by Roni Eliav
The command major-general and the division commander were present at the meeting. The major-general was an armored-corps man— he knew a thing or two about tanks, but not about walking night patrol. The division commander was a decorated paratrooper, who felt he knew all he needed to know on the subject. Keeping my unit commander’s instructions in mind, I insisted it was impossible to carry out the patrol without being discovered. The division commander became upset.
“So we’ll assign a paratrooper platoon if you can’t do it,” he barked.
“There’s not a single soldier in the entire armed forces that can do what I do,” I brazenly said.
I was a recently-promoted captain, facing off against a brigadier-general and a major-general. I was young, brash, and genuinely fearless. I enjoyed the confrontation.
The division commander introduced two officers who were to join us on the patrol, an engineering-corps officer and an armored-corps officer. I looked at them scornfully. The engineering-corps officer was ridiculously unfit for the assignment. The armored-corps officer was lean and athletic, but I highly doubted he could keep up with my team. The major-general asked the engineering-corps officer: “How’s your fitness?”
“Excellent, sir. I run seven miles every day,” he replied.
If he walks at all, it’s probably from the office to the mess hall and back, I dismissively thought to myself. But the atmosphere was charged as it was, and I knew my opinion would not be welcomed. So I kept my mouth shut.
“And you?” the major-general asked the armored-corps officer.
“I’m decent, sir,” he said. The understatement and confidence in his voice rendered his answer more credible.
“What do you say?” the major-general asked me.
“There’s no way in hell they can do it,” I said bluntly.
The division commander blew his top, raging about my arrogance and vanity, going on and on about paratroopers and reconnaissance units. I looked back at him indifferently, which made him all the more incensed. The major-general put an end to his rant, and informed me the operation will be going ahead, and that the two officers will be joining me.
“And if we’re discovered?” I insisted.
“Are you certain you’ll be discovered?” the major-general asked.
“On a clear-sky, moonlit night like tonight, with dogs and Bedouin all around, there’s no way to not be discovered,” I said.
“What are the consequences of being discovered?” he asked.
“I could kill whoever discovers us without making any noise. I could abduct them, but it would be hard to carry them back. Either way, we won’t make it to the pass you want us to check. The question is, is that what you want?” I answered.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to kill or abduct an innocent farmer on a path you want to keep secret?”
“No, I don’t. Don’t kill anyone and don’t abduct anyone,” the major-general said.
We left the room frustrated. The order was to move ahead with preparations. Around evening time, my soldiers, who had spent the day preparing, arrived at the advanced post by the Lebanese border. I briefed them and inspected their gear before we left. I insisted the engineering-corps and armored-corps officers leave behind everything that wasn’t absolutely essential. The armored-corps officer didn’t argue. The engineering-corps officer insisted on taking his measuring instruments. I made him give it over to my soldiers, who griped about the extra weight but carried it nonetheless.
I placed the two officers in the middle of the force and made them remove their rank insignias, like I did. I appointed two of my soldiers to be in charge of the officers. I instructed the officers to do exactly as their appointed soldiers did at all times.
We sat waiting at the border for two more hours. With every passing moment, we grew increasingly irritable. It was clear that the later we left, the faster we’d have to walk, or even risk staying out in the field during daylight. As I usually did before an operation, I smoked a whole pack of cigarettes, my mouth pervaded with the dry taste of ash and smoke. Others were chewing on beef-jerky and exchanging harmless banter. Later, they decided to pick on the two officers. The engineering-cops officer tried to answer back, but was laughed out of town. The armored-corps officer smiled in silence.
Finally, the division commander arrived and said in an irritable voice that we had to leave immediately. I radioed command post, and they approved. I said we’d be calling it very close in terms of the time we had left at our disposal. They replied that there was no other choice, and to try to make it as far as we could. I realized it was a clash of egos. We were left with no choice. We headed out.
After such a long wait, the soldiers were off like a bat out of hell. I had to slow down their pace, which was ridiculous for such difficult terrain. The sector was clear of enemy forces, so we could walk without worrying about making noise. We climbed and descended, up and down, over and over. After about an hour, we had made up for the delay and were back on schedule. I checked up on the officers during the water break. The armored-corps officer seemed okay, but the engineering-corps officer was utterly spent, hunched over gasping for air. I asked how he was, and all he could muster was a faint nod. I figured he ran this whole time, because he didn’t know how to walk at such a murderous pace. I was worried, but had no choice but to carry on.
Two hours later, I was informed the engineering-corps officer couldn’t walk any further. This time, I took a twenty-minute break. I went over to see him: he was lying on his back, panting heavily. I tried to talk to him, but he was in no condition to answer. I had a problem on my hands. The whole point of the patrol was to observe and inspect the axis. I called the armored-corps officer over and asked for his opinion. He said that anything the engineering-corps officer could inspect, he was qualified to inspect as well, except for barrier-breaching, but he could probably do that as well.
I left the engineering-corps officer with two soldiers at a point I could later recognize between two boulders. I reported to command post, and was off again. I absolutely hated splintering forces. A couple of months prior, a squad of paratroopers had accidentally shot a splinter force— the whole army was still traumatized from the disaster. But, again, I had no choice.
We continued walking, going around the few houses sparsely scattered in the area. The dogs were barking, but we were a safe distance away. We slowed down our pace, and moved silently. A mere couple of weeks before, we’d walked a spitting-distance away from a Jordanian army sentinel without being spotted— we weren’t sure what he’d seen, and he hadn’t reacted anyway. I assumed we’d have room to maneuver here as well. An hour and a half later, we reached a pass we had identified in the aerial photos as the only possible place to cross. We observed the spot, and I couldn’t believe my eyes: since that aerial photo was taken, more Bedouins had settled there, and the area was now dense and extremely difficult to cross. I started moving forward, and the dogs started barking. I decided to leave the force behind while I advanced together with two soldiers, Ami and Amir, carrying muffled rifles. There I was, forced to splinter the force again.
We snuck between the tents and the kennels. The dogs were barking like mad. We had almost crossed the hamlet when, out of nowhere, a dog pounced on us in rabid fury. Amir aimed well, and kicked him square in the head. The dog scampered away, whining. We heard a sound front the nearby tent. Someone was coming out, and we hurried to hide in the shadows. An Arab man emerged holding a shotgun and yelled: “Min hadha?” (Who’s there?) He yelled two more times, and shot a round in the air. I held Amir back, whose finger was ready on the trigger. The man walked out to search for the intruder; Ami and Amir aimed their weapons at him, and I pulled out my combat knife. He turned around and looked directly at us. Our faces were darkened, and we were well-hidden in the long, dark shadows: the light of a full moon increases visibility, which is a bad thing, but th
e shadows it casts are deeper than the darkest of nights. Suddenly it hit me— my bandage was white, and was giving me away. I’d wanted to replace it before we left, but we had been in a hurry, and I couldn’t find the time. The Bedouin raised his shotgun. I froze. I heard a muffled sound to my left, the sound of a muffled rifle going off. Both soldiers shot at almost exactly the same time. I saw the bullets hit his head, and he dropped like a stone. We ran over to grab him, and pulled him into the shadows. We waited in silence; the dogs barked, but that was all. I gestured to Ami, who quietly went over to spot where the Arab had hit the ground, turned over the blood-soaked earth and covered it with a large pile of goat dung.
Amir hoisted the dead Arab man over his shoulders, and we snuck back. We reached the rest of the force, who had in the meantime taken battle positions after hearing the muffled noises; they were almost inaudible, but to trained ears, they gave the story away. We quickly put some distance between ourselves and the hamlet, carrying the body with us. We stopped about 300 yards away, and I radioed into command post. After an irritatingly long wait, I was instructed to go on with the operation. I replied that was not an option, unless they wanted me to slaughter the entire hamlet. Besides, there wasn’t enough time to make it to our objective and back. After another tense few moments, I was instructed to go back.
We opened a stretcher, loaded the body, and hastily started making our retreat. The way back was tough, an almost ceaseless steep ascent. The stretcher weighed us down, especially since we followed narrow winding goat trails, not wide enough to fit two people together. Thus, the soldiers had to carry the stretcher two at a time, instead of four. I was very proud of them. I tried not to walk too fast, but still, I wanted to reach the splinter force as soon as possible so we could make it back to the border before daybreak.
Halfway back, the armored-corps officer insisted he wanted to help carry the stretcher. I had been impressed by his walking abilities and how easily he fit in, so I agreed. But the soldiers refused to pass the stretcher— a matter of professional pride. He didn’t insist, and I stayed out of it.
We reached the splinter force. The engineering-corps officer was paralyzed with cramps; he could hardly move, let alone walk. We unloaded the corpse, and loaded the officer in its stead. We reached the border before daybreak.
When we reached the fence, the division commander was waiting for us, incandescent with rage.
“You just wait, I’m not finished with you!” he screamed at me. “I’ll personally see to it that you’re never promoted again. You’ll remain a captain for the rest of your life!”
I looked him square in the eye and said in a soft voice: “I’m discharging next week. You can stop my promotion in South America.” I kept walking, my soldiers following close behind, stifling their giggles.
Chapter 16
LEBANON-SINAI-LEBANON, 1981: AN OFFICERS’ OPERATION
There was a period when we carried out ambushes or attacks in Lebanon on an almost weekly basis. These operations were simple and rapidly executed, but not always very effective. For us, however, they provided invaluable operational experience.
Tal left me. She finished her service, enrolled in college, and decided in the spur of the moment to volunteer at a field school in Sharm El Sheikh, the most southerly point of the Sinai Peninsula.
I was a captain, a seasoned soldier. And as I’ve already mentioned, being an officer in the unit went a long way towards helping you with the ladies. I had a thing going on with a girl from one of the auxiliary units, but it wasn’t going anywhere.
During lunch one day, someone asked me if I was taking part in the officers’ operation. I said of course I was, but I actually had no idea what he was talking about… I ran as quick as I could to the company commander and harangued him to assign me to this operation. I didn’t even know what the operation was.
The company commander said that the roster was full, but he’d see what he could do. I kept nagging and, just to get rid of me, he agreed to put me on the stand-in list. Every operation had stand-ins, in case something happened to one of the participants.
From there, I went straight to the unit commander to complain that the company commander was excluding me. He promised he’d talk to him. I couldn’t keep bugging him because he was busy— he was the unit commander, after all— so I got his secretary to agree to bring my name up every half hour. Eventually I went to the administrative adjutant and simply put my name down on the operations list. While at the office, I tried to call Tal at Sharm El Sheikh, but the line was dead. The adjutant promised to let me know as soon as it was up again.
I went to sign for equipment, but was rebuffed and told my name wasn’t on the list. I went back to the company commander, he promised it would be fine. I put on trainers and went out to exercise. By evening-time, I still wasn’t able to get through to Tal, nor did I receive a decisive answer from the company commander. I went to the club to play bridge with my soldiers, and didn’t do very well.
The next morning, I saw the unit commander in the mess hall during breakfast. I told him that if I wasn’t going to be part of the operation, I’d be discharging. He was hardly bothered. So I went to the adjutant and asked to formally begin the discharging process. Fifteen minutes later, I was called into the office. I’d done it, they assigned me to the operation!
An ambush in Lebanon. Great. I signed for equipment and joined the battle procedure. An officers’ operation is fun— you get to be a regular soldier again, without the headache of bearing all the responsibility.
I still couldn’t get through to Sharm El Sheikh. The countdown to the operation had begun; we were departing in ten hours. I was given a seemingly-ordinary radio, which was in fact filled with powerful explosives, a classic booby-trap. After that, it was briefing, roll call, schematic model, and rest. I never understood how anyone could rest with adrenaline pumping through their veins.
Finally, I got hold of the field school in Sharm El Sheikh. Tal wasn’t there, so someone went looking for her. By the time she got back to the field school, whenever that was, the line was dead already. How is it that an army can carry out covert overseas operations with pinpoint precision but can’t maintain one goddamn telephone line? Not long after, though, I managed to reach her. She said she was happy, and that everything was great. I tried to hint that I was going on an operation without explicitly saying so, but she didn’t seem very interested. We said goodbye.
There were two hours left before departure. I opened a pack of cigarette and chain-smoked my way through it. Thirty minutes before takeoff, we sat waiting in formation until the helicopters finally arrived. Walking down to the runway with your equipment on your back imbues you with a feeling of elation. You’re ready, you’re fit, you have the best equipment, your clothes are still dry and your stomach is still full. You feel like a predator about to go out on a hunt; you look around you, surrounded by the other lions of the pack, geared and ready for action.
The Twin Two-Twelve (Bell 212 helicopter) reeked of burned fuel and grease. We took off into the night, two choppers packed with battle-hardened, amped-up officers. We landed in Lebanon in pitch darkness. We fell into formation and started walking. It felt a bit weird to be in the middle of the file rather than leading its front; not being the one to call the shots, simply walking in formation.
After a couple of minutes of walking, you start sweating. Slowly, your body gets soaked; a couple of minutes later, your face is so awash with sweat that you don’t even bother wiping it off anymore. When breaks come, you are as grateful as any common soldier, guzzling down water in huge gulps. Without question, the water in those old, moldy canteens is the best water in the world.
After three hours of walking, we reached a road. We spread out to set the ambush, and waited. A light breeze dried the sweat off our bodies, and within a few minutes, it started getting cold. We waited and waited, but whatever was supposed to come didn’t (we weren’t e
ven sure what it was). There were feverish discussions going on over the radio, but I was just a simple soldier in this operation, so I was strictly out of the loop. In the meantime, I tore the shoulder-straps off the booby-trap radio and placed it in between the rocks, to make it seem as though it was abandoned in haste.
We received an order to be prepared. They said the next car was the car we’d been waiting for. A truck with colorful headlights made its way up the hill. This couldn’t possibly be it, I thought to myself. But then the order came: “On my command, open fire!”
The truck drove straight into the ambush. I could clearly make out the driver in the cabin dozily smoking a cigarette with an open window. The command to fire came, and the night erupted into a cacophony of assault rifle fire and anti-tank LAW rockets. Two rockets hit the truck cabin. “Grenade!” one of the officers yelled, and tossed a grenade under the truck which detonated and blew up the gas tank. The truck was ablaze, a flaming hunk of metal; the driver was leaned over the wheel, burned to a blackened crisp, the weight of his body honking the car horn. Two additional LAW rockets didn’t resolve the issue.
We left as quickly as we could. Needless to say, I left the booby-trapped radio behind. We retreated like scared kids caught red-handed. A jeep full of enemy soldiers quickly arrived at the scene, and started firing everywhere with a Soviet DShK 1938 heavy machine gun. The rounds went well over our heads, as we were down in the canyon by then. I received a spontaneous order to stay behind with two other officers and form a rear guard.
We lay between the huge boulders, looking up and scanning the descent down to the canyon. I checked my ammunition: I had five magazines left, I had only shot two. I also had a couple of grenades left. Some figures appeared on the horizon, we picked them off with precision using our scopes. Two hit the ground, the rest dispersed. We couldn’t see a thing in the dark. We shot in their general direction for deterrence, but there was no return fire.