He paused. "Tell Maher to go to Homs. Take his men. Forty-seven men, it's enough. Enough to hold Homs."
Maher stood at the door, already changed into a clean uniform, but his face still had blood on it. His left leg dragged along, limping. He walked up to Assad.
"Mr. President, the 4th Division is ready."
Assad looked at him. "Your leg."
"The leg's fine."
Assad was silent for a long time.
"Go. Come back alive."
Maher turned and walked away.
At nine in the morning, Northern Suburb of Homs, position of Syria's 3rd Division. Maher leaned against the trench, his left arm in a sling, the bandage soaked with blood. His eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping. The adjutant crawled over and nudged his shoulder.
"General, reinforcements have arrived."
Maher opened his eyes. "Who?"
"The 4th Division. General Maher has brought his men."
Maher stood up.
