by Israel Levy
Naomi, Ziv, Yaron and the two young soldiers checked their equipment, put on their night vision gear, and made their way towards the sandy hills, their large packs secured on their backs. After fifteen minutes or so of trudging through the deep sand they came to a point where the sandy hills of the beach met the desert soil. Yaron gestured for Ziv to take the lead and the team increased their pace. No one uttered a word. By now they worked together like a well-oiled machine.
The full moon was out, shining its light through the night. The hills cast their long shadows, creating a deformed image of the ground. The shadows of the team members merged with those of the hills and bushes. They moved quickly, Naomi’s eyes darting from left to right in an attempt to spot any suspicious movement. Every so often Ziv would kneel and use the GPS tracker to verify their location. After about an hour and a half’s strenuous walking in the valley, Ziv hugged the side of the path merging with the hills.
Yaron and another soldier climbed, crouching, up the southern hill. They slowed to a crawl near its peak and Yaron used his binoculars and night vision goggles for a 360 degree sweep. They crawled backwards down the hill and Yaron approached Ziv. Naomi felt a tap on her shoulder and smiled through her heavy face paint as a soldier handed her a water canteen. She drank and handed it back to him.
The team rose to their feet and continued moving forward quickly, this time climbing the hill and crossing its top in a hunched run down to the parallel valley. They continued walking very quickly, almost jogging, without making a sound.
It was midnight when Ziv crouched down, gesturing for Yaron to come closer. Naomi lay on her back, leaning against her huge pack. The shirt on her back was soaked through with sweat (“I could really use a shower right now”).
Yaron signaled for everyone to huddle around him.
“Listen up,” he whispered. “About 200 meters further ahead is Team Doron’s lookout point. You two move ahead and check it out. If it’s good and we can use it, settle in and call us over the radio.
“If you see any sign that the station might have been compromised by a visit from unwanted guests, pack up immediately. We’ll use an alternative route and dig a new post. Are we clear?”
The soldiers nodded, leaving their large packs behind, and headed out carefully towards the post. Naomi took a position facing west, Ziv faced east and Yaron faced north, keeping their eyes peeled through the suddenly heavier darkness, thanks to a stray cloud that hovered over the Libyan skies. Under darkness the desert air grew chillier, and the sweat on their bodies turned cold (“The perfect recipe for catching pneumonia”).
Naomi checked her watch. Fifty minutes had already passed and still no sign from the young guys. Ten more minutes passed before, finally, they heard a voice on the radio.
“Hatchet Two, the post is clear, no visitors, clean and secured, over.”
“Roger that.”
Yaron signaled for Naomi and Ziv to pick up the soldiers’ pack and start marching. After about 150 meters Yaron stopped and knelt behind a prickly pear bush. They removed their night vision gear and spotted a twinkle about forty meters ahead. Naomi could see no sign of the post’s existence (“Well done, Team Doron”). They moved ahead in a hunched run when suddenly, the ground beneath their feet gave way to reveal the dugout. Inside was one of the soldiers. The other one was securing the station to the north. They crawled in and he followed them covering their tracks with a branch.
It was a tight fit, squeezing five people with all their equipment into the dugout, built for a small team of three.
“We’ll have to settle in as best we can, spend the day here, and improve our position at night.”
They unpacked their main equipment: a camera attached to binoculars and equipped with a starlight enhancer device and hooked up to the laptop. Naomi unpacked the micro filming and listening devices, as well as their arrow delivery mechanisms. Yaron placed the binoculars in position and pointed to Naomi. It was hard to move and she had to crawl on top of Ziv and another soldier to get to the binoculars. She spotted the tent camp about two hundred meters ahead from their location. They were positioned slightly above it and had a good vantage point over the tents and the space between them (“This location is great”).
“It’s too far away to launch the camera and microphone,” she whispered in Yaron’s ear. “I have to get closer to shoot the tents.”
“Let’s leave that for tomorrow night. Right now, according to the reports, we’re nearing their wakeup time and getting out is just too dangerous. Go take a little nap.”
Naomi crawled back to her place and after removing a few stones managed to find a decent position. The others did the same, getting some shut-eye, except for Yaron who stayed at the binoculars.”
The touch of someone’s hand woke Naomi up. She opened her eyes and looked around without moving, trying to make sense of where she was. Yaron and the others were asleep and Ziv was at the binoculars. Her leg had gone numb and she tried to shake it back to life, causing Yaron and the others to wake up.
In the small drop of daylight that shown into the dugout, she looked at the computer screen and saw the tent camp in full light. There was a jeep that hadn’t been there the night before, parked next to one of the tents. She saw very few people moving around.
Two guys and a girl in sweats and sneakers went out for a morning jog, unarmed, and returned about fifteen minutes later.
At seven thirty, several groups of young men and women emerged from the tents, all dressed in civilian wear. Naomi noticed that their body language and head bows registered respect towards some of the older members, and marked the tent from which they had emerged.
People gathered outside one of the tents, holding empty plates. Forty minutes later they appeared again, some headed to the water fountain to wash the dishes.
Naomi marked that tent as the kitchen and dining hall.
A group of young men and women, some with traditional Arab features and others light haired and European-looking, including two blond girls, emerged from three tents, wearing sweats and trainers. They left the camp and started jogging in an orderly formation. Naomi marked these tents accordingly.
A frail-looking girl who seemed nothing like a fitness trainer led the group. Naomi followed them intently. After doing five laps around the camp, the guide staying ahead the whole time (She’s in good shape alright”), they began running straight toward the Hatchet observation post. Naomi held her breath. The girl stooped about fifty meters from them and began jogging in place. The entire team froze and turned off their radios and other electronic devices.
After some warm-up exercises the girl split the group in to twos and they began practicing Krav Maga.
Naomi was surprised to see how similar their training was to what she’d been taught. The instructor skillfully demonstrated a complicated move and the rest of the group practiced it.
They ran back towards the tents after an hour and a half’s practice, dripping sweat and covered in dust.
The sun was beginning to set behind the desert hill and an eastern wind began to blow, sending thin grains of sand inside the dugout.
A strange image formed as the bottoms of the tents were submerged in sand, as if they were floating above the desert ground in a surreal picture. People were starting to get ready for dinner, some hurrying from the shower tent to their ‘rooms’. Figures were looking blurrier in the fading light even with the binoculars.
Evening descended and with it came the thick darkness that precedes the shining of the moon.
“Psssstt, Naomi,” Yaron whispered and tapped his watch, signaling it was time. She crawled to him.
“Time to go, Naomi. I’ll give you the order where to launch the arrows from.”
“Hook the imaging up to my palm computer.” Naomi reached in her pack and took out a tiny computer with a color screen and GPS tracker. She placed it on her wrist and
secured it in place with Velcro straps.
The palm computer showed the image of the camp and as Naomi marked one of the tents it appeared on Yaron’s laptop too.
She grabbed the box of arrows containing the listening and filming devices and the arrow launcher, removed her bulky battle vest, taking from it only her gun. She holstered the weapon unto her belt and placed several magazines in her pocket and made her way out of the dugout with another soldier to cover for her.
“Hatchet Two here, be advised, two Joes going out into the open.”
“Copy that.”
Naomi crawled in the direction of the tents, the desert stones cutting her hands. Her knees were protected by pads but sand and tiny stones still made their way to her skin, scratching it.
She crawled slowly, stopping every few meters, bringing her binoculars to her eyes and looking out onto the tent and the patrolling guards. The soldier crawled behind her, stopping whenever she did and covering for her. Slowly but surely they neared the camp.
“Hatchet Two to Joe,” whispered Yaron into his mouthpiece. “Looks like you’re in range. Launch the arrows from your current location.”
“This is Joe, negative, I’m moving closer, the coast is clear.”
“Negative, Joe, from your current location.” Yaron clearly was not pleased by Naomi’s disobedience. She kept crawling, moving closer to the camp.
“God damn that girl, she’s risking the whole operation,” Yaron muttered. Naomi crawled a few more meters. Two men in civilian dress carrying AK-47’s emerged from one of the tents for a smoke. They walked away from the tent, chatting and stopped about ten meters from Naomi. She flattened herself against the ground, trying to blend into it, attempting to hide behind a rock no larger than a fist. A lizard crawled up from under the rock and unto Naomi’s right arm, stopping at her elbow and blinking from left to right. Naomi did not dare budge. She could feel sweat dripping into her eyes.
The soldier covering for Naomi aimed his telescopic sights at one of the terrorists. Then, the patrolling guards waved at the two men in civilian dress to return to the tent to Naomi’s immense relief. She breathed freely and moved her arm, sending the lizard in a frenzied escape. Naomi rolled on her back, wiped the sweat from her forehead, attached the device onto the first arrow head, then rolled back on her stomach and marked the first tent on her palm computer. She typed in the number 1 before launching the arrow at the tent. With the faint sound of air pressure release the arrow was shot and stuck on to the tent’s fabric.
Upon impact with the thick cloth, four arms, the size of a small spider, emerged from the arrow head, fixing it to the tent. Yaron typed a command on his laptop and another arm protruded from the arrow and into the tent, with a thermal video camera at its tip, transmitting images and sounds from inside the tent.
“Hatchet Two to Joe. One positive.”
Naomi rolled on her back once again and prepared a second arrow. She repeated the action for ten minutes, at the end of which all five tents were marked and being recorded.
Yaron asked Hatchet over the radio if they were receiving the images and sound.
“Affirmative, excellent sound and image.” All five tents appeared on the large plasma screens in the ship’s command room. Another screen showed satellite footage of the entire camp.
“Hatchet Two, Joe here, headed back.”
“Proceed.”
Naomi began crawling back, trying her best not to leave a trail. She passed the soldier who kept covering for her, then stopped after a few meters to cover for him and allow him to crawl back. They continued crawling like that, alternately covering for each other, until they reached the dugout.
“Naomi, we’ll talk about this when we get back,” Yaron whispered, “but I will not tolerate you making decisions that can jeopardize the entire mission. Am I being clear?”
“ I hear you, but…”
“No ‘buts’!” Now let’s focus on the mission.”
On screen was a split image of the tents. The kitchen tent was empty except for two mice nibbling what looked like a bag of rice. One of the Arab looking guys was in the shower tent, lathering up. There was no movement in either of the two sleeping tents, only in the one from which the two men who had gone for a smoke. There a group of people were sitting around a wooden table. That tent was positioned next to another one that seemed empty except for a massive ammunitions crate in its center.
There were maps on the table. Yaron zoomed in and gestured to Naomi to turn up the volume. To their surprise the conversation was in French. Naomi marked the people on screen by numbers and began typing in their conversation while simultaneously translating it.
Suddenly, two more figures entered the tent. This took them all by surprise as there had been no movement outside the tent or in the one adjacent to it. Yaron switched the image to that tent which again seemed empty, with nothing in it but the ammunitions crate.
He switched the image back to the command tent. Naomi tensed, suddenly recognizing that unmistakable Irish accent. She zoomed in and saw she was correct. It was the fat man from Belgium. She quickly typed in that information.
“Hatchet Two, this is Hatchet,” they were surprised at the intervention from the ship’s command room. “Switch your camera to the empty tent. Zoom in to the ground next to the crate in the center of the tent.”
Yaron did as he was told and the closer inspection revealed footsteps leading to the crate, but going no further. Naomi looked closely, trying to spot any other details.
“Just a minute. Yaron, zoom in to the back of the crate,” said Ziv. “Check out those marks in the sand. It looks like the crate has been moved in a circle.”
“Hatchet Two, this is Hatchet. We believe the crate is the entrance door to the underground computer room. Commence silent takeover now. Hatchet Three has already started closing the parameter to enhance Hatchet Two’s attack layout. Wheels of Hatchet One and the Experts will make their way to the camp in thirty minutes. Please confirm, over.”
At once, the entire team was on edge. Naomi could feel her heart starting to race.
“Hatchet Three is on the move, over,” said Gilad.
“Hatchet Two, roger.”
Radio communications fell silent.
“Hatchet calling Hatchet One Wheels, come in.”
A suspenseful minute, which felt like an eternity, passed before the response came in.
“This is Hatchet One, on our way with the Experts.”
Naomi felt a huge weight lifting from her shoulders. All forces were on the go. Yaron ordered the team to get back on the monitors until the navy Seals team joined them. Naomi went back to the computer, switching from tent to tent. The entire camp was now in deep sleep, except for those meeting in the command tent.
She turned up the volume, identifying the speakers as she went along. Suddenly, she heard another familiar voice. The two figures that had entered the room earlier retreated to the side and were talking in low voices. Naomi asked Yaron to zoom in on them. One of them was the short, fat Irish man, and the man he was talking to seemed to be the head of the force. He had his back to the camera. Naomi could only hear his voice. She searched her memory, trying to understand where she’d heard it before. They conversed in French. She couldn’t understand why her heart was racing so fast. The figure seemed so familiar but she couldn’t say where from. The two men moved toward the tent opening and into the adjoining empty tent (“Where in hell have I seen that silhouette before?”).
Yaron switched to a split screen, with one camera on the command tent and another on the empty one. One of the men in the command room got up and stood by the opening adjoining the two tents, as if guarding it. In the empty tent the two men moved towards the crate. The mysterious figure bent down and pressed a button on the side of the crate, causing it to pivot sideways and revealed stairs descending into the ground.
&n
bsp; “Hatchet Two, this is Hatchet. Are you seeing this?”
“Affirmative, confirming the entrance to the computer room, proceeding with the plan.”
Naomi wouldn’t take her eyes off the two figures. The fat man went down first, and the mysterious man followed, his back still facing the camera. He descended three steps and then turned and pressed the button on the side of the crate again. For a split second his face was caught on camera before the crate swiveled in place. Once again, the tent looked empty.
Ziv turned to Naomi. “Naomi, call…” he stopped short. Naomi sat there, staring at the computer screen, looking like she’d seen a ghost, taking short, quick breaths.
“Yaron,” Ziv whispered. “Something’s up with Naomi.
The two of them crawled towards her on their knees. Naomi was sweating profusely.
“Naomi,” Yaron whispered. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
Naomi’s eyes were still glued to the screen. Ziv and Yaron looked at it but saw nothing but the empty tent with the crate covering the entrance to the computer room. The command tent was also empty, except for the guard that kept watch while everyone else retired to bed.
“Naomi,” Yaron placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her.
She turned to him with a glazed look in her eyes.
“Yaron,” she whispered. “Play back the images.”
Yaron began rewinding the recording, frame by frame.
“Stop.” The image froze on that instant in which the second man turned to close the crate. “Zoom in on his face.”
Yaron did as he was told, asking nothing, realizing there was something happening here he knew nothing about. He zoomed in and the man’s face filled the screen.
An involuntary moan escaped Naomi’s throat. There was no denying it. The face on the screen was Moshe’s.
Naomi felt a turmoil of confusion and distress the likes of which she had never experienced. She tried to suppress her emotions but couldn’t. Her face grew pale and her eyes filled with tears.