Not Me: A Novel by Michael Lavigne

Author:Michael Lavigne [Lavigne, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Historical
ISBN: 9781400063116
Google: nN5lAAAAMAAJ
Amazon: 0812973321
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2005-11-02T08:00:00+00:00

It took a good half hour to extricate the lorry from the sand and get out of there. The poor Egyptians were still struggling, but they waved good-naturedly when the Israelis (as they now called themselves) drove off. One of Heshel’s men answered their wave with a salute of gunfire that rose harmlessly into the brown desert sky.

They arrived at Nir Am late in the afternoon, having missed two days of the war.

The Palmach had set up makeshift headquarters in the underground bunkers at Nir Am. Most of the men had never been in a bunker before, but Heshel had, and he knew the smell, the odd feeling of affinity one acquires with creatures like termites and moles, and the fear, almost worse than being out in the bombardment, of not knowing when the end might come, or who of your friends or loved ones were already without arms and legs. He knew, as well, that it would get much worse down there, that soon the stench would be unbearable and the emotions would boil over like scalded milk.

They gathered round a table that had maps laid out upon it, and the commander explained the situation. Two kibbutzim had already been assaulted by the Egyptians—Nirim, the one closest to the Egyptian border, and a religious settlement named Kfar Darom. Both miraculously repulsed the invasion. In the case of Nirim, which faced tank assaults and heavy artillery, they triumphed with two pistols, two mortars, seven Italian rifles, two Stens and one Bren gun. Half their eighty-odd people were killed or wounded, but not as many as the Egyptians suffered. The situation was similar at Kfar Darom.

The men cheered, but the commander remained ashen-faced. The Egyptians, he told them, were simply bypassing Nirim and Kfar Darom—wasting their time there had been sheer foolishness, he said, but good for us, since it gives us more time to prepare. The real battle would take place at Yad Mordechai, only a few miles from where they now sat cramped together in the dark of the bunker. Yad Mordechai was the key, he said, and it must be held at all costs. It sat directly in the path of the Egyptian advance. After that was only Naor and Ashdod, which was largely Arab anyway. Once taken, the road to Tel Aviv would be wide open, and then the war, and the dream of two thousand years, would most likely be over. But if Yad Mordechai could hold out, even a few days, defenses could be prepared for Tel Aviv. It would be no picnic, he told them. Not like Nirim. No, he said, the Egyptians won’t give up so easily this time.

He asked for volunteers. Each knew what was at stake, and they all raised their hands. He made assignments, but to Heshel Rosenheim he said, “No. You’re from Naor, are you not? I’m going to send you there, you and a few men.”

“But they may never attack Naor,” he replied.

“So what are you worried about?” the commander said.

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