While searching for a suitable gun-position we found the
Syrian aeroplane that had been shot down. The wreckage lay next to the
children’s house in Ayalet Hashachar but had done no damage to that or any other
buildings in its downward career. The aviators lay in a nearby field. Gruesome
sights.
Two bodies. Deformed and squashed by the impact. One only a
queer shaped, cylindrical chest with his entrails lying beside him. The pulpy
limbs of the other. It was a difficult to realise that that very morning they
had been live, pulsating human-beings. They said that the one who had a very
white skin was a Yugoslav. The ‘plane was a ‘Harvard’.
Our bodies almost suffered a similar fate. The light was
darkening and Mike did not see the aerial-bomb, unexploded, that had penetrated
the road. The menacing fins rose several inches above the ground. He passed
over it.
Those who saw shouted out in alarm and Mike hurriedly
reversed the jeep-right over the bomb. Luckily nothing happened. We surveyed
the missile from a distance. The aviators had almost wreaked vengeance, even in
death.
Returning to the settlement we warned them of the bomb’s
presence and told them to have a demolition’s expert remove or neutralise this
potential death.
Suitable gun-positions were as rare as Englishmen in the
Galilee. A better site than most lay behind the settlement, Ayelet Hasachar,
but there was a danger of drawing fire onto it, a risk which we were not
prepared to take. So the search continued. Another site seemed good but in the
rear there was an Arab or two on a hill-top and since that was the border of the
Lebanon, we did not know whether they were ‘our’ Arabs or not. Nor could we
take the chance of having our gun-positions given away by Arab spies.
The chosen gun-position was near Rosh Pinah. It was getting
very dark and we had no time to search further. Len [Kapel] was in hospital, so Les and
I took over his task in a joint capacity.
The boys had excellent and almost incredible news when we returned
to the guns. Flying fortresses were due to bomb that evening and they were
ours. Jubilantly we clamoured for details. Where had they heard? They pointed
up the hill where a row of flares was being readied to guide the ‘planes on a
run over the Arab positions. This was a far cry from our little Piper Cubs. The
Fortresses did not come that night. Another change of plan or a hitch, but they
came the following morning.
Len [Kapel] had spoken to me of a plan of his. He had a friend who
was an important officer in the Air Force, also a South African. Len [Kapel] had
written a note to him asking if it were possible for them to bomb the bridge
over the Jordan near Mishmar Hayarden.
That was the way the army worked in those days. Someone who
knew someone else who could do something got something done. All official
efforts to have the bridge bombed had been unsuccessful.
The guns were moved to the new position early the following
morning. Tired and weary men laboured at preparing the site, digging themselves
and the ammunition in and bringing the gun into action. A few of the troop were
disappointing, not pulling their weight and only concerning themselves with
their own little dug-outs. The more industrious and co-operative first brought
the guns into action, a tiring and lengthy task.
When down broke it was noticed that an inhabited Arab
village lay about half-a-mile away. The inhabitants were friendly and had been
given this village in lieu of their own, from which they had been driven by the
Syrians. They were loyal allies and many of their young men were in a special
unit in the Israeli army. Soon they became frequent visitors. Mike managed to
obtain a colourful Arab head-dress from one of their leaders. It was red in
colour with white spots and he wound it round his head in Arab fashion. A
favourite pastime of the members of the troop was to have a photograph taken of
themselves, attired in Arab dress, and standing between two genuine Arabs.
That morning the Flying Fortresses actually came. Only these
‘planes enabled the Israeli air force to bomb in the broad daylight with
comparative safety. In the early days unarmed ‘planes or ‘kites’ had done their
bombing at night in order to avoid the enemy ack-ack. Hand-grenades and nuts
and bolts in abundance were the first ‘bombs.’ Later metal pipes filled with
T.N.T. were manhandled out of the ‘planes and there were jokes in circulation about
how the ‘chucker’ had almost fallen out of the craft together with his bombs.
Our Flying Fortresses were a most wonderful sight. A dream.
Three of them and their motion was like an aerial glide. Nothing could perturb
their graceful course. They appeared totally unconcerned with the Syrian
ack-ack down below. Harmless bursts, lacking elevation, much too low. Those
were the first Israeli ‘planes I had ever seen in the Galilee, except for a ‘primus’
or two (as the Piper Cubs were nicknamed) and now there was a treat of three
four-engined ‘planes. They were really wasted on their task - being more suited
to concentrated bombing. In the dry and unpopulated battle zone many of their
bombs fell wastefully. Yet the enemy must have been impressed. Even more so
than we were.
They dropped their bombs. We cheered as they burst. We
wished the bombardiers good aim. Were they truly ours? Honestly and truly. And
the old question. Where had they come from? Usual speculations in reply.
Someone had pulled a ‘fast one’ on the American government. Where were they
based? They turned and sailed back for another run on the target. The enemy’s
ack-ack shells were bursting no higher. The ‘forts’ flew on and vanished in the
distance, a parting sight of silver shining.
Back to reality. It is blisteringly hot. The drivers have
arrived and have brought no water. They say that the pump in the village is out
of order. There are murmurs and whispers and accusations from the others. Hints
of disbelief. Accusations that the drivers were simply too lazy. Frayed tempers
of weary men who have not had sufficient sleep.
We open fire that night. Our targets are again the
customs-house and enemy gun-positions. Their guns reply. They shoot at our old
position. We laugh but a little too soon. They move nearer, searching, but not
near enough. The darkness confuses them.
Len [Kapel] came back from hospital the next day, against doctor’s
orders. He had not been gone forty-eight hours and was still limping and sore
although the shrapnel had been removed. It was too quiet at the hospital and he
wanted to be back with the ‘boys.’ He arrived in time. Mockie [Shachat] and Mike went to
an observation-point in an old Arab village held by Israeli Arabs and orders
were given to fire. The gunners were wary of their guns. In the last shoot
there had been a ‘miss-fire,’ a shell had exploded ten yards after it had left
the barrel. Luck had been with us again. No one was hurt.
Now the Arab guns did not even bother to range. Before you
could say ‘Jack Robinson’ the shells were landing all around us. It was almost
uncanny and there were shouts that the Arabs on the hill must have given the
position away. Len [Kapel] asked Mike, by telephone, for permission to cease fire. For
some time no answer came. Every few seconds there were resounding crashes and
smoke and blast and noise. The shells seemed to graze the roof of the
command-post and yet never fall inside. Perhaps we had a guardian angel. An
affirmative reply came from Mike and on Len [Kapel's] order there was a dash behind a
rocky outcrop to an old, disused well. It was comical to watch Len [Kapel] hobble along
to shelter with a smile on his face. And when Mockie [Shachat] and Mike came back and saw
that we were all safe and sound they laughed and laughed and laughed. Funny how
one joked with life - after the danger had passed.
An instant discussion developed. Elliot and one or two
others upbraided Len [Kapel] for giving a cease-fire order as soon as things became too
warm for us. They called it cowardly to desist fire when the enemy were
shelling you heavily. We discussed the pros and cons. The issue was more
complicated than it seemed at first sight.
My own opinion is that when one is supporting one’s infantry
in an attack or defending them while they are being attacked by the enemy,
under no condition must one cease firing no matter how heavily one is being
shelled. When, however, one is simply engaged in a shoot for no immediate
purpose there is ample justification to hold one’s fire.
U.N.O. had been active again and the second truce was due to
start at seven o’clock that evening. Out of sheer perversity we had a
valedictory shoot in case the news was definite. Then Mike dashed to H.Q. in
Rosh Pinah and returned to confirm the cease-fire.
It augured a welcome rest and break but we all realised that
this cease-fire was by no means as advantageous to the Jews as the first one
had been. We had been stymied in the Galilee, but elsewhere there had been
notable victories. At Lydda and Ramleh we had taken over one thousand Arab
prisoners, including several British officers. (Our commands had been given in
four languages in that battle). In Jerusalem the Jews had broken into the Old
City but the truce had forced them to withdraw. Cairo had been bombed, quite a
feat for it was reported to have heavy anti-aircraft defences. Nazareth had been
captured.
So we had a good and quiet night’s sleep. But there was to
be no respite.
I was preparing to take a shower on the morning of July 19th,
the day following the truce, at Rosh Pinah, when Mike’s jeep ground to a
hurried stop outside the shower-room. I was half-undressed. He dashed inside.
“Jump on board you and Uri. Any other of our chaps around?
We must be off. There’s work to do.”
We grabbed out clothes and hurried out. He turned the jeep
around and flew off to the gun-positions.
“What’s the matter?”
“The Arabs have broken the truce.”
“Where?”
“On the Lebanese border.”
“The Lebanese border is long. Where about?”
“In the North.”
I spoke to Uri. “That means that we may have a chance to see
the people at Mayan Baruch again.” It was a pleasant prospect.
Mike spoke before Uri could answer. “What name did you say?”
“Mayan Baruch,” I repeated.
He looked at us sympathetically. “That’s the place we are
off to. The Arabs took it during last night and this morning.”
A mist rose before my eyes. I was dumbstruck and stupefied.
A terrible blow. Mayan Baruch in enemy hands! Impossible! What had happened to
the people there? Had many been killed? I could see the Arabs moving round the
settlement. I could see them looting and searching. I hated the Arabs with a
deadly hatred.
My fired questions evoked no answers from Mike. He knew
nothing else and could supply no details.
We must hurry. No time was to be lost. Perhaps we could
recapture it. Mike said our troop would be dividing in two. One gun would go to
Mayan Baruch and one would remain at Rosh Pinah. He asked me to go along as
gun-position officer. I naturally agreed and made a special request that those
South Africans who had special associations with the settlement should be included
in the party.
We were on the way with the gun and equipment in record
time. Hurriedly everything had been divided. We only had sufficient of certain instruments
for one troop and we left these behind for the others to use. Our crew could
improvise. We would have no time to erect an elaborate command-post.
Few spoke on the journey. None knew what we would see. I
thought of each of my friends in turn and hoped that they and everyone else
were safe.
With binoculars I sighted the settlement in the distance. It
appeared undamaged. All the buildings were standing, untouched. Had they been
taken by surprise and without a fight?
Ahead lay the Police station of Hulsa and we would enquire
there. They laughed at our anxieties. Mayan Baruch was untouched. Nothing had
happened in its vicinity. But some miles away, on the Syrian border, the Syrian
army had launched an attack after the truce and with superior forces had
captured an important strategic hill, Tel el Azziat, known as Hill 289.
Someone had been confused with names. Either Mike or the
headquarters at Rosh Pinah had made a mistake. We were too relieved to search
for culprits. Hill 289 had to be taken back.
News from other areas showed that the Arabs had not observed
the fresh truce and reports spoke of the enemy continuing fighting on many
fronts. The Jews had been ordered by the Jewish government to fight back.
Mike and I went to
the forward lines to reconnoitre the position.
I’ve never seen Mike travel so fast. The road was under
close enemy observation and his jeep simply flew. The infantry commander ‘Efroikie,’
seemed to be unable to speak any English so I had to translate for Mike, which
made things rather awkward. ‘Efroikie’ was a ‘kibbutznik’ (a member of a
co-operative settlement) and was a good infantry commander but he appeared to
know very little about artillery. Not that he was to be held amiss. There had
been very little Jewish artillery in those parts and he had had no experience
in that line.
He asked Mike to bring the gun right up to the forward infantry
position. From where we were talking to ‘Efroikie’ we could see the Arabs
moving around on a hill towering almost above us. Mike asked why they “didn’t
shoot” at the Jews and was told that they did.
It would have been suicide to have brought the gun up. The
crew could never have fired right under the Arab noses and it would have been a
trap if we had had to move in a hurry, since the gun took at least an hour to
prepare for moving. Besides, the mere journey to this place along the exposed road
would have given the gun away and coming up and down through the dips its
silhouette would have been most revealing.
So Mike said to ‘Efroikie,’ “tell us what you wish us to
shoot at and we’ll be within range. What does it matter to you where we are?”
‘Efroikie’ agreed. He did not seem impressed with our
courage. We had been given a wireless-operator and he also had an attitude
tinged with slight contempt.
We returned to Hulsa. The best possible gun-position
appeared to be the slight dip behind Mayan Baruch but once again there was a
danger of drawing fire onto the Kibbutz. So we chose a deserted Arab village
and drew up the gun behind some of the houses. Our main targets were Hill 289
and an Arab village in Syria, Ain Fit.
Guns are usually laid along a line of fire by means of an
instrument called a ‘director,’ which is really a super-compass. We had no
director. Midway between our two targets was a lone tree on a hill and Mike and
I decided to sight our gun on that tree. We elevated the barrel, looked up it from
the back, moved it until we had focussed the tree - and we had our line of
fire! Somewhat primitive but it turned out very accurate.
Our first target was the village and troop concentrations.
For Uri and me this was a great moment. Something we had dreamed about in the
balmy times of May when we had had no artillery. The enemy’s halcyon days were about
to end. Someone commented that the situation was similar to that of MacArthur
on Bataan. Uri and I had also ‘returned.’
The whirr of our shells was an unfamiliar sound in the
valley. Masses of smoke billowed up into the air, right above the gun, like a
supernatural genie aiding the foe. The ground around the village had been burnt
and was covered with a fine layer of soot and dust. This rose like a whirlwind
and served as an aiming-point to the Arab guns. There was the muffled crack of
their artillery and the shells were soaring overhead. Spotting the enemy guns
we transferred our attentions to the source of our trouble. Meanwhile our
position was most insecure. The crew, asked if they were prepared to continue,
answered with a unanimous chorus of approvals.
It was a duel in a hundred. Our one gun against two. Again
the technique of fire - take cover - count the enemy shots - wait till they had
fallen - fire again fast - take cover. The crew were wonderful. Peter from
Lancashire particularly distinguished himself carrying shells, unperturbed by flying
and exploding missiles. Before the firing I had advised the crew to dig
personal slit-trenches next to the gun so that they could take cover
immediately after firing. Which they did. Watching our shells while Mike called
out corrections and I calculated them. All this was done while their shells
were in the air. The buildings were shaking.
The signaller was pale and quiet creeping as closely as
possible against a pile of rocks for shelter. Most of our time - almost all -
between firing our rounds was spent in loving proximity to mother earth. The
wireless-operator, trembling, shouted out a message to Mike: “Orders have come
to you to stop firing and to move in a hurry.”
“Tell them to go to hell. Do you think we are going to give
up just when we’ve found their gun positions?” The operator looked at Mike as
if he doubted his sanity.
Several of the enemy shells were duds and never exploded
which was fortunate but made our calculations more difficult.
The enemy guns stopped firing. A column of smoke rose from
their gun-positions and red flames could be seen. The black fumes rose higher
and higher tapering out into thin fingers. We had hit something.
Many months later, when I inquired, I heard that those guns
had not fired again. The Galilee had obtained a little peace. Mike was
exuberant and the signaller laughed wildly. “You’ve got them, you’ve got them.”
He gazed around with admiration.
We remained in those parts for a week and lived on the fat
of the land. We were acclaimed throughout the valley and treated like lords. The
wireless-operator did a great deal to spread our name and fame. And we rarely
fired again. Our main task was to keep the enemy guns quiet and by not opening
up they considerately saved us a great deal of work.
Yet it was an interesting week. Plans were made to retake
the hill. Lorry-loads and busses of troops arrived. Technically there was a truce,
but the Syrians could not be allowed to succeed with their violation by
retaining Hill 289.
We were short of ammunition and frantic cables to Haifa and
Tel Aviv brought no reply or response. We had shells but not sufficient fuses.
By then we were already using 65-millimetre fuses to which an adjusting band of
metal and a metal cap were added to adapt them for 75-millimetre use. Now we lacked
the metal bands and the caps. We were in a quandary, when I thought of the
workshop at Kfar Giladi and remembered that they possessed a well-equipped and
efficient workshop. Perhaps they could assist us. An urgent appeal was made and
they promised to do their best. They had to make the tools to cast the dies to
make the parts. They would work right through the night but could only finish
them the following day.
The attack was planned for that night at ten and we had
sufficient shells to suffice for that evening if we were sparing in their use.
It was to be a big attack. That afternoon we visited Mayan
Baruch and returned early for the event. At Mayan Baruch they laughed at our
story of rescue and told of their thrill at watching us shelling the enemy. It
appeared as if most of the settlers in the valley had been spectators at the
duel. They all thought that we had had several guns - a well-deserved tribute
to the speed of the gunners and to the gun which was theoretically capable of
firing twenty rounds a minute.
Everyone had been perturbed when they had seen the Arab
shells fall amongst us and they had feared for our safety.
That evening a Dakota of the Israeli Air Force came to bomb
Ain Fit and spent a good twenty minutes over the target. We counted many hits.
Josef, from Mayan Baruch, the military leader, had come to visit us to see the
gun and to mark the unexploded shells, for it was the intention of the
settlement to plough those lands in the near future.
Mike wanted to give a demonstration of the gun. There was a
strong wind blowing and we wished to find out how much it deflected the shell,
so that we could make the necessary corrections. He decided to kill two birds
with one stone and perhaps a few of the foe. So we fired a solitary round while
the plane was overhead. Discussions ensued on the possibility of the shell
hitting the ‘plane or else of confusing the pilot when it exploded. The Israeli
army was a very democratic army. There were long discussions after certain
commands - but mostly after their execution.
There was no attack that night. From what we heard U.N.O.
had persuaded Israel to call the attack off by promising to see that Syria was
forced to return the hill to the Jews peacefully.
They are still there to this day and that little hill, as a
bone of contention, has hindered an Israeli-Syrian armistice agreement.
The metal adjustors and caps arrived from Kfar Giladi the
following day and caused a minor uproar and some amusement and astonishment.
The caps were made of wood, beautifully turned and planed. Unorthodox
without a doubt. Nothing extraordinary for anything to be unorthodox in Israel,
but was it safe? We could only see.
As at Herzliya a long cord was tied to the firing-lever and
we lay in a ditch fifty yards away. We did not even know if we were authorised
to fire at all then. Headquarters left us so much on our own bat that we were
often unaware of the latest developments. We were not in a mood to care.
Someone pulled the string and the shell flew from the muzzle. A piercing wail
like that of a banshee rent the air and came from the path of the shell. It
sounded like a rocket and must have scared the wits out of the Arabs by its
piercing whistle. The shell flew straight and true but landed approximately one
hundred yards short. In future all that we had to do was to add one hundred
yards to the range.
The days of the truce passed leisurely and monotonously. We ate
like gluttons. At Hulsa they showered rations on us and our rations also
arrived from Rosh Pinah every few days. We were not very honest in accepting
double rations, it must be admitted. An army is an army everywhere, however, and
one had an inordinate delight in getting the better of authority. Besides the
extra cigarettes, chocolates and canned fruit juices made life much more comfortable.
Since the fellows were such good gunners, we could manage to
shoot with half the normal complement so every second day each person was given
the afternoon and evening off. The time was used to visit the neighbouring
kibbutzim where we were royally received. Kfar Blum, Dafne and Kfar Giladi
suffered by our attentions but they did not seem to care.
Mystery arose at the village of El Zug Et Tachtani, where we
had planted the gun. Firstly I lost my wallet with the few pounds that I had
but I lost that in the forward positions when we went to see ‘Efroikie.’ More
important, some arms disappeared. Uri’s Bren-gun and Mockie [Shachat's] rifle were
missing and a search revealed nothing.
It was simple to report the loss of these weapons as lost in
action. Uri and Mockie [Shachat]and Mike had been near that looming hill and had been
shot at at point-blank range and in their dash to cover, were perhaps entitled
to lose their weapons. But we knew that such a story would not be true. They
had simply vanished from the village. Had it been Arabs? One evening one of the
sentries heard foreign voices and we investigated but saw nothing.
I think Mike had his suspicions on Mayan Baruch. Kibbutzim
were short in arms and might have been tempted. I knew for a fact (but Mike did
not) that one of the South Africans who had some sentimental attachment to
Mayan Baruch and contemplated settling there after the war, had discovered that
they were short of Bren-gun ammunition and told me he had plans to sneak them
some. But a Bren-gun, never. Mike saw how feelings ran towards Mayan Baruch and
he perhaps regarded Josef’s visits in a sinister light. I had a sincere talk
with Josef and was convinced that Mayan Baruch or its members had nothing to do
with the disappearance of the Bren-gun or rifle. Uri thought that some of us
had hidden them and treated it as a joke - but not for long.
To this day I don’t know what happened to those weapons.
Mike handed a Bren-gun and rifle back. Perhaps they were original ones, perhaps
they were not.
The truce made Mike restless and his moods were
disappointing to those of us who had followed him so willingly in the line. He
could not sit still. For some days dashing around in his jeep helped to occupy
him but when it went to the workshops, he was at a loose end. He began a systematic
search of surrounding Arab villages for any useful items. Then he began to burn
them. It was the policy in some areas to burn Arab villages in order to remove
sources of infection and plague. A few villages in that area had been burnt either
for this reason or as a punishment to the inhabitants for former attacks on
their Jewish neighbours. To some of us Mike’s action seemed pure vandalism. We
objected and said that he had no right to continue his plan unless he had the approval
of the Galilean commander. Our protests were ignored, however, and several of
the fellows assisted him with gusto. Soon there were no more Arab villages to
burn and then Mike’s new pastime was to shoot cats, of whom there were many
stray ones in the vicinity. When they were exhausted, he spent all his free
hours playing cards. His fame had spread far and wide in the Galilee and
countless invitations had been extended to him to visit the settlements but he
was not in the least bit interested. The peace-time Mike was rather disappointing
to some of us and made the orderly conduct of things difficult. We had rations
planned but if he felt like something, he helped himself and passed other
fellows some, thus disorganising the whole scale of rations. He was always
borrowing plates and utensils and never returning them, leaving them lying
around dirty.
Mike was a queer mixture of the irregular and the regular
British army officer type. He was democratic and believed in equality between
all soldiers as far as privilege went. Yet, perhaps without knowing it, he
still hankered after a batman and expected people to offer to help him.
This generally did not happen for he was spoilt and took
advantage of favours. Two or three of the other fellows were also very inconsiderate
and lazy, never having their own things and always borrowing. They deposited
refuse anywhere and the little room that we had tried to keep as a larder and
command-post became very untidy and dirty despite our continual attempts to
clean it. Mike and the other regular card players persisted in eating their
food in the room. All manner of insects was thus attracted.
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