Chapter 2 Cabbage Heads
Syria, July 2014
Harry sat passenger in the indig vehicle, a Toyota Land Cruiser. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap. Most of them did, dressed in tee-shirts, jeans and work boots. Kareem drove as he looked more native than the rest of them. Thomas, Bill and Gary sat in the back.
The back windows had shades on them. The boys had visibility of the outside but no one else could see in. The dirt that kicked up and covered the SUV helped. They didn't want the locals talking about a group of tough looking foreign men driving around YPG territory. If Tessa got even a whiff that they were here, she'd disappear and it would be near impossible to track her down again.
They got to the YPJ compound and slowed down. There was a tarp outside the building where some of the girls hung out. None wore hijabs but some of them wore colorful cloths or bandanas around their head, their hair spilling out beneath to their shoulders. Some just had their long hair loose or in ponytails. All of them were in combat fatigues.
When they heard the boys arrive, they all filed near to check them out. As they stepped out of the vehicle, a woman in her late thirties or early forties appeared through the crowd. She shouted at them to back off.
Must be their commander, Harry thought. She was tall, slim, with piercing green eyes and a proud stature. Her brown hair was held in a tight bun. A nasty scar came down her left cheek.
"You're the Englishmen," it wasn't a question.
"My name's Harry," he answered. It was a common enough name. They only changed their surnames. It helped them not make any mistakes. Lies were best told with some truth in them. Harry, being recognizable to any magical folk that read a paper, had a disillusionment charm.
"I am Rozerin. Come, let's talk inside." Her accented English was clear and well pronounced.
They followed her into the building. It was an old, white stone one with four stories. As she led them through some corridors, Harry peeked inside some of the rooms. They were mostly the same; some of them were occupied with young women sitting, talking, laughing. Rugs lined the hard floors, piles of books in some corners, wardrobes, and guns. Lots of guns stacked up against walls or near the cots and couches.
When Rozerin peered over her shoulder, she noticed him looking. She said over her shoulder, "A warrior is never parted from her weapon."
Harry understood. It was a different country, different people, different enemy and different weapons, but he knew this life well. Or used to. The war with Voldemort didn't last his entire life, as this one did for these women. He felt a pang in his heart that he couldn't do more for them. He was just here to get their target, then they'd leave.
From what he understood, Islamic extremists hated the Kurds. For centuries the Kurds had been conquered and displaced, their lands eventually split among Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran. The Syrian government was the only one that did not oppress them - or outright murder them. Syrians let them be in their territories to the north, bordering Turkey and Iraq.
For many of these brave young women, this would be their lives.
They reached a room on the top floor guarded by two women, older than the girls they'd seen so far. When Harry asked about this, Rozarin mentioned that this was where they trained new recruits. Most of the older women were stationed near the battle areas or other outposts.
The room was an office. There was a desk near the far wall, shelves filled with books. An AK and a sniper rifle by the massive bookshelf behind the desk. Rozerin turned, and leaned back on it, arms crossed. She surveyed Harry and his team.
"I only ask one thing. Don't give my girls any hope that you're here to help. The Americans did. But when their masters whistled they went running back."
Whatever he thought she'd say, it wasn't that.
Rozerin sighed, and looked wistfully out of the window. "That's not fair. They were good men. They wanted to stay but I suppose they have families of their own they need to prioritize. I imagine even in a country as free and great as the United States, defection and desertion are heavily punished."
She straightened up and walked over to Harry. "Their help was invaluable while it lasted. We actually managed to drive back Daesh."
"Daesh?" Harry asked.
"You call them ISIS. But they hate being called Daesh."
"Why's that," asked Kareem from right behind Harry's shoulder.
"It's an acronym in Arabic that means pretty much the same as ISIS. But as a word, depending on its conjugation, it can mean 'to oppress, crush, trample'…or "bigot'."
The Aurors laughed. This made Rozarin smile wryly.
"They prefer ISIS since it gives them a sense of legitimacy," she added.
Harry said, "We'll call them Daesh then."
Rozarin nodded. "Just know they have declared to cut anyone's tongue who speaks it."
"They can try," he responded.
There was a look of wistful fondness in her eyes when she looked at Harry. She muttered, "Bold and confident, just like the American."
By her words, Harry presumed she spoke about the SEAL team commander. There was history there.
She turned back around and went to sit behind her desk. "So what are you here for?"
"I'm ordered not to reveal too much."
"Of course."
"We want to capture Samir Muhammad's wife alive. I can't say more."
Rozarin laughed. "Oh you are worse than the Americans then! I thought they were crazy."
"Please. Any information you have on her would help."
"The wives of Daesh are kept in a camp near the Iraqi border. That's all I know. No one can get near them. I hear it is not all entirely due to the men either. One of the girls, British actually, arrived here a year ago, she was with the Americans when they managed to get close. She might tell you more."
"Where is she? May we speak with her?"
A call came in while Harry spoke. Almost immediately Rozarin flew to her feet, speaking urgently in Arabic. Hanging up she looked up at Harry. Daesh attack on one of our villages next to the Turkish border. I must go. We'll continue our conversation later.
Harry felt his men stir behind him. The warrior spirit lighting up. They had heard enough about Daesh to remind them of the Death Eaters.
"Let us help you."
At that, Rozarin glared coldly. "The Americans also helped with more than they needed to, and this gave us false hope. I told you not to do the same."
Harry brought his hands up, and chose his words tactfully. "We're not. We share a common enemy. If there's even a small chance I can get more information out of one of them then I'm taking it. Consider this part of our mission."
Rozarin considered his words carefully. "Just know that it is near impossible to catch one of the Daesh alive. They prefer their martyrdom."
"Except death isn't so glorious a prospect when it's a woman killing them," jumped in one of the guards from the door. She looked and sounded American. Big, bulky. Syrians were part of the caucasian family and there were plenty of white people there, but Europeans and their descents tended to be paler with distinct bone structures.
She showed them a tattoo on her muscled arm, Arabic writing. "There's no martyrdom by my blade," she translated. "Daesh believe if they are killed by a woman in battle, God will deny them entry into Heaven. Only a woman can send them to Hell. It is possible to capture one if he is certain he will die by a woman's hand."
Harry turned to Rozarin to plead. "It's not false hope. Just business. Help us with this, and we'll help you in return. Just ask. Then we're gone when our business is finished."
"Unless your government recalls you. Then your promises are nothing. Yet you ask me to risk my warriors for your cause?"
Harry couldn't explain that there was no way the Ministry of Magic would do that, as they had given him full authority. And the Prime Minister, Hermione, was his best mate. "We're not Americans, Rozarin. I don't have anyone's politics hanging over my head. And I won't make any promises I can't keep. Besides, the sooner we get what we came here for, the sooner we're out of your hair."
Rozarin nodded. "Fine. Saddle up. But if any of my girls are hurt trying to help you catch one of those bastards and you leave us out to dry, I will kill you myself."
Harry thought and said, "Fair enough."
When the Aurors got back to their vehicle, Harry asked them, "You've trained with muggle weapon systems but you're not experienced. Charm them. Use wandless spells for healing small injuries - if you can."
"We know the drill, boss," said Kareem. He was the oldest and second in command of the team. Most reliable Auror harry knew.
The Aurors donned their helmets, bags, carrier plates and rifles. Then the got into the SUV and followed Rozarin's convoy out of the compound. It didn't take long. Most of the Kurdish territories were near the borders already.
They were nearing the town when an rpg hit one of the trucks in front of them. The Aurors lowered their heads and drew their weapons out as Kareem quickly steered them around the truck. The stopped next to Rozarin's vehicle near the first building, swiftly got out and took cover behind the aligned vehicles. Bullets sprayed near them into the ground and metal.
Rozarin was ducking behind her vehicle with two other women, including the American, her rifle held firm to her chest. "I need to check for survivors!"
"Not until we know where the rpg is," cried the American.
Harry turned to Thomas, their healer and the one with the most knowledge on muggle first aid. "Go with her," ordered. "We lay suppression."
Thomas nodded.
Then, to Kareem, "Spot them?"
Kareem uttered, "Homenum Revelio." Wandless. A skill all Aurors had drilled into them for more simple spells.
The outlines of three Daesh appeared on a ridge about five hundred meters from the road.
"Three over the ridge. Half klick from your twelve." Harry told Thomas through the comms. Then turned to Kareem, Gary and Bill, "Ready?"
However, just then, three shots were fired. The outlines of the Daesh fell just as the spell expired. Harry peeked around the car and detected no movement on the ridge. He moved in a crouched position over to the other side of the vehicle cover they created and scanned the buildings.
"It's alright," cried one of Rozarin's fighters. "He's one of ours."
He looked over to the road from which they came and saw Rozarin, Thomas and one other head for the downed vehicle. He looked back at the woman and her comrade. "What's you name?"
"Mariah. This is Fatima. She doesn't speak English yet."
"Okay, we're going to move in to the village and locate the YPG."
She nodded. "We are staying here to cover our commander. Fight well."
Harry turned to his boys and tilted his head towards the village. They followed in a single file, backs lowered, heads tucked in and AKs ready, swiftly looking into every alley as they passed them.
Harry was nervous. This was not a common situation Aurors dealt with despite having trained as Muggles in order to work with or assist, much like they're doing now. Marines however have more than just training. They have experience. So far, however, his team worked smoothly and with the same precision they wielded their wands.
"Movement," cried Gary. They tucked themselves under an overhang, against the wall of an apartment building. "Our eleven, second floor, first window."Sure enough a head draped in black appeared and aimed a weapon at them. Only to be shot in the head. The snipe from before.
"Take cover!" He cried and ran behind a pillar, as did Kareem, while Gary and Bill slinked behind an open door.
Another shot. A distant scream. Then another shot and the scream was cut short. One other terrorist down inside the building.
"It appears we have a guardian angel," said Kareem.
"Yeah, well someone tell him not to kill all of the bad guys. We came here to catch one alive."
Bill snorted. "No disrespect, boss, but you can tell him that. Not pissing off a bloody sniper."
Muggle snipers were feared even among witches and wizards. Can't magically defend against a surprise bullet - or most bullets. Harry was sure glad the silent killer was on their side. But he hoped Rozarin and her fighters got here before the battle was over - or the sniper killed them all.
Gunfire was heard coming from up the roas, few kilometers ahead. "Let's move," he ordered.
A couple of blocks ahead, there were two combatants behind a front porch wall. They had't seen Harry and his team approach, currently engaged with YPG fighters across the street.
"Light'em up," said Harry, fully into his marine persona now. They dispatched the enemy quickly.
"Those must be our boys," cried Bill, pointing at men in balaclavas outside of a large building with a blue pickup and a mounted dshk parked in front.
When they finally reached the YPG fighters, they were ushered into the building by one of them. They were still about a block away from where the heavy fire was going down. The man that ushered them in called out to another one by the opposite wall, near a staircase. He too hid his face in a balaclava.
Harry and his team filed into the center of the room. Away from the doors and windows were a couple of injured, groaning fighters. A medic scurried to patch them up.
"You must be Roza's guys. We heard you were coming. I'm Aryan."
"Harry. We're here to help. Just point the way."
Aryan laughed. "Englishmen this time? We've got an American with us. We sent him to cover Roza."
"I thought the Americans had left?"
"This one's a contractor. But also a friend."
"I think we encountered him. He took out our attackers. Unfortunately an rpg took out one of Rozarin's trucks."
Aryan cursed out loud, quite aggressively.
Harry went on, "She stayed behind to assess the casualties. One of my men stayed with her. They shouldn't be far behind."
Aryan nodded. "You want to help? Go aide the American. I want these fucking whore's sons off my streets." With that, he turned to the man by the door and ordered something in Arabic. Then through the comms he spoke in English, "V, we've got marines here. I'm sending them to you."
Aryan nodded at them. "Xavier here will show you the way. Go. And thank you."
During a battle it was best to get only the relevant information out quickly. The YPG was used to receiving aide from foreign forces. They were the ones in constant war with one of the worst terrorist groups on the planet, after all.
Harry followed Xavier back out into the street. They went down the road towards the direction of the loudest gunfire. An explosion was heard from nearby.
Xavier went inside a building. They followed and Harry closed the door behind them. It looked like it was a former office building. A counter by the front entrance. Filing cabinets. A table with a broken coffee machine. A staircase led to a terrace on the second floor that led to multiple rooms and another stair case.
"Wait here. V be here shortly. Tell you what he needs," said Xavier with broken English. He sounded young.
"Thanks," said Harry. Xavier left them.
They didn't wait long. It wasn't a minute before they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. On the terrace above he saw a figure. Harry gripped his weapon but saw that the man definitely wasn't ISIS. He wore some expensive equipment, fully geared in dark-sandy camo fatigues, plate carrier and kevlar helmet. He carried a long and mean looking sniper rifle, pointed downwards.
Harry let the American sniper approach them. "You must be V," he said and went to shake his hand.
"Aryan said you were marines." The man replied tersely as he got close and gripped Harry's hand firmly. Then he stepped back. The low riding sun hit his face through an open window. A white face with a scar across that started on his left temple and ran down the side to his neck. Another, smaller one marred his upper lip. At first Harry didn't recognize him. He stared just to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
V's face had scars and was much rounder. Lines creased the sides of his gray eyes - the look in them hard and cold. But if Harry wasn't mistaken then…
"Malfoy?" He whispered.
V frowned. "Sorry, cabbage head," he said, voice slightly familiar but deeper and fully Yankee. "But I don't know you. And you don't know me."