A sergeant was working behind the Plexiglas map of the Sinai, posting new information. The room fell silent as every eye watched the sergeant mark up the latest disposition of Egypt’s armed forces. Scattered applause greeted the sergeant when she was finished. The Egyptians had moved back into garrison and were standing down from their “exercise.” Israel’s southern flank was no longer threatened and they could use the full resources of Southern Command to defeat the Syrians and Iraqis in the north. With resupply from the United States going full bore, they could do it.
Ben David turned his attention to the other three fronts. The battle on the northern border with Lebanon had stalemated and was seesawing back and forth across the border. On the Golan Heights, the Israelis had been pushed back to the very edge but were stubbornly holding on. A commando assault force had retaken Mount Hermon but at a terrible price. Over 70 percent of the commandos had been killed or wounded. Only the last-minute insertion of reinforcements with Black Hawk helicopters fresh from the United States’ arsenals in Germany had given the Israelis a much needed victory. But they had lost over half the helicopters.
The situation on the West Bank was the most serious. The Syrians, reinforced with three Iraqi armored divisions, had pushed across the Jordan River and were within sixteen kilometers of Jerusalem. The Arabs were shelling the city around the clock but thanks to the fresh troops that had been rushed out of the Sinai and massive supplies now arriving from the United States, the line was holding.
More good news appeared on the boards; the first of ninety-five F-16s being ferried in from the United States had landed and were being turned for combat. But the major general in charge of Hel Avir, the Israeli Air Force, was worried. The air force was suffering from a severe shortage of pilots and every available body was in the cockpit. He had recently recalled to active duty retired pilots who were in their fifties and was rushing them through refresher training. They would soon be thrown into the battle.
Out of habit, Ben David scrutinized the “Status of Casualties” board last. His lips compressed as his eyes ran across the columns. He was caught up in the type of war he most dreaded, a long and protracted conflict, and the numbers told the story. His countrymen were in a war of attrition. How long could they hang on? he asked himself. But he knew the answer — as long as they had to.
An aide appeared at his side. “More good news, Yair,” he said. “The Egyptian ambassador to die United Nations has placed a resolution in front of the General Assembly calling for an immediate cease-fire.”
Ben David stood up and his presence filled the room. He knew they could do it! They could, without doubt, survive! The Egyptian call for a cease-fire was the first crack in the solid Arab front. Long experience had taught him how fast the Arabs could realign and seek an accommodation with Israel.
An old worry came back to haunt him, driving him back into his seat. Before a cease-fire was forced on him, he had to secure his borders and hold the best defensive position possible. He had to think ahead — to the next war. And punish them! he raged to himself. Those casualties, the cold numbers on the “Status of Casualties” board, had a personal meaning for him and every Israeli. In a country as small as his, every family had paid a price — a father, son, daughter, killed or wounded, maybe a POW. Please, not our daughters as POWs, he pleaded. An old wrath swept over him. So the Arabs would degrade his children in captivity, drive his people into the sea. I hope they are looking at the desert sands behind them, he told himself, for that is where I will send them.
“Get Avi Tamir,” he ordered. Then he picked up the phone and made a brief call to Mossad. When the call was completed, he started issuing orders. Every person in the room responded to him, buoyed by his presence, feeling his resolve. They all could sense it — in spite of Iraq’s entry, the war had been stabilized and now they were going on the attack.
Avi Tamir’s face was worn and haggard, matching the way he felt, when he answered the summons to the command bunker. At least, he thought, I have some news that Ben David will like. He was surprised when the guard cleared him in without an escort. Inside, he sensed the change in the atmosphere. Loud discussions rang out and people were scurrying through the corridors. And then he caught it — the scent of victory. “Finally,” he mumbled to himself. The door to Ben David’s small office was open and he walked in.
The prime minister greeted him warmly and waved him to a seat next to the other man in the office. Tamir sank into the soft cushions and, for the first time in weeks, relaxed. All the signs were there. The tide of the war had turned and they would not have to use nuclear weapons. Ben David rose and closed the door himself while Tamir greeted the stranger. The wizened gnome uttered some perfunctory words but did not introduce himself. He rubbed at his bulbous nose with a handkerchief and focused his attention on Ben David, ignoring Tamir.
“Have you made progress?” Ben David asked.
Tamir nodded. “I’ve solved the boosting problem.” For a moment, he considered telling them how he had devised a method of injecting lithium-6 deuteride directly into the core of an atomic bomb, making a thermonuclear reaction. He had even refined the process, and the yield of the weapon could be changed by throwing three switches in the warhead. “Five days and it will be ready.”
“How big is it?” Ben David asked.
Tamir wasn’t certain what the question was. “It will fit into the warhead of a Jericho Two missile,” he answered.
“I meant how big …” the prime minister stammered, not knowing how to ask a question the scientist would understand.
“Yair wants to know the kiloton or megaton yield,” the gnome said, still not looking at Tamir.
“Oh. It’s selectable,” Tamir answered. “Two point two, thirty, fifty, or one hundred twenty kilotons.”
“I was hoping for a bigger bomb,” Ben David said.
“There are problems …” Tamir protested. Then his anger flared. “My God! You have no idea how big a hundred twenty kilotons is.”
“Please, Avi, I did not mean that as a criticism. You have done good work.” Ben David put on his serious-but-relieved face. “We are stabilizing and I don’t think we’ll need to use our nuclear weapons. You know, I had always planned to use them only as a last resort to save our people from destruction.”
A feeling of relief engulfed Avi Tamir and, for a moment, tears swelled in his eyes. His work would not give the world another Holocaust.
Ben David caught Tamir’s obvious relief. “Still,” he cautioned, “there are dangers ahead of us and we cannot afford to lose. When you say ‘ready in five days’ does that mean it can be mated to a missile?” Tamir told him yes. “Good.” The prime minister stood up. “Please don’t worry, Avi. The war is going our way and we won’t need to use it. But I must take every precaution … our people have suffered too much … I must end this war quickly.”
Tamir understood he was dismissed and left.
Ben David immediately punched at his intercom and ordered up a meeting of the Defense Council in ten minutes.
“Well?” the Ganef asked, blowing his nose again. “Why did you want me here for this?”
“Didn’t you believe me when I said there were many dangers ahead of us?”
“That’s obvious,” the old man replied.
“I’m going to make sure the Arabs cannot start another war like this one. It will be interesting to see how they react when we create more defensible borders and establish a security zone in depth.”
“That could prove difficult,” the Ganef said. “Our success might force them to use chemical weapons.”