The boss nodded.
"What about the Mexican Fleet?"
"Eight hours left."
The boss smiled.
A light smile.
"Tell the Syrians, after taking Tiberias, let the Chechens enter the city. Tell the Egyptians, after taking Arish, don't stop, keep pushing north. Tell the Milk Tea Shop—"
He paused.
"Tell them, before dawn, I want to see fire in Tiberias City."
10 PM, Tiberias City.
Street combat lasted four hours.
Half of the houses in the city collapsed, half of the streets piled with corpses. At least three thousand Syrians died, Squid People — those remnants withdrawn from the Golan Heights, reserves summoned from Galilee, wounded escaping from hospitals — were almost all dead.
Brigadier General Hassan finally entered the city.
He stood in front of a half-collapsed building, looking at those Squid People still resisting.
About one hundred were left.
Surrounded in one block.
"Tell them," he said, "surrender. Surrender and you won't be killed."
The translator shouted in Hebrew once.
