Tel Aviv, Squid Defense Army Headquarters.
Moses stood in front of the main control panel, staring at the giant screen. The red arrows on the Golan Heights had already reached the west bank of Lake Tiberias, while the blue arrows at Haifa Port were severed by the bombardment of the Mexican Fleet. To the south, in the Gaza Strip, Hamas was once again stirring.
He hadn't slept for forty-eight hours. Bags hung under his eyes down to his cheekbones, and his eyes were bloodshot, like an old map that had been crumpled up.
A communications staff officer ran over, his voice hoarse like sandpaper. "Chief of Staff, the Prime Minister has arrived."
Moses turned around.
Shamir walked in, wearing a gray trench coat without a tie, his complexion ashen, as if he'd just crawled out of a morgue. He walked to the main control panel and looked at the screen for a long time.
"Moses, how many troops are left?"
Moses opened the folder.
