They were moving fast to get into place after learning that a column of tanks would be passing on the highway on their way to fortify the city of Idlib. We had to make a quick decision, and we agreed that we would go with them. The fighters were hugely outgunned for the battle ahead; firing an AK-47 rifle against an armored tank would amount to throwing a handful of stones at a Mack truck. They told Anthony that they would try to hit one of the tanks with a homemade bomb, their most effective weapon, already set in the road. Then they planned to attack the disabled convoy with their rifles.

The fighters, most in everyday clothes, some still wearing the uniforms that were issued to them in the Syrian Army before they had defected, waited hidden along a small street next to the highway. A single row of houses, some built from cinder block, others from stone, was the only concealment separating the fighters from the highway. A fighter warned us to stay behind the old stone houses because they would withstand a tank round better than cheap cinder block.

A small number of civilians trickled from their homes to discover the fighters preparing to launch an attack from their neighborhood. It was clear from their body language that they were not accustomed to seeing fighters there, but they took it as a sign to relocate to safer ground.

A distant rumble was the only sign that announced the approach of the tanks. Two tanks passed before the fighters detonated the bomb. The large explosion, missing its target, was the cue for the others to engage with their rifles, and the quiet neighborhood erupted into gunfire. The more cautious fired their rifles around the corners of houses, while others took turns to shoot more effectively from the exposed alleyways before retreating for cover.

A call went out to stop firing. The fighters said they received a message that a soldier from one of the tanks wanted to defect and join them. There had been stories of similar brazen, risky defections in the past, so the request was not out of the question. One fighter told Anthony that a tank had pointedly turned its gun away from the attack, and in a show of support, a soldier raised his hand from the turret to display the “victory” sign. More fighting interrupted the hope for spontaneous recruits, and three civilians were wounded when a bomb hit a house farther in town.

The attack ended as abruptly as it had begun, and when the fighters returned to their base, I drove with Anthony to a makeshift office that had been set up by the activists. The activists suggested that we keep a low profile because of how exposed we had been in town that day. Informants would be keeping an eye out for us, they said, and there was no reason to push it. We were offered dark Arabic coffee, and we accepted enthusiastically. Anthony not only loved his coffee, he also needed it.

Making a Connection

That evening I read a book while Anthony walked down the street to interview some fighters we had been with that day. A while later an activist returned to tell me that Anthony wanted me to follow him and to bring my cameras. I arrived back at the base where we had seen them prepare their weapons, and as is the custom I took off my shoes before entering. There I found a carpeted room full of the fighters, now familiar to us, singing and playing traditional music, some clapping as one sang.