Chapter 2111 - 860: Everything’s in Chaos

4:17 AM Tel Aviv Squid Defense Army Headquarters

In the underground command hall, over two hundred screens simultaneously flashed red "lost contact" signs.

Golan Heights, 7th Armored Brigade, lost contact.

188th Armored Brigade, only seventeen vehicles left, still fighting.

Barak Armored Brigade, urgently transferred from the Sinai Peninsula to the northern line, still en route, at least five hours needed.

Moses stood in front of the main console, hands on the edge of the table, staring at the green area of Golan Heights, which was continuously being compressed.

Five kilometers.

Four kilometers.

Three kilometers.

The Syrian vanguard had already advanced to a position less than thirty kilometers from Lake Tiberias.

A communications staff officer ran over, face pale: "Chief, call from the Prime Minister."

Moses took it.

On the other end was Shamir's voice, hoarse as sandpaper scraping glass.

"Moses, how long can the northern line hold?"

Moses was silent for three seconds.

"Prime Minister, I don't know."

Shamir was silent too.

Three seconds later, he said, "Tell the front-line soldiers that every minute must be paid for in blood."

The call ended.

Moses looked up at the screen, at the blinking red dots.

On the Sinai Peninsula, Egypt's Third Army was advancing toward Kantara. In the Gaza Strip, Hamas had already captured three settlements. At the Lebanon Border, Hezbollah's 2nd echelon had just crossed the Blue Line.

Four battle lines, all fallen.

He turned around and spoke to the Minister of Operations standing in the corner:

"Notify the air force, launch every plane that can fly. Bomb Golan Heights. Bomb the Sinai Peninsula. Bomb Gaza. Bomb Lebanon."

The Minister of Operations was stunned.

"Chief, that means using up our entire reserves—"

"What about using up the reserves?" Moses interrupted him, "If the northern line collapses, what are the reserves for?"

4:23 AM Damascus Syrian Ministry of Defense

Hafez Assad stood in front of the massive sandbox, without any expression on his face.

On the sandbox, the red arrows representing the Syrian army were making a crushing advance in Golan Heights.

The 5th Division had already advanced to Quneitra. The 7th Division was flanking the Israeli side. The Republican Guard Armored Brigade—his pride and joy—was acting as the second echelon and had already crossed the border.

The Minister of Defense stood beside him, voice trembling with excitement:

"Mr. President, the Squid Men have collapsed! The 7th Brigade is gone, the 188th Brigade is wrecked, and their reserves are still on the road. Five hours, just five hours, and our tanks can reach Lake Tiberias!"

Assad said nothing.

He looked at the blue line on the sandbox—Lake Tiberias. That was the place Syria lost in 1948, the place every generation of Syrian soldiers dreamed of reclaiming.

"How many Chechens are left?"

The Minister of Defense was taken aback and flipped through the report.

"About a company is left. Ramzan is dead, but the others are still fighting."

Assad nodded.

"Tell them to charge at the front. Each person will get one hundred thousand dollars if they reach Lake Tiberias."

The Minister of Defense turned to leave.

"Wait."

Assad called him back.

The Minister of Defense turned around.

Assad walked to the window, looking at the gray sky of Damascus outside.

"Notify the 3rd Armored Division to prepare for action."

The Minister of Defense was stunned.

"Mr. President, the Third Division is the Capital Guard Force—"

"I know," Assad interrupted him, "Once the Squid Men's air force finishes bombing Golan Heights, let them circle around from the east and cut off the Squid Men's retreat."

He turned around.

"Today, I want the Jews to remember what a catastrophe is."

4:31 AM Cairo Egyptian Ministry of Defense

Foad II stood in the command center, watching the battle situation on the sandbox.

On the Sinai Peninsula, Egypt's Third Army's armored brigade had advanced to a position less than ten kilometers from Kantara. The Squid Men didn't resist, only kept retreating. But they retreated too fast, abnormally fast.

The Minister of Defense walked over.

"Your Majesty, could the Squid Men be up to something?"

Foad II shook his head.

"It's not a trick. They have no one left."

He pointed to the direction of Golan Heights on the sandbox.

"The Syrians are tying down their main forces in the north. In Gaza, Hamas is biting them in the south. They can't muster forces to defend Sinai."

He paused, looked up.

"Notify the Third Army, advance at full speed. I want to have breakfast in Kantara tomorrow morning."

4:45 AM Gaza Strip Jabaliya Refugee Camp Outskirts

Three thousand Hamas fighters emerged from the tunnels.

Not three thousand soldiers in uniform, but three thousand shadows dressed as civilians, mingling with the refugees. They had guns—hidden in vegetable baskets, in infants' swaddlings, in empty coffins.

The Squid 84th Infantry Brigade's position was two kilometers north of the refugee camp.

Brigade Commander Ehud Barak stood in the command vehicle, staring at the radar screen filled with dots.

At least twenty thousand people.

But at least three thousand of them were armed.

"Commander, orders from above—"

The staff officer ran over.

Barak took the orders, glanced at them.

"Hold the position."

He tossed the orders on the table.

"Tell all battalions to prepare for urban warfare."

5:00 AM Lebanon Border Hezbollah 2nd Echelon Assembly Area

Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah stood behind a pickup truck, watching those soldiers checking their weapons.

Twelve hundred men.

Not ordinary militiamen, but "Radwan" Special Forces—the aces of Hezbollah. Every one of them had fought in Syria, in Iraq, in Yemen. Every one of them had blood on their hands.

The adjutant walked over.

"Leader, the Squid Men's air force just bombed our rear positions. More than twenty people died."