But they're all carrying guns.
Hidden in vegetable baskets, wrapped within the baby's swaddling clothes, concealed in empty coffins.
The Squid 84th Infantry Brigade's positions are set up on the dunes two kilometers north of the refugee camp. Brigade Commander Ehud Barak stood in the command vehicle, his brow furrowed as he stared at the dense clusters of blips on the radar screen.
"Brigade Commander, there are too many refugees."
The staff pointed at the screen.
"At least twenty thousand, moving towards us. They—they might be civilians."
Barak was silent for three seconds.
"Make them stop. Fire warning shots."
Two minutes later, Squid soldiers fired shots into the sky.
The refugee crowd paused and then continued moving forward.
They moved quicker.
Barak's face changed.
"Fire. Shoot in front of the crowd."
Machine guns raked the ground, bullets landing dozens of meters in front of the refugee crowd, kicking up a line of sand.
Yet those people didn't stop.
