Chapter 2116 - 861: Encirclement

The staff officer froze.

"Commander, not wait for the follow-up troops—attack now?"

Hassan shook his head.

"No rush. The Squid people are already exhausted. Let them despair for one more night, it's easier to attack tomorrow."

He jumped off the tank, walked to the lakeside, squatted down, and scooped up a handful of lake water.

The water was very chilly.

He took a sip.

"Syrian territory." He mumbled.

Just as he stood up, from the slopes on the eastern shore, the sound of artillery suddenly rang out.

It wasn't Syrian artillery.

It was Squid artillery.

The last reserve unit—the 679th Reserve Armored Brigade—rushed out of Tiberias City.

Forty Merkavas, formed into an attack formation, storming down from the slope.

Hassan was stunned.

"Are they crazy?"

Forty against three hundred.

It's a suicide mission.

But those Merkavas didn't stop.

They charged into the Syrian tank group, engaging in close combat. Shells hit turrets directly, one shot for one shot. The tanks burned one after another, but the rest kept charging forward.

Hassan jumped onto his tank.

"Counterattack the entire division! Push them back!"

Three hundred T-72s and T-80s surrounded those forty Merkavas, like a pack of wolves surrounding a lion.

But before the lion died, it took down twenty wolves.

At 1:47 PM, when the last Merkava was blown up, the battlefield was left with over a hundred burning Syrian tank wrecks.

Hassan stood beside his tank, looking at that steel cemetery.

He lost over a hundred tanks.

But the Squid people only lost forty.

But the Squid people had no more tanks.

He climbed back into his tank.

"Continue forward. Target—Tiberias City."

At 2:30 PM, Gaza Strip, ruins of Jabaliya Refugee Camp.

Barak leaned against a wall, panting heavily.

Beside him, there were less than fifty people left.

Hamas retreated again.

But they would be back.

He knew.

A young soldier crawled to his side.

"Brigade commander, how many of us are left?"

Barak looked at him.

"Enough."

The young soldier smiled.

Smiled bitterly.

"Brigade commander, I'm nineteen this year. I've never been in love."

Barak was silent for three seconds.

Then he said:

"Next life you will."

The young soldier nodded.

He stood up, held that rifle with only one bullet left, and looked outside the ruins.

Hamas came again.

This time more.

At least a thousand.

Barak also stood up.

He mounted the bayonet on his gun.

Those fifty soldiers also mounted bayonets on their guns.

Fifty-one bayonets gleamed coldly in the shadow of the ruins.

Hamas soldiers charged in.

The first one was pierced by a bayonet.

The second one was pierced by a bayonet.

The third, the fourth, the fifth—

Barak didn't know how many he killed.

He only knew the soldiers around him grew fewer.

Fifty, forty, thirty, twenty—

When the last soldier fell, Barak was all alone.

Covered in blood, standing in a pile of corpses, he looked at those approaching Hamas soldiers.

At least a few hundred.

They held rifles, looking at him like watching a trapped beast.

A Hamas commander approached, speaking in Arabic:

"Surrender. Surrender, don't kill."

Barak looked at him.

Then he laughed.

Laughed lightly.

"You killed three thousand of my brothers."

He aimed the gun at his temple.

"I'm done serving."

Gunshot rang out.

Barak fell.

Those Hamas soldiers froze there, looking at the body, not knowing what to say.

The commander was silent for three seconds.

Then he turned around.

"Bury him."

At 3 PM, Tel Aviv, Squid Defense Army Headquarters.

Moses watched the extinguishing dots of light.

Gaza Strip, 84th Infantry Brigade, light extinguished.

Golan Heights, 679th Reserve Armored Brigade, light extinguished.

Sinai Peninsula, 401st Armored Brigade, light still flashing, but only three left.

Lebanon Border, those border outpost lights extinguished one by one.

The communications staff ran over, voice trembling.

"Chief, Prime Minister's call."

Moses took it.

It was Shamir's voice, even raspier.

"Moses, how long can we hold out?"

Moses was silent for three seconds.

"Prime Minister, I don't know."

Shamir was also silent.

Three seconds later, he said:

"Prepare the navy. How long until the Mexican Fleet arrives?"

Moses looked at the screen.

"Fifteen hours."

Shamir nodded.

"Tell them, if Mexicans dare approach our coastline, hit them."

The call ended.

Moses looked up, looked at those still flashing, ever fewer, yet each fighting lights on the screen.

He knew the Squid might really perish.

But he also knew one thing—

Those twenty million Jews, not one would die kneeling.

At 4 PM, outside Moscow, that villa.

The boss stood at the window, watching the sunset outside.

The phone rang.

He picked it up.

"Boss, about the Middle East—"

"I know." The Boss interrupted him.

He turned, walked to that wide chair, sat down, and picked up a glass of vodka.

"How many Squid people are left?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"On the northern line, Syrian army has reached Tiberias City's outskirts. On the southern line, Egyptians are surrounding Arish. On the eastern line, Jordanians haven't moved. In Lebanon, Milk Tea Shop has advanced to within less than twenty kilometers from Tiberias."

The boss nodded.

"What about the Mexican Fleet?"

"Fourteen hours away."

The boss laughed.

Laughed softly.

"Tell the Syrians to let those Chechens take the lead. Tell the Egyptians not to spare shells. Tell Milk Tea Shop to push south, push to Tiberias. Tell—"