The moment I took the envelope in my hand, a silent storm began inside me. The map led me to the deepest, most desolate corner of the forest. The instructions in the file made it clear how dangerous this mission was. This was far beyond anything I had learned in training. It was not only a physical test anymore, but also one of mental and emotional endurance. On the file there was a photograph of a bearded, middle-aged man. Written beneath it: El-Tarab. His address, his crimes, and the details of his actions were all listed carefully.
I grabbed my backpack and went to the stable. Silence would be my ally. I stroked Kara's black mane, closed my eyes, and whispered:
— "I'll set you free again, my friend. This time, there's no turning back."
For one last time, I listened to the farm—the soft breeze, the familiar sounds. I strapped the bag onto my back, checked the weapons at my belt, and stepped into the darkness. Quietly I left the farm, vaulted over the fence, and disappeared into the night.
The moment I entered the forest, a deep silence wrapped around me. Even the crackle of Kara's hooves echoed strangely. As I followed the marked point on the map, I stayed alert every second. Even here, in nature, there was danger; which shadow was a friend, which an enemy—I could not know. Inside me grew both fear and determination. Karahan's words echoed in my ears: "Winners are no longer students, they are true warriors."
At last I reached my destination. It was a village—half in use, half in ruins. One of the countless places shattered by war. The house I was looking for stood on the ruined side. From afar I could already see it: a battered wooden hut peeking through the trees, like a mocking grin. I dismounted, tied Kara to a tree further away, and buried my weapon bag under thick bushes, as if hiding it in a well. With only a pistol at my belt, I began walking toward the village. I couldn't just stroll in openly.
I drew my knife and struck the hilt against my forehead, splitting the skin. Then I cut my arm, and another slice across my lower stomach. I could feel the warm stream of blood running down my body. My khaki shirt was already darkening. I wrapped my arm on purpose and pressed my palm against my stomach. At the village entrance, an old man appeared. He was middle-aged, about my father's age. His hair was snow-white, and the weariness of life weighed heavy on his body.
— "Welcome, young man."
— "Peace be upon you, uncle. I need help, I'm wounded."
— "Are you a Turkish soldier?"
— "I'm no soldier, uncle. I was kidnapped, held captive for days. I don't even know where I am exactly."
— "Come, son, let me take you home. I have hot water and cloth, we'll see what can be done."
As we walked together, I wondered why he had asked me if I was a Turkish soldier. At first he didn't reply, then he stopped, turned to me, and said:
— "If you're not a soldier, then what business does a Turk have here in Syria?"
I froze in shock.
— "W-what…? I… I'm in Syria?"
The man's face softened slightly.
— "You didn't know you were in Syria?" he asked, then took my arm and kept walking.
— "If this is Syria, then why are you speaking Turkish? And how did you know I was Turkish?"
We reached his door. It stood slightly open, letting out a damp, moldy smell. I slipped quietly inside. My eyes adjusted to the darkness; the hut was old but tidy. Danger could be hidden in every corner. The old man called for his son and daughter, speaking in Arabic. I pretended not to understand.
— "Come in, son. Lie down here, let's clean your wound."
I stepped softly to the mat on the floor and lay down. I slid the pistol from my belt and pushed it under the bedding. The cuts I had given myself were beginning to sting more sharply. Inside, voices echoed louder and louder: "This mission will change your life, Alpay. One wrong move and everything ends."
Suddenly, a figure appeared from the shadows. Just as I reached for my weapon, a young girl entered with bandages and some supplies. She was about my age, her beauty shaded with sorrow. Her eyes were dark as the night, her wavy hair falling over her shoulders. She approached me and said:
— "May God heal you, sir. My father sent me to help. May I see your wound?"
My tongue stumbled.
— "O-of course."
She removed the bandage from my stomach and examined it. The cut was fresh but deep, needing stitches. I stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the roof, as she began to speak:
— "Whoever did this did not mean to kill you—only to hurt you. You must be valuable to them."
— "I don't know. I've been in their hands for a long time. If they wanted me dead, they'd have done it already. Since you understood the depth of the wound, you must be a nurse."
Her eyes glistened, holding back tears.
— "My late mother used to treat soldiers during the war. I learned then, sir."
— "I'm sorry. May she rest in peace. May I know your name, so I can address you properly?"
With a shy, trembling voice, she said:
— "Dima, sir."
— "It means summer rain, doesn't it?"
Her cheeks flushed. She looked at me, then nodded. It was the first time since her mother's death that anyone had told her the meaning of her name. Overcome with emotion, she left the room.
Half an hour, maybe an hour later, I tucked my pistol back at my waist. Outside, her father was sitting by the fire, cooking.
— "Why didn't you leave these lands? With all the war, oppression, suffering… was it worth it?"
— "Would you abandon your homeland, young man?"
— "I don't know. I've never been to war."
— "I grew up on this soil. One day I shed blood, another day I took it, but I never left."
I had to probe further.
— "What about the other villagers? Did they resist like you?"
— "Not all. Only those who remained here, those whose chimneys still smoke, fought back."
— "And the ruined houses further ahead? Where are their people, what happened to them?"
— "They chose to run—or sold their homeland."
— "But that lone house, with its dim light in the distance… why is it standing apart from you?"
The man's tone hardened.
— "You said you weren't a soldier, but you ask too many questions. We stayed because we chose to stay."
He grew angry, rose from where he sat, and went inside. It was clear the man I was seeking was there. But why so far away? Once again, the questions began to echo in my mind…