What follows is a fictitious narrative with respect to the Paris attacks and the aftermath.
Mahmoud was looking forward to this assignment all his life. He was about to blow up Paris. It was not like there was a lot of preparation for it. There was a recruiter from the Islamic State, who came to visit him in the prison, and talked him into this. The recruiter spoke of how evil the western states are, and how they are doing everything to undermine the work of Allah. It was decisively important to help the work of the Islamic State, as they were building up their capacities in Syria and Iraq.
Mahmoud was listening patiently. Never in his 25 years of life has there been anybody who impressed him this much. Not his french teachers in school, nor his parents, family members or friends on the street. He felt he wasted away his entire youth, doing petty crimes, being on the street, robbing wallets of pedestrians in crowded zones, and then buying alcohol with his comrades, also fellow immigrants of the second and third generation from Maghreb. There were very few regular jobs, and those jobs that existed did not pay much money. He heard of some French people, who were able to go to the nice schools, and then go on to become doctors or lawyers, but such goal was far beyond his imagination.
There was no such thing as a positive role model for him. Where would they be? His grades began to slip from elementary school on, and he could recall one moment with a history teacher, who scolded him for his lack of knowledge of history. He felt the injustice, as his native French colleagues were treated very well by the teacher, even if they lacked historical knowledge. What mattered more than anything else was cultural capital, and Mahmoud certainly lacked that. Why should he struggle in school, when he is facing so many barriers to advancement? And even if he tried hard, where are the Muslim role models, who are successful and lead him on his way?
At 16 years of age, Mahmoud had decided to drop out of high school. That was no unusual step, as there were many other peers, who had decided on the same outcome. Was that a tragedy? He went on to apply for various jobs, usually in retail and in security services. He found work in a security firm, but they kept him for less than a month. He worked in a football stadium, and got into a little argument with a football fan. Mahmoud was built rather strong, and knocked him out. His opponent was no match, and the football fan ended up with severe concussions and in a hospital. Mahmoud was immediately fired the next day. The boss just said he should not bother to come back. He also received a court indictment, and the French judge did not even look at him and gave him three months in a juvenile jail.
In jail, Mahmoud hung out with some of his former classmates, also Muslim immigrants of the second generation, and they decided to stir trouble in the neighborhood, mainly by stealing wallets, then using the cash to buy drugs and alcohol. Inevitably, Mahmoud and his associates fell under the radar of the police, and he was imprisoned two more times, each with a longer spell. Now, in the third time, there was another prisoner, whom he met, who was the ISIS recruiter.
Mahmoud did not at all care for politics. Yes, he did follow some of his elder relatives and how they were speaking of the Islamic State. They were rather dismissive of it, and thought that it would leave a negative impression of the Muslim community. Mahmoud never took ISIS seriously, but now there was a professional recruiter, who was convincing him to take part in the jihad.
There was plenty of time at hand, because this time the jail trapped him for a whole year. The jihadi, who was uncovered for a plot to blow up the train station, was in prison for 10 years. He had no relatives, or at least not that he knew of. They were meeting every day in the common room, when they were able to escape the confines of the tiny jail cell. The recruiter spoke of the just cause that Mahmoud could be fighting for. No longer will he be the outsider in the society. Western morals are completely undermining to the health and well-being of the society.
After five weeks of indoctrination, Mahmoud finally lost his patience, and burst out, “Yes, I understand what you are saying. You may be right to attack the western countries, and you are fighting for the just cause, but what can I do?” When Mahmoud uttered these words with great enthusiasm, the recruiter smiled back at him. There was a great degree of contentment in his face. The recruiter now saw that he no longer had to do any more convincing work. The recruiter explained to him that upon his release from jail, there was a terror cell that he could immediately join.
The advantage is that because of the lavish funding from Saudi and Qatari sheikhs , they never had to worry about financial concerns. They were able to purchase weapons from the black market, from semi-automatic to completely automatic rifles, bombs, booby traps, hand grenades, pistols and Keflar vests. Through the secret funding sources, they were also able to book nice hotels, buy excellent food and wine, and drive nice cars. All the airfare and train tickets were already bought and paid for. Mahmoud did not at all much care for the material pleasures, and he was willing to participate in the suicide commando. He was willing to support the cause of ISIS.
One moment he was sitting quietly and lonely in his jail cell, contemplating the mayhem, and the horror story in the newspaper the next day. What a tragedy that is for France and the western world. What a great day that is for Allah and the ISIS cause.
After his term in prison was over, the authorities finally released him, and he had a small piece of paper, which showed him the address he should first go to in order to meet his brothers in faith. It was some surprisingly respectable apartment in a largely middle class neighborhood in northern Paris, very unseemly. Mahmoud thought at first that he was just in the wrong spot, because even though he had lived in Paris his whole life, he certainly never went to that particular posh neighborhood before.
He rang the bell and was taken in immediately. A bunch of jihadis, also rather nicely clothed had been awaiting him. Who had informed them of his visit? After putting down the few possessions that he owned, Mahmoud was invited to drink some nice wine. That is the culture of decadence, he was told. For a brief moment, Mahmoud felt a little bit suspicion against the fellow jihadis, because in his own family he was never allowed to drink much alcohol, though he would drink a lot with his friends. But they were about to embark on a serious mission. After eating butter chicken with rice, they were sat into a minivan, and drove to the suburbs of Paris, where there were very few houses, and a lot of green space. They were practicing shooting. Mahmoud just now discovered that the trunk of the van was full of Kalashnikovs and other machine pistols.
Mahmoud also discovered immediately what a poor shooter he was, failing to hit the targets, and once almost shooting his own foot. But they went on training for a full month, almost everyday, usually after lunch, taking up the full afternoon, and then coming home late at night for dinner. By the end of the month, Mahmoud was pumped, and he could easily hit the wooden targets on the ground. There were usually 10 other jihadis joining them in the shooting training. Ironically, the police was not able to stop them during these shooting sessions, because there was some sheikh, who owned the entire plot of land, and he had a good relationship with the local police commander, who made sure that no police patrols were sent to that area.
When the month was over, the newspapers reported that the French government had decided to bomb ISIS targets in Syria. Mahmoud and the other jihadis were rather furious. The commander of the group gathered the other jihadis in his apartment, and said that they needed to wait two more weeks, observe how the situation develops further, and then decide on striking the capital with a blitz. There were roughly 20 jihadis, which were ready to participate in the strikes. They would go in groups of 3, and target different locations in the city at the same time. They knew that once the shooting began, the authorities would place the city in a lockdown, and it would be difficult for the jihadis to counter the fully armed police and military directly. Once the lockdown happened it was all too late. They had to make sure in order to be effective to all strike at the same time.
After two weeks of the aerial raid by the French air force, it became clear that they would not relent. The commander of the terror cell, Ahmed, received orders from above via a cell phone call. What would usually happen is that they have 10 different cell phones, and multiple different sim cards, which would quickly be discarded after an important call had been made. There is reason to believe that despite these precautions that the French and US intelligence agencies were still listening in to what they were saying, but strangely they have never been bothered by the authorities.
Ahmed gave out the orders to carry out the attacks. Mahmoud was instructed to hit the Bataclan theater, a rather popular venue for young music lovers. They played concerts there every week, and this week there were sure to be many people to enjoy themselves, drink alcohol, and listen to music. Mahmoud was ready to create mayhem. On the other hand, he felt a little bit sorry for what he was about to do. The people he was about to kill were unknown to him. They have not done him any personal harm. But wait a minute. They were doing him harm all the time. They were fighting on the wrong side of history. While they were enjoying the good life, his life was rather meaningless, and the lives of the many Syrians and Iraqis is also getting wasted as long as the western countries are bombing his fellow believers.
Pity quickly turned into new rage and contempt. On that night, the weather was clear. It was not very cold, and it was not very warm either. Everyone in the team was wearing a black sweater, black pants, black shoes and a black hat. Underneath the sweater, they wore hand grenades and a string of ammunition strapped to the body. In the pants, they wore two pistols, one on each side. In the minivan, they stored the semi-automatic pistols, ready to use them as soon as they arrived in their main destination. Mahmoud was dispatched with Malik and Onder. Onder was on the driver’s seat with Malik next to him, and Mahmoud sat in the back seat.
The 20 minute drive to the target destination went by very slowly in Mahmoud’s perception. He was trying to relax his mind for the very last minute, and tried to pray and receive spiritual support before he was about to commit a rather harsh action. Allah would be on his side. It did not matter what happened to him personally and physically, because he was the instrument of Allah to carry out justice in his name. No one could stop him now.
Police commander Manuel Gaucon had been at his job for the last 25 years. His family had very high expectations on him to become a police officer, because his father and grandfather did the same job. He could even remember that one of his forebears was defending Louis XVI before he was beheaded. Every police officer saw a little bit of action in his life, but his own life was rather uneventful. He was hired as a police officer, because he was recommended by his family, and he was clearly much less capable than most of the rest of his peers. He was quickly placed into the desk job, where he could cause the least trouble. But over time, he was bored with the desk job, and asked his supervisors to transfer him to the front line. He felt somewhat adventurous to go out there, and stop the thieves, burglars, and robbers. Gradually, he worked his way up the hierarchy, and now at age 44 he was still out on the streets, fighting the gangsters on the streets.
This night he was instructed with one other colleague, Rene Desi, to watch over the Bataclan theater. He thought it would be an uneventful evening, where the worst thing he would do is to scold the mid-20s, mostly students or professionals, to not puke or pee in public. He was eagerly looking forward to discipline these young people, who have not been taught proper manners. Desi and Gaucon were sitting comfortably in their police car 50 meters away from the west side entrance of the theater. It was 8pm and many of the young visitors were about to enter the theater, clutching their tickets and some cash in the hands. By 8.30pm the concert was in full swing as the rock band played their song at full volume.
Gaucon sighed and hoped that the concert would be over as soon as possible.
Mahmoud and his two fellow attackers arrived in Bataclan around 9pm. They parked the car in the main parking lot outside the north entrance. There was no other person on the parking lot, which quite surprised them. Why would there not be anybody, who would stop them?, Mahmoud thought.
Onder murmured a few thoughts and said one more prayer in Arabic, and then he instructed the other two to proceed. “Allahu akbar”, he uttered, and they were ready to proceed. They each took the machine pistol, and loaded it up, making sure it would produce a click sound. They had 200 rounds of ammunition in the magazine, and they had each four additional magazines strapped to their waist. They had been trained to switch magazines in less than 5 seconds, and speed was very important if they wanted their operation to succeed.
They were instructed to start the attacks between 9.05 and 9.15pm, which was a time frame small enough for the authorities to not be able to respond. After 9.30pm, the city would be in a lockdown, and it would be difficult to wage more attacks. Mahmoud and his team were informed that the police and the military were on high alert after there were attacks against synagogues and other public places. They could not screw this up. Mahmoud looked at his watch and it was 9.04pm.
Mahmoud approached the theater along with his accomplices, and they encountered only the security guard at the entrance who was shivering, because he saw the three gunmen. Mahmoud was the first to react, and pulled out his pistol with his muffler, and shot dead the security guard, who was not even able to resist. Malik dragged his corpse into the entrance, so the police would not discover him right away. The three gunmen then proceeded on the hallway, where they saw two young girls chatting with each other as they were leaving the toilet. Onder used his muffled pistol and eliminated them with clean headshots.
They now knew that they had no more time to waste. They ran across the corridor, pulled out their rifles, stormed the door to the main concert hall, and saw the many oblivious youngsters partying and having a good time. The music was deafeningly loud. Mahmoud stormed in first, and shot at the crowd. Malik came right behind him. Onder ran up the steps and wanted to position himself on the balcony.
The music all of a sudden stopped. The band immediately saw what was happening, as 15 people were immediately hit and fell to the ground, while the blood was gushing out everywhere. The enthusiastic crowd turned frantic, as people were screaming and yelling. The band ran to the backroom an exited, and a few crowds from the front row where quick enough to run on the stage, and also take the back exit. They were the people that could escape, but that was the only entrance which was not blocked by the gunmen.
Mahmoud fired away all of his bullets and quickly switched them out. One minute into the mayhem, every concertgoer fell to the ground. Some people were already deadly wounded, while others were still alive, but badly injured. Then there were still others, who were not hit, but they hid behind the corpses of those in front of them. They tried to pretend to be corpses and left alone, but the gunmen waded themselves through the corpses, kicked the bodies, and if they shrieked, then they got a headshot.
Gaucon was disturbed by the shooting, and immediately called reinforcement. Then Gaucon and Desi left their car, took out their pistols and advanced to the west entrance of the theater. As they approached the theater, they heard people screaming, and they saw some frightened people streaming out of the door.
“What the hell just happened?”, Gaucon asked one of the people fleeing.
“There are crazy gunmen inside, and they are killing so many people”, replied one of them, and then quickly ran toward the police car.
“How many gunmen are there?”
“I don’t know”, replied another man, also hurrying out as quick as he could.
There were roughly 50 people who made their way out safely. That meant that 250 people still had to be inside the building. Gaucon heard the gun shots, which came intermittently, and then they became rarer.
Gaucon panicked, and felt the gravity of the situation. He walked in before Desi could stop him, so she had to follow him inside. They had their pistols pointing toward the air, as they tiptoed across the hallway. Through the glassdoor, Gaucon recognized the silhouette of a gunmen dressed in black. Gaucon pushed his body against the wall, then aimed his pistol against the gunmen, intending to pull the trigger. But it was difficult to pull the trigger, because the gunmen kept on moving around, trying to round up the people on the ground that were still alive. The sight of a room full of blood made Gaucon want to vomit. Never had he seen such massacre in his entire career in the police department.
What Gaucon didn’t know was how many gunmen there were. If he shot one, then he would reveal his own position, and that could be dangerous for him and his partner. But if he did not do something the situation would just get worse. He could wait for the reinforcement to arrive, but every second to stop the gunmen was precious, and if he didn’t do anything now, then all of the people inside would die violently. How he could he justify that in his conscience?
The gunman was facing his back to Gaucon, and he was the only one in his sight. Gaucon aimed at him and pulled the trigger. He hit his back, and the gunman fell to the ground. Gaucon could not savor the moment, because there were shots coming down from above through the glassdoor. One bullet hit his hand, so his pistol fell to the ground. And one bullet hit his left shoulder. the sharp pain of the bullet was enormous, and Gaucon fell back. Desi immediately pulled him out of sight. But behind them, they could hear the automatic rifles blasting their way through the wall to the corridor, but missing both of them.
But now the reinforcements arrived. There were 100 units from the special police commando, and 30 regular police arriving at the scene. They entered the corridor, found Gaucon and Desi, and questioned them both on what had happened. Gaucon and Desi then exited the building, and an ambulance arrived to get him out of there.
Malik was groaning and lying on the ground. he was clearly still alive. What should Mahmoud do? He shouted to Onder, who was still on the balcony to shoot toward the door to prevent the police from storming inside. In the mean time, Mahmoud would do another quick run, and rather than going from person to person to check whether they were still alive, Mahmoud decided to use up his ammunition by indiscriminately targeting the bodies on the ground. There was already a 2 centimeter sea of blood developing on the ground, but with every bullet hitting dead and living bodies there was more blood added.
Mahmoud became dizzy. He never anticipated that killing so many people would be so traumatizing. He shook it all off. He knew there was no more time left. But then there was panic in him. The police was shouting into the hall.
“Drop your weapons immediately. We have surrounded the building. You can no longer escape us. The earlier you give up, the better it will be for you”, is what the police yelled via the megaphone. It became serious. But there were no police bullets. They did not want to shoot so long as there were potential civilians alive. In the mean time, Onder signaled that he had finished his last magazine of bullets. Now there was no longer any escape.
Mahmoud made a split-second decision to flee the scene. Onder, however, took his hand grenade, threw one against the police, and held one in his own hand. He was dead in a few seconds. When the explosion happened, the police now decided to storm the hall. They came in one after another, and realized that there were no more any gunman. How is that possible? Were there still gunmen at large?
There really was only one gunman at large. Mahmoud exited the back entrance and discovered two police cars with four officers waiting inside with their guns ready. Mahmoud took the risk, pulled out both of his pistols and fired twice on both sides. Magically, he succeeded with hitting all the officers, who fell effortlessly to the ground. Mahmoud then ran to the police car, put on the siren and drove away as quickly as he could. Three blocks away, there was a park, where he stopped the car. He ran across the park, which was ironically completely empty, exited the park from the other side, threw his weapon down, and winked over a taxi, who stopped dutifully and took him back to Ahmed’s apartment.
President Richard Delmas was in a theater, watching a play, when his advisor came up to him and whispered in his ears that the country had just been attacked. Delmas whispered an apology to the theater director, who had invited him to watch the play, and he made his way out with the entire kowtow of the secret service and his presidential staff.
“What just happened now? Was there an explosion or mass shooting?”, the president asked.
“Yes, according to what the security authorities report, we are facing a mass terrorist threat. The terrorists operating in small cells have targeted seven different locations in Paris, and most of the people that died were in the Bataclan theater”, the George Billard, the national security adviser noted.
“We have to prepare a statement immediately”, Delmas replied. Delmas got into the backseat of the Citroen, which had bulletproof glass, and made his way back to the Champs Elysee. Delmas had a slight shiver going down his spine. Would the terrorists find him, and kill him too? After all, there were still some shooters at large. The president quickly threw away that thought. It is not conceivable for him to contemplate his own imminent death, because he had to lead the country in these rather difficult times.
“How long does it take? Are we there yet?”, the president yelled to the driver. Delmas was clearly irritated. Never had he been so much challenged as of now. The tax increase campaign on the rich, which ultimately failed, was a rather light-hearted issue compared to what he was facing now. After what seemed like an eternity, the president arrived in the Elysee palace, 10 minutes after 10pm. The Champs Elysee had been reinforced with heavy barriers, and the military commando had dispatched 500 soldiers, which supported the 200 secret service and police agents, who were there full time since the last terrorist attacks earlier that year.
Delmas entered the palace, the door shutting behind him immediately. The defense minister, the prime minister and the interior minister were already waiting inside the room. The rest of the cabinet was also called in, but they were to arrive much later. The speech writer also entered the room, and has already drafted a 1,000 word statement, which spoke in condemnation of the heinous terrorist attacks. Delmas took the sheet of paper, skimmed it, gave it back to the speech writer and nodded.
“Mr. President, you need to make the address to the nation to reassure them. Second, you need to show your determinism to bomb ISIS targets as a form of revenge. We cannot let them get away with this”, the prime minister said in a much more hawkish tone than Delmas could ever imagine. Delmas nodded briefly.
Delmas hated foreign military adventures. But on the other hand, his cabinet had already talked him into the intervention in Syria. The same story can be found in Libya, Mali or Chad. It was the French, who were expected to participate in the intervention, while the other European countries would hang back, and see what happens. But there were other interests, which ensured that the French would continue fighting in these wars, and Delmas did not want to offend military and defense interests.
“Okay, we need to add into the statement how we are going to be even more determined to fight the jihadis”, Delmas added and looked briefly at his speechwriter, who quickly produced new ideas and sentences with his pencil. “What do we know about the situation on the ground?”
“There are two locations, where shootings are still taking place. We had three bombs that went off in public squares, and there were a few confirmed victims. But I have alerted the entire police apparatus in Paris and the suburbs, and we have cordoned off all the areas where the attackers have hit us”, said the interior minister.
“I have activated the entire military, and the soldiers have been called from the barracks. They are going to monitor the streets and highways, and we dispatch them to protect important landmark buildings”, added the defense minister.
“Can we say for sure that ISIS is behind those attacks?”, Delmas asked his cabinet. His chief cabinet secretary then walked into the room with fax paper in his hand.
“Mr. President, I think this is evidence that ISIS is to blame for today’s terrorist attacks”, said the secretary.
“Damn ISIS. Francois, make sure that we add ISIS as part of our target list”, the president said to his speechwriter.
“We’ll get them”, the prime minister said sheepishly.
“We have the cameras ready, you should be giving the speech in 20 minutes”, the cabinet secretary said.
Not long after, Delmas said with a stern face to the TV cameras, “We are at war with ISIS”.
Mahmoud was quite surprised that when he came home and celebrated with Ahmed and four others in the apartment with liquor, he could quickly fall asleep without any nightmare. When he woke up the next morning he was feeling fresh, and he was getting ready to plan new attacks. This time around they had to be a lot more careful, because police precaution would be up, and it would be harder to carry out attacks unnoticed. But Mahmoud was convinced of his work. They would have to pull only a little bit further, and the truth would be revealed.
Mahmoud ingested his breakfast cereals, while watching the local news, which flooded the viewers with the images of the victims of Bataclan. The media did say that there was one of the shooters who was still at large, and Mahmoud could not resist but smirk. It would not be so easy to get him. Mahmoud wondered whether he was invincible.
Prior to the Paris attacks, the French military had 20 fighter jets, who were using Turkish air bases to carry out their raids. After the attacks, the president signed an executive order to dispatch 30 more fighter jets for immediate use, which would take roughly one week to shift the logistics, and one aircraft carrier to the southern coast of Cyprus, which would carry an additional 30 fighter jets. Now, ISIS can feel the French revenge.
Inspector Jean Bosser knew what to do when terrorists carry out attacks. What was important was to capture the phones that they leave behind, and then trace back the conversations, phone calls and numbers. Luckily, there was one terrorist, who carried a cell phone with him, and he received one last call at 8.50pm, which was about 15 minutes before the attack happened. The phone call was retraceable directly to the address of a northern Paris apartment. This is where the terrorists are probably hiding.
Bosser immediately informed the police commander of this find, and he contacted the interior minister, who then spoke to the president. Only 30 minutes later he received the president’s order to organize a police raid against Ahmed’s apartment. Bosser was surprised that bureaucracy could work so fast, which it usually didn’t. But these were not normal times either.
Bosser called up a whole special police battalion, of which there were only two in the whole of France, one stationed in Paris and the other in Lyon. These included 150 very well trained police officers. They had the task to round up the apartment, in which the terrorist survivors lived. In order not to attract too much immediate attention, Bosser decided to wage the attacks in the middle of the night at about 3am. At 2.30am, 50 police forces blocked the cars and people from entering and leaving the road surrounding the apartment building.
Mahmoud was awakened by the blue police lights, which immediately shone into the house. It was not unusual for police cars to show up where he lived in the banlieue, but in this middle class neighborhood there were barely any police cars. Why did the police show up? Were they busted? Mahmoud quickly got to his feet and notified Ahmed, who was still half asleep. But when he opened his eyes, he quickly realized what was happening, and he awoke the other five people in the apartment. They just had enough time to grab the guns and unlock them. Mahmoud quickly thought about what he could do to extricate himself from this intractable situation, but this time he was no longer so lucky. He sighed heavily. Now he would finally face Allah.
Bosser’s unit pre-warned local residents. They were told to stay in their homes or to get out as quickly as possible. When the police barrier was finally set up, the special forces arrived from all four possible directions with 25 men roughly on each side. The special forces unloaded from the truck, and then quickly advanced to the entrance of the apartment building. But all of a sudden there were bullets hailing down from the top window. That is where the suspected terrorists had been. They were uncovered.
Bosser sat in the police car and cursed loud. He spoke into his walkie talkie and ordered his men to regroup and retreat. He was not about to lose any of his men because of an uncareful move. He could wait it out. The risk was naturally that the longer the fight wore on, the greater the risk for the people in the neighborhood. Worst of all, they could take a hostage in their floor, and create even more mayhem. It would naturally reflect very badly on him, but he did not want to sacrifice his men to quickly kill the terrorists.
From his car, Bosser could see that the terrorists had placed two men on the window, but he was pretty sure that there were not only two men. There must be more terrorists hiding from behind. The best way to proceed forward was to storm the building from the back entrance, where the terrorists did not have window access. 50 men were ordered to enter the building from the back door. They hit every room that was in their way. Some people were really frightened, and they strangely opened the door. The police officers yelled that they should get back into their rooms, and lock themselves up. The police cleared the first floor without any problems.
Going up to the second floor, there was pushback. One of the terrorists was hiding in the stairs of the second floor, and aimed his automatic rifle at the police. One of the officers fell to the ground. Two behind him replied the fire. Then they were streaming upstairs, and one of officer hit the terrorist on his knee, and he fell forward. But he kept clutching to his gun, and continued firing, but imprecisely. The officer used the moment, and killed him with a headshot. In the second floor, the same drama unfolded, but this time before they were able to hit the second floor, they were stopped by a suicide bomb. The awful sight of body pieces were rolling down the staircase. The staircase was now impassable with the debris covering up the way upstairs.
Bosser immediately received notice of the obstacle, and ordered his men to sotm up on the second staircase, but there was a third terrorist hiding in the dark. He had eliminated the lighting, and kept shooting in the dark. A second police officer was hit. The officers turned on their light on the rifle, and stormed the second staircase.
“Give up!”, the officer shouted, and surprisingly the terrorist flung his weapon toward the officers and crawled out of the staircase with hands erected to the air. He was immediately captured. The way was cleared to get to the second floor. Toward the third floor, there was another terrorist, shooting down with his Kalashnikov. The firing lasted for ten minutes. Then there was another suicide bomb that went off. Surprisingly, the staircase was not blocked this time around, and they were approaching the apartment on the third floor. Three terrorists killed and one was captured. How many more are there?
In the mean time, of the two terrorists that were shooting from the two windows, one was certainly hit, and there was only one more window where intermittent firing came from. Bosser was eager to see them overwhelmed after now 30 minutes of engagement.
Mahmoud was firing the rifle with all that he had, but the ammunition was running out, and the police was about to enter the apartment. One of his people was now wounded on the chest, and lying on the ground unconsciously. There were only two more people in the room. Ahmed and himself. It was not entirely clear what happened to the others. Ahmed screamed that the police was at their door. Ahmed hid behind the couch, then fired his semi-automatic rifle toward the door.
the police fired back with full vengeance. They were firing away so many magazines that they were not only blowing many holes into the door, but also the couch behind which Ahmed was hiding. Now the game was over. A bullet pierced through his shoulder, and he dropped to the ground. Mahmoud now left the window, and came to the support of Ahmed. They looked at each other one more time, and the police already entered. Mahmoud took the rifle and wanted to aim one more time, but all the weapons training that he got did not help him against the overwhelming force of the police, which pierced him with 15 bullets. 10 police men simultaneously entered the apartment and found Mahmoud’s corpse, and a wounded Ahmed, who was immediately imprisoned. They found another wounded terrorist.
That was it. The police finally overwhelmed the last terror cell in context with the Paris attacks.
In the next few weeks, the French military ramped up the offensive against ISIS, but there was no resolution to the conflict. The French president promised his people to protect their civil rights, while at the same time maintaining the necessity of restricting people’s freedom to ensure the successful pursuit of terrorist endeavors in France. Anti-war activists went on street protests, and many of them were immediately imprisoned, because they threatened national security, according to the government. Right-wing forces gained in the polls, and they stirred public anger against Muslim immigrants. Mosques went up in flames. The president condemned these attacks, but in order to maintain popular approval, the president advanced the war on terror agenda further. The police and intelligence services, in the mean time, find evidence for further planned attacks in France.