Chapter 2103 - 857: Men Must Fight

"Tell Bennett to send this out as well."

Bramo took it and glanced at it.

It was an intelligence briefing.

The content was only one sentence:

"The 'rack malfunction' on that F-16, wasn't a malfunction."

11 a.m., Jerusalem, Prime Minister's Office.

Shamir looked at the statement just received from the Mexico Ministry of Foreign Affairs, his hand steady.

On the TV beside him, a reporter from Squid Channel 12 was live broadcasting the scene in Mexico City—the entrance of the Mexico Ministry of Foreign Affairs building, where a group of reporters crowded around the spokesperson, flashes were lighting up the scene.

He put the statement down.

Moses stood in front of him.

"Shamir, what do we do?"

Shamir didn't answer.

He picked up the remote control and changed the channel.

Channel 2, a politician with a flushed face was roaring.

It was Ido Netanyahu, the opposition leader of the Squid, of the Likud Group.

That Benjamin...had already been slaughtered by Victor!

Ido was Benjamin's brother and a firm opponent of Victor!

"Shamir is a coward!" he shouted into the camera, "The Mexicans killed our people, bombed our land, what did he do? He issued a few statements! Made a few calls! He—"

The host tried to interrupt him but was brushed away by him.

"Who does Victor think he is? The ruler of the Middle East? He thinks a few diplomats can scare Squid? I tell you—"

He pointed at the camera, his eyes seemingly on fire.

"Squid won't surrender! Squid will fight! Squid will win!"

Shamir turned off the TV.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, Jerusalem's sky was blue, the sunlight was good. In the distance, the Temple Mount, the Golden Dome Mosque was shining.

"Moses."

Moses stepped closer.

"Yes."

"Notify the Parliament to prepare for an emergency meeting."

Moses hesitated.

"Emergency meeting?"

Shamir turned around.

"If Netanyahu wants to fight, I'll let him fight."

Noon, 12 p.m., Tel Aviv, Rabin Square.

A sea of people.

Not a peace rally, a war rally.

At least a hundred thousand people crowded the square, holding signs, chanting slogans. The signs read "Death to Mexico," "Victor is a Nazi," "We want revenge." The slogans were very orderly, repeating like a military drill.

On the central platform in the square, stood a dozen politicians.

The one in the center was Netanyahu.

"People of Squid!" His voice boomed through the speakers across the square, "Did you see? Did you hear? That dictator from Mexico City, that tyrant fattened by drugs, that coward pointing fingers from the American Continent—"

A massive cheer erupted below.

"He killed our people! He bombed our land! Today, he announced a break-off of diplomatic relations, expelled our diplomats, and froze our assets! What does he want to do?"

He paused.

"He wants us to kneel! He wants us to apologize! He wants us to give up our pilot—our hero who, due to technical malfunction, mistakenly bombed the wrong place on his return!"

The cheers grew louder.

"I tell you—"

Netanyahu took a deep breath.

"Squid will not kneel! Squid will not apologize! Squid will not give up a single soldier!"

He raised his fist.

"War! War! War!"

A hundred thousand people chanted along with him.

The sound made the glass windows around the square buzz.

Afternoon, 1 p.m., Mexico City, "Feathered Serpent Temple" top floor.

Victor watched the CNN live broadcast.

In the broadcast, Netanyahu stood on the podium, raising his fist shouting "War." Below was a massive crowd, flags waving, slogans echoing to the sky.

He turned off the TV.

Bramo stood behind him.

"That pilot, Eilad Shachar—our people have found him."

Victor turned around.

"Where is he?"

"Ramon Air Force Base logistics department. But he's under protection, our people can't get close."

Victor nodded.

"Keep Bennett's people watching."

Bramo nodded.

"And also," Victor said, "any news from Arafat's side?"

Bramo opened a folder. ℯℯ𝘭.

"He's awake. The doctor says he'll live. He sent a message thanking the Mexican doctors. He also said—"

He paused.

"He said, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

Victor's lips moved slightly.

"Tell Arafat I heard."

Afternoon, 2 p.m., Jerusalem, Parliament Building.

Emergency meeting.

Six hundred seats, five hundred ninety-seven filled.

The missing three, two hospitalized, one on a plane rushing back from the United States.

Shamir stood on the podium facing those angry faces, indifferent faces, frightened faces, expectant faces.

"Members of Parliament." He began.

The room quieted down.

"Today, we are faced with a choice."

He paused.

"This choice is not given by me, but by history."

He looked at those faces.

"The Mexicans have broken off diplomatic relations. They've expelled our diplomats, frozen our assets, canceled our cooperation. They demand an apology, compensation, the handover of that pilot."

Someone shouted, "Never!"

Shamir raised his hand.

"Hear me out."

The room fell silent.

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, we've been bullied. You're thinking, we should fight back. You're thinking—"

He pointed outside the window.

"Outside, those hundred thousand are shouting for war."

He was silent for three seconds.

"But I want to ask you a question."

He looked at those faces.

"If we win, what do we gain? If we lose, what do we lose?"

No one answered.