Plans on Infiltrating Kharbat al-Nour

You wake up cold.

Not from the desert air but from the absence. The empty space beside you where your mother had been just hours before.

You rise, brushing dust from your clothes, your spine popping from the stone sleep only soldiers get used to. The sun is just dragging itself over the horizon, casting long orange shadows across the camp.

You move through the camp slowly, purposefully, nodding to your men. They’re already up—some cleaning rifles, some counting mags, some muttering prayers out of habit more than faith. A few greet you as you pass.

“Commander.”

“Good morning, boss.”

One man offers a smirk. “Sleep well?”

You don’t answer him.

You see Um Sawsan, sitting on a crate beside Yousef’s tent, sipping something steaming from a chipped mug.

“Commander,” she says, rising slowly.

She steps forward, hand on your arm. “I wanted to thank you. For coming. For not letting our bones turn to dust without purpose.”

You meet her eyes, voice calm but steel-threaded. “A new era begins today. Not because we ask for it, but because we take it.”

You step away from her and climb onto a rusted-out pickup bed in the centre of camp. You raise a hand, and your men fall quiet.

“I need all of you,” you call out, voice rising.

They come. Some curious. Some hungover. A few dragging their feet.

You scan their faces. Your Lions.

"Today," you begin, "we don’t conquer Kharbat al-Nour with fire and steel.”

A few brows lift. Someone mutters. You let the silence build, then cut through it.

“We’re going to walk into it.”

Confused glances. Murmurs.

“We walk in like liberators. Not raiders."

The men stare at you, still processing. Some blinking like they’re not sure you’re serious.

“We’ve spent our whole lives learning how to destroy. Today, we prove we can build.”

You raise your hand and point toward the village—still invisible behind the ridge.

“We’re not marching in like wolves. Not today,” you say. “We’re walking in like traders. Smugglers. Dust-covered friends looking to barter with the drunk, arrogant bastards who’ve made our home theirs.”

The men shift, leaning in.

“Beneath that, we arm the village. Quietly. Intentionally. Men, women, kids old enough to carry—not just rifles, but rage. Anyone willing to fight for a better Zahiriya deserves steel in their hands.”

There’s a murmur—agreement.

“We have enough weapons to spare now. Every round, every clip, every rusted Kalashnikov we pulled from those trucks—we decide who gets them now.”

You point to a few of your best.

“Hassan, Samir, Yousef—you’ll split up with small squads. Quietly find the leaders. The brave ones. The ones who look like they forgot they were lions. Give them teeth again.”

You pause. Let the moment breathe.

“Sell the story to the soldiers. Barter food, liquor, stories, anything you need. Smile while you lie through your teeth. But when it comes to the villagers?” Your tone hardens. “Offer them truth. Offer them a chance to take back what’s theirs. No promises. No politics. Just liberation.”

Silence again.

And then, something inside you rises—unplanned, but undeniable. The kind of thing that burns out of you when you stop thinking like a commander and start feeling like a leader.

“I remember what you told me,” you say, eyes scanning your men. “Back at camp. When we sat around the fire. You talked about dreams.”

A few men shift, blinking. Faces soften. You can see it land.

“You dreamed of cafés. Of families. Of fucking women.” You nod. “I remember.”

Your voice rises, firm and raw.

“Let’s make those dreams real. Let’s start here. Today. In a broken town full of people who’ve forgotten how to hope.”

Your men erupt—cheering, howling, slamming fists against crates and shoulders, slinging their weapons with renewed fire. The kind of wild, feverish joy only the condemned or the devout can conjure.

You yell with them, fist raised to the sun.

“GO!” you bellow. “And bring me back every man, woman, and kid ready to stand the fuck up. We attack at dusk—with every dreamer at our side.”

The camp explodes into motion.