Maher poked his head out from the trench. To the north, the Turkish tanks had already begun advancing. At least forty of them, arranged in two columns, with their turrets aimed in his direction. They gleamed a dark gray in the morning light.
He stood up and dusted off his clothes. Out of bullets, the gun was just an iron bar. He clutched the barrel, lifted the stock as if holding a hammer.
"Brothers, the tanks are coming. No bullets left, use the gun stock to smash. If the stock breaks, use your fists. If your fists wear out, use your teeth."
The soldiers stood up, one after another, gripping the barrels, raising the stocks.
No more than thirty, standing in a line in the morning light.
Turkish tanks drawing closer.
The first one was less than fifty meters away.
