“You’re going out tonight.” The company commander’s eyes were fixed on me as casually as if he was talking about playing football. “Your job is to take the Pine Hill.” The expression on his face changed, and his voice became more earnest. “And it’s not an easy job.” He stopped for a moment, examined my face, and swallowed his saliva nervously. “You’ve got to hold the place at any cost. You’ll get reinforcements in the morning.” He broke off for a moment to ask: “Do you understand?” I nodded. “Armored cars will bring you to the foot of the hill. From there you’ll have to walk.” I nodded again. His voice became firmer: “Do you follow me?” he asked again, as if waiting for me to agree.
Did we really have to go? Could we refuse?
I nodded my head again, even though something inside me rebelled. No, I didn’t want to go. The place we were being sent to was an abattoir. I’d heard all about it. It had changed hands several times already—and each time the men there had come to a bitter end. Now we were supposed to take it. Did we have a chance? Perhaps the whole thing was a terrible mistake?
“Tonight at ten, you’ll set off,” the company commander summed up. “Have the men here, in full battle dress.” He gave me a grave look. Had he read my thoughts? “Until then you can go out on leave in Jerusalem.”
I returned to the building. The men stood next to the door and looked at me. “Well, what’s new?” Sasson asked.
“We’re going out on a job. Tonight at ten. Until then, we’re free. On leave.”
“Terrific!” A general outcry of happiness.
Terrific? They didn’t know what was waiting for them, and there would be no point in telling them. Let them enjoy themselves while they could.
They began scattering in different directions.
—
Later on, toward evening, Sasson came up to me: “Are you going to town?”
“Yes.”
“Me too. Going to meet my girlfriend.” He stopped for a moment, giving me a proud look. “Where’re we going to?” he asked while we walked along.
“The Pine Hill.”
“The Pine Hill?” Sasson stopped in his tracks. “But that’s a death sentence. So they say.”
“I know, but someone has to go there. That’s how it is.”
“I know, I know.” Sasson sighed and clenched his lips tight. It was obvious he was trying to keep his nerves under control. “We have no alternative, remember?”
“That’s right,” I repeated. “No alternative. Maybe we’ll have more luck than the others.”
An oppressive silence hung in the air. We walked along without saying a word, taking heart from the fact that we were together. We soon came to the soldiers’ club.
“Maybe I’ll come in with you all the same,” Sasson suggested rather hesitantly.
“No, no,” I stammered. “Go to her. Go along.” He remained standing outside the club. I patted him on the shoulder and pushed him along. “Don’t be a child. Go.”
“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, in a voice full of guilt, as if he was committing a sin by leaving me there.
“See you.”
I went inside. The room was crammed with square tables. Happy groups of soldiers sat around them. Someone was playing an accordion with a harsh, grating sound. He played so hard! Why couldn’t he put more feeling into it? He put all his emotion into his body, which he twisted around to the rhythm of the music. I found an empty chair for myself. The soldiers sitting around the table glanced at me for a moment and then went back to what they were doing before. Dozens of faces flashed before my eyes. Sunburned, with hair wild and tangled, smiling, laughing, slapping one another on the back the way soldiers do. I didn’t know a soul there. Here and there I saw a girl’s face—but only a few of them.
How much I would have liked to have a girl there with me. I would have put my head on her shoulder and placed my hungry lips against the hollows of her soft neck. I would have smelled the perfume of her skin. Her hair would cascade over my face, over my burning forehead. Threads of silk, the girl’s hair, silken threads . . . The nurse in the hospital! I didn’t even know her name. Perhaps I could walk past the hospital and try to meet her, as if by chance. My time was limited. I only had two hours left before we had to leave. Only two hours. I remembered her well. As if I’d seen her only a few minutes earlier. I felt as if I was in bed at night staring into the darkness. These moments of imagining left a sullen, oppressive feeling in my loins. How beautiful her eyes were. They were pulled a little downward, as if they wanted to join the hollows of her cheeks. If she’d been there with me, I would have caressed her long fingers. They were so graceful and slender that they heated my blood. And what was I to her?
She had probably forgotten all about me. For her, I was only a passing figure, one face among hundreds that moved hazily through the hospital. I wanted very much to see her again. I needed her and longed to have her near.
It would be good to know that someone remembered you. No one remembered me . . . my parents . . . they couldn’t have forgotten me . . .
Was there any girl who remembered me? I doubted it. How much I wanted the nurse to sit next to me. I could love her. She would certainly give me a sad, pleasing look, and would beg tearfully: “Don’t go, don’t go!” Then I’d feel I was a man leaving behind a weeping woman as he went forth to do battle.
Now I was so lonely. I didn’t have a soul to talk to . . . The company commander would wait for me at ten o’clock. He would remember me, he would wait for me. His voice was tough, hard. He would focus on his watch and say: “Time to go . . . time to go” . . . Yes, we had to go. But why did it have to be me? I felt I was a nervous, shivery boy—not a man. If only I had a girl of my own.
The rasping sounds of the accordion sawed into my ears. “What’s the time?” I asked one of the soldiers sitting next to the table. He turned his face toward me, raised his hand to his eyes, and moved around a little so that he could see his wristwatch.
“Half past eight,” he replied.
I got up slowly and made my way through the crowd to the door with measured steps.
I went onto into the pitch-dark street. I began marching along without the faintest idea of where I was going. I didn’t want to go back to camp yet. It was too early. Maybe I should just walk past the hospital. I might run into her there. She might come out of the gate at that moment. She’d be surprised to see me, and would fix her soft, gentle eyes on me, asking: “Where are we going?” as if she’d been my girlfriend for a long time.
“Don’t ask questions,” I’d reply in a mysterious tone—and an understanding smile would spread over her face.
“Some job you can’t tell me about. Right?” But I wouldn’t answer, and my masculine silence would only confirm her suspicions. “Tonight?” she would pressure me. Her hands would be raised, her long fingers combing my hair. She’d come closer. Then she’d run her fingers across the back of my neck. I would pull her to me until I felt the touch of her flesh against mine. Her head would fall back, her lips would open. I’d bring my lips closer . . .
A strong beam of light fell on me. Where was I? I was right beside the hospital. I hurried toward the gates. Next to the entrance stood trucks and ambulances, from which stretchers with wounded men were taken out, carefully, deftly, and carried into the hospital. The headlights of one of the ambulances lit up the pavement near the gate. I walked toward it. Two familiar eyes peered out at me. A strange, unearthly look. I bent over the wounded man. His whole body was covered by a woolen blanket: only his head was exposed.
“Erez?” I called out in surprise, trying to hold back my cry.
“Yes,” he groaned sadly, “it’s me.”
“What happened? Are you badly hurt?”
“Bullets in my leg . . .” He breathed heavily, biting his lips. “Could have been worse, I suppose.”
“Painful?”
He nodded.
“Many wounded?”
“Yes. From Sha’ar Hagai.”
A cold sweat broke out, covering my face and forehead. “I’m also going there,” I told him in a faint voice.
“Really? When?”
“Tonight . . . Hope you get better soon, Erez. They’ll look after you here, don’t worry.”
“Be careful,” he groaned. “Just watch your step and you’ll be alright.”
“Leave him alone,” one of the stretcher-bearers rebuked me angrily. “Can’t you see we’re trying to take him inside?” I turned around to him. He stood next to me, hands on his hips. “Well move along,” he snapped impatiently. “And don’t waste our time. We have our hands full . . .”
“Goodbye, Erez,” I said hurriedly. “And get better soon.”
“Goodbye. Be seeing you. Come and visit me.”
The stretcher-bearers lifted him up and strode through the gate. His eyes continued to follow me. As he vanished into the darkness, I whispered once again: “Goodbye . . . be seeing you.” I could have followed him into the hospital. I might even have met her . . . But it wasn’t the right time. I had to go back to base. I began walking back.
The armored car was already standing next to the headquarters building. On the ground stood a shiny new machine gun, with several cases of ammunition and a bag of hand grenades. There was a pungent smell of gun oil.
The quartermaster glanced at me. “You’re leaving at ten, right?”
“Yes,” I confirmed in a sleepy voice.
“In another half an hour.”
“Yes,” I agreed without enthusiasm.
“A new machine gun,” he went on with an air of importance. “Just arrived.” He bent down to pick up the bag of grenades. I joined him, and we placed it gingerly in the armored car. The soldiers began to arrive.
By ten o’clock all of them were there. Each took his gun and sat down in the armored car. There they sat bent and tense over the muzzles, sunk in thought. Sasson remained standing outside. He put in the machine gun and ordered Hayim: “Take the ammunition!” When all the cases were inside he said: “Right, we’re ready.”
I turned to the driver: “Let’s go.”
The armored car set out on its way. Dark streets. Blocks of densely packed houses. The distant sound of people singing in chorus. Something tugged at my heart. Who could sing at a time like this? Young boys and girls. They were singing that song about the Sea of Galilee. The one I’d heard before. Everyone seemed to be singing it. A pleasant, melting tune, which became fainter and fainter until it faded into the distance.
The dark landscape visible through the open windows began to change. The shadows of mountains. Sha’ar Hagai wasn’t far now. We sat silently in the bumping car. My mind was empty, drained of all thought. Something in me was asleep, dulled, overtaken by an intense sadness. I wanted to close my eyes and forget everything around me.
The car stopped in front of the pumping station. “We’re getting out here,” the driver broke the silence. We piled outside and removed everything from the car: ammunition, machine guns, and grenades. Sha’ar Hagai. I glanced around me curiously. The mountain pass looked like a narrow, winding canyon, closed in by giant walls on both sides. Only a thin, clear strip of sky hung above us. A moon as pale as the face of a dead man was suspended at the edge of the heavens, like the heavy, waterlogged prow of a ship sinking slowly into the depths of the ocean.
I had come back to the place where I’d experienced my first taste of battle . . . The convoy. The noises men make when they fight. The ruined building . . . There it was. A black, muffled shadow. Next to it was the hill where I had taken a human life, the life of an enemy, for the first time. I saw once more the image of his hands held out to the sides, like a puppet worked by a spring that had broken.
My attention was caught by rapid steps and the shadow of a man approaching. Someone was coming toward us from the pumping station, waving as he hurried along.
“I’m the scout,” he whispered when he arrived. “The company commander sent me here.” He stopped for a moment to inhale a deep gust of air. “I’ll show you the way to the hill. My name’s Yisrael.” Without waiting for a reply, he counted the people standing in a row. He pointed his finger at us. “Only nine of you?” he asked in surprise, stopping when he came to me.
“Is that you?” he asked. “Well, don’t you remember me?” I glanced at him. A thin face and blond hair.
“Of course,” I called out, “of course I do!”
“You remember, in the armored car.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “It was me who lifted you up from the floor. Boy, we really got hammered that night.”
“Yes, it was no joke.” I tried to sound lighthearted. “You seem to like this place. What do you see in it? Can’t tear yourself away?”
“Listen,” he said suddenly, pulling me to one side and dropping his voice almost to a whisper. “Things are hot up there. See that your men dig themselves in well.”
“We’ll get reinforcements in the morning,” I said with a pounding heart, trying to calm myself. “It’s not as bad as you make it out to be . . . Remember what happened in the convoy?”
“Yes, of course.” He sounded worried. “But now it’s different, more dangerous. They have cannons. You’d better make certain about those reinforcements. Otherwise you don’t stand a chance.” He said this quite simply, as if stating a fact.
“And what’s the situation here?” I asked cautiously.
“The hill itself is free of enemy forces now. They’ve taken the outposts all around it. Tomorrow morning they’ll probably try to reconquer the hill. But first they’ll shell you as hard as they can.” The dull chatter of machine guns rolled toward us from afar. “They’ll attack in the morning. So dig yourselves in well.”
“Alright.” I tried to assume an air of indifference.
“Well, we’ve got to get moving,” Yisrael urged. “That’s where we have to go.” He pointed toward the steep, dark slope, and we began climbing up it slowly, feet slipping and sliding over the stones.
“Tougher than I thought,” I called out to Yisrael, who was skipping up the hill like a goat. “Slow down a little,” I begged him. The winding row of men couldn’t keep pace with him.
“Let’s take turns carrying the cases,” Sasson suggested. “They’re damn heavy.”
“Alright,” I agreed. “Give me the machine gun.”
He came closer and handed it to me. We went on climbing. Time crawled by. All of us started showing signs of fatigue. We moved more slowly. Our hands swelled up and grew heavy with the effort of carrying the equipment. The rocks scratched our knees and the palms of our hands, and the summit of the hill still seemed very far away. Streams of sweat poured down me. Its warmth seemed to melt my slack muscles. I went on climbing, moving my head from side to side stubbornly. I had to get there. The summit wasn’t far, I told myself. My thoughts were confused. I was pulled downward by a desire to lie on the ground, to stretch myself flat. I didn’t give in. But when we reached the top, all of us flung ourselves on the ground, as if by a command.
“Come, I’ll show you the lay of the land,” Yisrael whispered. “I want to get back to the pumping station before daylight. You’ve got to watch out for the snipers around here.”
“What’s the time?” I asked, a little revived. I would have liked to go on pressing myself against the cool earth to draw in some of its lightness, to press my burning cheeks against it, and to rest—to rest without thinking of time. Until the end of the world.
“Three o’clock.”
“Already?” I called out in surprise.
“What did you think?” Yisrael retorted. “You climbed up here like a bunch of old women.”
“I’m just going with Yisrael to survey the ground,” I said to Sasson. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
We walked to the top of the hill, which was strewn with stones. We surveyed every bush and fence cautiously to make sure the place was really empty. “Not a soul about,” Yisrael finally decided.
In front of us the slope stretched away and down. At its end was the blackish shadow of the wood. Far away I saw high ridges that closed us in all around. “Watch the machine guns on that hill, to the right,” Yisrael added, catching the glint in my eyes. He gestured to the hill, which was covered with trees. It was only about two hundred meters away. “They bang away from there the whole day. Just never stop. Wait until it’s dawn, and you’ll see what I mean.”
I swallowed my spittle. The muscles of my throat were as hard as stone, and an annoying dryness spread through my mouth. My eyes turned almost automatically, looking for a way to retreat. If only I could have, I’d have gotten up and fled. Run away . . . Where to? In my mind’s eye, I could see myself running down the slope. I looked back at Yisrael. What was he thinking? He didn’t look alarmed or afraid at all. He was stronger than me. Brave. His silent shadow looked like a black, hard, tough marble statue. Abashed and humiliated, I moved closer to him, so that my shoulder touched his.
“Have you often been up here?” I asked.
“Yes. There’s been some hard fighting up here. We lost a lot of men.”
“And what about that hill?” my voice was choked as I pointed to the high hill on our left.
“That’s our outpost. All the rest is in enemy hands.” He paused for a moment and looked at me. “Any more questions?”
“No.” My voice was almost inaudible. We went back to the waiting unit. Sasson met us. He was on his feet already, urging the boys to get up. “Everything OK?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “We’re moving right away.”
I gestured to the soldiers to come closer. “You’ll dig yourselves in. That’s very important. Tomorrow morning they’re going to shell us. Get it?” They nodded to show they understood, just the way I’d nodded to the company commander. “Our orders are to hold the outpost at any price.” They nodded again. “Well, if you’ve all got that, we can go!”
“Shalom,” Yisrael said, turning to go. He paused for a moment and added: “The pumping station is going to be the depot for any wounded. Hope it won’t be needed . . . Good luck!”
He waved goodbye and strode down the slope back to his base. We turned the other way—toward the top of the hill, the highest point.
A stone outpost surrounded by a low fence caught my eye. I halted the unit for a moment. “Let’s leave the grenades here,” I suggested. “Seems quite safe.”
Yosef and Hayim put the heavy bag down gingerly on the lip of the outpost. “Each of you take four or five grenades along.” The men took the grenades and hung them on their belts.
“I’ll take a few extra,” Sasson said. “Can’t do any harm.”
“Nonsense,” Benny sneered. “The less you have to carry, the better.” They all laughed.
“Better get ready for a big attack in the morning,” I warned them again. “Then these grenades will come in useful.”
“Anyone want any more?” asked Hayim. No response.
“OK, give me another few,” I said in a demonstrative way.
Hayim handed me two more grenades and then took the bag and placed it on the floor of the dugout. The sack remained leaning against the stone wall.
“We’ll leave them here in reserve,” I told the others. We continued moving along to the summit of the hill. The place with the low willow trees looked like a suitable location. “Let’s put the machine gun there.” I called to Sasson. “Seems a good place. It’s hidden, and it overlooks the surroundings.”
“Not bad.” He looked around, sizing it up. “We’ll have to collect some stones and dig ourselves in. I’ll take Hayim and Gershon with me.”
“Right,” I agreed. “The others will dig foxholes to your left.” Sasson took the machine gun and went off with the other two. The rest of the boys moved off to the left flank of the hill.
“Three of you dig here.” I pointed to the spot. “And the other three here, on the further side.”
“Maybe the three of us can do it?” Eliahu suggested. “Shabtai, Benny, and I. We want to be together.”
“That’s right, we want to be together,” Shabtai confirmed.
“Alright. I don’t mind.” The three of them hurried off to their place. “And dig yourselves in well.”
I collected Eliezer and Yosef and turned to the position farthest to the left.
“It’s hard,” Eliezer complained. “Too rocky to dig up.”
“Maybe we can pile up stones?” Yosef suggested.
“Come on, dig. Don’t be so lazy,” I tried to spur them on.
“I’m finished,” Eliezer complained. “Let’s have a little rest.”
I forgot about them for a moment and crawled to the other positions. Morning was approaching. The dark skies became gray and then faint blue. The darkness gave way to the pale light of dawn. I glanced at the slope, which trailed away in a gradual drop, like stone steps, into the thick pine forest at the bottom of the valley. On the right was a hill planted with dense pine trees. There was no movement on it. Beyond the neighboring hills rose a high ridge of hills, which closed all the other hills in like an iron hoof. A white vapor that floated over its slopes gave it an angry sort of splendor, like an awakening volcano whose stones spit fire. I pricked up my ears, trying to catch the sound of any movement in the area. A sleepy quiet hung in the air. When is it going to start? I wondered, with a restless anticipation.
The echo of dull, muffled steps broke the silence. The sound of hobnailed boots crunching stones. A voice that grew louder, became sharper. Two bent crouching shapes moved slowly, flexibly, as if walking on tiptoe, their heads dodging to both sides. They held their rifles close to the ground. The way they walked reminded me of a monkey’s lope. The two of them climbed up the slope of the hill, coming closer and closer to the summit. They appeared and then vanished every now and then between the rocks and the thorn bushes.
“Trackers,” I whispered to Eliezer, who came up to me. I pressed his hand as a sign that he should keep quiet.
“Let’s give them a chance to come closer, and then we’ll polish them off,” he suggested.
“Let’s wait and see what’s behind them,” I whispered. “Get to Sasson as quietly as you can and tell him.”
Eliezer slipped away from me and crawled between the rocks toward Sasson’s position. Meanwhile the trackers disappeared again. They had taken the direction of the ridge’s right side, facing Sasson. The echo of their footsteps still reached me, and I could almost pinpoint their exact location. Soon Eliezer came back.
“It’s alright,” he whispered hoarsely. “Where are they?”
“Behind the rocks. Over there.” He lifted his head carefully to where I’d pointed.
“Here they are!” I exclaimed. The two trackers emerged from the willow trees, about fifty meters from Sasson’s position. They halted their bent-over walk for a moment, and stretched themselves to their full height. They looked tall, strong, and vigorous. Their faces were swarthy. I aimed the gun at them instinctively.
A guttural cry from the valley . . . One of them lifted his hand and shouted something loudly. Had he noticed something? Seen someone? Maybe we’d left something lying about on the ground and it had told his sharp eyes where we were. He pulled his mate’s arm and dragged him down to the ground with him.
They’d seen us!
I aimed my rifle and tried to catch them before they slipped behind the rocks. But I wasn’t quick enough. Shots. Sasson’s machine gun. My eyes caught a glimpse of one of them. He sprang into the air and fell on the dense branches of one of the bushes.
“They’ve spotted us,” I cried out.
Eliezer gave me a look of surprise with his black eyes. “One of them has been hit,” he said quietly. “Maybe I should crawl there and see what’s happened to the other one?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’ll do that.” He continued looking at me strangely, but said nothing.
I crawled toward the bush, surveying the rocks and bushes carefully. A rifle with a smashed butt lay on the ground, where it had been flung by the soldier whose body lay flat on the bush. Its position seemed strange. He lay on his back on top of the branches, while his face looked downward. His neck was shattered as if it had been twisted around with a pincer. From his wide-open mouth a thin trickle of blood dripped onto the ground, forming a small pool. The sight made me think of a chicken with its neck slit.
I turned my eyes away from him, looking for his mate. While doing so I crawled to the rocks behind the tree. Stains of fresh blood guided me in the direction the other man had taken when he retreated. He had definitely been wounded. His abandoned rifle lay on the ground. My immediate reaction was to aim my gun at the rifle, but I saw at once that its owner had gone. I felt happy. The rifle was a priceless spoil of war. I picked it up.
Thunder, the sound of the heavens crashing on my head, crushing me to the ground. A terrifying, murderous hail of machine guns chattered in my ears. I lay on my face, my strength evaporating in the sweat that poured from every pore of my body. But I couldn’t move. All around me flew chips of stone. Clouds of dust lifted into the air. A growing hail of shells pulverized the earth. I felt as if the ground around me was disintegrating, throwing me off it, shedding me. And then everything suddenly fell silent. Time seemed to have gone by endlessly. How long had the whole thing taken? A strange, ominous silence, and a faint ringing in my ears. I crawled close to the outpost I had left earlier.
“Eliezer . . . Yosef,” I called softly. No one answered. The ringing in my ears grew stronger.
“Eliezer . . . Yosef . . . Where are you?” I shouted, with a growing feeling of apprehension making my heart beat faster. No reply. I threw myself forward in a mad despair. My hand, sliding over the ground, stopped suddenly and froze on its place. I lowered my eyes to the ground, and they opened wide in terror. My hand was sunk in a trickle of thick, dark blood that wound like a purple thread between the cracks in the rocky soil.
“Eliezer . . . Yosef . . . !” I screamed, but my voice betrayed me: it choked off in my throat, which was torn by my hard breathing.
“See what I’ve brought,” I called out again, brandishing my loot—the enemy soldier’s rifle. “I took it from up there,” I added. Drops of blood fell from my filthy hands and dripped to the ground. “Why don’t you answer me?” I begged them. When no answer came, my hands lost their grip, and the rifle rolled into the pools of blood that ran down the slope. I looked down and fixed my eyes on the piece of ground in front of me. Thousands of black cracks stood before me, as if myriads of hidden roots had emerged from under the rocks and were cutting up and overturning the layer of earth that covered the ground. The crevices were red. Blood trickled into them. I rose from my place, in horror, fleeing from the earth’s open maw. Blood . . . blood . . . Shock flushed my face. Lava boiled in my blood. Rifle shots echoed in my head. Blood . . . I crawled crazily over the blood-stained stones lying next to the lip of the dugout. Eliezer and Yosef were lying on their bellies, with their backs to the sky. Their destroyed heads, which rested on the stones of the dugout lip, had become a mixture of shattered bones, hair, and flesh dripping blood. I came up close to them and turned them over onto their backs, with a secret hope. Nothing was left of their faces as I remembered them. My hands clung to the damp earth in despair. I felt I was wallowing in the warm red mud that lay all around them.
“Boys,” I wailed, “what happened to you?” Tears flowed out of my eyes.
I lay there crying bitterly, clutching the earth, holding it tight, until a fresh commotion aroused me from this senseless torpor. The thunder of shots, the shouts of people, and the shrieking of whistles . . . The enemy was coming nearer. They were jubilant. They felt triumphant. I peered over the lip of the dugout, and waited. Two rows of soldiers emerged from the wood in the valley. They scampered toward the top of the hill.
Where was the rifle? I looked around me fearfully. Once more I stared at my mates’ smashed heads. Where was the rifle? . . . It had fallen out of my hands. Maybe on the edge of the dugout. I forced myself to crawl there. Sure enough, the rifle was lying there. I pulled it toward me. It felt heavy, hard, and clumsy. It slipped between my wet fingers and fell onto the flat stones. I caught hold of it again and tried to pull it toward me. This time I held it more firmly. I wiped the blood from my hands onto my trousers.
The enemy’s cries came closer, crowding the hollow space of the valley. Now my hand was on the rifle. I aimed it at the figures moving on the slope, and got them in the sights. My arms were shaking. I pressed the butt against my shoulder with all my strength. But my hands shook, and my whole body trembled, down to my knees. I couldn’t even aim the rifle straight. Strong shots from Sasson’s machine gun stopped my shuddering, and at the same time I heard the loud bellows of the enemy advancing toward me. The rifle was in my hand, its sight set on the line of soldiers. A man appeared plumb in the center of the sight. I fired with anger and despair.
I reloaded the rifle and fired over and over again. They came closer. Some of them fell to the ground, and others remained standing. Now there were only fifty meters between us.
How many of them were there? The slope was full of them. I fired and fired, but it didn’t help. Cries. Their distorted faces moved from side to side. The shots rang out, everything was rocking about, my senses were becoming blurred. I fired and fired. I stretched my hand out suddenly to the hand grenade in my belt. I took the pin out. Four seconds to wait. They were coming closer. I threw the grenade at them. It exploded with a clap like thunder. Splinters hissed and shrieked all around me. The sound of machine gun bullets chattered in my ears again. I threw another grenade at them. More machine gun bullets. I threw another grenade. The air became thicker and hotter. The dense smell of gunpowder, the cries of the wounded men, the shrill whistles, the noisy, heavy drumming of soldiers attacking.
And then, suddenly, the noise died down and everything went silent. It seemed as if all sound had sank and buried itself in the earth. The enemy soldiers vanished behind the stones. The last attackers returned at a run to the edge of the wood.
The attack had been repulsed!
“Are you alright?” Sasson’s voice echoed in my ears. It sounded very far away.
Should I tell him the truth? They were going to attack us again. I would tell him later. When it was all over.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice trembling. “And what about you?”
“Hayim’s been wounded,” I heard a muffled voice. Eliahu was crawling up to the dugout. I heard him moving on my left.
“Stop!” I called out. He stopped behind a nearby rock. I didn’t want him to see the dead men, and so I crawled toward him so that I could meet him halfway.
“He got away,” he mumbled. I looked up at him. Tense eyes, a hard, cruel look. He was breathing heavily and sweating.
“Who got away?”
“That dirty bastard Benny.”
“What about Shabtai?”
“Dead. Put his head out and got one right in the forehead.”
“How could you let Benny get away like that?” I shouted angrily.
“When Shabtai got killed, Benny started shouting that we’d come to the wrong hill. ‘It’s all a mistake, a mistake,’ he screamed. ‘This hill’s too low. We’re finished . . . If we don’t retreat, we’ll all be killed.’”
“So what did you do?”
“I yelled at him and tried to calm him down. But he was half crazy. Threw his gun on the ground. ‘Pick it up!’ I told him.”
“You mean to say you let him throw his rifle on the ground?” I accused him.
“He said his fingers were sweating. I was angry, and I hit him on the shoulder with the butt of my rifle. He started shouting that I’d wounded him. Then he began sprinting toward the rocks. I called him to come back. But he buggered off, the coward. Told me he was going to crawl to the first-aid station.”
“I hope the shit gets killed on the way!” I was so angry I could hardly breathe.
“What about the others?” Eliahu threw a glance at the dugout.
“Everything’s OK,” I lied. “We’re getting ready for another attack.” He didn’t look convinced. “Go back to your post and tell them to get ready,” I ordered in a firm voice. He shuffled his foot and then said: “Maybe I can join Hayim and Yosef?”
“No,” I said. “You’ve got to go back to your own dugout.”
“Maybe we’re really on the wrong hill?” he asked hesitantly. “The scout who brought us here could have made a mistake.” But when he saw my angry look, he stopped talking and changed the subject: “You’ve got blood on you. Been wounded?”
“Just a splinter,” I tried to sound casual. “Nothing much.”
“But your whole shirt is filthy with blood. And your hands also . . . Sure you’re alright?” he went on with growing suspicion.
“Nonsense. Nothing to worry about. Crawl over to Sasson’s outpost,” I added, without insisting that he should return to his former dugout. “Tell Sasson I said you can join them.”
“Sure you’re not hurt?” His mind wasn’t at rest, I could see that.
“Yes, of course,” I rapped impatiently. “Go on, crawl to Sasson. We haven’t got much time. The attack will start again soon.”
Eliahu looked at me as if he wanted to hear something encouraging. Then he said, “As you like,” in a flat tone, and crawled off to Sasson’s position.
I stared ahead of me, to the chain of hills on the horizon. Something’s going on there, I said to myself. Something’s going on. I took hold of the field glasses that hung around my neck: Ilan’s field glasses. They were dusty and battered.
Wearily I lifted the field glasses to my eyes.