Shadow Soldier: A Military Thriller

by Roni Eliav

  Eitan stood out in all departments, certainly in fitness training. He was big, almost 6’5, but unlike most large men, he had a lean frame. So he could leverage his body with explosive propulsion. Everything was easier for Eitan. Sunday fitness session had an audience, but Tal broke ranks and returned to the radio room. She didn’t renew her relationship with Eitan, and he stopped trying. He had his qualification course to think about.

  Upon completing his course, Eitan was sent to officer training. Tal still refused to see him. She considered his going to officer training a form of betrayal: an officer in the unit had to sign a two-year extension to his service, and the job was demanding. Tal was adamant she deserved someone’s undivided attention.

  To everyone shock and the unit commander’s disappointment, at the end of officer training Eitan chose to remain as a course commander and train the next batch of cadets rather than return to the unit. The unit sent Erez out to talk to him about his decision, but when he came back, the only thing he said was: “We decided he’s going to stay there.”

  The senior command of the unit was incensed, but nothing could change Eitan’s mind. Later, Eitan took a command role in the paratrooper corps, and never returned to the unit.

  Tal was angry. She wanted to leave, but she didn’t have a lot of time left to serve anyway, so she decided to stick it out. She eyed the unit doctor, who was older than the others and seemed smarter as well. But then, one day, Erez burst half-naked into the radio room and forced her to call half the army in search of a soldier who might have gone missing beyond the border.

  He was upset, and she found that arousing. She teased him, and saw that despite the stress he was under, Erez responded to her advances. After the soldier was found safe and well, she kept Erez in the radio room. He was aggressive— almost violent— in stark contrast to Eitan’s gentle strength. She was awash with guilt, but let herself get swept away.

  Erez had just returned from a failed operation, so he was guaranteed to have time for her. The attention he gave her was neither lavish nor too considerate, but Tal enjoyed it. She enjoyed the slight sting of humiliation in having to seek him out, all the while knowing she could easily find him and draw him into her world. She derived pleasure from their shared guilt, even though she knew she was damaging their team solidarity: she knew the soldiers, Eitan’s friends, were angry. She also knew someone must have told Eitan about their affair.

  So it went on for a couple of weeks, until Erez was finally assigned an operation. His dedication was absolute. He had forgotten Tal even existed, and wouldn’t set any time aside for her under any condition. One Friday, she offered Erez to come to her house— but he chose to stay in the unit instead and study axes of advance.

  Tal was mad. And when Tal was mad, she did what she always did: start a new affair. The doctor fell prey to her advances without much resistance. Even though he was pretty disappointing in bed, she kept the affair going. Tal expected Erez to notice, but his mind was solely on the operation— until he walked in on them making out, half naked in the infirmary. Still, his reaction irritated her: Erez waited for them to get dressed, and then went straight for the doctor and berated him for skipping practice.

  She did all she could to penetrate Erez’s hard exterior, to no avail. The doctor wouldn’t see her anymore, but that was fine by her. Erez returned from the operation with the aura of a hero, and still refused to see her.

  He was pleased to have a pretense to end things with Tal. Even though he liked her and found her very attractive, from day one their relationship had been stained with guilt. Erez knew how deeply Eitan felt about Tal, and every time he was with her, he felt he was stabbing a dear friend in the back. Erez had almost paternal feelings towards Eitan, and had reached the conclusion that Tal and Eitan should be together. At first, Erez thought refusing to see Tal would send her back to Eitan’s arms. Later, though, he realized a girl like Tal simply relished the challenge of breaking his resistance. So he started speaking with her again. Erez told her that she and Eitan had to be together, that she might be attracted to him—but that she loved Eitan.

  Tal couldn’t believe someone was breaking up with her. Over the years, she had taken pains to always be the one to leave, so she wouldn’t be in a position to get hurt. At first, she was offended, but then she realized he was moving aside to make room for Eitan. She realized she could never be with Eitan until she let go of whatever emotions she had for Erez. Then she came up with a creative idea: what if she tied the rape and humiliation that she had experienced to her relationship with Erez? That way she would be rid both of him and the terrible memories at once… Bind humiliation to humiliation and be rid of both.

  Once she made up her mind, she started actively pursuing it. First, she cut all ties with Erez, and then sent him hints and subtle provocations she was sure were driving him mad.

  Her service came to an end, and she discharged with no regrets. She sent Erez a letter, saying that if he slept with her just one more time, she’d go back to Eitan. And then she went to volunteer at the field school in Sharm El Sheikh.

  Erez obsessively tried to reach her. She wasn’t avoiding him, she was just hard to reach. At last, after countless attempts on his part, she finally called him and left a message that she was waiting for him— but that he had to surprise her and pretend to rape her. The shocked operator who took the message asked her to repeat it three times, to make sure she had heard correctly, but since she remembered Tal from her time at the unit, she conveyed the message word for word.

  Tal didn’t have to wait long. Two days later, when she went swimming naked at her secret beach, Erez arrived. She didn’t hear him approaching, but when he grabbed her from behind, she recognized his scent and the powerful hands subduing her. She resisted, but not too much. She let herself be conquered, but this time decided to enjoy it. She felt like a primordial woman, forcefully taken by the strongest male in her tribe. He became gentler, and she slapped him in the face. Erez laughed and kissed her long and tender. He said only one thing: “You promised you’d go back to him after this.”

  He put his clothes back on, got into that ridiculously oversized Dodge D200, and drove away.

  Two weeks later, Tal left the field school and returned home. She looked for Eitan until she finally found him. She courted him relentlessly, until he finally agreed to take her back. She was a loyal partner. She waited for him to come home on weekends and gave him all the love and warmth he needed. They talked about Erez: at first, Eitan felt jealousy, which then morphed into pain and hurt. But once he became truly convinced Tal was his for good, he made his peace with what had happened.

  Tal got into medical school, and Eitan went on to become the youngest regiment commander in the army. Eitan and Tal got married, and Erez, along with the rest of the team, celebrated with them. Over the following years, they met Erez several times. They were even invited to his wedding, but they never became close friends.

  Twenty years later, when she was on duty at the hospital one day, wounded people from a terrorist attack started flooding into the emergency room. There was almost nothing she could do for any of them. Tal noticed two young, lacerated and disfigured children. When she got closer, she recognized the girl. It was Erez’s daughter.

  She later saw Lauren, and wouldn’t let her go near the bodies. Erez came too that afternoon, worn and weary. He was half a man. Tal looked him in the eyes, but all she could see was despair.

  When she told Eitan, he didn’t say a word. She saw that look in his eyes she had only seen before on rare occasions. Eitan wanted to scream. Tal tried to reach out to him, but he withdrew. She could see he was burning with rage inside.

  Tal asked him to take Erez back into service. Eitan said he didn’t know.

  “Eitan, it’s the only thing that could bring him back to life…”

  Chapter 18

  RAIN: RESERVE DUTY IN LEBANON

  Erez disc
harged along with his team, even though he was asked to stay in the service. But he had run out of steam, and wasn’t interested in commanding a broader framework at that stage in his life. After discharging, he joined the Israel Security Agency as a security guard— a role necessitating minimal interaction. At the same time, he returned to reserve duty in the mid-80s.

  Reserve duty for combatants can be a hazardous affair, especially during the first years. On the one hand, they are seasoned and experienced soldiers, but their bodies and physical fitness are not the same as they were when they trained regularly. Furthermore, they are now civilians, not soldiers; taking orders for a civilian is not the same for a soldier in regular service. Both commanders and soldiers must adjust to this new situation. Making these adjustments is by no means easy, and— considering the challenges they face— can lead to disaster.

  Two years after discharging, I was called up for the first time to reserve duty in Lebanon. I was abroad during the two years that had lapsed. Some of my soldiers had taken part in a controversial war. Frameworks had been dismantled and reconfigured. We were reassembled as a team and annexed to a company of veteran soldiers.

  During the first week of training, I felt there was some rust in the gears. A defining trait of our regular service was the team’s rapid and blind compliance with orders during operations. When we were off-duty, they could say anything and laugh at my expense as they pleased, but in action— they followed my orders decisively. Now, however, I saw for the first time looks of reluctance on their faces and hesitation in their execution. In combat or in training, my orders were clear and sharp, and the team always responded immediately. Over time, some orders became so ingrained in their habits that there was no need to even say them out loud— a slight nod of the head or a pointed finger were enough. But in reserve duty, everything had to be said— often more than once.

  I sat on a rock in frustration after another mediocre warfare exercise. The soldiers walked right past me, joking among themselves. I lit a cigarette, trying to think what was going wrong. The company commander, Yossi Ron, a legendary figure in the unit and ten years older than us, sat next to me. Usually, officers and commanders kept their thoughts to themselves due to the competitive nature of the unit; but Yossi and I weren’t in competition, so I told him what was bothering me.

  “It’s simple,” he replied, “keep your distance from them.”

  “But I was always very close to them, and it always worked.”

  “They worshipped you then, but that’s over now.”

  “But they need the closeness…”

  “No, they don’t. You’re the one who needs it,” he said. “You need to get over it, fast.”

  He patted me on the back and went to get a cup of coffee brewed on an open fire by a group of senior soldiers, who had essentially come to reserve duty for the coffee. I observed the way Yossi conducted himself. He was amicable, but he wasn’t their friend. It was clear he was the commander.

  We drove up to Lebanon in a battered civilian truck. The army had advanced since the days of the D500. I sat up front, putting some distance between myself and the rest of the team. I read a book and chatted with the driver. It was one of the most boring drives I’ve ever been on— and coming from someone who was making his living in airplane security, that’s saying something.

  We crossed the border, clutching our rifles close to our chests. After about an hour, we reached our destination: Nabatieh, a medium-sized town with multiple-story houses scattered across a range of hills, with an utterly-obliterated road infrastructure and plenty of open spaces. We settled in a semi-demolished two-story building south of the town. A lookout was set up on the top floor, while the main floor housed the operations room, kitchen, mess-hall, and administrative sleeping quarters. The ground floor had a basement and housed the soldiers’ sleeping quarters. A field shower and latrine were installed outside. In line with my new approach, I set up in the administrative sleeping quarters. I went to the operations room to study the terrain.

  Our first assignment was a presence patrol. I went up to the lookout and perused the map and aerial photos. I called the team up, and explained the axis we would be taking. They then went to prepare their gear. During roll call, I was more meticulous than ever, making sure they didn’t take anything with them that wasn’t strictly essential: just their combat vests, magazines, two regular grenades and one smoke grenade, canteens, field knifes, and nothing else. I wanted them light and nimble. Veteran soldiers tend to pack everything they suspect they might possibly need, from food to climbing gear.

  We were off. I led them through the fence. The road was the likeliest place to face an ambush. We went down through the field, walking in a formation of two widely-dispersed squads in front and a third squad securing the rear. We weren’t used to this formation: we were night creatures, reared and raised on a gradient-line or two-file formation. The sky was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining. Typical Lebanese fall. I was walking in the middle with the radio, and quickly realized that I was quite conspicuously the one in charge— and thus, the prime target— but I remained in that spot, which had the best command of the field.

  Autumn in Lebanon— the fields are brown and the vegetation is thorny. I walked slowly, allowing our senses to attune to the environment. We descended down a long, inclined field, crossed the main road, and entered the town. We heard a sound, loud and clear: Click… Our heightened senses immediately realized that was the sound of a lever disconnecting from a hand grenade.

  “Grenade!” I shouted and threw myself to the ground. The soldiers reacted each at his own pace, but soon enough we were all on the ground. “21, 22, 23, 24…” Nothing. I counted five more seconds, as a safety measure. I got up to look for enemy forces, but found none. About three yards away I saw a lemon-shaped Soviet F1 grenade— a limonka— completely intact.

  “Circumferential defense,” I commanded. To my relief, the order was carried out quickly and efficiently.

  “Look for the thrower, but do not pursue,” command post said over the radio.

  I looked around, spotting groups of people here and there, including a bunch of kids in school uniforms. I reported over the radio. I was instructed to look for the thrower and then continue. I decided not to look— it seemed impractical. I cleared the area, stepped back, aimed my rifle, and fired. My Colt AR-15 was finely tuned after a week of practice, and on the third shot, the grenade exploded safely. We got our stuff together, and moved on. This was clearly an intentional warm welcome.

  We continued into the town, walking in two files on either side of the street— a formation we were more comfortable with, but which made it more difficult to command the area. The street reacted to us with clear detestation, but no hostility yet. After another hour, I called a break. We entered a building, went up to the roof, and rested. A couple of minutes later, dissent started.

  “Why here?” one soldier said.

  “Why not?” I replied.

  “We’re sitting ducks here.”

  “I don’t think so. We’ve got high ground, overlooking the whole area.”

  “But we’re sticking out,” he insisted.

  “No one will see us if they’re not looking up.”

  “Or if they saw us coming in.”

  “Yes, but the rule of arbitrariness is important.”

  “The what?”

  “Rule of arbitrariness. Choose arbitrarily, don’t repeat the same action, and apply different logics to every decision you make. That way, no one can predict your next move,” I explained.

  The next time we stopped, on the roof of a different apartment building, a mother with three children came up carrying a tray with cups of coffee.

  “Thank them, but don’t drink it,” I said sharply.

  “Why?” Yoni asked.

  I didn’t answer. Yoni took a cup of coffee and sipped it defiantly. He looked at me and said:
“Drink up, boys. Why are you not drinking? The coffee’s good.” The soldiers all turned and looked at me.

  “Yoni, put down the cup,” I said quietly, instead of cocking my rifle…

  Hearing my grave tone of voice, he set down the cup.

  “Unload your weapon,” I said as I stood up and towered over him.

  “Why?”

  I didn’t answer. I extended my arm forward and opened my palm, waiting for his magazine. He unloaded his weapon and handed me the magazine.

  “You’re not a soldier anymore,” I told him. He snickered, but no one joined him.

  We continued the patrol. It was hard to stay alert: I walked slowly, and stopped wherever I felt we weren’t in immediate danger.

  The ascent back to our post felt good— too good. I could feel the soldiers’ discipline slipping. I stopped, and reminded them of the dangers we were facing. I explained that most accidents happened within two miles of the destination.

  The following day, before going out on patrol, I told them the place was dangerous.

  “There are people here who want to harm us. This mission itself is meaningless, but it needs to be done. As far as I’m concerned, our mission is to get out of here unharmed. We will use every precaution, and react incisively and aggressively to the slightest sign of danger. The only way to do that is to be soldiers,” I told them. “If you can’t follow orders, you’re not a soldier,” I stopped and turned to Yoni.