Battle-hardened

TOMBSTONES in a Lebanese cemetery tell the story of Hizbullah. Beneath rugged hills marking the border with Syria, modest graves display photographs of young men, their names etched in ornate calligraphy. “Died in a hateful Zionist air raid,” reads the headstone of one of the group’s early recruits, killed here in the Bekaa Valley over 30 years ago. Metres away a family mourns a loved one who died the day before in the Syrian town of Zabadani.

This shadowy force, once known for car bombs and assassinations, has come far since Iran’s Revolutionary Guard trained its first cadres. In recent years it has become one of the most visible protagonists in the Syrian civil war, fighting for the government. It is now perhaps the Arab world’s most experienced and competent military force. But this skill has come at a cost in lives and in pan-Arab appeal. Its losses over the past three years of war in Syria are estimated at around 1,500 men, a lot for a force thought to number no more than 15,000 (excluding part-time reservists). Casualties, and an expanding area of operations, have forced it to relax its once-strict qualifications for recruits, say Hizbullah veterans.

Besieging Arab cities with tanks and Syrian air support would once have been alien to Hizbullah. But today the militia not only uses armour and guided missiles, it has a fleet of armed drones, showcased in videos of strikes in Syria. It “has gone from a guerrilla ... force to one that is far more capable of a wider range of operations,” says Jeffrey White of the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, a think-tank.

Despite its involvement in Syria, Hizbullah’s most important front remains the border with Israel. Fighters insist that “resistance” to Israel is its top priority and that its bunker and tunnel networks in south Lebanon are manned by seasoned veterans. “Those guys underground live every day as if the next war will start tomorrow,” says a commander.

But in the here and now, Syria is the focus. A recruiter in south Beirut says vanloads of new fighters leave each day for Syria, where lads as young as 16 are helping defend towns. “The number of new soldiers we are training and sending to Syria is unprecedented,” the recruiter says.

Lately the roads of the Bekaa Valley have teemed with Hizbullah vehicles—convoys of tinted SUVs and ambulances, mostly—ferrying men and materiel to Syria, and wounded fighters to hospital. Last week outside Britel, an unmarked Jeep Grand Cherokee raced along dusty roads, its windows down, revealing bulky men in wraparound sunglasses and body armour.

This is not the first time that Hizbullah has ventured abroad, but it is the most controversial. Over the past decade Hizbullah has trained Iraq’s Shia militias and Syria’s National Defence Forces, a regime-backed militia. A few Hizbullah trainers are also assisting Shia rebels in Yemen.

Some analysts question whether Hizbullah is gaining autonomy from its Iranian backers. But ties remain close. In mid-August Hassan Nasrallah, the Hizbullah chief, conferred in his Beirut bunker with Javad Zarif, Iran’s foreign minister. Mr Nasrallah praises Iran’s religious leaders in speeches, and fighters on the ground say Iran still calls the shots.

The bigger question is what those shots will be when it comes to Israel. Before reaching a deal with the West over its nuclear programme, Iran armed Hizbullah with long-range rockets to deter Israel from bombing its nuclear facilities.

On August 14th Mr Nasrallah lauded his group’s 2006 “divine victory” over Israel, and the party’s Al-Manar satellite channel aired a slick documentary about that war, which Hizbullah fought to a draw. But as war in Syria spirals, many old admirers of Hizbullah are dismayed to see that a group founded to confront Israel is fighting fellow Muslims. With less pressure on Hizbullah from Iran for restraint, and an expanding arsenal of rockets, the risk of conflict with Israel is growing. After its experience in Syria, Hizbullah may prove formidable.