273: Chapter 273 Death, Touching the Pillow

"A gift?"

"From the system, redeem fifty sets of 'Shadow Dancer-2' optical camouflage individual combat systems, and train the Death Soldiers to use them," Zhang Cheng said slowly.

"This type of camouflage suit can achieve over 90% visibility and thermal imaging concealment when stationary or moving slowly. Tell him not to waste it on the front lines. Equip the most elite squads and find a way to infiltrate across the border line."

Old K's eyes sharpened.

"You mean to…"

"Doesn't Lavitz like bombing civilians? Doesn't he think he's safe hiding in tunnels?"

A cold arc curled at the corners of Zhang Cheng's mouth.

"Then let him taste what it's like to have the Grim Reaper silently touch his bedside."

He leaned forward and tapped his finger against the screen.

"Targets: Squid Nation's front-line command posts, logistics hubs, artillery positions, and… any high-value targets worth 'visiting'."

"Nature of the mission: harassment, sabotage, and decapitation. Do not engage in large-scale combat; be elusive. Make their front-line troops unable to eat or sleep in peace, and let Lavitz's generals feel that the war is not just on the Gaza side."

"This is psychological warfare, and it's also an eye for an eye," Old K summarized.

"Exactly."

Zhang Cheng leaned back in his chair.

"By the way, tell Sinwar that the use of this 'gift' does not need to be publicized. Let the Squid Nation people guess for themselves and live in fear."

He lowered his voice.

"I want them to know that when they push the war to the cruelest bottom line, what they face will not just be the resistors underground…"

"But also more lethal avengers from the shadows."

The order was issued. System points were deducted.

Old K turned to make arrangements, and Li Lanzhi also lowered her head to begin drafting a secret telegram to Zhao Gang.

Zhang Cheng sat alone in the command chair, his gaze sweeping over the world pulsing on the circular screen.

At this moment, the red light on the communication console suddenly flashed.

A duty Death Soldier officer looked up, his voice urgent.

"President, urgent intelligence. It's President Houssa's dedicated line, he says…"

The officer paused.

"Traces of unidentified submarine activity have been detected in the direction of the Bab el-Mandeb Strait."

Tel Aviv, Ministry of Defense press briefing room.

Camera flashes lit up the room.

Cameras were aimed at the podium, and a huge screen was looping edited footage: billowing smoke from buildings, blurred corpses of 'militants,' and the majestic sight of fighter jets roaring past.

And Hebrew numbers constantly jumping.

Minister of Defense Lavitz stood behind the podium, dressed in military uniform, his left chest covered in medals. His complexion was better than it had been a few days ago, and he even deliberately squeezed out a hint of 'determination.'

But the bags under his eyes were deep.

So deep they looked like they had been carved with a knife.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lavitz's voice spread through the loudspeaker with a mournful tone, "Over the past seventy-two hours, the Squid Nation Defense Forces have conducted a necessary and precise military operation."

He turned sideways and pointed to the screen.

The video began to play: from a drone's perspective, several buildings were hit by precision-guided bombs and collapsed with a roar.

In the night thermal imaging footage, several moving dots were labeled as 'terrorists,' and were then overtaken by missiles, turning into bright spots.

Finally, there was footage taken by ground troops—close-ups of scattered weapons and suspected communication equipment.

"In Operation 'Hammer of Justice'," Lavitz raised his voice, "we successfully eliminated one hundred and forty-seven key terrorists, including three senior commanders of the Resistance Organization."

He paused to let the translator catch up.

A chorus of keyboard clacking sounded from below.

"We have destroyed over fifty weapon manufacturing dens, underground command nodes, and logistics warehouses." Lavitz's eyes sharpened, revealing a fierce edge, "More importantly, the enemy's command system has been severely damaged."

He leaned forward, his hands bracing the edge of the podium.

"According to reliable sources, we are confident that the core staff team, including their so-called 'Marshal' Sinwar, has suffered heavy losses in this round of strikes."

A buzzing sound of discussion arose.

Several Western reporters recorded quickly.

Journalists from Arabic media, however, sneered—they were too familiar with this routine.

Lavitz ignored those gazes.

This was the effect he needed.

To use overwhelming 'victory' propaganda to drown out the humiliation brought by the 'Steel Coffin Group.' To hedge against the criticism from the international community that had intensified due to the bombing of civilians.

As for how much water was in the numbers?

It didn't matter.

Mossad would provide the 'necessary' material.

"The enemy attempts to use civilians as human shields and tries to deceive the world with lies," Lavitz's tone turned stern, "but iron-clad facts cannot be tampered with! The Squid Nation Defense Forces are the most moral army in the world!"

He pounded his fist heavily on the podium.

"I want to warn those terrorists hiding in the shadows and their backers behind the scenes: Squid Nation's determination is unshakable! Any act of attacking our citizens will be met with a hundredfold retaliation!"

"We are winning this war."

"Victory will belong to Squid Nation!"

The press conference was broadcast globally via the national television station.

Within Squid Nation, mainstream media began rolling reports of the 'glorious battle results.' Television pundits spoke eloquently, analyzing how the 'Resistance Organization is on the verge of collapse.'

On the streets, some incited citizens waved flags.

Chanting slogans in support of the army.

Lavitz's approval rating showed a slight, weak rebound under the carefully packaged propaganda offensive.

Deep inside the Ministry of Defense building.

Internal meeting room.

Smoke filled the air.

"Minister, such propaganda…" a senior advisor said in a low voice, fingers tapping the table uneasily, "Will it provoke the other side to make a more intense reaction?"

"More intense?" Lavitz raised his head with red eyes, "What else can they do? Throw stones at our tanks?"

He grabbed the battle report on the table and threw it back fiercely.

Papers scattered everywhere.

"What we need now is domestic confidence! International deterrence!" Lavitz's voice was hoarse, "We must make everyone believe that we are crushing them!"

Several officers exchanged glances.

No one spoke.

They knew how much of those battle reports were 'estimates,' 'conjectures,' or even 'necessary propaganda material.'

They also knew—

The tunnel network in the Gaza Strip was still lethal.

Sinwar's command had not fallen into chaos.

The anti-tank missile ambushes on the front lines had never stopped.

"Minister, the 7th Armored Brigade on the front line reports," a colonel spoke up, biting the bullet, "They have lost another two 'merkava' tanks on the edge of the old city. It was another top-attack strike. The enemy seems… more and more proficient."

Lavitz glared at him fiercely.

"Then send more tanks!" he roared, "Throw the whole brigade in! I don't believe they have an endless supply of anti-tank missiles!"

"But—"

"No buts!"

Lavitz stood up, his hands pressing on the table, his body leaning forward.