The bridge of the destroyer Eilat was crowded, as it always was towards sunset, when the watch is doubled against surprises lurking in a world half drained of light.
Through binoculars, Commander Yitzhak Shoshan, captain of the Eilat, could make out the tops of cranes in Port Said silhouetted against the horizon to the west. Around him, commands were being given laconically into intercoms with the exaggerated enunciation used for clarity in shipboard communication.
Shoshan’s orders were to skirt the edge of Egyptian territorial waters twelve miles from Port Said; he was 13.5 miles out and intending to get no closer. After asking the watch officer to confirm the distance with a radar check, he ordered the vessel turned south, towards the Sinai coast.
Ever since Israel’s spectacular victory in the Six Day War four months before, the navy had been patrolling Sinai’s coasts and showing the flag. In its forays towards Port Said, the northern entranceway to the Suez Canal, the navy was not only showing the flag but ramming it down the Egyptians’ throat. It was highly unlikely that the devastated Egyptians would do anything about it, particularly since the Israeli vessels kept to international waters.
Despite Israel’s postwar euphoria, Shoshan had been ill at ease about these brushes with Port Said ever since a night action three months before. Two unidentified vessels had been detected on the Eilat’s radar emerging from the Egyptian harbor and turning east. His standing orders were to attack if Egyptian vessels ventured into territorial waters off Sinai. Shoshan took his destroyer ten miles out to sea and ordered two torpedo boats operating with him to lie close to the shore at Romani, where the land mass would mask them from radar detection. The intruders were soon abreast of Sinai. When their escape route had been cut off, the torpedo boats sprang.
The Egyptian vessels turned out to be torpedo boats as well. They split as soon as they detected their pursuers, one running back along the coast and the other heading out to sea. The two Israeli boats overtook the inshore vessel and raced in an Indian circle around it, the gunners keeping their fire bearing on the Egyptian vessel until it burst into flames. The other Egyptian boat was intercepted by the Eilat and blown out of the water.
Instead of reveling in this classic ambush, Shoshan was uneasy. The Egyptian navy, he felt, was unlikely to let the humiliation pass without attempting revenge. Shoshan was one of the few people in Israel who had reason to believe that the Egyptians had the means to achieve it.
Since 1962, Egypt had been receiving vessels from the Soviet Union designated as missile boats. No one in Israel knew the nature of those missiles — neither their range nor whether they had the capability of homing in on a target. Neither the Egyptians nor the Syrians had yet attempted to use them, not even in the Six Day War, when they had twenty-four missile boats between them. Israeli military circles believed that even if the Soviet-made missiles had some kind of homing capacity— and that was far from certain — the Egyptians were unlikely to operate them sufficiently well in combat conditions for the vessels to constitute a serious danger. In any case, Israel’s ability to punish the Egyptians severely made it unlikely that they would even attempt to fire the missiles.
Before receiving command of the Eilat two years before, Shoshan had been the navy’s chief electronics officer. He knew from that tour of duty that Israel had no effective measures to counter missiles. In the skirmish off Romani, he had initially kept his distance in case the Egyptian vessels were missile boats, which would find the relatively large silhouette of the Eilat an easy target. For the same reason, he ordered the Eilat this day—October 21, 1967—to turn away from Port Said while still a good mile and a half from Egyptian waters. According to intelligence, there were missile boats inside Port Said harbor.
For some time, the Eilat had been picking up an unfamiliar signal. It was a Soviet-made radar on one of the missile boats taking the Eilat’s measure.
It was now almost 5:30 p.m., and the eastern Mediterranean embraced the ship with its usual autumnal calmness. In five minutes there would be a routine sounding of battle stations as the sun prepared to slip below the horizon. Off-duty sailors lingered at the rails to watch the sunset or stare into the chameleon waters, which had now turned blue-black. This would be the last swing past Port Said on this patrol. In a few hours the Eilat would turn towards home.
“Green rocket to starboard.”
The cry from the bridge shattered the sunset reverie. From the direction of Port Said, the starboard lookout had seen a flaring of greenish light. The glow turned orange-yellow, and from a roiling of smoke on the horizon a dark object hurtled into the sky. Shoshan swung his binoculars and saw a bright ball of light. It was not rising like a flare but wafting lazily toward them, trailing smoke. He saw it swerve slightly and knew instantly that he was looking at his nightmare. The missile age at sea was beginning. He had less than a minute to try to save his ship and its 200 crewmen.
“Alert,” shouted Shoshan.
The cry was instantly repeated into the public-address system by the watch officer. “Alert” surpassed “Battle stations” in its degree of urgency, permitting gunners to open fire without further orders.
Sailors raced to their stations as the raucous klaxon urged them on. In the crowded corridors below decks, crewmen pressed against the walls to give gunners the right of way. Within seconds, the ship’s gunnery officer on the bridge was calling the direction and range of the target over a bullhorn to the men at the guns.
“Engines full ahead,” said Shoshan, keeping his binoculars fixed on the approaching missile. “Rudder hard left.”
By increasing speed he was increasing maneuverability. Heading south, as it had been for the last minute, the Eilat was now broadside to the missile and offering its maximum profile to the missile’s radar. By turning, the vessel would be presenting its narrow stern. As the helmsman put the wheel over, Shoshan spoke over the intercom to the radioman in the ship’s command room.
By increasing speed he was increasing maneuverability. Heading south, as it had been for the last minute, the Eilat was now broadside to the missile and offering its maximum profile to the missile’s radar. By turning, the vessel would be presenting its narrow stern. As the helmsman put the wheel over, Shoshan spoke over the intercom to the radioman in the ship’s command room.
“Inform headquarters that a missile has been fired at us.”
A machine gun on the starboard side began an urgent clatter but the anti-aircraft guns remained silent. Some of the gunners believed the object approaching them to be a disabled plane. It was trailing smoke and flying at less than the speed of sound. By the time they could see it clearly, it was too late. A powerful explosion tore through the Eilat’s starboard side just above the waterline.
For the first time in history, a ship had been hit by a missile, and the effect was devastating. One blow had been sufficient to reduce Israel’s flagship to a drifting heap of scrap metal. More than a thousand pounds of explosives had detonated in the boiler room in the very heart of the ship. The adjacent engine room was destroyed, the ship powerless.
Shoshan ordered all sectors to report damage and casualties. Reports of dead and injured began to stream in. All electricity was out. All radios were out. A fire was being fought amidships. Several gun positions had been knocked out. Many of the rafts and lifeboats had been destroyed. The ship was beginning to list.
“Missile to port!”
The cry by the port lookout froze movement. From the same direction that the previous missile had come two minutes before, a bright light was once more arching into the sky. The powerless ship was spinning slowly to the left as a result of the last order issued by Shoshan before the missile hit, but it had swung past the narrow-profile orientation and was now once again turning broadside to the missile, this time offering its opposite side. Without power, nothing could be done to arrest the drift. Several machine guns opened fire at long range, but the missile came on implacably.
With the calmness of someone reconciled to his fate, Shoshan watched the missile approach in the last light of day. It passed within twenty yards of him as it dived toward the ship’s waterline. The twenty-foot-long object had stubby delta wings and looked like a small pilotless plane. The blast holed the ship on the port side and staggered the men on the bridge. Looking down, Shoshan saw the deck amidships peeled back like a sardine can, with the ship’s toppled funnel lying across it. The Eilat was now listing fifteen degrees to port.
Darkness closed on the stricken ship which was lit only by flames and rent by the cry of wounded. The senior officers and noncoms in the engine room who led damage-control operations in training exercises had all been killed and it was necessary to improvise new teams in the darkness. Choking smoke filled many parts of the ship. With no power for water hoses, the crewmen tried to snuff out the fires with extinguishers. An ammunition locker near one of the guns exploded, killing a crewman. With communications knocked out, Shoshan shouted his orders from the bridge or dispatched them by runner.
The reports reaching him began to indicate that the situation was stabilizing. Fires were being brought under control, and the bulkheads were holding. Shoshan began to feel the Eilat pulling itself together. The ship was still floating and if help was quickly dispatched rescue might be possible. Naval headquarters, however, was still unaware of their plight. The radioman had managed to establish contact after Shoshan’s order but had given only the vessel’s code name when the explosion severed communications. There was no reason for headquarters to think the break due to anything more ominous than communications failure. Shoshan ordered the communications officer to try to put together a working radio by cannibalizing parts from those that had been knocked out. Meanwhile, he turned to the work at hand.
The deck amidships had been ripped up so badly that to climb over the twisted girders in the dark to reach the stern was to risk one’s life. A young ensign posted at the stern made his way forward across the toppled funnel to report numerous wounded and a dangerously weakened bulkhead. Shoshan issued instructions for shoring up the bulkhead and told the officer to report if it showed signs of giving way. If that happened they would have to abandon ship. An officer lifted a telephone at a gun position in the forward part of the ship and found that it was still in contact with one in the stern. He informed Shoshan who descended from the bridge.
Standing on the forward gun position with a bullhorn, Shoshan ordered all unwounded men in the forward part of the ship to assemble on the bow. Wounded were to be assembled in one place, he told them, and officers were to drill the men in procedures for abandoning ship. Anything that floated, including jerrycans and mattresses, was to be tied to the deck railings to be used instead of the demolished rafts if the abandon-ship order was given. The wind had begun nudging the ship toward Port Said, and Shoshan ordered anchors dropped to halt the drift.
Two hours after the missile attack, the communications officer managed to piece together a working radio. He tried alternate wavelengths to broadcast his message of distress.
“This is the navy ship Eilat. We are sinking and request assistance. Does anyone hear us?”
A shouted reply in Arabic was cut off by the officer who switched wavelengths. His repeated calls were met by silence, and the hope that had gripped him began to fade. The radio’s range was only 15 miles and there could be no certainty that Israeli listening posts ashore would pick it up.
“To all units in Sinai, this is the navy ship Eilat requesting assistance. Does anyone hear us?”
Suddenly a deep, calm voice issued from the radio. “This is an army unit in Sinai. We have received you and transmitted your message. Help is on the way. Hold on.”
“Are you hearing me now?” asked the communications officer.
“Affirmative.”
“We are opposite Port Said, repeat, opposite Port Said. We have dead and wounded and are listing badly. We have been hit by missiles.”
“I have received you and will transmit your message. Keep us informed of your situation. Help is on the way.”
Shoshan called on the crew to stop working for a moment. The moon had risen, and in its light Shoshan could make out the soot-blackened faces around him. Most of the sailors were just a year or two out of high school. They cheered when he announced that contact had been made with Israeli forces. Help would shortly be on the way, he said. From his knowledge of standing procedures, the skipper outlined a likely timetable for the rescue operation now that it was set in motion. He ordered the severely wounded to be lowered immediately onto rafts secured alongside, so that the rest of the crew could go over the side quickly when the abandon-ship order was given. The ship appeared to be settling at the stern, and the list had become more pronounced. They could not remain afloat much longer.
The armaments officer made his way to the stern to neutralize the depth charges and prevent them from detonating when the men were in water. Codebooks were thrown overboard in weighted sacks, and sailors smashed secret electronic equipment with axes. At seven-forty the ensign in the stern reported that the bulkhead was beginning to give way. There could be no more clinging to the crippled vessel. Addressing the men on his bullhorn, Shoshan told them to distance themselves when they went into the water at least 200 yards from the ship so as not to be sucked under when it went down. They would stay in groups led by officers and noncoms. It was imperative that they stick together, because the rescuers would not find them all if they were scattered. For orientation, they would swim away from the ship in the direction of the moon.
Shoshan looked up at the mast, tilted crazily against the night sky, and raised the bullhorn. “Abandon ship.”
Jerrycans and mattresses tumbled into the water as crewmen released them from the railing and followed them over the side, a cascade of dark figures wearing life vests throwing up white splashes as they hit the water. The rafts with the wounded were cut loose. Shoshan remained on deck to make sure that no one alive was still aboard.
“Missile.”
The shout came from the water. Shoshan turned quickly. High to the west, the malevolent eye was once more searching them out. The captain watched as the ball of flame descended toward the ship and hit the stern. The blast knocked him backward against the starboard rail. He could feel the rail pressing higher against his back as the ship perceptibly tilted. He threw away his bullhorn and slid down the ship’s side. His feet hit the stabilizer fin so hard that when he rolled into the water he was unable to use his legs. Supported by his life preserver, he pulled strongly with his arms to distance himself from the ship.
The bow of the Eilat was protruding above the water in the classic pose of a sinking ship. Around him, men were calling to one another. Suddenly, someone shouted “Missile.” The Egyptians were again firing in pairs. Shoshan remembered a warning he had read in a seamen’s journal to swim on one’s back if there was a danger of an underwater explosion in order to avoid the blast’s impact on the abdomen. As he turned onto his bruised back there was a loud explosion, and his body was pummeled by a powerful underwater blow that wrenched a cry of pain from him.
When he recovered and looked about him, Shoshan found himself alone in the darkness. The Eilat’s bow had disappeared and there were no sounds except for the lapping of waves. His ship and the two hundred men he commanded were gone. Only the fuel oil he could smell and taste suggested that they had ever been there. In the womblike embrace of the dark and empty sea, the instincts of command that had sustained him superbly in the critical hours since the first missile was sighted began to give way to a crushing sense of guilt over the fate of the men and the ship he had been entrusted with. His legs seemed like weights pulling him under. As he paddled, his arm struck something. In the moonlight, he saw that it was a dead sailor floating face downward.
Shoshan thought he heard the sound of singing in the distance. Uncertain whether he was dreaming, he began moving in that direction. Again his arm brushed someone. “Who’s that?” said a familiar voice. It was an officer who had joined the voyage on a training mission. He was badly wounded but could still swim. Supporting each other, the pair moved in awkward tandem toward the sound. As they drew closer, they could hear a chorus singing “We Shall Overcome” in Hebrew. The singing was coming from a group of sailors gathered around a raft bearing wounded. The men in the water hung on to the raft or to ropes attached to it. The officer in charge of depth charges was leading a sing-along to keep up morale. The electronics officer, a strong swimmer, had given his life jacket to a sailor who didn’t have one, and was circling the area to pull in men who might be drifting helplessly.
As Shoshan and the wounded officer approached, someone called out, “Who’s there?”
“The skipper,” replied the wounded officer.
An exultant cry went up and space was made next to the raft for the two men. As they came alongside, a young sailor panicked and grabbed Shoshan for support, briefly pulling him underwater. The sailor had no visible wounds but soon died, apparently from internal injuries. He was one of many casualties caused by the missile that had exploded in the water.
Rescue planes arrived an hour after the Eilat went down. Flying low over the survivors, they dropped flares and rubber boats. The rescue scenario went almost exactly as Shoshan had outlined earlier — first the planes, then the dark shapes of torpedo boats picking their way carefully toward the survivors, and finally helicopters pulling men up on winches from boat decks.
Shoshan was recognized as he was pulled aboard a rescue boat close to midnight. “We’ve got orders to fly you to Jerusalem to meet with the prime minister,” an officer said. When a helicopter hauled him up on a sling from the boat deck, he felt a sharp pain in his back. A doctor gave him morphine and he was flown to a hospital in Beersheba. “You’re not going anywhere,” said the doctor who examined his X-rays. “You’ve got a broken vertebra.”
The general commanding the Sinai front was among the first to arrive at Shoshan’s bedside. Hadn’t Shoshan known, asked the general, that there had been intelligence information that the Egyptians were preparing to fire missiles? The emotions that had begun to well within Shoshan in the dark waters now exploded. He had not been informed of this intelligence finding. Seeing the agitation gripping Shoshan, the general ordered him removed from the crowded ward and placed in a private room.
The Eilat disaster was the worst the Israeli navy had ever experienced. Of the two hundred men aboard, forty-seven were killed and more than a hundred wounded. Shoshan would soon recover use of his legs and after a few months was given a new assignment as a base commander. Emotionally, however, his wounds had festered. After a few drinks at a cocktail party to mark his new appointment, the normally tee-totaling Shoshan turned on the navy’s senior commanders and began blaming them for permitting the Eilat to sail unprotected into range of enemy missiles. “Murderers,” he shouted. Fellow officers calmed him down, but the trauma of the Eilat had broken him. A few months later, Yitzhak Shoshan, once one of the most promising officers in the Israeli navy, retired from active service.
* * *
The sinking of the Eilat changed the nature of naval warfare as dramatically as had the appearance of ironclad vessels a century before. A small boat firing from the horizon had destroyed a ship ten times its size.
The West had known of the existence of Soviet sea-to-sea missiles but had no idea of their accuracy or power. Three of the four missiles fired at the Eilat had hit their target. The fourth had missed only because there was virtually nothing left of the ship sticking out of the water.
There was only one country in the world working on an answer to this new weapon. That country, as it happened, was Israel.