Chapter 2123 - 863: Final Choice! (Part 2)

The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

"Ayatollah," the boss spoke in Persian, with a heavy Russian accent, "the time has come."

There was three seconds of silence on the other end. Then Khamenei's voice came, old and calm: "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Three seconds of silence again.

"Okay."

4:00 PM sharp, Tehran, underground command center of the Supreme National Security Council.

Khamenei put down the phone and looked at the military map in front of him. The Golan Heights, Sinai Peninsula, Southern Lebanon, three fronts have already exhausted the Squid Man. Now, the fourth front.

He turned to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps commander sitting opposite him.

"7th 'Valadi' Missile Brigade, launch."

The commander stood up, saluted, and turned to the command platform.

Four minutes later, the first "Meteor-3" medium-range ballistic missile rose from the underground silo in the western mountains of Iran. Its tail flame illuminated the entire valley, dragging a white smoke column straight into the sky, ascending to the edge of the atmosphere and then plunging sharply.

The target is—Jerusalem.

4:07 PM, Jerusalem, air raid sirens sounded.

Not the short alarm tested weekly, but the continuous, piercing, marrow-shaking long siren.

Shamir was in the underground command center discussing the situation on the Golan Heights with Moses. When the alarm sounded, his hand froze in mid-air.

"Ballistic missile." Moses' voice was very calm, so calm that it didn't feel like he was talking about impending death, "Coming from Iran."

"Intercept."

"Already intercepting."

The radar of the 'Arrow' missile defense system captured the target thirty seconds before the missile entered the atmosphere. Three interceptors were launched from silos outside Jerusalem to collide with the incoming target at the edge of the atmosphere.

The first interceptor missed. Target missile fragmented into three pieces and continued to fall.

The second interceptor hit one piece and exploded into a fireball.

The third interceptor hit the second piece.

The third piece was missed.

It penetrated the atmosphere, hitting a residential building in the western suburbs of Jerusalem at Mach three speed. The entire building evaporated within a tenth of a second, and the shockwave flattened all buildings within 200 meters. Glass shards flew out like shrapnel, severing power lines on three streets and igniting over a dozen car gas tanks.

Shamir saw that mushroom cloud on the command center's surveillance screen.

His lips moved but made no sound.

Moses stood behind him, still speaking calmly, "Prime Minister, we need—"

"I know." Shamir interrupted him. He turned around, facing everyone present, "Call the American Embassy in Tel Aviv. Tell them the Iranians have attacked. Tell them if the United States doesn't deploy troops—"

He paused.

"Squid is really finished."

4:30 PM, Golan Heights, Syrian Army 5th Division position.

Brigadier General Hassan stood on a hilltop, looking at the sudden rise of a black smoke column from the south. It's not smoke from explosive shells, but from a missile. A big missile.

A staff officer ran over, voice trembling: "Commander, urgent telegram from Tehran—they've hit Jerusalem."

Hassan took the telegram, glanced at it. His hand did not tremble, but his pupils contracted slightly.

"They're crazy," he murmured.

The staff officer didn't hear clearly: "Commander?"

Hassan crumpled the telegram into a ball. Attacking the Squid Man is one thing; hitting Jerusalem is another. Jerusalem is the Holy Land for three major religions, a place the whole world is watching. Iran's strike is like a slap to the face of the entire Western World.

"Tell the troops," he said, "stop the attack. Standby on the spot."

The staff officer froze: "Commander, why—"

"Because next," Hassan watched the still-rising black smoke in the south, "the Americans are coming."

5:00 PM, Washington, White House underground bunker.

The President was dragged out of the Oval Office by secret agents. He was supposed to vacate the White House after the impeachment passed, but the Middle East conflict paused the handover process. Now he was sitting on the narrow fold-out bed in the bunker, watching CNN's live coverage.

The ruins in the western suburbs of Jerusalem, burning residential buildings, bodies being carried on stretchers, and children with bloodied faces.

He looked up at his Chief of Staff standing in front of him.

"Iranians fired?"

The Chief of Staff nodded.

"Squid asked for help?"

Once more, the Chief of Staff nodded.

The President was silent for three seconds. Then he stood up, walked to the communications console, and picked up the red phone.

"Connect me to The Pentagon."

The call was connected. The voice on the other end was the Minister of Defense, equally hoarse, equally weary.

"Mr. President, we are ready."

"How many?"

"The Sixth Fleet has entered the Eastern Mediterranean. Two carrier strike groups. And—" The Minister of Defense paused, "the 101st Airborne Division has assembled in Southern Italy. Ready to airlift into the Golan Heights at any moment."

The President closed his eyes.

The impeachment process was still ongoing; theoretically, he was still the Commander-in-Chief. If he ordered troops to be deployed, the Republicans would accuse him of diverting attention. If he didn't deploy troops, Squid would be truly finished.

He opened his eyes.

"Deploy."

5:30 PM, Eastern Mediterranean, Mexican Fleet.

Morales stood on the bridge, and through the binoculars, he saw Squid's six missile boats turning. Not retreating, but changing direction—heading southeast, speeding towards the Squid coastline.

The communications officer took off his headset: "General, intercepted internal communication from the Squid Navy. The Iranians bombed Jerusalem. They've recalled all vessels."