In February 1948 a most senior and respected well-known member of the World Maccabi Union took me aside and asked me if I would be willing to help recruit young men for duty in the Haganah, and also whether I would be willing to join and serve in the conflict in Palestine. My immediate answer to the first part of the question was “yes.” Because of various commitments, I said that the answer to the second part would have to wait until I had discussed it with other members of my family.
In the meanwhile, I received a mysterious phone call from a total stranger, a man who gave no name but introduced himself as a friend of Pierre Gildesgame [president of the Maccabi World Union]. He asked if I could arrange to be standing on the step of Shoreditch Town Hall on the following day. I said “yes,” and he instructed me to be there with a copy of the Financial Times under my left arm. He also asked me to describe what clothes I would be wearing. It was all very short, sharp and businesslike.
It was a dull miserable English February day, as depressing as only that sort of a day can be, when I got to the Town Hall a few minutes before 4 p.m. and waited there, shivering in the cold blistery wind. A few minutes later a man came up to me. He asked, “Are you David?” I nodded. He said, “Come with me,” and led me to a small dingy workman’s café tucked away around a corner. He stopped by a small table where a man of about 30 was drinking a mug of tea. He said to the man, “This is David,” and left.
I sat down as the tea drinker said, “My name is Rafi Tahon.” We shook hands and eyed one another. A waitress took my order for a mug of tea and a bun. There were only about two or three other men in the café and we were sitting fairly well apart from them. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt just as I thought a spy meeting was supposed to feel like. There was even the background noise on the radio of a ‘spy opera’ of that time.
Rafi didn’t tell me anything about himself except to say that he was the English representative of the Haganah. I noticed that he had a slight sabra accent. He asked me to give him a potted history of my life, with special emphasis on my military training, qualifications and experience. His English was very good, his questions were concise and he gave the impression of knowing exactly what he was doing and what he wanted. I was impressed, and liked him. He gave me the latest news of the desperately grave conditions developing in Palestine. He also filled me in on the current situation regarding the recruitment of overseas volunteers from Western Europe, and the planned method of getting them to Palestine. Anyone who was urgently and vitally needed might be flown there directly, while others would be going via a transit camp that would be established in the South of France at a place called Grandes Arénas. From there, some would continue to Palestine by air and others by ship. We talked for over two hours and arranged to meet on a regular basis. There were many problems to discuss and plans to be made and acted upon – method of recruitment, finance, records, communications and establishing priorities among the recruits, such as who was needed most urgently, written instructions to be prepared for guiding the recruits on behavior and means of travel.
As an experienced artillery officer, I was one of those sent by air, landing at Haifa Airport on 20th June 1948 in a group which included four South African volunteers and one American volunteer. After induction procedures I was able to participate in “Operation Dani” (9th to 12th July).
After the excitement of my induction, I was told that the following morning I would be going to Pardess Katz, where I would receive a few items of clothing and receive further orders. I expected the army to be rather less formal than the British Army, but was somewhat taken aback to be advised that there were no badges of rank. I was told some decisions would be taken on a group basis, but that once a group had decided who should be their leader they would accept his authority. I thought, “suppose the group decides to change its leader?” Surely this was a formula for unnecessary, time-consuming argument. It was clear to me that it might be possible to run an irregular infantry unit by that code, but certainly not a troop of artillery. With my mind in a turmoil I resolved to wait and see what Pardess Katz held for me. I was very tired, it was late at night and I went into a deep sleep on a hard bed in a small room at the Technion in Haifa.
The following morning, after the first of many green salad breakfasts, I was taken to meet a young girl who was to drive me in her small sand-colored Skoda van from Haifa, via Hadera, Beit Lid and Petach Tikvah to a small army camp at Pardess Katz on the Petach Tikva/Tel Aviv Road. Unfortunately, her English was almost non- existent and I could learn nothing from her. On arrival, typical army bureaucracy immediately reared it perennial head; I was handed blank forms which were the same as I had completed at the Technion the day before. Despite my protestations that I’d already filled in identical forms, the clerk insisted that I do it again. I thought it would be quicker to agree than argue, so I did as I was told and diligently tried to complete them with what I hoped were identical answers. Fortunately, I had the paper which certified that I had received inoculations, otherwise I would have been injected again. I was then issued with a ‘uniform.’ Two pairs of light khaki trousers, two shirts, a webbing belt and a hat, rather like the ones worn by the Afrika Korps during World War II. The hat was particularly useful, as apart from a brim which gave welcome shade to the eyes, it had a sort of tail which could be unfolded to protect the neck from sunburn. I also learned that my pay would be 5 Israel Pounds per month. Israel was still in the Sterling area and the currencies were of equivalent value. It was about one-ninth of my earnings in England.
I was then interviewed and cross-examined by someone “in authority.” The authority came not just because he was behind his desk, but also because he had his back to the bright light streaming in though the window. His chair had arms and my chair didn’t. He didn’t need badges of rank to establish his position of seniority. Only later did I discover he had been a lowly sergeant in the Jewish Brigade. I mentally paraphrased a quotation from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night: Some are born with rank, some achieve rank and some have rank thrust upon them! I was to learn that there had been, and continued to be much unpleasant jockeying for positions of authority in the infant artillery.
His questions didn’t impress me and illustrated his ignorance and total lack of experience in matters beyond the ken of a very minor rank. The only thing that became clear was that there was a battle going on at Latrun and experienced artillerymen and guns were in short supply. I learned that I was needed to take over temporary command of a troop of French 65 mm pack artillery, mountain guns attached to the 7th Brigade.
The strategic and tactical importance of Latrun was explained to me: It was under the control of the Arab Legion and was a key point on the connecting road to Jerusalem which was currently under siege. It was also an important pumping station on the pipeline which provided Jerusalem with its water supply. There was no other information available at Pardess Katz and I hoped I would be able to get a proper briefing when I got nearer to Latrun. Transport was arranged and I was on my way.
As yet I had no maps and therefore couldn’t follow my route. Ramle and Lydda were still in Arab hands and my driver took me by circuitous means to the battle zone. I cross-examined him and, most fortunately, he was able to give me much more information about the situation than the rear-echelon ‘officer’ in Pardess Katz. At one point we stopped, and he described conditions quite graphically, by drawing a sit-rep in the sand by the roadside. His exposition was clear, concise and would have done credit to any graduate of Sandhurst and, most important of all, it was describing conditions only two-hours old. Our position looked weak, the battle was fluid and chaotic and looked pretty grim to me.
When I arrived at the gun position I was appalled. No one there had the faintest idea of what indirect fire was: how to fire at an enemy unseen from the gun position, by using an observation post officer observing the fall of shot and directing the gunfire from a very forward position. All they were able to do was to use the guns as rifles and shoot over open sights at the enemy. They didn’t have the knowledge to use the necessary radio or telephone and gun-laying equipment effectively, even if such equipment had been available. The troop’s usefulness was therefore very limited and in my opinion near to being quite ineffective. The only positive attribute was that when they fired their guns they made a fair bit of noise and this probably frightened a few of the enemy. I thought of the Duke of Wellington’s famous remark about some of his troops before Waterloo: “I don’t know what effect these men will have upon the enemy, but, by God, they terrify me.” I managed to find the gun sights, and gave simple initial instruction on their use. I also scrounged two field telephones and a small drum of telephone wire. I then rigged up a line of communication from the gun position to a forward OP (Observation Post) that I established and hastily camouflaged.
Although I could ‘read’ Hebrew if all the vowel signs were included, I didn’t understand a word of what I read. Similarly, the spoken language was just a jumble of meaningless noise. Fortunately I found one very intelligent young soldier at the gun position who spoke excellent English. I spent about a half-hour explaining and training him in a simplified version of the unique language and procedures used for transmitting fire orders from an OP to a gun position. This was no time for sophisticated systems, only basics would do. I also obtained some maps of the area and was able to pinpoint the exact position of the guns and their relationship to my OP. As there was no director, complete accuracy could not be achieved. This didn’t matter too much as the range of the Napoleonchiks was so short, only 5,000 meters. Nevertheless, I was able to get a reasonable degree of accuracy by pointing each of the guns at a distant object on the skyline and making an allowance for the short distance between each of them. It was a case of doing everything by eye and rule of thumb. I then estimated the angle between the gun barrels and grid north and hoped for the best. I also spent some time explaining and teaching the gun-layers how to use the sights for laying the guns for indirect fire. Except for a few ex-Jewish Brigade types, they were almost all kids with no military experience and certainly none on artillery pieces. Surprisingly, morale was high and what was most wonderful and impressive was that they were willing, avid and rapid learners. They listened to what I had to say and if they didn’t understand English – and most of them didn’t – they demanded instant translation from those who did. They were a polyglot lot and at least five different languages were in use. Despite the disadvantages, they were all convinced that they could beat the Arab Legion of Transjordan. They completely disregarded the fact that the Legion was well armed with tanks, guns, transport and radio equipment, that it was well-trained and well-led by General Glubb Pasha, the ex-colonel from the British Army, and other seconded British officers. It was now that I heard for the first time the famous Hebrew expression then current, “Ein Brerah,” which translates as ‘no alternative.’ The only quality which we Jews had that was superior to that of our opponents was our determination to win.
In 1940 England there was something called the ‘Dunkirk Spirit.’ This was the national feeling which was roused after Winston Churchill’s stirring call to arms in his fighting speech after the collapse of France, and the ignominious defeat but gloriously successful evacuation of the British expeditionary forces from the beaches of Dunkirk. This spirit was crucial in enabling England to survive and there was an identical feeling among everyone, everywhere I went in Israel.
After being with that brave group of innocent young men for about three days, and just when I felt that some semblance of an artillery troop was being created, I received a message to report with all my gear to the artillery commander at his recently established HQ in Jaffa.
I was ushered into his sparsely furnished office and was immediately impressed. His name was Shmulik Admoni and he hailed from Kibbutz Alonim. He had recently changed his surname from Rappaport, which sometimes led to some confusion as I heard him referred to by both names. Shmulik, whose nickname was ‘Gingy’ because of his red hair, was quietly but firmly spoken, and made quite sure his polite wishes were commands. He clearly had fine leadership qualities and if he had had the advantage of adequate training would have made an excellent senior artillery officer. He was doing a brigadier’s job, having only had the experience of a sergeant in the Jewish Brigade, so his achievements were quite remarkable. As at that time the largest artillery unit was an independently operating troop of four guns, his limitations didn’t matter too much.
The second man in the room was Shmulik’s second-in-command Meir Ilan (formerly Tannenbaum); he didn’t impress me as much and seemed a more devious character. Other volunteer colleagues liked him, but I formed an instant antipathy to him. I thought the attitude was mutual. I had the feeling that he was apprehensive about people like me. Maybe he feared we would displace him. Perhaps he was an Anglophobe and didn’t entirely trust us.
Shmulik told me that the question of ranks being allocated and badges of rank being worn had been settled. He asked me if I would be content to be appointed ‘seren.’ I immediately agreed, saying I had come to Israel to fight and was not concerned about long-term service in the army. I was not willing to jockey for position nor anxious to receive kudos. As long as the rank allocated enabled me to do a worthwhile job, I was not concerned about the rest. It was also in his office that I heard myself described as a Machalnik. MACHAL was the Hebrew acronym for ‘Mitnadvei Hutz La’aretz,’ which translates as Volunteers from Overseas.
While listening to my report he made copious notes. After I finished he asked a lot of pertinent questions about what I thought was needed, particularly with regard to training. We then had a friendly chat over coffee, while he gave me new instructions. I was to take over the command of another Napoleonchik four-gun position adjacent to Gan Yavne and attached to the Givati Brigade.
Gan Yavne was a small village, facing strong Egyptian army positions based in the Arab town of Ishdud. The Egyptian infantry there was at about two-brigade strength, supported by tanks, armored cars and field artillery consisting of at least two batteries, each of which had eight English 25 pounders. This was a gun with which I was most familiar. I was quite shocked at the Egyptian complacency. One of the clearly visible batteries was not dug in, nor was it camouflaged. There were trenches for the gun crews, but the guns were strung out about 10 yards apart in a straight line, their ammunition-limber a few yards behind them. Clearly their commander knew we had no air force that could bomb and strafe them.
Whoever had been in command of my gun position before me had established a forward OP in a vineyard, just over the crest of a low mound. It had a good view of the ‘no-man’s-land’ between our forces and the Egyptians. I could see the sand dunes stretching to the north of Ishdud quite clearly, and a patchwork panorama of various types of ground to about a mile south of the town. The area contained a number of patches of dead ground which were good for concealment. I had a good ordnance survey map of the area, and by comparing the map with what I could see on the ground, I quickly identified which positions the enemy would be most likely to use. I marked them on the map, then calculated their ranges and bearings from our Napoleonchiks. Unfortunately, most were out of range and beyond our small guns’ capacity. The Egyptian commanders were not fools.
I occasionally reached up and picked a delicious bunch of white grapes from an adjacent vine. If I hadn’t been able to see Egyptian soldiers clearly in the distance, and except for the occasional faraway sound of rifle or machine gun fire, it would have all seemed very peaceful.
I had with me a young soldier who would man the telephone line connection to my guns and I spent a good deal of time teaching him the precise meanings of the various orders I expected to issue. It was his job to translate exactly and pass the orders on. It was a responsible job and at first he was nervous, but he gradually gained confidence and the results on the ground were to prove it.
As I could see the enemy, it was obvious they could see the vineyard which I hoped concealed me. I also hoped my predecessor had not given away the position by any foolish action.
As usual at that time of the year the sun was shining brightly, and it was very pleasant and warm lying in my reasonably well-camouflaged shallow trench. For obvious reasons I didn’t wish to draw attention to the OP by any unnecessary movement, so I had forbidden members of the troop to visit me. Similarly I also thought it most unwise to leave the OP during daylight hours, except for some very vital reason.
I came to with a start as my reverie was broken by a familiar whistle and thump – the noise of an incoming and exploding 25 pound shell. A round of shot had fallen about 350 yards away to my right front. I immediately wondered, “What’s the target? There’s nothing there.”
I swung my binoculars round to look at the eight-gun battery and could see that the right-hand four guns were manned and one of them was obviously getting ready to fire again. I saw the flash and almost immediately after came the whistle and thump again. This time the shot landed about 200 yards to my right rear. I looked at my map, and with a protractor quickly measured that his line of fire was almost exactly 1° offset from my position. “Aha,” I said to myself, “you’re not fooling me. You’re doing a little bit of offset ranging and I’m the target.”
I knew that, as soon as he got his range right, he would traverse right by 1°, and then open fire with all four guns on my observation post. His procedures were perfect. It was almost as though he also had copies of my artillery training manuals and was following their guidance to the letter.
I wondered what had given my position away, but didn’t waste any time staying there. I reckoned I had no more than two or three minutes to get away. If he had been a little more cunning, he would probably have fooled me, but he had given me time to evacuate through the shallow slit trench behind me. With my signaler, I slithered away and quickly set up temporary shop in an abandoned block-built shed a few hundred yards away. Several minutes later we watched him blast my OP with about 29 rounds of high explosive and 20 rounds of air burst. I was thankful to note that the ‘angel who sits on my shoulder’ was still protecting me and doing a good job. My signaler asked how I knew, and I explained.
My problem was being unable to get within range of any substantial target. But I remembered the massive German railway guns I had seen at Dunkirk, and wondered whether I could have a truck’s wheel-base converted by some means so that it could travel on a railway line, then I could mount a gun on it. If that were possible it might offer some sort of solution.
I was advised that the Egyptians had a clear view of the entire area south of the road bridge, which crossed the railway at the southern exit of Yavne. The road south from that point was impassable, as enemy gunners had already targeted it and anyone using it would come under heavy fire. I thought that in all probability the railway line, which ran parallel to the road, had not been ranged on by the Egyptians. I counted on their relying on our not having the rolling stock to use it. And after all, no one would want to use it, as it only went into Egyptian-held territory. I carefully reconnoitered the whole length of the line I expected to use by crawling to vantage points and examining it through binoculars. I was pleased to note it all seemed in good condition.
I asked some local infantry commanders where I could find a mechanical engineer, and was soon talking animatedly with an expert. Improvisation was to be the name of the game. After a lengthy discussion, he thought it feasible to use two 15 cwt. GMC trucks. They could travel quite fast in reverse and would enable me and my foolhardy gunners to retire. He knew where we might find the suitable wheels and axles, and I think he discovered them when rummaging around the railway yard on the northern side of Rehovot. He performed miracles. I went with him to an engineering workshop and explained what I wanted, and why. In almost no time at all – only a matter of three or four days – the trucks were ready. Where they came from I didn’t know and didn’t ask. My miracle-performer arranged for a mobile crane to appear from somewhere; it lifted the 15cwts. of the larger 3-ton GMC trucks that had brought them to Yavne and placed them on the railway line. Two of my Napoleonchiks were then placed on them. We loaded boxes of ammunition and were ready. I rigged up some camouflage over the 15 cwts. in case any Egyptian aircraft should fly over, and used the rest of the day to give detailed instructions to the drivers and gun crews on what I wanted to do. I decided to carry out the raid immediately after sunrise the following morning, because the sun would then be in the Egyptians’ eyes.
My intention was to drive south as fast as possible on the railway line, until I got well within range of suitable targets, then stop, aim and fire over direct sights using the guns as rifles. I would travel on the front truck during the advance, then move over to the rear one for the return, when we would have to drive in reverse because of the impossibility of turning the vehicles round. Everything went according to plan and we hit a number of targets. While we were retiring, I instructed the driver to go as fast as possible, but ordered him to stop every now and again, so we could let off a few more rounds at chosen targets before we were out of range.
My two crews were jubilant. They felt they had really accomplished something. I couldn’t ascertain how much damage we actually did, but it must have given the Egyptians quite a fright and certainly lifted our morale.
Shortly after dawn, in a newly established observation post, I worked out fire orders for shooting at the remaining Egyptian guns. The first fall of shot seemed almost perfect for line, but about 400 yards short. I increased the range by 600 yards. The second shot on the same bearing confirmed that the line of fire was just 1° off. I corrected that by 1°and decreased the range by 200 yards and scored a bull’s-eye.
I informed the gun position on the telephone land line of the direct hit and could hear the shouts of jubilation. I warned them not to become over-confident and stressed that the no.3 must continue to lay the gun carefully and accurately before each further shot. Six more shells were fired at the guns. Three landed close enough to do some damage; the others were wide of the target. Through binoculars I could see some Egyptian soldiers running from the position, despite their officers trying to stop them by beating them with what looked like canes.
I was glad I had never wanted nor needed to treat my men in that fashion. It was proof once again that good morale is the most potent of all weapons and that if a soldier believes in his cause and is well led, he can win against vastly superior arms.
I then switched targets. Again British Army maxims were remembered: ‘Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted,” and ‘Always have target data ready.’ I had ripe target data all worked out. I fired several rounds at the Tegart fortress near the entrance to Ishdud. I had been told, and my observations confirmed, that it was a Brigade HQ. I scored several direct hits. I don’t think they did much physical damage, but it must surely have been a blow to the Egyptian staff inside. They had been used to sitting comfortably, well out of harm’s way. Now a modern David was hitting back at an Egyptian Goliath.
I didn’t want to use up all the previous ammunition, but fired another few rounds at some infantry positions and then ceased firing. I managed to get some bottles of beer from the nearby small town of Gedera, and happily took them to my very proud gunners. All of us then gave the gun a very good clean. All of its recoil-absorbing mechanisms and other working parts were in excellent order and I noted that it had been well-maintained.
Early July 1948: about two kilometers north of the outskirts of Tel Aviv, and about two kilometers east of the Reading power station by the seashore, stood a low hill on which stood an abandoned Arab village called Sheikh Muanis. On the western side of the village was the site of a small ex-British Army permanent camp. It consisted of a fair number of block-built buildings, all in quite good condition. Some of them are still there. Nowadays these buildings are surrounded and dwarfed by the Tel Aviv University and the tall blocks of flats in suburban Ramat Aviv.
Some time during the first truce between the invading Arab armies and Israel, I was called to attend a meeting with Smulik Admoni at Artillery HQ in Jaffa. I was to bring all my gear with me, as I was to get a new job. I made my farewells and set off for Jaffa.
With Shmulik and his second-in-command Meir, there was a third man whom I’d never met before. He was Avigdor Lifshitz. Shmulik opened what turned out to be a brief but momentous discussion. He introduced Avigdor as an ex-British Army, Jewish Brigade artillery man, and advised me that Avigdor was to command a School of Artillery and Officers’ Course, which was to be set up forthwith in the camp at Sheikh Muanis. I was dumbfounded. I looked at Avigdor, and must admit that I was not immediately impressed. At first glance he didn’t seem to have the sort of vibrant energy and strong personality which I thought necessary.
Shmulik told me I was to join Avigdor immediately and set about arranging the means of training the first cadets who would arrive about a week later. These quietly spoken words almost stunned me, but I was glad to hear that we wouldn’t have to do it all on our own. Other experienced people were to help, including several qualified ex-English and South African officers, together with some ex-Jewish Brigade personnel, would be arriving at Sheikh Muanis during the coming few days.
Avigdor didn’t say much, but was making lots of notes. He turned out to be an excellent administrator and although his artillery experience was minimal, he was the ideal man to command this venture. He had his own transport and took me straight to the camp. Personnel were already there, erecting tents for our use as sleeping quarters, and buildings were being cleaned and swept. Telephones were being hurriedly installed in offices that were being established and modestly furnished with desks, filing cabinets, and so forth. The whole place buzzed: it was a hive of activity.
I immediately started making notes of what I needed to do. Army bureaucracy then reared it tiresome head yet again. The first time I went into the newly organized administration office, a very pretty girl soldier asked me, in very poor English, to complete a questionnaire identical to those I had filled in at Haifa and Pardess Katz. She almost burst into tears when I started to protest and refuse, so I said, “okay, give me the form.” This time, however, I decided to play ‘silly buggers’ and completed the answers section with all sorts of childish nonsense. I was too busy with more important matters than to work out dates and other information that would be the same as what I had already written. I thought, “What the heck! As long as she’s happy.” A few minutes later I handed her the form, and she looked at it to see if I’d signed it. It was obvious her English wasn’t good enough to read it. She smiled a thank you, filed it and I’ve never heard another word about it.
Apparently, all of the students who were going to arrive had been specially picked because of their high IQs and, just as important, their ability to understand and speak English at a very high level. This was essential because, at the beginning, all of the qualified gunnery instructors were “Anglo-Saxim” Machalniks.
Four Napoleonchiks and their equipment arrived for the cadets’ introduction to artillery pieces during the initial part of the course. I don’t know where they came from but later, and all of a sudden, a consignment of French 75 mm guns with all their gear and equipment arrived. Limited supplies of the vital tools for the job of training gunner officers were also soon at hand.
Artillery boards, directors, compasses, binoculars, radios, field telephones… the only things missing were the equipment handbooks and service manuals. It proved to be most useful that I had my artillery training manuals with me. However, I was sure that experienced and well-trained officers could easily manage without the handbooks for each individual piece of equipment.
In July, Shmulik Admoni telephoned me one morning at Sheikh Muanis and asked me to go to Sarafand in order to observe and report on the test-firing of one of the newly arrived pieces of 75 mm artillery. When I arrived everything was all set and they were just waiting for me. The first thing I examined was the ammunition and compared it with the gun. You can imagine my horror when I discovered it was not suitable. Although it was also 75 mm ammunition, it had the wrong size driving band. It was too big to engage in the “rifling.” I was certain that if the gun was fired using it, the shell would jam and explode in the barrel and probably kill the crew.
I remonstrated with the assembled personnel, who argued quite vehemently that if the gun was a 75 mm and the ammunition was also 75 mm, then I was being needlessly cautious and pedantic. “What nonsense,” I said.
Some local soldiers who had little or no training, and who demonstrated a gung ho attitude, frequently tried to give the impression that they knew everything there was to know about everything, but they were abysmally ignorant, and made life very difficult for me. The argument became heated and went on for some time until I finally suggested that I would only permit the gun to be fired if (i) a very long lanyard was used, and (ii) all personnel were protected in a shallow trench and out of harm’s way.
Finally we agreed, and the trench was dug about 20 yards from the gun. A shell was loaded and the breech closed. One end of a very long rope lanyard was fastened to the firing lever and the other reached us in the trench. I gave one last look to make sure there were no personnel in danger, and then gave the order to fire. The barrel exploded. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to, but there were a few red faces. I thought ruefully of how hard it was to raise the funds spent on buying the gun which had suddenly gone up in smoke. I mentally cursed the incompetent emissary responsible for buying the consignment and the stupid pride of Israeli colleagues who were unable to accept advice from one of the ‘Anglo-Saxim.’
The ammunition was then sent to the workshop so that a small amount of the driving band surface could be removed to correct the diameter; it was used successfully some time later.
During the autumn I received a message from HQ warning me that United Nations officers would be touring the area and advising me against letting them gain any useful intelligence. Some time before this I had heard a rumor that after visits from UN troops, positions had been disclosed to the enemy and I didn’t wish that to happen to us.
I had no doubt that official UN policy was honest and impartial. The trouble was that not all UN personnel were so reliable. I had already made sure our gun position was well camouflaged from the air. I now set about making sure that it was completely invisible from the approach track along the wadi bed. We made sure of this with fresh camouflage and checked it daily. I then made a dummy position at least 250 yards away from our real one and a bit further back and closer to the wadi.
We even dug a new latrine there; in order to lend authenticity, its Hessian surround was clearly visible from the track, and I made sure the camouflage was poor.
The whole troop was informed in great detail of what was likely to happen if the United Nations came to inspect, and how we proposed to deal with them. I posted a rota of twenty-four-hour guards 50 yards before the dummy position and warned them not to allow any visitor on to it. I told them I didn’t mind any visitor ‘accidentally’ seeing the dummy position but they were not to be allowed any closer to it than 100 yards, in case they recognized it for what it was. I was to be called the instant any stranger appeared. I hoped the dummy would fool them.
A few days later, while Arik was on leave and Simeon was on duty at the observation post, a UN major accompanied by two other officers and some aides were driven up the wadi bed and stopped by my guards.
They demanded that I let them proceed to inspect the ‘dummy.’ I refused. After several requests and several refusals, they left. The next time the Arabs broke the truce just a short while later, the dummy was shelled.
Whether any one of the officers or drivers had sold or given the information, I did not know. As there had been no enemy air reconnaissance, all that I knew for certain was that one or more of the UN party had given us away. I was not in a position to find out why. But I appreciated why Israel was and still is right to be suspicious of UN personnel.
After nightfall on the evening of 24th December we received the order to advance. The guns were to move forward and occupy a more advanced, predetermined position, so that their field of fire would cover larger numbers of the enemy. I set off with my crew in the halftrack to occupy a forward OP. The site I intended to use was on a low hill with an excellent view of heavy concentrations of Egyptian troops. I had spotted it during my hurried reconnaissance a few days before, but as it was in full view of the enemy, had not thought it wise actually to go to it. Now as the halftrack was slowly making its way there with no lights, and only the moonlight to guide us, some indefinable sixth sense told me something was wrong. I ordered Avraham to stop, crawled on to the bonnet of the halftrack and peered ahead at the moonlit stretch of ground in front of us. A few yards beyond the front wheels, the moonlight glistened on the round metal shape of an antitank mine, not completely buried in the sand; wind and weather had blown away the top cover. We had wandered into the middle of a mine field.
I paused a moment while I thought about the problem. Intelligence reports had not mentioned any possibility of a minefield in that area. I thought it was possible that the mines had been laid by the British Army during World War II, as a defense against any advance by the German Afrika Korps into Palestine. Obviously we could not go forward; we would have to go back and make a detour around them. I told Avraham and Nimeri of my thoughts. Like me they were quite frightened, but said they relied on my ability to get us out of the danger. I slid down the sloping bonnet of the halftrack and stood as near to a front wheel as I could. Then, walking on our newly made wheel tracks, I guided Avraham back on the same tracks, as he reversed the vehicle to what I felt was a safe position. I carefully studied the map and estimated where I thought the mines would have been laid and decided to risk a detour of several hundred meters. We breathed a sigh of relief when we eventually realized that we had by-passed the mines and were approaching the OP site. We dug ourselves in, drank a few tots of brandy and, as we had to keep radio silence, maintained a listening watch for the rest of the night. We kept quiet, showed no lights and smoked the occasional cigarette under the cover of a blanket.
As I knew the map reference of the gun position that Arik would be taking the troop to occupy, and I could locate the exact positions of the enemy through my binoculars, I sat in the halftrack and, by the light of a carefully screened torch under the blanket, was able to work out the fire orders I would need to give, once the order to open fire was given in the morning. Although I can’t recall the exact hour, I do remember that it was to be at first light, just before the sun rose above the horizon.
I thought about the hell that was about to break loose and the lives that would be shattered. Not for the first time I wished there were a better way to solve the differences between peoples. Not for the first time I pondered the question, “Why do so many people hate us Jews?”
At the appointed time, radio silence was broken by Arik’s signaler using his call sign, and Nimeri’s acknowledgement. The confirmation that the attack was to commence was received and I immediately started to issue fire orders. After several ranging rounds, I ordered the guns to fire for effect, and all four guns let loose a hail of shells on the bewildered enemy.
In the observation post we had grandstand seats and I could see the chaos we were creating. I could also see our troops advancing from the north. Their mortars were also laying down covering fire for our infantry, as they slowly advanced towards the Egyptians. There was a heavily defended strong point immediately south of Bir Asluj, where we caused very large numbers of casualties. Egyptian officers were trying to rally their troops to keep to their positions and to return fire against our forces. Again I saw them using whips and I pitied the poor Egyptian soldiers. Many Egyptians ignored the officers and started to run towards their vehicles. I had anticipated this possibility and had orders ready to switch our fire against the trucks.
Arik, Simeon and the gun crews were doing a wonderful job. After I had finished ranging on every target, all four guns were being very accurately laid. I could recognize this very easily because all four rounds were landing in unison, very close to each other and most important of all, were continuing to land on, or close to, the target. Also most creditably, the time interval between the firing of each shot was very short.
In the distance I could hear the guns of “B” Troop commanded by Australian Mike Amir (Landshut) and see the effect of some very accurate shooting way over to my left. After about half-an-hour of concentrated fire from the infantry and our guns, the enemy were completely demoralized and routed. Those who hadn’t already run away either made for the undamaged vehicles and were driven southward, or began to run in the same direction. I was surprised to note that many took their boots off first. Maybe they weren’t used to wearing footwear and thought they could run faster barefoot.
I continued to watch their retreat, in case they halted and regrouped. There was no point in wasting ammunition on such a spread-out target and I told the gun position to rest. I stayed where I was and waited for new instructions. Our forces soon occupied the previous Egyptian positions and I expected to receive orders to join them, an advance which would harass the Egyptian retreat.
They weren’t long in coming. Our battery commander, British Machalnik Gerry Altman (Shachori), got on the blower and confirmed that all the Egyptian forces in the area were retreating and I was to join our leading motorized infantry and advance with them towards Auja-el-Hafir (Nitzana). The guns would join the column about a kilometer behind me and we should be ready for action at any time.
If the enemy didn’t know before, he certainly knew now that we were approaching El Arish. A short while later the column was again strafed by Spitfires. Very little damage was caused. Our Solelah (Troop A) escaped completely unscathed.
Our column moved on. Scouts were a few hundred meters out in front and to either side. I, like everyone else, felt nervous. There seemed a paucity of intelligence information. How I missed the ‘up to the minute’ reports from Air OPs that I used to get during mobile operations in Europe. The nearer we got to El Arish, the more nervously excited we felt. My driver Avraham cracked a few jokes to hide his fear, and we all laughed anxiously. The radio operators’ voices became a little high- pitched as the feeling of tension spread from unit to unit.
Although at any moment we all expected to be shot at, it suddenly happened and all hell broke loose, there was an endless split second when one’s world seemed to stand still. Then I became so busy giving a rapid series of orders that all thoughts of danger disappeared from my mind.
It happened as we rounded a shallow bend and came into full view of the Egyptian defensive positions surrounding El Arish. Their OPs must have ordered their guns and mortars to hold their fire until almost the whole of our column was visible. Although my guns were also in full view, they were not included in the first targets shot at the by the enemy. The Egyptians concentrated their fire on the leading command vehicles which included my halftrack. I could see an Egyptian gun position quite clearly and gave fire orders to Arik to engage it. A number of mortar and artillery shells were landing very close to the halftrack and I told Avraham to take avoiding action off the road. The enemy was slow to react to my move, and for a brief spell we were undisturbed. Then bad luck struck. Our offside track sank into some very soft sand and we became completely bogged down. Enemy shell fire began to land nearby again. At the same moment our three tanks, under the command of Lionel Druker, a Canadian Machalnik, began to pass near me. They were going to continue the attack. I decided that if I was to be of any further use, I could do better sitting on the back of Lionel’s tank. I jumped out of the halftrack and ran across to Lionel and asked him if he would switch his radio on the frequency I was using to my guns. He readily agreed and invited me to climb inside.
The insides of tanks always made me nervous. As my job, so ably taught by Major Hants, had been to destroy them with armor-piercing shells, I always had horribly vivid visions of an armor-piercing shell whizzing around inside the tin can, mangling everything in its path. I said I preferred to stay sitting on the back and, by using his microphone, continued to give fire orders to Arik. The Egyptians stopped firing at the half track and concentrated on the tanks and our advancing infantry. I’m certain that Lionel Druker saved my life and the lives of my OP crew, too. If he hadn’t agreed to accept me as a passenger, I would have had to remain in the halftrack. The Egyptians would have continued to fire at it, as in all probability they had correctly assumed it was either a command vehicle or, equally important, a mobile OP. I would probably have been killed.
Once I was back in the halftrack which was mobile again, I ordered Avraham to move over to a hull down position behind a low hill, with the halftrack facing back towards Abu Ageila. With only my head and the radio aerial appearing above the crest, we made a much smaller target and were no longer being bothered. A short while later Arik, with almost English understatement, made me aware that his gun position was becoming a target for enemy attention, but in the confusion and noise of the rapid shell and mortar fire, I couldn’t be sure which position was firing at them. As Arik said he could see who was, I said, “okay, take over command and fire at will, but try to identify to me what you’re firing at – if you have the time.”
The noise was deafening, but neither side used thunder-flashes now! The exchange of fire went on for about an hour. Shortly before sunset, I began to detect a weakening in the enemy’s response, and despite not knowing what was happening further to the north around the Gaza Strip and Rafah, I hoped we would get the order to advance. If we could reach the sea, the entire Egyptian army would be cut off and surrounded, and that surely would bring about a military victory of major proportions.
Were we strong enough to do it? Were our lines of supply secure enough? Did we have the supplies to fill those lines? Would unbearable international pressure be brought to bear against the infant state to force a withdrawal? While the battle raged around me, I asked myself these questions. I also contacted Gerry to find out if he had any later news. He was as much in the dark as I and couldn’t provide any answers.
Lionel Druker’s tank was hit and one track broken. The tank was immobilized but fortunately all its crew was safe and unharmed. Sadly, Israel had no means of tank recovery, and it had to be set alight by its crew to make it valueless if captured by the Egyptians. By one simple stroke of bad luck Israel lost a third of its heavy tank force.
I find it quite laughable today to read or hear commentators referring to the Israel forces during its battle for survival and independence, as though they were well armed and backed up with all the most modern equipment.
As dusk fell, we were ordered to retire about a kilometer to laager for the night. I went to the guns and praised everyone for a job more than well done. Spirits were high and all shrugged off any feeling of tiredness. What was truly amazing was that the Solelah had not suffered any casualties at all and casualties among the infantry were light too.
I was surprised that the Egyptians didn’t organize a counter attack. We were ready for it, should it come, but the night was quiet. No one slept. Everyone was on the alert. Would we advance or would we retire? Whoever I spoke with raised the same questions. Most thought we ought to advance, strike while the iron was hot and to hell with international pressure. Few were bothered to consider the logistics problems created by an advance, let alone the terrible consequences which would arise from a defeat. Emotionally I agreed with them, but my head told me otherwise.
International pressure in the United Nations and elsewhere was now mounting against Israel. On 1st January 1949 the United States Ambassador to Israel delivered an ultimatum from the British Government: unless Israeli forces withdrew from the Sinai, the British would be obliged to invoke the provisions of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936, and come to the aid of the Egyptians.
Unwilling to take unnecessary political risks, and mindful of the inherent weakness of the new state, Ben-Gurion ordered the very reluctant and disappointed commander of the Southern Front, Yigal Alon, to withdraw all Israeli forces from the Sinai by the morning of 2nd January.
Later, after “Operation Uvda” in March 1948, and the capture of Um-Rash-Rash (Eilat), the war was essentially over. I applied for leave to visit my convalescent brother Asher and to find out if my engagement to Pam was still on.
A few days later I found myself at Lydda Airport boarding a DC-3 Dakota of Israel’s new airline El Al on the way home via Geneva. Sitting next to me was another one of our artillery officers, French Machal Leon Koifman.
I found my brother Asher well on the road to recovery and my engagement to Pamela was immediately broken after I arrived in the U.K. She was not prepared to join me in Israel. After my leave in England, I spent two months sailing back to Israel on my uncle’s yacht “Beatrice.”
Later, after forty-five years of Israel’s history, and looking back, I am very proud to have been a small part in the massive enterprise of recreating a Jewish Nation.
Author: David Rebak