The next day.
Kirkuk Oil Field Area, at dusk.
The setting sun dyed the western sky blood red, interwoven with the orange-yellow of the oil field's burning torches, creating a surreal hue.
The checkpoint of the 3rd Battalion of the Abu You Brigade was set at the junction of Highway 7 and the oil field access road, marking the boundary between the southern Abu You Control Zone and the northern Kurdish Control Zone.
Four soldiers languidly sat behind sandbag bunkers, with a modified Toyota Hilux parked beside them, a DShK heavy machine gun welded on the roof.
Sergeant Khalid was inspecting the gun's ammunition system; metal parts clanged crisply under the tools.
Not far away, the pumpjack moved rhythmically up and down like a giant steel woodpecker, pumping the black gold from underground to the surface.
"A boring day."
The young soldier Muhammad yawned as he adjusted his helmet, "I'm about to forget how to fire a gun."
"Shut up, rookie." Khalid didn't lift his head, "You should cherish the quiet days. In Mosul, my brothers face ambushes three times a day."
"But this isn't Mosul, the people over there are ours too."
Muhammad motioned northwards with his lips, "We're over here, like two neighbors staring over a fence. Why not just tear down the fence?"
Khalid finally looked up, his eyes carrying the unique weariness of a veteran.
"Because on the other side of the fence is what they want, and on this side is what we want. And we both think the other side has better stuff. But you know, rookie? Sometimes the one who tears down the fence becomes a hero, sometimes a traitor. The only difference is who wins."
Muhammad nodded, somewhat understanding.
At this moment, Khalid's radio crackled to life.
Five minutes to six, the order came: "The 'courier' will arrive soon. Follow the script. Be alert, unexpected guests might appear."
Khalid turned off the radio, his eyes sharpening.
He patted Muhammad's helmet: "Wake up, we've got a job. Remember, whatever happens, follow the training. Today, we might...tear down the fence."
At precisely six, a rusted Volvo tanker truck approached from the north, bearing a license plate from the Kurdistan region—starting with a red K.
The truck moved slowly, as if under a heavy burden.
Khalid raised the stop sign, but the tanker truck did not slow down.
"Stop!"
He shouted, signaling to the soldiers behind the bunker.
The tanker truck instead accelerated, the engine roaring, belching black smoke from its exhaust.
Khalid "hurriedly" opened fire as a warning.
The bullets intentionally hit the road in front of the truck, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The other two soldiers also followed protocol, firing warning shots into the air, the gunshots especially jarring in the wide-open area of the oil field.
According to the script, the tanker truck should have traveled two hundred meters before its tires were punctured by predetermined spikes, after which the soldiers would control the driver.
Khalid climbed into the cab and quickly found the "smuggled weapons"—two pistols and several magazines.
But the unexpected happened.
The tanker truck had only traveled fifty meters before its left front tire struck a sharp rock—not a predetermined spike, but a common rock in the oil field area.
Boom!
With a dull explosion.
The truck tire blew out, and the vehicle sharply tilted left, crashing into the roadside ditch.
"Damn it."
Khalid cursed under his breath; this wasn't part of the plan.
But he reacted swiftly: "Surround the vehicle! Be careful! Do not fire without my order!"
The soldiers approached in tactical formation. Khalid yanked open the truck door, finding a pale young driver.
The guy raised his hands, stammering in Kurdish: "I just... the tire blew..."
At this moment, the sound of engines came from the north.
Three trucks, five...
A total of eight Toyota pickups sped from the direction of the Kurdish Control Zone, filled with armed Kurds, some already raising their rifles.
The machine gunner on the lead vehicle aimed his PKM at the Abu You soldiers.
"Drop your weapons!"
The Kurdish Commander shouted through a loudspeaker, his voice echoing in the twilight, "Release that truck!"
Khalid's heart pounded wildly.
These Kurds came too quickly, as if they were prepared in advance.
He pressed his earpiece: "Battalion, situation has changed. Kurdish patrol appeared earlier, numbers... at least forty men."
The battalion's reply was brief: "Proceed with Plan B. Escalate."