Yusuf squats beside him, with only the last bullet left in the magazine.
"Colonel, we can't hold on."
"Even if we can't, we must. Hold until night falls. Once it's dark, we can retreat."
A shell lands in the building across the street, the entire building collapses, and dust rushes forward. Yusuf lies on the ground, seeing nothing. As the dust clears, Bashir leans against the wall with his eyes closed. Yusuf nudges him.
"Colonel."
Bashir opens his eyes. "I'm not dead. Just resting."
In the distance, Turkey's tanks are heading south.
Damascus Presidential Palace, 4 p.m.
The gunfire draws closer. Assad sits in a wheelchair, spreading a map of Damascus before him. The north of the city is entirely red, fighting in the east, gunfire starting in the west. Only the south remains untouched.
