"Yeah! Let's do it!"
"When has our Dulaim tribe ever been scared of anyone? Back when the American rolled in with tanks, we still didn't bow down!"
"Once we get this batch of weapons, the whole Anbar Province will be our turf!"
The atmosphere in the tent boiled over again, a greedy flame burning in every man's eyes.
It was a raw, naked hunger.
A hunger for money, for power, for a chance to rewrite their fate.
Mahir watched all of this, knowing there was no turning back anymore.
He stepped into the center of the tent and raised both hands. Everyone fell silent.
"In the name of Allah." Mahir's voice echoed inside the tent: "Today our Dulaim tribe is going to do something big. If we succeed, our descendants will remember this day. If we fail..."
He paused, sweeping his gaze over every face:
"Then we'll go see Allah and tell Him we fought until the very last moment."
Outside the tent, the morning sun had fully risen, dyeing the desert gold.
