Exodus - Leon Uris [173]
Two of the soldiers showed such promise and leadership that they were advanced to lead units directly under Ari. One was a heavy-set kibbutznik from the Galilee. His name was Zev Gilboa. He wore a big black mustache which later became the badge of a male Palmachnik. The other was a small intense young student from Jerusalem named David Ben Ami. Neither David nor Zev was yet twenty.
One day they were paid a visit by General Haven-Hurst. He was a tall thin blond man in his early fifties. As he inspected the camp he was aware of the coldness which greeted his presence. After the inspection, Haven-Hurst asked Ari to report to the camp’s headquarters.
As Ari entered the office, the two men nodded stiffly, neither concealing his dislike for the other.
“Sit down, Lieutenant Ben Canaan,” Haven-Hurst said. “You are to be commended on your work here with these Palmach troops.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Matter of fact, I’ve been studying your record ... or your case history, if you will. You’ve been a busy chap.”
“The conditions of my environment and the unfortunate circumstances of my birth have dictated it,” Ari said. “I am a farmer at heart.”
Haven-Hurst took the rebuff without showing it.
“My main purpose for coming to Beth Alonim today was to ask you to volunteer for a special assignment. I know that when you enlisted it was on the proviso that you could train Palmach troops, but we feel this is urgent enough to alter that.”
“I am a soldier in the British Army, General Haven-Hurst. I will accept any assignment given me.”
“Good. Briefly, here is what it consists of. There has been a large German build-up in Syria. We feel they may attempt an invasion of Palestine this spring.”
Ari nodded.
“We are not at war with the Vichy French and we cannot invade Syria, but we do have sufficient Free French forces to do the job, provided we get flawless intelligence. We have selected you for this job because you know Syria and Lebanon from your Ha Mishmar days, and also because of your mastery of Arabic. We want you to reassemble those lads who were at Ha Mishmar with you and return there to use it as a reconnoitering base. When the invasion begins there will also be special assignments. There will be a captain’s rank in this for you.”
“I see one problem, sir.”
“Yes?”
“A great number of my comrades from Ha Mishmar have been thrown into jail by the British.”
Haven-Hurst’s face turned crimson. “We will arrange releases.”
“Yes, sir. One more thing, sir. I have two men here who are exceptional soldiers. I would like to take them to Ha Mishmar with me and have them transferred into the British Army.”
“Very well,” Haven-Hurst said, “take them with you.”
Ari walked to the door. “An invasion of Syria at this time is excellent strategy, sir. It will give the British Eighth Army plenty of room to retreat to India.”
Haven-Hurst glared at the Jew. “I suppose it is unnecessary to say, Ben Canaan, that you and I will be on opposite sides of the fence one day.”
“We already are, sir.”
Ari left Beth Alonim with Zev Gilboa and David Ben Ami as his sergeants and returned to Ha Mishmar on the hill which held such bitter memories for him. Fifty of the original Haganah gang were assembled—some from many parts of the world where they had been serving in the British forces.
Using Ha Mishmar as headquarters, Ari’s patrols worked all the way up to Damascus. Extreme caution was needed, for the invasion was to be a complete surprise. Ari’s basic method was simple. Most of his people spoke fluent Arabic and were familiar with the territory. He sent them out during the day, dressed as Arabs, and they merely walked along the roads gathering information. Although his intelligence was proving flawless, Ari wanted to get right inside Damascus and Beirut. This was a touchy job, and Ari reckoned it called for an individual foray. The one selected had to be able to move perfectly without raising suspicion. Ari checked with Haganah and they sent him a seventeen-year-old boy named Joab Yarkoni.
Yarkoni was a Moroccan