Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [139]
This wasn’t the loneliness of a writer’s office, small and confined. It was a vast loneliness. The desert had a hundred variations of stillness, a thousand haunted themes, God knows how many secrets. The sun wore itself out hissing all day at the rocky paths which lay agonized in the wadi beds.
Evening light brought on pastels. Blaring reds of the days toned down to muted purples. A sudden lizard flitted by, fearing discovery, and disappeared in a minute crevice. On the horizon, a gazelle leaped from nowhere to nowhere. The stagnant stifling air of the day began to drift about, stirred by tongues of coolness.
Silence had become contagious. Our brains had been dulled from the heat. Speech was unwelcome and movement floaty. This was going to be one long goddam night.
Canisters of flares were being set in beside the very guns, to keep lighting the entrance to the Pass throughout the night against a sneak Egyptian attack.
Look at these bloody paras. Real desert rats, most of them. They like it out here. Some probably prefer this destitution to having a woman. What insanity to succumb to a mistress like the Sinai.
What’s that!
Hey, you’re clear jumpy, Gideon. Get ahold of yourself. It was only some loose rock that has been peeling away from the mother boulder, perhaps for centuries. I watched it skid down a little draw.
Major Ben Asher huddled with his officers. He didn’t seem to show an iota of anxiety. The officers synchronized their watches. I liked it when watches were synchronized. It reminded me of a movie script I wrote. There’s always a stirring scene when the commander says, “This is it, men, big casino. Ready. Synchronize watches.”
As darkness crept in, a pair of machine-gun squads moved up close to the Pass so its mouth could be covered by a cross fire, if needed. We knew the Egyptians had reinforced the Pass, but we didn’t know how many of them there were.
Maybe the Egyptians had recovered from the initial blast of the invasion and had regrouped for a counterattack. Lord, if they broke through us here, they could cut Israel’s forces in half. That’s why we’re here, boys, to prevent a breakout.
Shlomo returned from the officers’ meeting. “Twenty-eight minutes to sunset,” he announced. See, Shlomo’s watch was synchronized. “I’m going to round up some gear,” he said.
I stood and shook the old leg. It was fairly stable. At least it hadn’t grown worse. I checked our lodgings for the night. We were quite well entrenched behind a boulder. I watched Shlomo draping bandoleers of ammo over his shoulders. The son of a bitch was itching for the Egyptians to come out.
Major Ben Asher was standing alone now, surveying his kingdom. He looked very comforting, like my colonel in the Marine Corps. He checked the wounded. Dr. Schwartz had them stabilized and doped up. If they survived the night, they should be evacuated in the morning.
I was honored. The major supped with me. We partook of the foul ration. The major pointed to my leg and grunted.
“It will be okay if I don’t have to stand on my head again.”
This drew his lame excuse for a smile.
“So, what do you think, writer?” he asked.
“I’d be a lot happier if I saw Zechariah and Para 202 crossing toward us. Anyhow, you asked the wrong guy. I went into the Corps as a lowly buck-assed private, and three years later I was discharged as a private first class.”
“I must have read that goddam chapter of yours on the invasion of Tarawa twenty times,” he grunted and plunged into the rations as though they were manna from heaven. “Are we in a better position than you were on the first night at Tarawa or not?”
“When you’re up shit creek without a paddle, you’re up shit creek without a paddle,” I answered.
“I say it would take three Egyptian brigades to overrun our defenses.”
“If you don’t run out of ammunition and if the air drop tonight