Exodus - Leon Uris [165]
Soon it became apparent that P. P. Malcolm was not mad. In close discussion Malcolm had the persuasive power to talk the devil out of his horns. Members of the Yishuv came away from his home certain they had been under a magic spell.
After nearly six months of evasions, Malcolm burst into Ben Gurion’s office in the Yishuv Central building in Jerusalem one day, unannounced.
“Ben Gurion,” he snapped. “You are a God-damned fool. You waste all your time talking to your enemies and you haven’t five minutes to spare for a friend.”
With that blunt announcement he turned and walked out.
Malcolm’s next appointment was with General Charles, the military commander. He argued to convince the general to let him work out some of his theories on Arab warfare with the use of Jewish troops. General Charles was pro-Arab as was most of his staff, but the Mufti’s rebellion was beginning to make him look ridiculous. Little by little the British had trained and armed their own Jewish police and had ignored the Haganah arms which supplemented their own forces. The British had failed so badly he decided to let Malcolm go ahead.
Malcolm’s jalopy showed up at Ha Mishmar where guards took him up the hill to Ari. The strapping Haganah commander studied the scrawny Englishman before him with puzzlement.
Malcolm patted his cheek. “You look like a good boy,” he said. “Listen to me, obey my orders, observe what I do, and I’ll make a first-class soldier out of you. Now, show me your camp and fortifications.”
Ari was perplexed. By mutual arrangement the British had stayed out of Ha Mishmar and turned their backs on Ari’s patrols. Yet they had every legal right to enter Ha Mishmar. Major Malcolm completely ignored Ari’s suspicions and obvious attempt to show him only half the layout.
“Where is your tent, son?”
In Ari’s tent, P. P. Malcolm stretched out on the cot and meditated.
“What do you want here?” Ari demanded.
“Give me a map, son,” he said, ignoring Ari’s question. Ari did so. P. P. Malcolm sat up, opened the map, and scratched his scraggly beard. “Where is the key Arab jump-off base?”
Ari pointed to a small village some fifteen kilometers inside Lebanon.
“Tonight we shall destroy it,” Malcolm said calmly.
That night a patrol of eight men and two women crossed over from Ha Mishmar into Lebanon with Malcolm in command. The Jews were astounded at the speed and stamina with which he could push his fragile body through the steep and tortuous hills. He never once stopped for rest or to check directions. Before they left, Major Malcolm had heard someone sneeze and had said he could not go—and that anyone who did not keep up with the pace would be thrashed within an inch of his life. He led them in singing a Psalm and lectured them on the nobility of their mission.
As they neared their objective, Malcolm went up ahead to reconnoiter the village. He returned in half an hour.
“As I suspected, they have no security up. Here is what we shall do.” He drew a hasty map to pinpoint what he believed to be the three or four huts belonging to the smugglers. “I will take three of you chaps into the village and we will open fire from short range and give them a blast or two of grenades to loosen the party up a bit. Everyone will flee in wild disarray. My force will drive them to the edge of the village here where you, Ben Canaan, shall establish an ambush. Be so good as to bring a pair of prisoners, for this area is obviously loaded with arms caches.”
“Your plan is foolish. It will not work,” Ari said.
“Then I suggest you begin walking back to Palestine,” Malcolm retorted.
That was the first and the last time Ari ever questioned the wisdom of P. P. Malcolm. The man’s certainty was gripping.
“Never question my judgment again, young man,” he said.
Malcolm’s plan was executed. The major led a four-man squad right up to the suspected headquarters. Four grenades were lobbed into the huts and followed by rifle fire. According to Malcolm’s prediction, there was a panic. He coolly drove the thugs right at Ari’s ambush. It was all over within