by Roni Eliav
“Yoni, you’re not coming out with us. You’re on kitchen duty,” I informed him.
“W-What are you talking about? I’ll report you! I-I…” he stuttered.
I didn’t answer. “Roll call outside in five minutes,” I said.
When we assembled outside, Yoni reported along with the rest of the soldiers. I stood and looked at him, without saying a word.
“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t deserve to be left behind,” he pleaded.
“I don’t trust you, and I’m not going out on any kind of mission with someone I don’t trust,” I said matter-of-factly. “Get inside.” Yoni turned back and went inside, and we went out on patrol.
This patrol was better— the soldiers reacted well and didn’t argue. We passed the town and reached a giant building which housed the regiment that covered the sector. The building was an old cigarette factory, and there were still plenty lying around. We were offered soft-pack Marlboro cigarettes, the kind you couldn’t get in Israel at the time. Most of the guys didn’t smoke. I took several packs, and felt like a looter.
Over the next few days, I transitioned into feral combat mode without any kind of conscious decision: I didn’t shower, didn’t take off my socks even when sleeping, ate little and only easily-digestible foods. I slept lightly, and stirred ready for action. I drank a ton of coffee. My senses were attuned and I was highly alert. I concentrated on the here-and-now, thinking in terms of missions and objectives. Exacting conduct, but very fulfilling: no ruminations, quick and sharp decision-making, everything very clear and incisive.
The following day, Yoni tried to report to the patrol again, and was promptly sent back to the kitchen. That evening, he came to talk to me. We spoke in a hall full of army cots, with combat gear strewn all over the place. He sat on the cot next to the one I had settled on, and moved the combat vest I had neatly placed around my helmet.
“How long is this punishment going to go on?” he asked.
“As far as I’m concerned, forever,” I said with a coldness I didn’t really feel.
“One little mistake and you’re just gonna dump me on the side of the curb?”
“That wasn’t a mistake, Yoni. Mistakes can be corrected, what you did cannot. You can disobey orders in the kitchen, not in the field.”
I got up and walked away. Honestly, I kind of felt for him. I usually appreciate and admire defiance in people. But I couldn’t let this one slide; not easily, at least. The soldiers, who were used to me being a laid-back and easygoing commander, were surprised. Some of them came up to me and tried to convince me to let him off the hook.
“I can’t, guys,” I said. “If I do, then each and every one of you will know in the back of your minds that you can refuse orders as well.”
“You know that’s not true. We always knew when to put jokes aside.”
“True, but you don’t this time,” I said.
They were shocked that they couldn’t convince me. Our relationship was usually such that I allowed myself to be convinced by logical reasoning.
During one of our night patrols, we felt pretty safe. We were walking down a narrow street, and the synchronized stomping sounds of our boots sounded like a coordinated march. That sound echoing through an Arab village at night stirred uncomfortable associations. Elad, who was at the back, suddenly yelled: “Eins! Zwei! Drei!” The team laughed in embarrassment. I didn’t react. I instructed everyone to go into stealth mode, making the sounds of our boots inaudible. The weather was dreary, but it wasn’t raining; just an occasional drizzle, not enough to saturate the sunbaked earth.
After three days in the kitchen, I went to see Yoni in the makeshift mess hall, filled with laminated folding tables and benches. Yoni was standing in the adjacent room, diligently scrubbing piles of huge pots. He was a physics student in his civilian life. I called him over. He sat in front of me, wiping his soapy hands dry.
“Yoni, do you understand why I couldn’t overlook what you did?”
“I do,” he answered laconically.
“Do you want to go back to operational duty?”
“What, and give all this up?” he looked around with an ironic smile.
“Yes, I’m sure that’ll be hard, but duty calls.”
“Do you want me to apologize to everyone?” he asked, slightly embarrassed.
“There’s no need. We all get each other.”
Yoni came back. The message was conveyed. I felt no need to humiliate him further.
One night, in the early hours of the morning, we set up a makeshift roadblock on the main road. The soldiers stopped two pedestrians walking down the road and inspected them. It was 4:30 AM, still pitch-black. Throughout the whole of the previous hour, only one car had passed by. It was cold, and we were in a sour mood.
“He’s got a grenade in his pocket,” the inspecting soldier suddenly said.
I quickly raised my weapon and said: “Shoot him.” Luckily, he didn’t. “Move. I’ll shoot him,” I said.
“Wait, it’s just a warm yam. He must have kept it in his pocket,” the inspector said.
The air flushed out of my lungs. I felt nauseous from the grave mistake I’d nearly made. I sat down and lit a cigarette. I was tired, cold, and worried. I was certain we had apprehended the person who had thrown a grenade at us during our first patrol. That was hardly enough to justify the fatal error Amir saved me from making.
At first light, we started climbing up towards the “kennels.” That was the name we used for the sleeping quarters over the radio. We walked in night formation. Even though I thought about it, I was too tired to bother changing to open-field formation. The soldiers couldn’t be bothered either. We walked back slumped and tired.
Suddenly we heard a faint noise of gunfire. “Enemy fire to our left!” someone yelled. Our immediate reaction was to turn left. Since we couldn’t see who was shooting at us, we dropped to the ground. I realized we were too clustered, and not set up to engage in combat. I instructed the group to break into two squads, one to the left and one to the right. The soldiers reacted with expert skill, one rushing and two covering.
I’ve always felt like a lone warrior. The only way to successfully work as part of a team when you are a lone warrior is for everyone to know what you want, and for everyone to have the skills necessary to execute it. The team immediately demonstrated that that was the case. We rushed rapidly and skillfully, each covering for his other squad members. The source of fire was sparse, and our counter-fire destabilized the shooter.
We reached within thirty yards of the source of fire. I signaled for two soldiers to take out grenades. They glanced at each other to coordinate, and tossed their grenades simultaneously. “Grenade!” they yelled. Everyone lay down and counted— 21, 22, 23— two loud explosions came in rapid succession.
“Charge!” I yelled. I jumped to my feet and dashed forward. The soldiers fell into formation and charged forward, stopping every couple of steps to shoot at shoulder height before carrying on running. We reached the source. There was no body there, just some shells scattered on the ground, an empty AK-47 magazine, and a small pool of blood.
I looked around in search of runners. There was a house a couple of dozen yards down the hill. One of the soldiers yelled: “They must be in the house.”
“Stop!” I said. “Count off basic numbers!” I yelled, to make sure no one was injured. The better option would have been to count off within the smaller squads, but I wanted to hear for myself. Everyone was okay. We changed magazines in gradual order3, I left one squad behind to cover and led the other to the rear side of the house.
We stopped at the corner of a windowless wall. The soldiers formed a tight-knit line along the wall. I sent a full squad to the entrance. “Scan and enter, no grenade,” I told them. We didn’t know who was actually inside, it could have just been innocent civilians. The execution wasn’t as s
eamless as it had been in the past, but satisfactory. They went and yelled: “Stairwell4.”
I advanced and passed them. I sent a squad to scan the ground floor. It was empty. I called Yoni and we took the stairs, each covering the other’s movement. We reached the second floor, which was split into two apartments. I sent Jacob with a squad to scan the apartment on the left while I and another squad entered the apartment to the right.
There was a family in the apartment. The children were crying, and the women were screaming. We moved along the walls. There were two openings in the room, one to our right and one in front of us. The family ran into the room to the right, but not to the one in front. I signaled the soldiers by slightly nodding my head towards the entrance. Yoni and Amir moved along both sides of the opening. I joined in behind Amir. I signaled— grenade. I didn’t realize they had both taken out grenades and pulled out the safety pins until it was too late.
They both threw in the grenades with their elbows leaning on the doorpost— only then did I realize two grenades were being thrown instead of one. The first explosion came. Amir made a move to enter the room, but I grabbed his vest from behind and stopped him. Yoni leapt in, and the second grenade exploded. He was thrust out by the force of the explosion.
I stopped for a moment, then pushed Amir inside and followed him in. We sprayed the room with automatic fire, systematically covering every inch. “Magazine,” I said, and knelt down. I changed magazines, and Amir followed suit. The dust started to settle, and we saw two armed boys, dead as doornails.
We rushed out to Yoni. He’d been hit by shrapnel in several places. We took off his shredded vest and looked for bleeding. The cover squad came in and the medic took over. We called for emergency evacuation. We carried Yoni on a stretcher out to the yard outside the house. He was breathing heavily. I ordered the team into a circumferential defense formation. The helicopter asked for directions, and Jacob the signaler expertly instructed it. We could hear it getting closer. I looked at Yoni. His mouth was caked in blood. He smiled at me. I grabbed his hand, and it was cold as ice. Suddenly it started pouring rain. We lifted the stretcher to enter the building lobby, but just then, we heard the loud chopping sound of the helicopter rotor. We stood there as the pouring rain washed the blood off Yoni. After loading him to the chopper, we assembled in order and climbed back towards the “kennels,” drained and exhausted.
I relieved the soldiers and laboriously made my way up to the second floor. I took off my gear, dropped it on the bed next to me, and sat down heavily on the sleeping bag that covered my bed. A strong hand grabbed my shoulder. Yossi sat next to me. We didn’t say a word. He passed me a bottle of Zachlawi Arak he’d bought in the village. We drank straight from the bottle. When the bottle was half-empty, I crashed asleep.
The next morning, we learned that Yoni had died of his wounds on the way to the hospital. We all went to visit his family. None of us knew what to say. For months, I would wake up at night from nightmares in which I leave Yoni in the kitchen and he explodes there, or that I manage to stop him right before he enters a room full of monsters.
With time, the burden of guilt was dulled by the daily routine of study and work. Every year on the day of his death, we visit Yoni’s grave and his family at their house. It always rains on that day.
* * *
3One soldier changes his magazine, and only when he’s done does a second soldier change his, and so forth. That way, there is at least one soldier with a loaded magazine at all times.
4The first soldier to look inside announces what he sees. There are different techniques to every layout, and the announcement informs which technique is to be employed. Every such announcement changes the course of action taken by the force.
Chapter 19
ENDGAME: SETTLING THE SCORE
Early 2000’s. Erez sets out to get revenge.
Erez was concealed deep inside a thicket. He had been there for hours, waiting motionlessly, observing a building in the Arab settlement. He was less than 100 yards away; there was no need for binoculars. As evening came and darkness descended, he pulled out a pair of night-vision goggles from the bag behind his vest and put them up against his eyes. The image appeared in nuclear-green color. He disliked night-vision instruments, but this time he had no choice. The place was too dark, and the moon would only rise in a couple of hours.
Finally, he spotted some slight movement, followed by the sound of footsteps. Because of the distance, he had no way of knowing who the walking person was. Erez waited for him to approach the right house. In the meantime, he slowly made his way out of the thicket. Every time his uniform snagged on a thorn, he patiently removed it, until he was finally out.
Almost at the same time, the man reached the house. Erez snuck silently towards the house. When he reached the wall of the house, he stood motionlessly. He could hear hesitant voices inside. He took off the night-vision goggles and allowed his eyes to acclimate to the darkness. His pupils dilated, and he slowly made his way to the door, examining its axes and handle. He then stepped back, and then rushed at the door and burst it open. He found himself in a medium-sized room, which comprised the entire structure. Two men were sitting in front of him, brewing coffee on a small open fire. Erez lifted his rifle to his shoulder before the two could react to his intrusion.
“Turn to face me,” he said in Arabic. One of them crouched down and picked something up off the ground. Erez recognized the shadow of an AK-47 assault rifle. He shot two rapid rounds at the man, and shifted his rifle in a small arch to face the second man, who was standing with his hands in the air.
Erez examined his face, and realized it didn’t match up with any picture he knew. He instructed him to carefully go over to the corner, and walked over to the man lying in a pool of his own blood. He grabbed his leg and flipped him over. “Jack of Spades…” he mumbled.
Suddenly he heard hesitant voices approaching the door. He recognized the sound of a rifle hitting a helmet, and the sound of whispered orders. Without delay, he went to the corner of the structure, hung on a rafter beam and climbed up. The force burst in without shooting and scanned the room with flashlights. They found the wounded man and his terrified companion, continued to scan the room, and shouted orders in Hebrew. Having found nothing else, they removed the wounded man and his friend, and the ammunition they found lying around. Erez heard them scanning the perimeter, and slowly getting further and further away from the house.
He dropped back down to the floor. So you’re following my chart, he thought to himself with slight amusement. He peered out, and when he saw the coast was clear, vanished into the darkness.
Eitan the brigade commander, the operations officer, the intelligence officer, and the deputy brigade commander sat in Eitan’s office. The conversation was tense and heated.
“Maybe we should just let him go on. He’s taking out our most-wanted list one by one,” the operations officer said.
“First of all, that’s very dangerous. He could get himself killed, or worse— captured,” the brigade commander said. “And secondly, he’s not going to go over the list systematically. He’s just making sure the system works before he applies it to his target.”
“And what’s his target?” the deputy brigade commander asked.
“Ibrahim Nasser. The Jack of Clubs.”
“Why him?”
“He’s the guy who sent the terrorist who killed Erez’s children,” Eitan said sternly.
“Did you know this before you reenlisted him?” the deputy brigade commander asked.
“I had a broad idea, but I didn’t think it would become an obsession,” Eitan said with slight hesitation.
“But you knew him from your regular service…” the deputy insisted.
“Yes, I did. He was my squad commander, he sent me to officer training. I guess I should have seen this coming,” Eitan replied.
“So what do we do now?” asked the deputy brigade commander, who was the youngest man in the room.
“We help him,” Eitan said with conviction.
“He doesn’t seem to want any help,” the deputy protested.
“He’s going to want this help,” Eitan said with a mysterious, smug smile.
***
Neta lay on the bed in the room adjacent to the office, passing the time waiting, certain he’d be back again. She was unsettled, angry, excited, and a bit scared by the flood of contradicting emotions washing over her. She felt she was playing a lead role in a Greek tragedy. The emotions made her young blood boil, stirred her maternal instincts, and irritated her senses.
After long, tense anticipation, she finally fell asleep. When she awoke, she felt someone watching her. She opened her eyes and saw a large, dark figure. She leapt out of bed and recognized it was Erez. He looked at her with sealed eyes, tired but curious.
She rushed over to hug him, remembering he had not objected last time. Erez recoiled slightly, but then returned her embrace. She felt his strong body and hands envelop her. She felt safe and secure, before noticing she was in fact very lightly dressed. She moved around in his arms, searching for his lips, and kissed him warmly.
He tightened his grip on her shoulders. She pulled back, and started undoing the buttons of his uniform shirt, revealing his muscular chest and stomach. Neta took off her top in one swift motion, and pressed her breasts up to his chest. She felt his pulse racing.
Erez swept her up and carried her to the narrow bed. He took off her underwear and the rest of his clothes. She pressed up against him, kissing him with desperate passion. She felt their bodies merging, joining into one being. She screamed with pleasure as he moved on top of her, and erupted into an orgasm like she had never felt before. Later, she lay on top of him, both of them naked and sleepy.
“You remind me of someone,” he whispered half-asleep.