The Chef slammed his fist against the table covered with maps, making the Mark cup jump: "Border?! What do they want? Are they trying to draw the war to the Golan Heights?! Will those Jews just sit and watch?! Idiots! A bunch of fools whose brains have been fried by religious fervor!"
He panted heavily and abruptly looked at the tightly closed door of the analysis room, a trace of uncontrollable anxiety flickering in his eyes for the first time.
"Song..."
He muttered softly and then forcibly suppressed his emotions and yelled at Vasily: "What are you still standing there for! Get our helicopters out! Keep a close watch on that advancing convoy! Call for air support, even if it's just a single MiG, we must blast them to smithereens in the wilderness!"
"Yes..."
Vasily saluted and turned to leave.
But bad news followed one after another, as if endlessly.
Less than half an hour after Vasily left, another person came...
Still bad news...
