Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [138]
Up to the last instant, Israel played the card that hinted they were going to attack Jordan, then wheeled about and hit the Egyptians in the Sinai, achieving a brilliant tactical surprise. The IDF was now engaging the Egyptians at a number of their primary defensive strong points.
The campaign had quickly reached its first critical phase. Control of the air had not been established. Israel’s Air Force was a potpourri of aged piston planes from World War II, along with a few squadrons of modern French jets. Their pilots had but a few months’ training in the jet craft and faced an overwhelming, state-of-the-art Egyptian air power, consisting of Russian MiGs and bombers. Mastery of the skies had to be attained, or Israel’s ground forces could get caught naked out in the open desert.
The British and the French, who were scheduled to neutralize Egypt’s air power, had not taken to the skies and both Russia and America were applying enormous pressure on Israel to cease fire.
“How far has Para 202 penetrated?” Ben-Gurion asked.
“They made a beautiful fake at Jordan, then crossed into the Sinai at Kuntilla. They are approaching the Egyptian defenses at Thamad right now.”
“Thamad? They still have a hundred and fifty miles to go to link up with the Lions at Mitla Pass.”
“I’m afraid that’s right,” Dayan answered.
“Moshe, I don’t like it,” Ben-Gurion said. “Jackie gave me a message a half hour ago that most of Zechariah’s tanks and transport have been eaten up by the desert. What do they have left? Tell me the truth, Moshe.”
“They have about half of their transports and about three tanks still in operation.”
“About three tanks? What does that mean, ‘about three tanks’?”
Dayan, speechless, knowing what was coming next, gestured defensively. A disaster was brewing. He hadn’t told the Old Man that the Egyptians had crossed the Canal and reinforced the Pass.
Nausea swept over Ben-Gurion. He vomited and went into palpitations. A national catastrophe was shaping up, imperiling statehood itself.
“B.G.,” Paula pleaded, “please, darling, calm down.”
“Dayan,” Ben-Gurion rasped. “Get the Lions out of Mitla Pass, now.”
The air grew thick with an invisible terror.
“This is no time to panic,” Dayan asserted. “Zechariah is just about on schedule. If he hasn’t taken Thamad by tonight, we can talk about evacuation of the Lions then.”
“No, get them out now.”
“It’s impossible by daylight. They would be sitting ducks for the Egyptian Air Force.”
“Now!”
The Old Man’s eyes fluttered closed and his breathing became pained.
“Get the doctor, Jackie,” Paula cried.
The doctor was there in an instant and took B.G.’s blood pressure. It was going through the roof. He quickly fixed a syringe and applied it, and after a few moments the patient stabilized.
“Get the Lions out of Mitla Pass,” B.G. rasped.
“I refuse. If we pull them out, the Egyptians will come out of the Pass in brigade strength, maybe more. They’ll destroy our entire campaign.”
“Now ... now ...”
“I’ll have to give you my resignation,” Dayan said unflinching.
B.G.’s two eyes stared at Dayan’s one eye for a short eternity. “All right ... don’t talk resignation ... but we will review it as soon as we have darkness.”
Dayan nodded in agreement.
Natasha entered the room, looking stricken. Dayan snatched the message from her hand. The Old Man watched the juices run out of his Chief of Staff.
“It’s from De Gaulle,” Dayan said harshly. “He has come under unbearable pressure from the Soviet Union. The Russians threaten a missile attack against Paris if the French enter the Canal Zone. The message goes on to say that he and the British have decided to delay their air strike until at least tomorrow.”
GIDEON
MITLA PASS
October 30, 1956
EVENING, D DAY PLUS ONE
“DEAD,” the radio operator said.
Major Ben Asher grunted. He grunted the same way whether it was for pleasure or displeasure. Our main radio was FUBAR during the parachute drop—Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. The backup set just caught a piece of stray mortar shrapnel. The Lion’s Battalion was