Just before sunrise the last Sunday of May I was standing next to a bridge in Hassan Sham village, watching hundreds of Peshmerga cross a small dry river on their way to liberate several Kakai villages from the Islamic State (ISIS) east of Mosul. While waiting for the convoys to pass I had a chat with a Kurdish bomb disposal expert who had defused more than 120 tons of enemy explosives and been injured seven times. He sat in the headlights of the passing armored vehicles on the tarmac of an old road and ate a bowl of hot lentil soup for breakfast before joining the offensive.After he made some phone calls to his superiors the Peshmerga officer guarding the bridge allowed me to cross and join the rest of the force several miles ahead. It was half past three in the morning.The sun was still behind some distant hills when the Peshmerga took up position in their trenches and fired their first rocket at ISIS inside the village of Mufti on the other end of a vast open field. Then there was a second rocket followed by several rounds of heavy machine-gun fire. The enemy response was immediate. They fired a mortar shell that fell behind the Peshmerga lines and kicked up dust into the air. Soon a second and third shell came and the Peshmerga responded in kind.

The sun was still behind some distant hills when the Peshmerga took up position in their trenches The sun was still behind some distant hills when the Peshmerga took up position in their trenches

Every time we heard the ominous whistle in the air a Peshmerga would say, “It is our fire,” “It’s their mortar,” to reassure everyone around. We listened intently to the incoming fire to see if we should duck or hide inside one of the concrete bunkers. The first few shells wounded three Peshmerga. Two shells landed very close to us but fortunately failed to explode.I went from one bunker to another and talked to the Peshmerga who came from almost every town and village in Kurdistan: from Halabja, Kirkuk, Duhok, Garmiyan, Erbil, Hawraman. They wore the same green uniform of the Zeravani forces. One Peshmerga from Halabja was on the front with his father and one brother. He was carrying an M4 rifle and 350 rounds of brand new bullets and determined to fire them all to liberate the Kurdish village that day.In one trench I stood for about fifteen minutes next to a sniper who placed his rifle on a pile of sandbags and looked quietly at the village that was being shelled by the Peshmerga on the ground and coalition fighter jets from the air. “I am looking at where the jets strike to see if they run for cover,” he said, still glued to his scope and not looking up even once. He had killed more than 40 ISIS men in the last two years.In the same trench I met a Peshmerga from Sulaimani who was wearing a pair of spectacles, short-cropped hair and a thin moustache very much resembling Comisar Danilov from Enemy at the Gates. “These ISIS sons of bitches are like a river. We keep killing them and they keep coming back,” he said with his rifle on his lap.A small group of Peshmerga was leading the offensive but they moved at a snail’s pace for they had to navigate an open field that didn’t have any roads while under constant mortar fire. Their only protection was a few snipers in the rear and their own machine-guns.Once the loaders had built a road the support units crossed the field and took up position closer to the village where the fighting was so intense that I had to take cover behind a tank. The tank’s thick armor was good protection but every time it fired a shell it shook the ground beneath my feet and covered me and everyone else in a storm of dust and smoke. By now the first group had left this spot and moved even closer to Mufti.Between two of the tanks I saw a small group of foreign soldiers inside an M-Gator, a light terrain vehicle, and after the whizzing of the ISIS bullets died down I went and spoke with one of them who was wearing a helmet with black straps and dark sunglasses. He looked through a pair of small binoculars and every few minutes picked up his radio and relayed the coordinates to fighter jets. He was Canadian and from a small town in British Columbia. I could only hear the jets and saw them twice bomb two ISIS positions, blowing rooftops and debris into the air. This reminded me of a similar scene in 2003 when I was covering the American invasion of Iraq. One day on the Gwer front—not far from where I was now—I stood next to an American spotter who guided fighter jets against Iraqi army positions while his comrades fired at individual soldiers with 50 caliber machine-guns. The scene was almost the same, only thirteen years apart and this time it was Canadians doing the work.

Suddenly the entire village seemed like a ticking time bomb Suddenly the entire village seemed like a ticking time bomb

After bombing the village for another half hour about a hundred Peshmerga went forward in their vehicles and I walked cautiously in their tracks for fear of landmines until we came to a clearing less than two hundred meters from the village school. A group of about six Peshmerga walked through a patch of thorns and thistle until they reached the outer walls of the school. One of them stood on a concrete slab, raised his rifle and fired several volleys into the classrooms through the windows to flush out or kill any hiding militants. Another Peshmerga fired a magazine of bullets into the lock of the main gate before breaking it open with two strong kicks. Once he had done that I entered the school.



In the main courtyard there was about a dozen desks covered in dust. I inspected the principal’s room where books, files, drawers and chairs were scattered across the floor. Up until that point the few Peshmerga and I didn’t know the name of the village and I found out by checking an old weekly schedule from 2012 on the wall of the teachers’ room.



As I was going through the classrooms I was shaken by a very loud bang and I stepped outside to see a thick column of dust and smoke in the air less than two dozen meters away. My first instinct was a shell from a Peshmerga tank and I thought to myself why do they fire into the village with their comrades here. Then I thought it must be a mortar shell from the retreating ISIS. I left the school through the backdoor and walked towards the site of the explosion. I kept an eye on the ground to make sure I didn’t step on a mine. Along the way I saw many fresh shrapnel and bomb splinters. As I got closer I saw four Peshmerga soldiers waving their hands, pointing to the ground in front of them and shouting frantically. I didn’t know what they were calling about, but I quickly put my pen and notebook in my pocket and ran towards them. A few meters before I reached the spot I saw two Peshmerga soldiers lying on the ground.



By the time I got there they picked up one who had been hit in the leg and was bleeding profusely. The other was already dead. His eyes were rolled back, his boots lay sideways and his silver watch was glittering in the sun. Suddenly I realized I had seen him a few times earlier in the day including the minute he left the base at dawn to join the attack. His name was Rizgar. He was a brigadier and a doctor who had treated and saved the lives of many Peshmerga in the last two years. A lieutenant was with him a few seconds before he was killed and he had given the brigadier two fresh cucumbers from his own ration. Brigadier Rizgar had insisted that the others stay behind as he went to check a spot he suspected of concealing ISIS militants. “He told me to stay back. He even sat me down with his hands. He went towards the spot with a rifle and a pistol.” A few seconds before he was killed he had told his men, “You’re fighting for your land and your parents and children are praying for you,”

A Peshmerga lowered himself into the tunnel and brought out a broken Kalashnikov and several RPG grenades. A Peshmerga lowered himself into the tunnel and brought out a broken Kalashnikov and several RPG grenades.





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Seconds later a suicide bomber hiding inside a tunnel had stepped out and opened fire on him before blowing himself up. After they took away the brigadier’s body I checked out the tunnel that was open on three ends with a long red wire going from one end to the other over the ground. Of the ISIS suicide bomber nothing was left but the top of his head and his thick and messy black hair. Next to the severed head was a large car battery which he had possibly used to set off his explosives. A few minutes later a Peshmerga lowered himself into the tunnel and brought out a broken Kalashnikov and several RPG grenades.From the tunnel I started walking back towards the school but very carefully for suddenly the entire village seemed like a ticking time bomb. Every stone, every wall, every little mound of dirt, every object could be a bomb. On the way back I stopped to look over the wall and into the overgrown garden of a house where a few sparrows were chirping on the trees. Then suddenly the eerie silence was broken by the loudest explosion I had ever heard. An ISIS car bomb went off with the biggest column of smoke almost covering the entire area. I looked up and saw a shrapnel the size of an axe spiraling down towards me and land a few meters away. A few minutes after this one there was even a bigger and more deafening explosion which filled the sky with flying steel.When I reached the school I climbed an iron staircase and sat on the roof under the glaring sun. I leaned back against the concrete ledge and watched a giant fire burning every blade of dry grass in its path and reducing the vast field to ashes.