawal order to move units loyal to Masoud out of Elbil. Kadir oversees intelligence, ensuring Masoud's itinerary is accurate, and monitoring reactions from the committee and Baghdad. Rashid, your people will 'escort' the Chairman to the front line. Rember, let him arrive alive at the designated spot, but don't let him have a chance to leave alive."
Finally, he looked at Tor Khan: "You will remain in Elbil, as soon as you receive my order, lead your n to occupy the governnt building, TV station, radio station, communication hub. Avoid bloodshed, if t with resistance, fire into the air, capture alive if possible. We're aiming for control, not massacre."
The four individuals looked at each other.
This isn't a drill, not a simulation, but a real coup.
They understood the magnitude of the risk.
Successful, they'll be heroes; failed, they'll be traitors, to be hanged in the square, implicating their families.
"I need your answer."
Barzani looked at them, "Now, right here. Those who agree, stay. Those who don't, can leave—but I guarantee anyone stepping out of this door won't live to see morning."
This was the final ultimatum, a pledge of allegiance.
The wall clock continued to tick, the second-hand moving in circles, like the Grim Reaper pacing.
Faruk was the first to speak, his voice dry: "My life was carried back from the Mosul battlefield by you, General. I'm in."
Kadir closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he reopened them, only determination remained: "The intelligence departnt has seventeen of Masoud's informants, the list is already compiled. They can be dealt with before the coup begins."
Rashid grinned, revealing a sinister smile: "My n are ready. As soon as the General orders, within twenty-four hours, Elbil won't hear a single bark from a dog that shouldn't bark."
Three pairs of eyes turned to Tor Khan.
The forehead of this chanized brigade commander was sweating coldly.
He thought of his newborn son, of his wife's gentle smile, of his father...
The old teacher who taught him from childhood to be loyal, to be upright.
But he also thought of the future where Kurds might never establish G.
"For Kurdistan." Tor Khan finally said, his voice so light it was almost inaudible, "I'm in."
Barzani smiled.
It was a genuine, heartfelt smile.
He stood up, walked to the liquor cabinet, and took out five glasses, filling them with Whiskey.
Alcohol is prohibited in the Kurdish Control Zone.
Drinking it is the most fitting oath of "rebellion."
"For Kurdistan." Barzani raised his glass, "For a strong Kurdistan, no longer bowing to anyone."
The five glasses clinked together, producing a crisp sound.
Strong liquor burned down their throats, scorching their consciences.
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