“It’s awfully quiet.”
A man materialized out of the dark and spoke in a low voice. “One of you come with me. And for God’s sake, no lights or noise.” Shoshana shrugged and followed him. The man picked his way through the darkness, collecting two company commanders and their platoon commanders on his way back to the battalion’s command post. He led them down into a steep ravine and into the well-lit interior of a cave.
Shoshana blinked in the bright light, focusing on their guide. He was a small man who made her think of a weasel. It was Nazzi Halaby. “I got the rest of them, Moshe,” he said. She followed his gaze to the man sitting on an upturned 105-millimeter shell crate. Every sense she possessed told her that there was something different about this man. He was as short as Halaby but stockily built. Judging from the uneven tan on his face, he had recently shaved off a full beard. It’s his eyes, she decided, they reach out and capture everyone around him.
He stood and started talking in a low voice. “For you who don’t know me, I’m Moshe Levy. They tell me I’m a lieutenant colonel now, but that doesn’t matter.”
The man standing next to Shoshana, like her a newcomer, stiffened. Then it hit her — this was Moshe Levy. The man had become a legend during the war and Northern Command had even given his battalion a special name — Levy Force. It was said that wherever the fighting was the hardest and most critical on the Lebanon front, Levy was there, holding on, counterattacking, refusing to give ground. NCOs had started asking if a new officer had “Levy’s Luck” and their commanders often reported a successful engagement by saying they “had Levy’s Luck.”
Levy studied each person, drawing them to him. “What does matter is why we’re here.” He pointed to a map board propped up against the wall. “Brigade is expecting the Iraqi armored division facing us to launch an attack just before first light. We’re dug in here”—he pointed to a high hill thatblocked the southern end of a long narrow valley—“and they are expected to come right down the valley and bump up against us. Our job is to hold them while artillery and the Air Force chew ‘em up. Depending on what condition we’re in, we either lead the counterattack or let the rest of our brigade pass through.” No one was shocked that a brigade was taking on a division.
A low wail came from the rear of the cave. “Shut up, Avner,” Levy said, his voice normal. The wailing stopped. “My loader,” Levy explained. “Obviously he doesn’t think head-on counterattacks will help him live to be an old man. Personally, I agree with him. So we’re not going to do it.”
Levy used the map to lay out the way they would fight the battle. He planned to split his battalion, keeping one company with him at the end of the valley as the blocking force. The other two companies were to move up the western side of the valley under the cover of darkness, reinforce the teams holding the western slope, hide behind a ridge and wait for the order to counterattack. Instead of a head-on attack, they would sweep down onto the Iraqis’ right flank, cut directly across them, and head for the hills on the eastern side of the valley. There they would regroup and reevaluate.
“When do we move out?” one of Levy’s older company commanders asked.
“If the Iraqis follow their normal pattern,” Levy explained, “they’ll send three or four reconnaissance drones over us about two hours before they attack. We only let the first one get back and shoot down the others. That’s when you move out. With some luck, the Iraqis won’t know you’ve moved.”
A second lieutenant fresh out of Armored Warfare School did not like what he was hearing. “Moshe, shouldn’t we have a better plan than that? Follow-on objectives? You have only covered the opening phase. What comes next? I’d like to have a better idea of what my platoon should be trying to do other than cross the valley.” His boyish face was serious and Levy knew that he was facing battle for the first time. They are so afraid they will run, Levy thought. One of the worst things that could be said of an Israeli officer was that he ran.
“Don’t think in terms of what comes second, what comes third,” Levy said, a deep sadness in his voice. “Think ofthree or four options you might use when you regroup on the eastern side of the valley.”
Shoshana could hear the beginning of a typical debate over orders. The average Israeli officer treated orders like a point of discussion that often went on for an interminable length of time. “I know what you’re thinking,” Levy said, “a case of incompetent planning.” The silence from the second lieutenant confirmed the young man agreed. “But look at the situation we are in. We are strained to our outer limits, men and tanks at half-strength, and we are counterattacking?”
“But we have to carry the battle to the enemy,” the lieutenant parroted. He had learned his lessons well in Armored Warfare School.
“Because we have no room to retreat, right?” Levy replied. He had heard this argument before. It was always the same, the young ones, the fresh and eager, wanted to fight by the book. He only wanted to survive. “And all our wars should be short and decisive, right? And we can never permanently defeat our Arab enemy, right?” Levy was listing basic tenets that the IDF lived and died with. “Well, look at our situation. We have carried the battle to the enemy and are in an excellent defensive position in this sector. That’s why we can take on a division with a brigade. If we hold them here while you cut across, what have we accomplished?”
The lieutenant studied the map. “Artillery and the Air Force will have cut the first echelon to pieces and we’ll have done the same to the second echelon.”
“And,” Levy demanded.
Light was starting to dawn for the lieutenant. “The valley has become a kill zone.”
“Earlier I said to consider your options when you regroup,” Levy continued. “What happens if you regroup and then attack?”
“We engage the third echelon in the valley and could take heavy casualties as we will be at reduced strength from the first engagement and they will be expecting us.”
Reduced strength! Levy raged to himself. Does he know what that means? They don’t teach them that in Armored Warfare School. Instead they-make them into technicians, pump them up to be warriors, and teach them not to ran.
Instead of berating the lieutenant, Levy only asked, “Is there a better option?”
The lieutenant was warming to it now. “Let the Iraqis’ third echelon drive into the kill zone that we’ve created, soften them up with artillery and air strikes, and then either mount a frontal or flank attack.”
“And how do we determine who is to attack?”
“By where the least resistance is.”
“So what are you going to do when you reach the eastern side of the valley?” Levy asked. The discussion was almost ended and the lieutenant would know exactly what Levy expected of him and willingly do it.
“Dismount my infantry, secure our position, and since I’ll probably have lost contact during the crossover, reestablish radio contact. Oh”—now he grinned—“depending on what’s out in the valley, either lay doggo or pound the hell out of them.”
“Keep your casualties to a minimum,” Levy said, sending the men on their way. He turned to Shoshana and saw the worry on her face. “Is this your first time?” he asked.
“I’ve always been on the backside of the action, never in it from the very first.”
Levy understood. “After the Iraqis’ reconnaissance drones have flown over, we can expect an artillery barrage here. So we’re going to pull back.” He pointed to a rear area on the map where the rest of the brigade was dug in. “We’ll leave a few observation and antitank teams in place until our counterbattery fire can discourage the Iraqis and convince them it’s time to stop shooting and start scooting. That’s when we move back into place. My tank is next to your APC. Just stay next to me until we need your Band-Aid.”