Aleppo, Northern Suburbs Battlefield
Assad didn't know how far he had charged.
A bullet had hit his left leg, passing through the outer side of the thigh, missing the bone, but every step felt like a knife twisting in his flesh. He gritted his teeth, dragging that leg, limping forward.
Less than fifty people remained by his side.
They were scattered among craters and rubble, some shooting, some loading, some lying on the ground unable to get up.
In the distance, there were at least thirty Turkish tanks.
Aligned in two rows, like two lines of gray iron beasts, their cannons aimed in their direction.
"Mr. President!" A young soldier crawled over, his face covered in dust, eyes bloodshot, "From the north! Turkish infantry have flanked us from the north! At least two battalions!"
Assad turned his head.
