Aleppo, North Suburb Position
The First Division's line has already fallen back three times.
The first time was at seven in the morning, when the Turks' tanks burst through the first trench line.
The second time was at eleven at noon, when the Syrian National Army's pickups swung around to outflank them.
The third time was at three in the afternoon, when the Turkish Air Force's F-16s blew up the divisional command post.
Assad crawled out of the ruined command bunker, his face caked in dust, blood running down his left arm.
The shrapnel had torn the wound open, flesh folded back, a stark, ghastly white.
The division commander lay beside him, already dead. Shrapnel bored into his temple and out the other side, blood and brain matter mixed together, smeared all over the ground.
Assad knelt on the ground, staring at that face. He had known this man for thirty years.
