Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 218 The War Begins (Part 1)

Lieutenant General Ger, commander of the 7th Army of the Zion Defense Forces, hung up the encrypted phone call with headquarters.

Under the stark white lights of the command post, his signature bald head glistened with a fine layer of sweat.

"Something serious has happened."

He turned to his chief of staff, Vardy, his face more serious than ever before: "The general has just sent word that Masr has led his troops across the Suez Canal and they are currently advancing toward Arish in the Sinai Peninsula."

"Is Masr unilaterally tearing up the peace treaty?"

Chief of Staff Vardi was initially surprised, but as an experienced officer, he quickly realized the signal behind it. Without hesitation, he issued an order to all staff officers in the command post: "Immediately order all units to raise to Level 1 combat readiness! Focus on preventing the main force of the Arab allied forces in the Golan Heights direction, and report any movements immediately!"

After the staff officers got busy, Vardy walked over to Ger. The two old comrades stared at the military map for a while, and finally Vardy spoke up: "Actually, I don't think we need to worry too much about Masr. They've been weakening over the past two years, and their foreign exchange reserves are almost depleted. Even if they make a strong push, they probably won't last long. Their strategic objective is likely the same as last time: to regain control of the east bank of the Suez Canal and then stop. Besides, we've also deployed an army group in Jerusalem."

"As for the Arab allies in the Golan Heights to the north," he tapped the Golan Heights with his baton, "we have abandoned some of our forward positions in Galilee, extending the military buffer zone to 50 kilometers. This depth almost completely negates their terrain advantage from the high ground and also far exceeds the effective range of most of their heavy artillery."

“I understand,” Lieutenant General Ger sighed, his voice heavy with pressure, “but what we’re facing head-on is Amir’s main force.”

Lieutenant General Ger had several direct or indirect encounters with Lu Lin since the Six-Day War, which could even extend to the Battle of Nukoshir.

During the later stages of the Yom Kippur War, Ger, who had been promoted to major general, was sent to Phoenicia and led his troops to a great victory over the Surya government forces and the Arafat Liberation Organization, thus missing the direct confrontation with Lu Lin.

During the Levant War, his 38th Division served as a fire brigade, engaging in a bloody battle with the Vanguard of the Two Hundred on the plains of Galilee, resulting in heavy casualties on both sides.

In the eyes of Zion's high command, this was a remarkable achievement. There were very few generals who could fight the "Sword of God" twice without ever being defeated.

"If only more than one armored regiment had been sent to Nukoshir back then..."

This thought often lingered in Lieutenant General Gerd's mind, bringing a touch of unspeakable regret, but war has no "what ifs".

"Our defenses are not just for show."

The Chief of Staff of Army Group Vardy pointed his baton toward the Galilee Plain: "In the past few months, we have deployed a large number of defensive positions and mixed minefields. No matter if the enemy tries to clear a path with mine-clearing vehicles or aerial bombardment, they will run into our pre-positioned wire-guided anti-tank missile positions and well-camouflaged mobile anti-armor teams. Further behind are our divisional artillery and reinforced air defense battalions. Even if that Amir wants to force his way through, he will have to fill this place with corpses and steel!"

Ger nodded with a somber expression.

"I hope so."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In a concealed observation post at the forefront of the 7th Army's defense zone in Zion, the atmosphere was equally tense as the reconnaissance platoon was on high alert.

The outpost is equipped with a valuable, newly commissioned French-made "Latak" ground surveillance radar system, capable of monitoring the movements of armored units within a 30-kilometer radius.

The principle behind "Latak" is not complicated. It emits electromagnetic waves of a specific frequency in all directions. When these waves encounter moving metal objects, they are reflected back and captured by a receiver. After processing, they are finally displayed on the screen as a dot representing an enemy unit.

A radar operator had just finished a routine call with the company headquarters and was about to record data when he was suddenly stopped by his comrade next to him.

"Wait a minute!"

The screen, glowing green, began to flicker with light. "Something's up!"

Several soldiers nearby immediately gathered around.

On the screen, several faint but clear dots of light were flashing in the northwest direction, representing their outpost.

"Can you confirm it's a tank signal?" the platoon leader, who had rushed over upon hearing the news, asked in a deep voice.

The operator adjusted several knobs, keeping a close eye on the signal feedback: "If we ignore the interference from the complex terrain, yes, judging from the signal characteristics and movement speed, this is very likely an armored unit!"

They were the northernmost troops, and the farmers further north should have been evacuated as well. Naturally, it shouldn't have been tractors or anything like that. So, there's only one possibility left.

"Alright!" The platoon leader immediately became serious. "Give me the exact coordinates!"

The operator quickly reported a series of numbers: "Coordinates: 32.55, 35.42, Area 7-B!"

The platoon leader immediately grabbed another field telephone, preparing to call the artillery unit at the rear: "This is 'Eagle Eye,' calling artillery group. Enemy armored vehicles have been spotted moving. Requesting intercepting fire at coordinates 7-B..."

Just then, the operator shouted again, "Wait a minute!"

His voice carried a hint of disbelief.

The platoon leader frowned and turned around. On the screen, a dot of light was approaching them at a speed far exceeding that of a normal mobile force, getting closer with each flash!
"What is this? A tank? Impossible!"

The operator's voice was filled with surprise and doubt: "How could a tank be so fast? And there are minefields all in front of us!"

The spot of light continued to move forward at full speed, and the distance reading became smaller and smaller.

"Something's wrong!"

The platoon leader abruptly slammed down the phone, dashed out of the tent, looked around, and the rest of the soldiers followed closely behind.

Soon, a deep, rumbling sound of propellers grew louder as they approached, instantly filling their eardrums.

Immediately afterwards, a black silhouette swept around the undulating hills, rushing toward them with an aura of death!

The platoon leader immediately understood what the radar electro-optical system represented: "A helicopter!"

Before he could finish speaking, the roar was instantly drowned out—the 'Cobra', painted entirely in black, opened fire.

The chain gun beneath the nose of the aircraft was already spitting fire. The 20mm cannon shells, like a blazing whip, swept across the sandbag fortifications and antenna array in front of the outpost in an instant, triggering a series of explosions and dust.

The platoon leader and other soldiers quickly covered their heads and took cover. The next second, a rocket, trailing a fiery tail, precisely pierced into the radar tent.

"boom--!"

Amidst the deafening explosion, the tent was ripped apart, sending debris and flames soaring into the sky, engulfing the soldiers inside in the burning ruins.

The platoon leader scrambled to his feet from the dust, grabbed a light machine gun, and unleashed a furious barrage of fire at the retreating shadowy figure, roaring hoarsely, "Come on! Bastard!"

But the jet-black "Cobra" didn't stop at all, as if it were just a casual gesture, and its figure quickly flew into the distance.

However, this is just the beginning.

More armed helicopters, like a flock of crows foraging for food, swept low overhead, bringing a suffocating and oppressive roar.

Almost simultaneously, the artillery support they had just called for roared down into the distant minefield, exploding into bursts of fire. Several anti-aircraft missiles also rose into the air, trailing plumes of flame—but their targets were not these low-altitude "Cobra" strikes, but rather decoys positioned higher up as bait.

As he watched the helicopter formation disappear into the distance, a chill crept up his spine and spread throughout his body.

He turned abruptly and roared with all his might:

"Their target is the air defense position! Notify command immediately—an air raid! It's an air raid!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Tel Aviv, Parliament Hall. Under the enormous six-pointed star emblem, 120 members of parliament sat solemnly in the hall as Speaker Lucas Halmer struck his gavel, the sound echoing under the dome.

"Now, let's have a final vote on the motion of no confidence against Prime Minister Hilbert Maimonides."

The entire process was meticulous and rigorous, without the slightest flaw. The secretary began reading aloud the articles of impeachment against the Prime Minister one by one: [abuse of wartime power, mismanagement of the economy, and genocide].

The soft voice circulated throughout the venue, clearly reaching everyone's ears.

Ilya Tamar sat calmly at the head of the Likud group seats.

He knew perfectly well that at this very moment, a formal impeachment petition from Parliament should already be on Prime Minister Hilbert's desk.

But so what?
He relaxed his posture; more than half of the 120 seats in parliament had clearly sided with them, which meant the outcome was already decided.

Although Zion is a small country, it is different from Arab countries like Shuangzhi. It has many political parties and a complex power system. For example, its army is not something that Hilbert alone can control.

The vote counting then began.

"Likud Group, 39 votes."

"Labour Party, 0 votes."

"The Ram Party, 7 votes."

"Merez Party, 0 votes."

"Our Homeland Party, 4 votes."

The sounds rose and fell, outlining a clear map of factions.

Tamar has even begun to envision the future: after today, the Likud party will replace the Labor Party as the largest party, and he will quickly initiate secret peace talks with the Arab side to exchange partial withdrawal from occupied territories for lasting peace, while introducing Ant Capital to revitalize the economy...

"Final statistics—"

Speaker Halmer's voice brought him back to reality, "Sixty-seven votes in favor. The motion passes."

It became.

Tamar's tense nerves relaxed instantly, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on his lips.

After years of planning, it has finally come to fruition.

Hilbert's Labour Party fell from power, and his Likud party rose to power.

"W-W-W-W-!"

Just then, an extremely piercing and heart-wrenching air raid siren suddenly ripped through the sky above Tel Aviv, instantly shattering the tranquility inside the parliament hall!
All the members of parliament looked up in astonishment, their faces filled with confusion and panic.

The last time the alarm was sounded was fifteen months ago, right when the Yom Kippur War had just begun.

"Silence! Silence!"

Speaker Lucas Halmer slammed his gavel, attempting to quell the sudden burst of murmurs from the audience.

At that moment, an officer rushed into the meeting room in a panic, went straight to the Minister of Defense, Commander Morda, and whispered something to him.

Tamar was close enough to hear their hushed conversation:
"The Arabs have launched a full-scale offensive."

"The Sinai Peninsula is on the verge of falling."

Tamar felt a buzzing in his ears and thought it was a hallucination.

How can this be?

Why at this time?
They had already reached an agreement with Ant Group on the framework for a ceasefire...

He looked sharply at Commander Morda, whose eyes were also filled with disbelief; clearly, the news had far exceeded his expectations.

The war broke out in the most violent and untimely way at the very last moment when they were about to complete their political seizure.

Tamar forced himself to calm down.

He tried to stand up, but found his legs were weak and he could barely support his weight.

Tamar felt a sense of absurdity.

Their plan was going so smoothly, but of all things, things went wrong in this very place.
If he had known that the Arabs would launch an attack at this time, he would never have chosen today to initiate this long-planned impeachment.

At a critical juncture when the nation was facing a full-scale attack and its very survival was at stake, no matter how guilty Hilbert was, he had to remain in that position.

Ironically, their impeachment petition to Congress had already reached the other side's desk.

Coupled with the loss of the Suez Canal, this meant that they lost their most important territorial bargaining chip in negotiations with the Arabs, and shattered all their political visions for the future.

Tamar glanced around the room at the hands that had just been raised, and at the sixty-seven votes in favor.

At this moment, in his eyes, this was no longer a declaration of victory, but a list of people about to be purged.

That includes himself.

At that moment, an extremely dangerous idea flashed through his mind: [If we take advantage of the legitimacy of the motion already passed by Parliament, and forcefully impeach Hilbert, then collude with Yessavichen and Moda to complete the power transition...]

“It seems that everything is over,” Commander Morda said in an unusually calm tone beside him, interrupting his dangerous thoughts.

Tamar turned his head sharply and understood the meaning behind the other person's words.

The other party has no intention of continuing.

His eyes gradually cleared, and he sighed, "So, are you going to arrest me? And hand me over to Hilbert as a token of your loyalty?"

Commander Morda slowly shook his head. "No, I won't do that. It's pointless. But this may be the last time we meet, Tamar."

"Are you preparing to leave?"

Tamar asked, "What about our plan? What about those who support us?"

"It doesn't matter anymore, none of it matters anymore."

Commander Morda stood up, straightened his collar, as if bidding a silent farewell, "Let this farce come to an end, and take care of yourself before we cause any more harm to this country."

After saying this, he didn't glance at the still confused and chaotic parliament again, nor did he pay attention to the increasingly intense protests and alarms outside the window. He left this place of trouble through the side door and disappeared from everyone's sight.

Tamar, seemingly drained of all his strength, was left alone to admire his "victory."

(End of this chapter)