But the Israelis didn't retreat.
Their tanks kept moving forward, maneuvering around the burning wrecks, continuing to advance towards the 1st Division's line. Anti-tank missiles fired from infantry positions, trailing flames and piercing into the Syrian tanks, exploding one after another. Fahed's T-72 was hit, the violent shock tossed him from his seat, his head smacked against the hatch, and stars burst before his eyes.
"General! Are you alright?"
He shook his head, wiped the blood off his face. "I'm fine. Keep fighting."
The gunner aimed. Another shell was fired. A Merkava's tracks were broken, immobilizing it in place, its turret spinning around, unable to find a target.
The Israelis began to retreat. It wasn't a rout, but a tactical withdrawal, one tank firing while another pulled back, retreating to a safe distance, then stopping to fire, covering the preceding tank's withdrawal. They retreated very slowly, responding at every step.
