“Why don’t they just walk up with their hands above their heads and surrender?” she asked. “That’s what half the official regular Iraqi army has been doing.”
“The men are doing suicide runs to save their families,” Azrael said. “Civilians who’ve managed to escape are meeting your troops on the road and begging them to take the city, but your soldiers are so spooked right now that they’re shooting anything even remotely hostile. A lot of civilians are getting killed.”
“I’m out of the loop,” she said. “How close are our troops to securing that city?”
“Too far out.” Azrael assumed the grave facial features most people thought of when they pictured the Angel of Death. “Chemosh has gone crazy, shooting old ladies and children. I could use your help.”
“My help? I’m not a soldier—well, techni
