Chapter 2119 - 862: Preemptive Interest

April 22, 1998, 4:17 a.m., Golan Heights, Command Post of the Syrian Army 5th Division.

Brigadier General Hassan stood next to the newly planted Syrian flag on the mountaintop, looking down at the shimmering lake at the foot of the mountain.

Lake Tiberias.

The lifeline of the Jews, nearly half of Israel's freshwater source.

Now it's under Syria's artillery.

"Commander."

The staff officer ran over, handing over an intercepted Squid military communication, "The Squid's water purification plant is still operating. They're drawing water from the lake to supply the whole country."

Hassan took the communication, glanced at it.

The location of the purification plant, coordinates of the water pumps, direction of the pipelines, all was there.

"They think we're just here to take the high ground." Hassan sneered, returning the communication to the staff officer, "Tell the artillery brigade, target—the Lake Tiberias pumping station. Before dawn, I want that pipeline turned into scrap metal."

4:23 a.m., the first 152mm shell landed fifty meters from the pumping station.

The explosion's fire illuminated half the lake surface.

The duty officers at the pump station hadn't reacted yet when the second shell arrived.

This time it was a direct hit.

The reinforced concrete pumphouse was shredded like paper, pieces of the high-pressure water pump flew over a hundred meters, and water gushed out from the broken pipeline, forming a twenty-meter-high white water column.

The alarm sounded throughout Tiberias City.

But there were hardly any rescuers left in the city.

The last alley in the eastern district of Tiberias City.

Sergeant Eli leaned against the half-collapsed wall, gasping for air.

His squad had seven people left. ℴ

Ammunition—less than five rounds per person. Water—gone. Radio—silent for three hours.

But he could still hear the artillery fire to the north, gunfire to the east, and the approaching footsteps from the south.

The Syrians were closing in.

A young soldier crawled to his side. Nineteen years old, with stubble not fully shaved, eyes glowing in the dark.

"Sergeant, they're coming."

Eli nodded.

He stood up, brushed off the dust, checked the three bullets left in the gun.

"Brothers, prepare for hand-to-hand combat."

Seven men, seven bayonets, glinted with cold light in the shadows of the ruins.

The shadow at the alley entrance grew larger.

At least fifty.

Eli raised his gun.

First shot, the first one fell.

Second shot, the second one fell.

Third shot, the third one fell.

Then the gun was empty.

He flipped the gun, gripping the barrel, bayonet forward.

The fifty had already rushed up.

Eli charged forward.

Bayonet pierced into the first man's belly, pulled it out, thrust into the second man's chest. The third man's gun butt struck his face, he fell, got up, bayonet into the third man's thigh. The man screamed, fell, others trampled over his body to charge.

He didn't know how long he fought, Eli found himself alone.

Those seven soldiers, all had fallen.

He was covered in blood, stood in the pile of corpses, looking at the surrounding at least thirty Syrian soldiers.

A young Syrian soldier pointed a gun at him, hands trembling.

Eli looked at him.

Nineteen, same age as those in his squad.

"Shoot." Eli said.

The soldier didn't move.

Eli took a step forward.

"Shoot!"

The soldier closed his eyes, pulled the trigger.

The gunshot rang out.

Eli fell.

The soldier opened his eyes, looked at the body on the ground, those still open eyes, suddenly crouched down, and cried.

5 a.m., Tiberias City center, Benya Guriun Square.

Brigadier General Hassan stood in front of the demolished statue of the Jewish Zionism founder, watching his troops pouring into the square from all directions.

The city was taken.

Three thousand Syrian soldiers died in this city. The Squid—at least two thousand.

The staff officer came over.

"Commander, the Squid's water purification plant is completely destroyed. Lake Tiberias's pumping system is completely paralyzed. Intel says Tel Aviv has started rationing water."

Hassan nodded.

He looked up, at the sky turning white in the east.

"Tell Tehran," he said, "Syrians keep their word."

5:30 a.m., Sinai Peninsula, Arish Suburb, Command Post of the Egyptian 4th Division.

Major General Shafeek stood on a captured Merkava Tank, looking at the road leading to Arish City downtown northward.

On both sides of the road were heaps of burning tank wreckage—Squid's, Egyptian's, indistinguishable.

His troops had pushed into Arish City center.

But at a cost—at least four thousand soldiers.

The staff officer ran over.

"Brigade commander, the Squid's last stronghold, in the city hall building. About two hundred people, holding more than thirty civilians hostage."

Shafeek squinted his eyes.

"Civilians?"

The staff officer nodded.

"Intel says, ordered by the Squid Defense Army. They have blocked the building, not letting civilians out, claiming they 'voluntarily stayed to assist in defense.'"

Shafeek was silent for three seconds.

Then he jumped off the tank.

"Take me there."

In front of the city hall building, the standoff had lasted twenty minutes.

The rifles of Egyptian soldiers were aimed at every window of the building. Inside, Squid soldiers hid behind sandbags, guns also pointed outside.

A second-floor window suddenly opened, a woman leaned out.

In her thirties, holding a child, full of fear.

She shouted in Arabic, "Save me! They won't let us out! They said they want to die with us!"