Three hundred soldiers held their guns, forming a skirmish line, charging north. Bullets whizzed past their ears, like summer mosquitoes. Shells exploded around them, raising pillars of black smoke and dust. Some fell, others continued to charge forward.
Maher ran at the forefront. He ran past the flattened farmland, ran past the dried river, ran past the burning tank wrecks. Ahead was Haifa Port.
The oil storage tanks in the port were still burning, black smoke rising, covering half the sky. Several civilian ships were docked at the wharf, some smoking, some sinking, some already submerged.
He dashed into the port, crouched behind the breakwater of the pier, panting heavily. Soldiers around him rushed over one by one, crouching next to him, guns ready, looking towards the sea.
