Chariots on the Highway

by Limor Moyal

  The minutes went by with agonizing slowness, while Tom and the cover team were waiting for some signal. Tom looked at his watch and calculated that Shai and his team had been inside the village for at least twenty-five minutes, and he started wondering what was taking them so long?

  A loud explosion sounded from the village, followed by bursts of gun fire.

  A row of tracers was shot from the village towards the sky, and the sighting was similar to that of fireworks. Tom realized that the hope for a quiet operation had flown out the window and his heart sank.

  The radio opened up and Shai’s voice sounded off, “This is kodkod, hostiles encountered! Requesting support, the force is badly hurt! ‘Pride’, get to the ‘shack’ over!”

  ‘Pride’ was Tom’s radio name, and ‘shack’ was the code name for a structure defined in advance for gathering, evacuation and covering. It was a small square structure, roof-less, standing on the side of the village. It was chosen mainly because it was exposed to the satellite and enabled panoramic views over the area and the village.

  Tom got up and looked back, making sure Eran was still with him, and started moving in formation of two in front, one behind. They kept their distance and scanned right and left as they had trained and made their way towards the shack. Tom came down to a crouch and yelled back, “Skip drill proceed!” With that order, they started advancing toward the destination. Every time one stood up and moved forward, the other lay down and covered the one after him. That way, all three of them moved forward. Tom wasn’t thinking! The adrenaline washing over his body kicked every thought from his mind, in an attempt to utilize his senses for something else: Fight, survive, and watch his brother’s backs. He didn’t feel the sweat, he didn’t feel the scratches on his face from the bushes, he didn’t feel the chafing on his hands from all the lay-downs on the rocky ground, he didn’t feel the dozens of pounds he’d carrying on his back for hours. He moved forward, and his body listened to the instincts and countless drills that formed his automatic behavior as a warrior.

  Suddenly, the explosions and gun fire sounds ceased, and the silent that came was scarier than the riot.

  Why did they stop shooting? Maybe something happened to them. Maybe they were captured?

  Tom pushed away those thoughts that crawled into his mind hosted by the silence, and kept moving towards the destination.

  He made it first to the shack and he got inside. It was dark and empty, and had this faint scent of dust, piss and goat manure. He peeked outside through the cracks in the bricks, and was terrified by what he saw.

  Dozens of hostiles were spread between houses, dozens of the village residents had started coming out from between the alleys and houses, shouting, “Death to the Jews!”, with AK-47s flailing in their hands. Others were holding daggers, and there was no doubt about what they were going to do with them.

  Two Toyota pick-ups, armed with heavy machine guns on their backs, were advancing toward the village, right where Shai’s team had been headed.

  Eran came close to Tom and whispered, “What do we do, Texas? It doesn’t look good!”

  “Nothing yet! Not until we understand what’s going on!” answered Tom, attempting to sound calm for Eran’s sake, and his own; panic was not on the menu that night, or ever.

  He tried communicating with Shai, “This is ‘Pride’ to Command, over!” He was answered by static and he was impatiently waiting for Shai’s voice to break through.

  He tried again, “’Pride’ to command. We’re in the shack. Over.”

  The awaited response refused to come.

  He pressed on the long range radio button and called the division command.

  “This is ‘Pride’, we have an encounter, men down, I repeat, men down. We lost connection with 'kodkod' and CSM. There are hundreds of armed hostiles around. The cover team are in the shack and requesting rescue.”

  From the static noise in the radio he heard a masculine voice responding, “Rescuing force on its way. ‘Chariots’ convoy are on their way to you, over and out.”

  “They’re sending tanks, it’ll take time, fuck!” he told Eitan and Eran who were looking at him with worry.

  Tom tried contacting Shai again with no success, and the static noises answering his attempts tore his heart apart. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. He kicked the brick wall in frustration and anger, and tried to regain his composure and think about what to do next.

  The shooting sounds came again, when a group of villagers shot toward the sky into an area Tom couldn’t see. The armed Toyotas appeared on the other side of the village, and turned on their axis and started going back while shooting bursts of fire on the hill from the other side. Tom understood they were patrolling and searching for his lost team.

  “They’re looking for us!” he said, “Something went very wrong. It’s like they knew we were coming, where we were coming from and what we were going to do.”

  “Look to your left!” Eitan whispered to Tom and nodded his head towards a structure in the middle of the village, “What’s in there?” asked Tom.

  Eitan pulled his binoculars out and looked, “It looks like Abu-Mustafa,” answered Eitan, “the son of a bitch is on the balcony with a group of armed motherfuckers… it looks like he’s briefing them. That’s the target house, where the team headed for the hit. At least Intel had that right. It’s a shame they forgot to mention that the fuckers were planning a surprise party for us. Dumbasses!”

  Tom took the binoculars and scanned the scene. The person seen in the briefing pictures looked very different from the man he was seeing now. A man with a satisfied smile, as if he was the conductor of a fucking orchestra! Tom was furious and within seconds, he decided he had to do something.

  “We’re going in! We’re going to take the mother fucker down!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me!? Are you crazy? The force is trapped, maybe worse, and you want to go on a suicide mission?” Eran replied with anger.

  “Whoever dies, dies, and whoever gets injured suffers in silence until the rescue gets here. The mission has to be executed, that’s what we were taught, Eran!” said Tom.

  “You were taught to live, not to commit suicide!” Eran interrupted.

  “We’re their only chance. We swore not to leave anyone behind, what’s wrong with you?” Tom was angry, desperate, and determined to act.

  “Abu-Mustafa is the key to getting out of this mess, the Chariots are on their way, but it's gonna take them at least 45 minutes to get here! If we don’t do something, chances are nobody will stay alive till then, and that includes the three of us waiting here like fucking sitting ducks! It’s our only chance to get out of this alive. If we die, at least we get to reap some fuckers on the way, and we wouldn’t be letting them close in on us and slaughter us like chickens!” Tom seethed. “I'm going! You don’t have to join me, you can stay here for all I care!”

  “I'm going with you!” said Eitan.

  “Fuck! Fuck! A terminal vacation in a week, and I'm gonna become a fucking moving target!” Eran swore.

  “Eran, you don’t have to come with us. Eitan and I will go. You can hide your ass in the bushes and wait for rescue. You have another week, man. You have a girl waiting for you. I need a sniper, but you can stay here and act as a lookout.” said Tom and prayed that Eran would swallow his pride and agree to stay behind.

  “You also have a girl waiting for you, Texas, and you’re discharging soon too,” answered Eran.

  And Tom knew this was the right moment to confess, “I have a man waiting for me at home, Eran. He was a fighter in the army himself and he knows what it means, and what has to be done and when. If something happens to me, he’ll understand and he’ll know that I had to do what I did, what I was trained to do,” Tom answered, embarrassed but determined.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” angrily asked Eran.

  “Because I was afraid. I was afraid it would affect you in moments like these, I was afraid it would make m
e less important in the moments of truth,” Tom confessed.

  “You’re an idiot! Harel, my big brother, is gay. You think I give a shit who you’re fucking? I'll take a bullet for you if you were fucking Woody Allen!” answered Eran angrily.

  “He’s not really my type, but thank you, man!” answered Tom, and the liberating sensation was comforting and necessary, especially at this critical moment.

  “I hate to interrupt this romantic moment you two are having, but we’re like, in the middle of a fight here? Texas, are we moving or what?” impatiently asked Eitan, “I also don’t mind that you’re an ass-muncher, by the way.”

  Tom hit the back of Eitan's neck hard enough that it actually made a sound, “Oooww!!! You bastard! What did I say to deserve that?”

  “You said ass-muncher. What kind of language is that? Getting it up your ass is the right way to say it!”

  All three laughed and enjoyed the moment of humor, maybe the last one in their lives.

  Silence again, sad looks of 'might-be goodbye'.

  “Eran, you’re staying here! I need someone alive and outside of the mess. I promise to call you on the radio if we need you,” said Tom in a mixture of request and order.

  Eran came over and hugged him tight, “Take care of yourself brother!” He went over to hug Eitan and stock them up with few extra magazines and grenades.

  Tom crawled his way out of the shack, looking forwards and sideways, until he slid down the hill with Eitan following his lead.

  They started to quickly flank from the left, quietly approaching the village.

  The explosions, shouts of orders coming from discarded radios left behind in the field, and gun shots mixed up with the noise of the AK-47 bursts. The sounds of war.

  Tom arrived at a point where the village’s houses were starting to come into sight, “Cover me!” he yelled to Eitan and went over to a rock the size of a big brick and dragged it to toward the road. He repeated the act, while Eitan was scanning around with his night vision equipment, making sure no one was coming. After a few rounds of gathering and dispersing rocks, the road looked like it had been through a rock avalanche.

  Tom joined Eran and laid by the side of the road, hid behind a bush and waited. After a few minutes, they saw a car approaching. The driver noticed the rocks scattered and slowed down when he realized he can’t drive past them. He stopped the car to move the rocks from the way, cursing angrily in Arabic. Tom was satisfied to see that the trick had worked as planned, he sneaked behind the driver and hit the back of his head with his rifle’s butt. The driver fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes, and Tom dragged him into the bushes, took his kaffiyah and jumped in the driver seat, “Are you waiting for an e-mail from command? Get your ass in the car!” Tom said to Eitan, who was a bit shocked.

  “He’ll wake up and then everyone will know we’re here!” said Eitan.

  “Eitan, he’s not going to wake up any time soon, and they’re going to know anyway. We’ll make sure they’ll know it and feel it, believe me! Now Stop thinking and get in!”

  Eitan hopped in the back seat, laid down and tried to peek out from the right side window.

  Tom wore the kaffiyah on his head so it hid a part of his face as well. The rifle was lying on his knees as he slammed the car door.

  He put the car into gear, and the white, old Mitsubishi jumped forward.

  A short drive lead them into the village. Tom was known for his visual memory and ability to remember every detail from the aerial photographs, and so he knew the place by heart. He remembered the main street, all the inner alleys, and the by-passing road from the back of the main mosque.

  He made it to the mosque and took a right. All along the streets he saw dozens of villagers and hostiles, running and yelling while carrying weapons in their hands. He tried not to think about what might happen to him if he was exposed. What would’ve happened if it weren’t for the kaffiyah wrapping his head and face. He knew that his American citizenship wouldn’t help him out here, especially while wearing an IDF uniform and holding a loaded rifle on his knees.

  The road was twisted and bumpy, and just as he assumed, lead him to a dark alley behind the building where they’d seen Abu-Mustafa. The building the team had been preparing for, the building with the balcony they saw from the shack. He stopped the vehicle and looked to the sides. Not a living soul was there, and the relative silence petrified him. He left the car, Eitan following him, and together they moved toward the wall surrounding the house. He climbed and looked over the wall, the dirty courtyard looked like a junk pile. Old disassembled cars, scattered metal parts, piles of posters in Arabic, and amongst all that, two chickens and a goat were walking and looking for food. Tom pulled himself up and jumped over to the other side of the wall with Eitan close behind.

  “Now what?” asked Eitan.

  “I have no idea!” replied Tom. He started circling the house and stopped immediately when he heard voices. He moved to the other side, peeked, and saw two men walking out the back door. He went back to Eitan and whispered, “If there’s no opening, we’ll make an opening!”

  “How? You’re aware that this is reality and not another ‘Portal’ game right, Texas?” replied Eitan.

  Tom remembered the Krav-Maga lesson he’d taken at the beginning of the course. The instructor told him how his little boy had locked himself in the bathroom and opened the water tap. The instructor described how he ran over to break open the door, thinking his son was going to drown in the bathtub. He tried it with his shoulder, but he sunk into the door and his head banged against the doorpost and then he’d decided that the door was going to open no matter what; his son’s life depended on it.

  According to the instructor’s advice, Tom stepped away from the wall a few meters and, with all the force he could muster, he ran into the wall as if it wasn’t there. When he reached top speed, a meter and a half from the wall, he jumped and brought his knees to his chest and straightened his ankles together straight against the wall.

  He found himself lying in a dark room with a pile of rocks and dust spread all around him. He couldn't believe it actually worked. He’d made a hole in the wall and landed inside the structure.

  “Are you okay?” asked Eitan, looking into the hole and smiling, “Holy shit man! The guys won’t believe it when I tell them what you just did! Who needs ‘Portal’ when you got legs like that?”

  Tom didn’t wait, he helped Eitan get in, pulled a gun, and started moving one step at a time along the wall until he reached the corner. He peeked and saw a huge hallway in front of him. Tom signaled to Eitan to scan the area ahead, and so Eitan confirmed and moved in to the next zigzag, looking out and laying cover. Tom walked by him, advanced forward and found himself in front of a young scrawny guy holding a machine gun, with a surprised look on his face. Tom didn’t hesitate and shot twice, aiming for the center of his body. The man collapsed. They both ran inside, walking by the opening, Eitan in the lead, rifle by his chest, alert and scanning in all directions. Tom after him with a drawn hand gun, scanning and making sure there was no one following them.

  Eiten reached the corner, peeked and reported and signaled by hand gestures - Staircase on the right!

  Tom walked by him and moved forwards, Eitan followed and moved back-to-back with him up the stairs. Tom in the front, Eitan behind him with his back against Tom’s to make sure there were no followers.

  Together, they functioned like a single organism, reading each other’s moves. Without words, they both knew what was expected of them and how each would act. The drills and the endless training were paying off.

  The stairs spiraled up and Tom saw an unrecognized face peeking from upstairs. He fired twice immediately, but the terrorist managed to avoid them. The reaction came immediately. A burst of fire was shot into the stairwell and Tom didn’t wait and charged forward, Eiten ran after him while shooting a burst back up the stairs, covering them. Tom, who was leading, didn’t see that Eitan was shot, he reached the to
p of the stairs and looked through the opening and saw a hallway with three entry ways. One on the right, one on the left and one at the end of the hall. He came back for Eitan and saw him bandaging up his own thigh. “Shit, man! How bad is it?” asked Tom in worry, “It’s nothing, just a scratch! I'm securing the staircase, you go and clear the floor!” said Eitan. Tom had no choice but to follow, he hated to leave Eitan hurt and bleeding, but he knew the only way to save him was to move on. He nodded and kept going.

  He ran to the right opening, pressed to the wall, peeked in for a short glance and went back to place. He managed to recognize two terrorist by the far wall, he pulled out a grenade, pulled the safety pin and let the lever fall off.

  ‘Twenty one, twenty two’. He knew that if he threw it too soon, they could throw it back at him. ‘Twenty three’, and he threw the grenade inside in a quick cross side motion and folded back into his position. It wasn’t as long as a second before a loud explosion shook the walls. Tom went inside with a drawn gun, he took a moment to wipe the sweat mixed with dust that was covering his face and dripping into his eyes. A dust wave wrapped the room, with a strong smell of gunpowder and sounds of pain. The two terrorists fluttered between life and death and Tom shot two bullets into their approximated position. The silence that followed told him he was accurate.

  He kept running towards the second opening, he peeked through, only this time the image was different. On the floor there was a woman holding a little boy in her hands. No terrorist was in sight, but Tom decided not to take a chance.

  He scanned the room, eyes on the gun sight. Every inch was scanned and nothing out of the ordinary was seen, other than the terrified look on the woman’s face. Tom warned her with his broken Arabic which he remembered from training, to be quiet and stay still, and she nodded in agreement and mumbled words in Arabic with a broken voice.