Chapter 2115 - 861: Encirclement (Part 2)

The photo flew up, hovered in the air, and fell into the nearby crater.

9:45 AM, Gaza Strip, Jabaliya Refugee Camp ruins.

The brigade commander of the 84th Infantry Brigade, Ehud Barak, leaned against a half-collapsed wall, gasping for breath.

His troops were wiped out.

Three thousand men, now less than four hundred remain. Ammunition—less than ten rounds per person. Water—gone. Food—gone. Radio—silent for six hours.

But he was still alive.

The nineteen-year-old soldiers under his command were still alive.

A young soldier crawled up beside him.

"Commander, they're coming again."

Barak lifted his head.

Outside the ruins, at least five hundred Hamas soldiers were gathering. They wore civilian clothes, held AKs, and stared at these ruins like wolves.

Barak stood up and patted the dust off his clothes.

"Tell the brothers, fix bayonets."

The young soldier was stunned.

"Commander, we're—"

"Fix bayonets." Barak repeated, "No bullets left, then use bayonets. Bayonets gone, use fists. Fists gone, use teeth."

He was the first to fix the bayonet onto his rifle.

The four hundred soldiers watched him, silent for three seconds.

Then, one after another, four hundred bayonets gleamed coldly in the shadows of the ruins.

The Hamas men charged in.

The one at the front was in his early twenties, eyes full of fervor. He saw Barak and raised his AK to fire.

Barak didn't dodge.

He charged forward.

The bayonet pierced through the young man's chest, out at the back. The young man fell, eyes still open, not knowing what had happened.

The second man charged forward.

Barak pulled out the bayonet and stabbed it into the second man's abdomen.

The third man. Fourth man. Fifth man.

He was covered in blood—his own, others', indistinguishable.

Not knowing how many he killed, he suddenly realized there were no enemies around him.

The five hundred Hamas soldiers, at least half lay in the ruins. The rest had retreated.

He turned around.

Of the four hundred soldiers, over two hundred remained.

They stood in the ruins, covered in blood, holding bayonets, looking at him.

Barak laughed.

A bitter laugh.

"Brothers," he said, "we're not dead yet."

10:17 AM, Sinai Peninsula, Arish suburb.

Egypt's 4th Division Armored Brigade had advanced to the suburbs of Arish City.

Brigade Commander Major General Shafeek stood on the command vehicle, watching the battle ahead.

In the city, the Squid defense forces were still fighting.

Those bunkers, those machine gun positions, those anti-tank missile launch points—all were operating.

His tanks were being hit one after another.

But more tanks were pushing forward.

"Commander," the staff officer ran over, "Squid reinforcements have arrived. At least one brigade is pressing from the north."

Shafeek was stunned.

"A brigade? Where did they get reinforcements?"

The staff officer shook his head.

Shafeek was silent for three seconds.

Then he laughed.

"They have no reinforcements," he said, "that's their last reserve. Take out that brigade, and Sinai is ours."

He picked up the radio:

"All units, target—Squid reinforcements. Advance at full speed."

Two armored brigades clashed on open ground.

Three hundred tanks against two hundred tanks.

Shells fell like torrential rain on positions, tanks burned one after another, turrets flew up, crashed to the ground, rolled into craters.

Shafeek stood in the command vehicle, watching the steel purgatory.

His troops were pushing forward.

But every meter was paid for with lives.

Noon, Tel Aviv, Squid Defense Army Headquarters.

Moses stood in front of the main console, staring at the fluctuating numbers.

Golan Heights: Hasspin Line breached. 188th Armored Brigade annihilated. Syrian army's vanguard is less than ten kilometers from Lake Tiberias.

Gaza Strip: Jabaliya Refugee Camp still fighting. The 84th Infantry Brigade has less than two hundred men left, no ammunition, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Hamas.

Sinai Peninsula: Heavy fighting in the suburb of Arish City. Squid's last reserve—the 401st Armored Brigade—is locked in a fierce battle with Egypt's 4th Division.

Lebanon Border: Milk Tea Shop has advanced to a position less than forty kilometers from Tiberias.

Four lines, all collapsing.

But still fighting.

Every position engaged. Every soldier fighting. Every bullet fired.

Communications officer ran over.

"Chief, call from the Prime Minister."

Moses picked it up.

On the other end was Shamir's voice, hoarse like sandpaper.

"Moses, how much longer 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 them to fight to the last man."

The phone hung up.

Moses lifted his head, looking at the flickering dots on the screen.

Each dot represented a position still fighting.

Each position represented a group of soldiers still fighting.

Those soldiers were aged nineteen, twenty, or forty-five. Some might be newlywed grooms, first-time fathers, or grandfathers.

But none of them retreated.

None surrendered.

None alive were captured.

1 PM, east bank of Lake Tiberias.

Syrian 5th Division's vanguard had reached the lakeside.

Brigadier General Hassan stood on a T-80, looking at the blue lake.

Lake Tiberias.

A place he had seen countless times on maps since childhood.

Now he stood here.

"Pass the order," he said, "The whole division to rest on the spot, waiting for follow-up units. Tomorrow morning, attack Tiberias City."