On the west side of Tetric City, on the top floor of a five-story building.
Zakavi stood in front of a shattered window, dust clinging to the lenses of the binoculars in his hands.
From here, he could look down over most of the Central District.
The neighborhoods that had once belonged to the 1515 Armed were now being devoured inch by inch by the attacking forces.
To the east, the flag of Samir's Tenth Division had already been planted on the water tower in the industrial zone; to the north, Abu You's Kurd Armed convoy was crushing the last defensive line, the dust they raised clearly visible in the morning light.
"They're advancing very fast."
A hoarse voice from his adjutant sounded behind him.
Zakavi did not turn around.
His fingers gently rubbed the focusing ring of the binoculars, as if caressing some precious musical instrument.
"Fast is good," he sneered. "The deeper they go, the harder it is to pull back."
The other five men in the room all fell silent.
