4:17 AM Tel Aviv Squid Defense Army Headquarters
In the underground command hall, over two hundred screens simultaneously flashed red "lost contact" signs.
Golan Heights, 7th Armored Brigade, lost contact.
188th Armored Brigade, only seventeen vehicles left, still fighting.
Barak Armored Brigade, urgently transferred from the Sinai Peninsula to the northern line, still en route, at least five hours needed.
Moses stood in front of the main console, hands on the edge of the table, staring at the green area of Golan Heights, which was continuously being compressed.
Five kilometers.
Four kilometers.
Three kilometers.
The Syrian vanguard had already advanced to a position less than thirty kilometers from Lake Tiberias.
A communications staff officer ran over, face pale: "Chief, call from the Prime Minister."
Moses took it.
On the other end was Shamir's voice, hoarse as sandpaper scraping glass.
"Moses, how long can the northern line hold?"
Moses was silent for three seconds.
