Ali Salama stood in front of his battalion while the wind cut through the open military base. Rows of soldiers were lined up perfectly, weapons resting against their shoulders, eyes fixed on him. His face was calm, but his eyes carried the weight of every mission they had survived together.
"Today's mission," Ali said firmly, his voice steady, "is not just another operation. This is for the state. For our people. For every family that sleeps safely at night because we stand here."
The soldiers answered in unison, loud and confident.
"Ready, sir!"
Ali walked slowly between them, his boots crushing the gravel beneath his feet. He stopped in front of an armored vehicle and turned back to face them.
"Brigadier Max," he said, "you take the first two armored units. I'll handle the other two."
Max nodded sharply. "Understood."
As they boarded the vehicles, tension mixed with familiar jokes. Inside the armored car, laughter broke the silence.
"Man," one soldier laughed, "since Salim came back, this unit turned romantic."
Another added, grinning, "Careful, next thing you know he's proposing mid-firefight."
Ali shook his head slightly, hiding a smile. "Focus, idiots. Save the romance for after we're alive."
The convoy stopped at the signal point. Engines quieted. Radios crackled softly.
Ali spoke into the comms. "Prepare for engagement."
"Max," he continued calmly, "circle behind the hills and hold position behind the terrorist camp. Wait for my signal. There are hostages. They leave alive. No exceptions."
He turned his head slightly. "Sniper, eyes open. Any movement, you warn us."
A quiet confirmation followed.
Ali raised his hand, fingers counting down slowly.
"One… two… three."
The night exploded into motion. Soldiers surged forward, automatic fire cutting through the darkness with controlled precision. RPG fire roared as Max struck the fortified positions, towers collapsing and heavy vehicles igniting in flames.
Within minutes, the hostages were running toward safety, escorted by soldiers shouting reassurances. The remaining terrorists were disarmed and restrained.
As the mission ended, laughter returned. One soldier slapped another on the back.
"Invite us to your wedding already, Romeo," someone joked. "And stop staring at the bride's brother like that."
Ali shook his head. "I'll be sitting front row. As your commander."
They returned to base victorious.
Later that night, Ali entered his empty home. Silence greeted him. He made coffee and sat alone, exhaustion settling into his bones. A knock broke the stillness.
At the door stood a frightened woman, breathless, eyes wide. "Please… someone is chasing me."
Before he could respond, violent knocking followed. A drunk man burst forward, knife in hand. Ali moved instantly, twisting the blade away and forcing the man to the ground, pinning him there until police arrived.
"I'll walk you home," Ali told the woman gently.
Outside, her brother appeared—one of Ali's soldiers. Shame crossed his face.
"You let her walk alone at night?" Ali said quietly. "You know better."
The soldier lowered his eyes. "Sir… I was embarrassed."
Ali's voice softened. "Trust me. That's your duty."
At dawn, Ali returned to the base. The soldiers were waiting.
"We're deploying by air," Ali announced. "This one is dangerous. Terrorist leader. Alive. Name: Abu Mohammed Al-Reihani."
Before boarding, Ali spoke again, his voice low but powerful.
"Repeat after me."
Together they said the shahada, calm and united.
They jumped from the aircraft laughing as one soldier screamed prayers mid-air, clutching Ali's arm.
The infiltration was silent. Suppressors whispered death. Then everything went wrong.
Gunfire erupted.
John fell.
Ali reached him as blood soaked into the ground.
"Stay with me," Ali whispered desperately.
John smiled weakly. "Guess… I won't get married after all."
Ali's hands trembled as he pressed the wound. "You're not dying."
John looked at him. "Just… don't let them forget us."
His eyes closed.
Ali's face hardened. "Target secured," he reported. "Send extraction."
Back at base, Ali stood motionless as John's coffin was wrapped in the flag. No tears fell. Only silence.
"He was a soldier," Ali whispered. "Now he's a martyr."
He delivered the medal to the woman John loved, apologizing without words. He stood before the supreme commander and took responsibility for the losses.
Later, after rescuing civilians during another attack, Ali was summoned.
"You disobeyed orders," the commander said sharply.
"I saved children," Ali replied.
"You are a commander, not a savior."
Ali removed his insignia and placed it on the desk. "Then I resign."
The news spread like wildfire. Protests demanded his return. Ali turned off the television.
He left the city.
In a quiet town, he worked in a small grocery store, keeping accounts, living unseen. When armed men tried to rob the shop, they froze when they recognized him. Later, another attack came. Ali shielded the shop owner, taking a bullet in his back before neutralizing the threat.
In the hospital, old soldiers stood guard outside his room.
"You're still our commander," one of them said.
Ali smiled weakly. "Not anymore."
A call came. His entire battalion… killed.
Ignoring his injuries, Ali went to their graves.
"I raised you as brothers," he whispered. "I failed you."
The wind answered with silence.
Ali returned to the shop. No uniform. No weapons. Just peace.
For the first time in his life, Ali Salama lived quietly.
And for the first time…
He was ready to rest.
The story does not end here.