Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [192]
“Oh boy! Hot damned! I’ll whack the living shit out of them!” Gideon cried. In a moment he settled down. Fear diminished and hard work began.
Shlomo called up the numbers of the three tanks.
“Shlomo! Have Tank J move forward about twenty yards!”
“I’ve got it!”
“Tank H, raise elevation two feet!”
“Got it!”
An Egyptian squad across the wadi spotted Gideon and fired. Shlomo didn’t like it, but instructions were coming down so fast, he didn’t protest.
“Whammo! Tank H is right on target. They’re hitting the line of caves in the Defile. Keep firing and move fire fifteen yards left after each shot!”
“Got it!”
The noise was now eardrum-breaking. The sound of every shot, rifle, pistol, gun, grenade, mortar, artillery was magnified a half-dozen times by the narrow walls. The roar became gigantic. Cotton and ear plugs helped slightly, but it was almost impossible to hear and Gideon’s shouts had to be repeated a half-dozen times on each order.
“Where the fuck’s our air support!” Ben Asher demanded. “Shlomo! Where the fuck’s our air support!”
“Gideon! Can you see our air? We need their support! The canyon walls are fouling our transmissions.”
“Too tight to send them down here!” Gideon shouted. “Suggest you radio back to Colonel Z. to speak to them. Suggest you have them circle above the Defile and keep the Egyptian planes off our asses. That’s the best they can do!”
After three repeats the message got to Shlomo, who phoned it down to Ben Asher.
“Shlomo! Tell Tank K he’s firing way too high! Lower elevation at least ten degrees!”
“Got it!”
In a few moments sight of the Israeli Ouragans hovering above the scene caused an eruption of cheers, but they could no longer be heard over the din.
For two murderous hours gunfire continued to pour from the muzzles of both sides. The canyon shook and spewed rocks, as Company C fought its way in with more ammo and medical supplies.
The Recon squad continued up the face of the Defile like a group of alpine rock climbers. It was slow, torturous going. Gideon was able to direct them from his vantage point to avoid Egyptian fire.
“Ben Asher to Z. Casualties heavy! I need trucks to carry them out!”
“Medic! Medic! Medic!”
“Command to Z. Major Ben Asher has been hit! Captain Masada is taking command.”
“Z. to Masada. How badly is Ben Asher hurt?”
“Masada to Z. He’s dead.”
Another hour passed and another. The Egyptians, realizing the gunfire spotter was causing major damage, opened a mortar barrage on the semi-exposed ledge. Gideon cringed as the impact of their shells smashed his face against the rock, shattered his binoculars, and flipped him over like a pancake.
All around the canyon wall, small units of paras knocked out one enemy position after another. At last they destroyed the Egyptian mortar nest which had zeroed in on the spotter.
Para toeholds in the high ground rolled up the solid line of the Egyptian infrastructure. The paras had squeezed out some breathing and maneuvering room and continued methodically to wipe out the nests.
“Recon to Masada! We have reached the top of Heitan Defile! Casualties heavy! We should be above the main Egyptian defenses in another hour!”
Gideon’s binoculars were gone, Shlomo’s line was cut, and the tanks and mortar squads ran out of ammunition at the same moment. “Come on down, Gideon. Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Shlomo yelled.
“Good! I can’t direct any more fire. Look!”
Shlomo saw the tanks retreating and became fascinated watching the Recon men lowering each other down a sheer wall on ropes and tossing grenades into the Egyptian caves.
“Masada!” Shlomo shouted down. “We’re securing our position! Tanks are withdrawing and none of the mortars are in operation!