274: Chapter 274 The Shadow Dancers are in position

There was a kind of madness in his eyes that bordered on a total breakdown.

"I need a victory. Do you understand? I need a real victory, one that will shut everyone up! Not this..." He pointed at the scattered battle reports. "Not this fake garbage propped up by propaganda!"

The meeting room was deathly silent.

Only the sound of Lavitz's heavy, ragged breathing could be heard.

He needed this lie.

To support his teetering political career.

To numb his nearly shattered nerves.

Gaza Strip, "Rock" Command Post.

Sinwar watched the press conference broadcast on Al Jazeera.

His face was devoid of any expression.

Spread out on the table before him was a true casualty report.

Over the past three days:

Civilians killed by bombing: 638.

Wounded: Nearly two thousand.

Destroyed homes, shops, and schools: Countless.

Resistance Organization fighters killed in action: 31.

Wounded: 89.

Zero losses among senior command personnel.

The "senior commanders" and "core staff" Lavitz spoke of—

Were entirely non-existent.

"Propaganda warfare," Sinwar said, turning off the screen and addressing the twelve men sitting around the simple table.

These men were handpicked by him from the Death Soldiers and the most elite local fighters.

Their gazes were sharp.

Their breathing was steady.

They were true battle-hardened elites.

They had just completed emergency training on the equipment that had arrived late last night via a secret underwater transport line.

The "Shadow Dancer" optical camouflage individual system.

"They use lies to gloss over failure," Sinwar's voice was low, like a cold blade. "They use exaggeration to mask fear. They use the carpet bombing of our civilians to feign victory."

His gaze swept over every person.

"They think they can wage war from the comfort of their offices in Tel Aviv without a care in the world, and then use lies to escape punishment."

Sinwar pointed to the wall.

Pinned there was a photo—the moment Lavitz pumped his fist at the press conference, his expression distorted and hideous.

"Now, I am giving you a mission."

"It is not to blow up tanks."

"It is not to ambush patrols."

He paused.

"I want you to go to their heartland. To Tel Aviv. To Jerusalem. To the rear they believe is perfectly safe."

Sinwar pulled a tactical tablet from beneath the table.

He pulled up the data.

Photos, names, titles, home addresses, frequented locations, and security habits of high-ranking military and political officials of the Squid Nation...

The level of detail was horrifying.

Some came from public records.

Some came from special channels.

But the most vital core—

Came from top-secret data packets provided by Zhang Cheng through the system.

"The target list consists of twelve people in total."

Sinwar tapped the screen.

"Major General Yair Nissim, Director of the Operations Bureau of the Ministry of Defense."

The photo showed a balding, middle-aged man with sinister eyes.

"Ronen Bar, Deputy Director of the Mossad Operations Division."

A refined-looking man who resembled a university professor, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

"Amir Cohen, Director of the Government Press Office, responsible for the propaganda war against Gaza."

"The current commander of the 7th Armored Brigade—the one who replaced the unit that was wiped out."

"As well as several other hardline officials and MPs who have been the loudest proponents of this war's strategy and propaganda."

Sinwar looked up.

"Your equipment."

A technical Death Soldier stepped forward, displaying a set of grayish-black form-fitting armor and a helmet.

It looked unremarkable.

But once activated—

Under specific lighting and electronic scanning, it could achieve near-perfect optical camouflage and thermal signature masking.

Paired with silent movement and climbing assistance modules,

It was arguably the most advanced individual infiltration equipment of this era.

Additionally, each man was issued a suppressed pistol, a specialized dagger, miniature explosives, and communication devices.

“Operation Code: ‘Liquidation’.”

Sinwar stood up.

His tone was resolute.

"Mission objective: Within forty-eight hours, carry out precise eliminations of the targets on the list within the territory of the Squid Nation."

"Requirements: You must confirm the target's identity and ensure the kill. After the operation, evacuate safely or lie low and wait for extraction."

"The use of any necessary means is authorized."

He paused for a moment.

His gaze was like a burning torch.

"This is not a terrorist attack."

"This is a proportional extension of an act of war. It is a response to the indiscriminate bombing of civilians. It is the most direct answer to their propaganda of lies."

Sinwar spoke each word with emphasis.

"They kill our civilians, so we decapitate their command structure."

"They want to broadcast victory, so we will deliver them real death."

"Remember, after the operation is successful, there is no need to hide it. Publicly claim responsibility in the name of the 'Gaza Resistance Organization Special Operations Unit'."

He concluded:

"We want the whole world to see. And we want those high and mighty lords in Tel Aviv to understand—"

"The fires of war can burn all the way back to their own backyards."

The twelve elite warriors stood up in unison.

They placed their right hands over their hearts.

Eight Advanced Death Soldiers and four of the finest local fighters—all of whom had passed absolute loyalty tests.

"Understood, Marshal."

There were no impassioned slogans.

Only a cold killing intent permeated the underground command post.

Forty-eight hours.

To many high-ranking officials in Tel Aviv, it was just another busy work cycle "filled with confidence in victory."

Lavitz's press conference seemed to have achieved its effect.

Domestic public opinion was temporarily captivated by the "news of victory."

International criticism also seemed to have quieted down.

They did not know—

That twelve ghost-like figures, shielded by the Shadow Dancer system, had already infiltrated the Squid Nation in batches through secret sea and land routes.

They split up.

Their forged identification documents were flawless.

Their local language skills were perfect.

They blended into the crowds.

Like drops of water merging into the ocean.

They silently closed in on their respective targets.

Late at night.

In an upscale residential area in the northern suburbs of Tel Aviv.

The home of Major General Yair Nissim, Director of the Operations Bureau of the Ministry of Defense.

The study light was still on.

Nissim sat behind a large oak desk, reviewing the operational plan to be submitted tomorrow.

It concerned the "next phase of the comprehensive clearing of the Gaza Strip."

The plan used many buzzwords.

"Saturation strikes," "three-dimensional blockade," "humanitarian corridors"—the latter was merely window dressing.

He rubbed his temples.

He was a little tired.

But more than that, he was excited.

If this operation succeeded, he might just earn another star on his shoulder.

A faint sound came from outside the window.

Like a cat jumping onto the wall.

Nissim didn't pay it any mind.

The security level of this community was very high; there were electric fences on the walls and guards at the gate.

It was very safe.

He continued to look down at his documents.

He didn't notice—

That the glass door to the study balcony had been silently pushed open a crack.

An almost completely transparent silhouette slipped inside.

There was no shadow on the floor.

On a thermal imager, it would appear only as a blurry patch of color, almost identical to the ambient temperature.