Chapter 2110 - 859: Group Brawl~_3

He turned around.

"How am I supposed to send troops? Who do I send? With what are we supposed to fight?"

The Chief of Staff lowered his head.

"Those Squid Men…"

The President looked at him.

"They started this themselves; they can deal with it themselves."

Prime Minister's Office, Jerusalem

Shamir stood by the window, looking at the outline of Temple Mount in the distance.

Outside the window, the city was still asleep. Those ancient stones, those narrow streets, those candles that had burned for two thousand years without ever going out—they did not know that War had already reached their doorstep.

The door was pushed open.

Moses walked in.

"Shamir, the Mexican Fleet will arrive in thirty hours."

Shamir did not turn back.

"What about the Golan Heights?"

Moses fell silent for a second.

"The 7th Armored Brigade has fought itself out. Ben Abraham is still alive, still fighting. But the Syrians have already broken through the third defensive line."

Shamir closed his eyes.

Three seconds later, he opened them.

"Tell Ben Abraham I want him to come back alive."

Moses was stunned.

"Shamir—"

"And," Shamir cut him off, "notify the Navy to prepare to engage the Mexican Fleet."

Moses's expression changed.

"Engage? That's two destroyers and three frigates. We—"

"I know," Shamir said. "But we have no other choice."

He turned, walked to his desk, and picked up the report on the Mexican Expeditionary Force.

"Tell all units that from this moment on, every inch of land must be paid for in blood. Every single bullet must kill an enemy. Every minute must exact a price from them."

He put the report down.

"Tell the entire nation—Squid will not perish."

1:00 p.m., last position of the 7th Armored Brigade on the Golan Heights

Ben Abraham's Tank had only five shells left.

His brigade had seventeen Tanks and just over two hundred soldiers remaining. They were holding an unnamed Highland, surrounded by Syrian Tanks—at least a hundred of them—closing in, slowly.

The adjutant crawled up beside him.

"brigade commander, the order from above—tells us to retreat."

Ben Abraham looked at him.

"Retreat? Retreat to where?"

The adjutant said nothing.

Ben Abraham smiled.

It was a bitter smile.

"Tell them we're not retreating."

He jumped onto the Tank and slipped into the turret.

The gunner turned his head to look at him.

"brigade commander, we have five shells left."

Ben Abraham nodded.

"Hit that T-80 first. The lead one."

The gunner took aim.

The shell left the barrel.

The T-80's turret flew into the air, like a huge black spinning top, turning twice in midair before crashing to the ground and bursting into a ball of fire.

The Syrians fought back.

At least thirty Tanks opened fire at the same time. Shells rained down on the Highland. Ben Abraham's Tank was hit twice, the side armor ripped open, the gunner let out a scream—and then fell silent.

He crawled out of the turret, dragging a leg cut by shrapnel, and made his way to another Tank.

The commander was already dead; the driver was still alive.

"Got any shells left?"

The driver nodded.

"Three."

Ben Abraham climbed into the Tank.

"Load."

The driver looked at him.

"brigade commander, we—"

"Load."

By the time the three shells were fired, the Highland was already encircled by Syrian Tanks.

Ben Abraham leaned against that wrecked Tank, watching those muzzles drawing closer and closer.

The Syrians began to shout.

In Hebrew, with a heavy Arab accent.

"Surrender! Surrender and you won't be killed!"

Ben Abraham did not move.

He pulled a photo from his pocket.

It was a family portrait. His wife, his son, his daughter, and himself. In the photo he was wearing his uniform, smiling happily.

He pressed the photo to his chest.

The Syrians' Tanks stopped.

Their guns were trained on him.

The last shell—no one knew where it was fired from—blew Ben Abraham and that Tank into pieces.

The photo flew into the air, drifted, and was carried away by the wind.

7:00 a.m., Cairo, Egyptian Ministry of Defense

Foad II had not slept all night.

On the sand table, the Squid blue flags on the Sinai Peninsula had stopped moving.

The battle report from the Third Army: forty-seven Squid Tanks destroyed, sixty-three armored vehicles destroyed, at least eight hundred enemies killed. Own losses: nineteen Tanks, thirty-one armored vehicles, two hundred seventy-three killed.

"Your Majesty," the Minister of Defense stood behind him, "the Squid Men are retreating. They… seem to be at their limit."

Foad II said nothing.

He stared at the blue flags, at that front line pushing backward.

"Tell the Third Army," he finally spoke, "to keep pursuing. Pursue them all the way to the border."

The Minister of Defense was stunned.

"Your Majesty, beyond the border—"

"I know," Foad II cut him off. "But I want them to know that Egypt is not some soft persimmon."

"Today, I will decide the fate of the world in a single battle!!!"

There was fire in the eyes of Foad II.

It was the unwillingness of previous defeats.

…