Chapter 2126 - 863: Final Choice

"Go," he said, "retreat."

Avi shook his head. "No retreat."

"You damn—" Izak's voice choked.

Avi looked up at his father's wrinkled face.

"Dad, this is my position. If I die, I'll die here."

Izak was silent for three seconds. Then he squatted down, placing the jammed M14 next to his son, and took out the last few bullets from his pocket.

"Then die here," he said.

1:00 AM, Golan Heights, Syrian Army 5th Division Headquarters.

Brigadier General Hassan looked at the freshly delivered battle report. The vanguard of the 7th Brigade had already advanced to within less than two kilometers of Lake Tiberias. The Squid's last line of defense was just ahead.

The staff officer ran up. "Commander, the 3rd Armored Division has arrived."

Hassan looked up. Outside the tent, the roar of tank engines shook the ground. At least two hundred T-72 tanks, lined up in three columns, were advancing from the northern road. The headlights were off, with only the exhaust pipes spitting sparks in the darkness.

He walked out of the tent, standing by the roadside, watching each steel beast pass by one by one. The Syrian flag on the turret flapped fiercely in the night wind.

"Tell the 3rd Division," he said to the staff officer, "I want to be standing by Lake Tiberias before dawn."

2:00 AM, Tel Aviv, Squid Defense Army Headquarters underground command center.

Moses stood at the main control console, watching the fluctuating numbers. Golan Heights, tanks still capable of fighting—less than fifty. Sinai Peninsula, soldiers still capable of fighting—less than two thousand. Gaza Strip, fighting units—not existent anymore.

The communication staff officer ran over. "Chief, the Americans called. The vanguard of the 101st Airborne Division has taken off, estimated to arrive in thirty-six hours."

Moses closed his eyes. Thirty-six hours.

He opened his eyes, looking at the screen filled with the still flickering, ever-diminishing, yet each fighting light spots.

"Tell all the units," he said, "to hold out for another thirty-six hours."

3:00 AM, a villa outside Moscow.

The Boss wasn't asleep. He stood by the window, watching the sky starting to brighten. The phone rang.

He picked it up.

"Boss, the Syrians have reached the shores of Lake Tiberias."

The Boss nodded. "What about the Squid?"

"Still fighting. A remnant of the 188th Brigade, probably dozens of people. Defending a small village called Hasspin. The Syrians have surrounded them but can't penetrate."

The Boss was silent for a second. "Why can't they penetrate?"

The other end paused. "Because those guarding the village—won't surrender, won't retreat, won't die."

The Boss tapped his fingers on the window frame.

"Tell the Syrians to use artillery. Level that village."

4:00 AM, Hasspin Village.

As the last shell fell, Avi Ben Abraham was leaning against the half-collapsed stone wall at the village entrance, sitting back-to-back with his father.

The village was gone. All the houses had crumbled, the streets were clogged with rubble, everywhere there were burning ruins and charred bodies. His unit was down to three men—him, his father, and another communication soldier with a broken leg.

No more ammo. No more water. No more food.

Avi looked up, watching the eastern sky starting to brighten. Lake Tiberias was that way, less than two kilometers. But he knew, he wouldn't reach it.

"Dad," he started, his voice hoarse like sandpaper, "do you regret it?"

Izak leaned against his back, not speaking.

"Regret coming here?"

Izak was silent for three seconds. Then he said, "No regrets."

Avi laughed. Lightly and bitterly.

"I don't regret it either."

In the distance, the Syrian tanks started moving again. The sound of tracks crushing gravel grew closer, grew louder.

Avi closed his eyes.

The tank aimed its cannon at the wall.

Avi held his father's hand.

The cannon spewed fire.

4:17 AM, Hasspin Village, the last wall collapsed. The village was gone. The defenders of the village were also gone.

Lieutenant Avi Ben Abraham, the last commander of the remnants of the 188th Armored Brigade, killed in action.

Yitzhak Ben Abraham, 1973 Yom Kippur War veteran, killed in action.

Their bodies leaned against each other, indistinguishable from one another.

5:00 AM, eastern shore of Lake Tiberias.

Brigadier General Hassan stood by the lake, watching the golden glowing water in the morning light.

The water was cool. He squatted down, scooped up a handful, and drank.

"Tell Damascus," he said to the staff officer, "we've arrived."

Then he stood up, turned around, looked westward. Over there was Tiberias City, Galilee, the heart of the Squid.

"Relay the order, the whole army is to rest. After dawn, cross the lake."

7:00 AM, Jerusalem, underground command center.

Shamir looked at the battle report that had just been delivered. Hasspin Village had fallen. The 188th Armored Brigade was completely wiped out. The eastern shore of Lake Tiberias had completely fallen into Syrian hands.

He put the report down. Moses stood in front of him, his complexion beyond human.

"Prime Minister, the Americans need another thirty-four hours."

Shamir nodded. "Tell the Golan Brigade, the last reserves, to be fully committed to the Tiberias defense line. Tell them—"

He paused.

"Tell Ben Abraham's father—no, tell all fathers—their sons didn't die in vain."

9:00 AM, Washington, Capitol Hill.

The debate continued.

The Speaker had gone through three gavels, breaking each one. The voices of the senators were hoarse, but none left the chamber.

A new report came from CNN: Syrian forces had reached the shores of Lake Tiberias. The Squid's northern defense line had completely collapsed.

There was silence in the chamber for three seconds. Then a long-silent Democratic senator stood up.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice small, but everyone heard him, "We've been arguing here for twelve hours. In those twelve hours, three thousand Squid men died. In those twelve hours, the Syrians reached the shores of Lake Tiberias."

He paused.

"How much longer do we argue?"

There was dead silence in the chamber.

The Speaker placed down the broken gavel, looking at those tired, angry, fearful faces.

"Vote," he said, "now. Those in favor of deploying troops, raise your hands."

Silence. Then a hand was raised. Two hands. Ten hands. Fifty hands. A hundred hands.

The Speaker didn't count. He just watched the hands raised, more and more, until exceeding half.

"Passed," he said.

10:00 AM, White House underground shelter.

The President looked at the voting results from Capitol Hill, with no expression on his face. The Chief of Staff stood by his side.

"Mr. President, the 101st Airborne Division has already taken off. Estimated to arrive at the Golan Heights in thirty hours."

The President nodded. He stood up, walked to the communication desk, picked up the red phone.

"Connect me to the Squid Prime Minister."

The phone rang twice, then was picked up. On the other end was Shamiel's voice, hoarse to the point of being barely audible.

"Mr. President."

"Prime Minister Shamiel," the President said, "reinforcements are on the way. Thirty hours. Hold on."

There was silence for three seconds on the other end. Then Shamiel said, "Thank you."

The phone hung up.

The President stood there, looking at the red phone. He knew, thirty hours might be too long for the Squid.

...

The Americans ultimately chose to be coerced by the Squid!

...