(Me)
"We need to go in quietly. They outnumber us, and we don't have enough ammo for a firefight. We'll sneak in, grab as much as we can, and get out."
(Rauf)
"What if they notice us like last time?"
(Me)
"They won't. We'll distract them."
(Rauf)
"How?"
(Me)
"There's a forest near the depot. I'll set it on fire. They'll rush to put it out. That's when we move."
(Rauf)
"Alright…"
Rauf seemed convinced. Honestly, we didn't have another option. It was risky, but in this world, you gain nothing without taking risks.
As I made my way toward the forest, I scouted around. I wanted to get a count of how many were outside at least. Three on the roof, six on the ground. Some were smoking, some just sitting around. They looked relaxed—too relaxed.
I reached the forest, lit a match, and tossed it onto dry grass. Once the flames grew stronger, I backed away and returned. Rauf was waiting.
(Rauf)
"The fire's growing. Hope this works."
(Me)
"It will. Look, they're moving. Let's go. Let's check those crates first."
The first crate had six grenades. We stuffed them into our bags. The second crate held two automatic rifles. We slung them over our backs and moved on.
Suddenly Rauf froze. His face was pale. I circled around to his side—one of the raiders had a gun to Rauf's head. Quietly, I crept up behind him. I pulled out my knife, grabbed his head with one hand, and put the blade to his throat with the other.
"Drop the gun. If you do, I won't kill you," I told him.
He dropped the weapon. Rauf spun and punched him in the jaw, knocking him out. We didn't kill him. Maybe that was a mistake. But to me, killing someone who's already down isn't self-defense. It's murder.
We took the spare mags from his pockets and left. After walking three kilometers, we arrived at the building we'd designated as our base. We didn't rest anywhere on the way—if they realized what had happened, they'd come after us, and they wouldn't show mercy.
When we entered the apartment, we were met with a shock. Süleyman was bleeding from his arm. One of the prisoners had a bullet in his head—the quiet one. The other had wet himself, the room stank. Süleyman had a gun to his head, sweating, his hand trembling.
I tried to take the gun from him, but he pointed it at us.
(Me)
"Süleyman, calm down. Give me the gun. He's terrified already. Just give it to me…"
(Rauf)
"If we don't take it, he might shoot all of us."
(Me)
"Don't be ridiculous! Süleyman, you're in control now. He can't do anything anymore."
(Süleyman)
"This piece of shit needs to die…"
He raised the gun again. I acted fast. The gun went off, but it only grazed the guy's leg. Rauf quickly applied a tourniquet.
(Rauf)
"It's just a graze. He's fine."
Süleyman lit a cigarette and walked away. We cleaned up the mess. Rauf gave the prisoner clean pants, some water, and a cigarette. His hands were shaking as he smoked. We wrapped the dead body in a bag and tied it tight to block the smell. Then, we finally got some rest.