Golan Heights, east bank of Lake Tiberias.
Brigadier General Hassan stood beside the T-72, staring in a daze at the floating bridge across the lake.
The bridge had been open for three days. In those three days, more Syrian civilians crossed from the east bank to the west than his soldiers. The elderly leaning on canes, women holding children, young people carrying luggage, all slowly make their way across the bridge built by the Mexicans to see the lake they hadn't seen for decades on the west bank.
An aide approached, holding a telegram.
"Commander, news from Damascus. The President asks when the negotiations will start."
Hassan did not turn around.
"Negotiations? Negotiate what? We've discussed water, the bridge is up, people are starting to move. What else is there to discuss?"
The aide lowered his head. "Discuss land. The Golan Heights."
