Six Days of War

by Michael B. Oren

  As Pagoda neared the Liberty, the Liberty’s distress signals finally reached the USS America. “Help is on the way,” came the reply. The carrier was in the middle of strategic exercises; the planes on its deck were armed with nuclear payloads, and there was no time to replace them with conventional ordnance. A detachment of eight F-4s took off in the direction of the Sinai coast, only to be recalled minutes later by Vice Admiral Martin. If Rabin feared that the ship was Russian, Martin suspected that its attackers were, and, without authorization from the highest level, would not risk starting a nuclear war.

  Help never arrived from the America, but the Israelis came within range. McGonagle, who had tried to return their signal with a hand-held Aldis lamp—the searchlights had all been smashed—ordered his men not to fire at the approaching torpedo boats. One of the sailors, though, failed to hear the command, and opened up with one of the ship’s four machine guns. Another machine gun also fired, triggered by exploding ammunition. Oren was now being shot at by a ship he assumed was Egyptian. He radioed Izzy Rahav at naval headquarters and requested permission to return the fire. After some hesitation, Rahav at last relented.

  Of the five torpedoes fired at the Liberty only one found its mark, a direct hit on the starboard side, killing twenty-five men, almost all of them from the intelligence section.

  “Kislev, it’s an Egyptian supply boat,” reported the IAF’s liaison with the navy. “I won’t have anyone telling me again that the air force has a problem with identification.” Momentarily vindicated, Kislev instructed the helicopters to continue their rescue mission but to exercise caution. The command went out: “Tell the helicopters that they aren’t Americans, they’re Egyptians…Tell them [Israeli forces] at al-‘Arish, that Egyptian sailors are arriving from the sea, from a boat that they [the navy] sank.”

  The navy had yet to sink the craft, however. Rather, the torpedo boats closed in with cannons and machine-guns, raking the Liberty’s hull—its life rafts as well, according to the crew. One of those rafts, picked up by T-203, was found to bear U.S. Navy markings. Oren began to suspect that the ship might not be Egyptian. Then, circling the badly listing craft, he confronted the designation, GRT-5. But Oren’s attempts to contact the crew via megaphone went unanswered, and another half-hour would pass before the ship’s identity was established. Thirty-five thousand feet above the area, an American EC121M spy plane picked up the torpedo boats’ signals. “Hey Chief,” Mike Prostinak, a Hebrew linguist, alerted his commander, Petty Officer Marvin E. Norwicki, “I’ve got some really odd activity on UHF. They mentioned an American flag.”

  Word of the ship’s American nationality arrived as the IDF general staff considered the possibility of Soviet reprisals. “I must admit I had mixed feelings about the news—profound regret at having attacked our friends and a tremendous sense of relief [that the boat was not Soviet],” Rabin recalled. An apology was immediately sent to Castle who in turn informed the 6th Fleet. Another wing of jets, these armed with conventional bombs, had just been launched from the Saratoga. The pilots, though warned not to fly too near the coast or to pursue attacking aircraft, were authorized to “use whatever force is necessary to protect the USS Leberty.”

  Martin called back these planes as well, and the only aircraft to reach the Liberty were the two IAF Super Frelon helicopters. Realizing finally the identity of his attackers, gesturing coarsely, McGonagle waved them away. Another Israeli chopper carrying Castle—he dropped his business card onto the deck, inserted inside an orange—was unable to land because of darkness. By 5:05 P.M., the Israelis had broken off contact, and the Liberty, navigating virtually without systems, with 34 dead and 171 wounded aboard, staggered out to sea.15

  Nearly two hours later, Johnson received a cable informing him that the Liberty, “located 60-100 miles north of Egypt,” had been torpedoed by an unknown vessel. The president immediately assumed that the Soviets were involved. To forestall further escalation, he hot-lined the Kremlin with news of the attack and of the dispatch of jets from the Saratoga. Kosygin confirmed the receipt of this information, and promised to pass it on to Nasser.16 Still the question remained: Who had tried to sink the Liberty?

  Another two hours passed before the Israeli embassy in Washington confirmed what it termed the “mistaken action.” An official letter of apology promptly followed from Harman. Johnson’s initial reaction, like Rabin’s before, was relief that the Soviets had not been involved. While “strong dismay”was conveyed to Harman, so too were the administration’s thanks for the candor of Israel’s notification. “Please accept my profound condolences and convey my sympathy to all the bereaved families,” Eshkol hastened to wire, followed by Eban: “I am deeply mortified and grieved by the tragic accident involving the lives and safety of Americans.” In a personal note to the president, Evron wrote, “I grieve with you over the lives that were lost, and share in the sorrow of the parents, wives and children of the men who died in this cruel twist of fate.” Within forty-eight hours, the Israeli government offered to compensate the casualties; $12 million was ultimately paid.

  These offers of restitution and regret at first seemed to satisfy the administration, eager to downplay the affair. “Its [the Liberty’s] proximity to the scene of the conflict could feed Arab suspicions of U.S.-Israeli collusion,” warned Barbour in Tel Aviv, while from Cairo, Nolte urged, “We had better get our story on the torpedoing of USS Liberty out fast and it had better be good.” There may also have been fear that the incident would draw attention to the presence of U.S. submarines—codenamed Frontlet 615—operating in Egyptian waters. The Defense Department issued an official release acknowledging that “a U.S. Navy technical research ship” assigned to “provide information regarding the evacuation of American citizens from the Middle East” had been attacked in international waters “15 miles north of the Sinai Peninsula.” Israel had admitted responsibility for the attack, the communiqué said, and had apologized. Otherwise, a total media clampdown was placed on the incident.17

  Presently, though, American officials began caring less about the way the incident looked and more about why it had happened. A great many questions arose: Why did the Israelis attack a neutral ship on the high seas, without the slightest provocation? How had they failed to see the Liberty’s flag or the freshly painted markings on its hull? How could they confuse the Liberty with the El Quseir, a far slower, smaller boat, with no distinctive antennae? And finally, how could a ship sailing at five knots, whose maximum speed was eighteen, be gauged at thirty?

  “Beyond comprehension,” fumed Rusk: “we cannot accept such a situation.” Clark Clifford, a staunchly pro-Israel adviser to Truman and Kennedy, head of the Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board under Johnson, described the attack as “inexcusable…a flagrant act of gross negligence for which the Israeli Government should be held completely responsible.” He recommended that the incident be handled “as if the Arabs or the USSR had done it.” While no official could explain what motivation Israel might have had for assaulting an American vessel, neither did the facts seem to square. Either the Israelis had exhibited rank incompetence—in the midst of their faultless victory—or they had struck the Liberty on purpose. Indeed, many in the administration had already concluded that the attack was intentional and that Israel’s explanations were entirely disingenuous.18 The charge of criminal negligence gradually gave way to one of premeditated murder.

  The Israelis moved to dispel these accusations with three internal reports, the last of which was a full inquiry under military jurist Col. Yeshayahu Yerushalmi. All three admitted the IDF’s culpability in erroneously reporting a naval barrage on al-‘Arish, in miscalculating the Liberty’s speed, and in confusing the ship with the El Quseir. They pointed out the faulty communications between various branches of the army, the pilots’ exhaustion after four days of uninterrupted combat, and the navy’s eagerness to compensate for its previous failures in the war. Yet all three studies concluded that the attack was an “innocent mis
take,” with no malice or gross negligence involved. “For all my regret that our forces were involved in an incident with a vessel belonging to a friendly state,” Yerushalmi wrote, “I have not discovered any deviation from the standard of reasonable conduct which would justify a court martial.”19

  “This makes no goddamned sense at all,” Eugene Rostow grumbled upon reviewing these findings. The attack, wrote Rusk, was “quite literally incomprehensible…an act of military recklessness reflecting wanton disregard for human life.” Umbrage was taken at the Israelis’ suggestion that the Liberty had no business being where it was, had failed to inform Israel of its presence, and had failed to use all means (semaphores, flares, flags) to identify itself. Evron’s assurances that IDF officers would be “severely punished” for negligence proved groundless. The White House now demanded that Israel not only pay compensation but admit wrongdoing and try those responsible for the attack “in accordance with international law.”

  That demand, however, did not reflect a willingness on the part of the United States to investigate the incident thoroughly. A navy court of inquiry, convened in Malta by Rear Adm. Isaac C. Kidd, Jr., shortly after the attack, posited that, for lack of sufficient wind, the Liberty’s flag might not have been visible to Israeli pilots, and that the attack appeared to be “a case of mistaken identify.” Further reviews were conducted by the CIA, Joint Chiefs of Staff, the House Appropriations Committee, and the NSA.20 But at no time were answers sought to the questions of who sent the Liberty, lightly armed and incognito, into the middle of somebody else’s war zone, and for what purpose. Never was it suggested, much less charged, that the Liberty’s mission was an egregious mistake.

  The absence of such answers would later give rise to a mélange of conspiracy theories purporting to explain the incident. Israel was said to have launched the attack to prevent the Liberty from reporting on its gains in Sinai, its alleged execution of Egyptian prisoners, or its interception of messages between Cairo and King Hussein. The most widespread of the charges held that Israel—Dayan, in particular—wanted the Liberty destroyed in order to conceal preparations for the coming thrust into Syria.

  None of the theories withstood historical scrutiny, however, or even made much sense. Israel did little to hide from the Americans either its progress in Sinai or its intentions vis-à-vis the Golan. Jordan was already hors de combat by June 8. No evidence was found that Israel conducted mass executions of POW’s or that it sought to disguise that act by killing Americans. Indeed, with their obsessive concern for U.S. opinion and their ingrained fear of the Soviets, the Israelis would have been loath to antagonize, much less make war against, their sole superpower protector. And while the IDF could have easily sunk the Liberty, the fact remained that it did not; it ceased firing the instant the mistake was realized, and offered to assist the ship. The logic of these arguments would be employed by Arab and Soviet commentators—ironically—who asserted that the Liberty had been spying for Israel during the war and was only erroneously attacked.21

  A Four-Day War?

  The Liberty incident, with its faulty identifications and close brushes between American and Soviet forces, spotlighted the ease with which the superpowers might inadvertently come to blows in the Middle East. “Israel must be careful not to push its advantage too far,” Goldberg advised Eban, noting how the Arabs’ wholesale defeat had increased the danger of Soviet intervention. Citing a secret Soviet source, the CIA had reported on the growing likelihood of direct Soviet involvement in the war—“we have no other choice,” the source explained. Kosygin, too, seemed to be threatening a more aggressive Soviet role. “Israel’s actions have placed the Arab States in such a situation they cannot but conduct a lawful defensive war against the aggressor,” the premier wrote in his next hot line message to Washington. “Until complete withdrawal of Israeli troops [is obtained]…the reestablishment of peace in the Near East cannot be ensured.”

  The best hope for preventing superpower clashes lay in the Security Council, which reconvened at 2:00 P.M. after a hiatus of nearly twenty-four hours. The atmosphere had hardly improved. Now, in addition to the vast gap separating the U.S. and Soviet positions, discrepancies also emerged between the U.S. and Israeli positions. Eban opposed any linkage between the cease-fire and the return of Israeli forces to the June 4th line. He wanted no reference to the Armistice Agreements by the Council, no mention of the word withdrawal. Goldberg, in turn, reminded Eban of the requisites of public opinion. “It is necessary…that Israel should not emerge from the current situation as a power with designs to infringe on the territorial integrity of other countries.” Rather patronizingly, he invited Eban to consult McGeorge Bundy “on how peace might be best brought about and the rancor and humiliation felt by the Arabs overcome.”

  American-Israeli differences, though sharpening, were minuscule compared to those between Israel and the Soviets. “Israel’s military hordes [are] following in the bloody footsteps of Hitler’s executioners,” ranted Federenko, and Gideon Rafael responded in kind: “Neither Israel nor the Jewish people concluded a pact with Hitler’s Germany, a pact which encouraged Nazi Germany to unleash its aggression against the world.” The Soviets proceeded to propose a resolution condemning Israel and demanding its complete withdrawal from Arab lands. The Americans countered with an artless draft of their own, calling for “discussions…among the parties concerned” to separate the battling troops, renounce the use of force and maintain international rights, and to establish “a stable and durable peace in the Middle East.” Neither of the texts stood a chance of receiving the Council’s approval; neither was seriously debated.

  The question of whether Israel would or would not evacuate remained moot, however, so long as Egypt refused to accept the cease-fire. Countervailing pressures were at work on El Kony, the Soviets exhorting him to show flexibility, while members of the Asia-African bloc—Nigeria, Pakistan, Cyprus, Indonesia—urged him to stand firm. Rumors circulated the hall purporting that Soviet bombers were en route to the front, that the Egyptian army would soon regroup and stage a massive counterattack. Even if El Kony adhered to the cease-fire, the scuttlebutt went, Cairo would repudiate it. Confusion deepened when the Agence France Presse reported that Nasser had publicly welcomed the end of hostilities. The Egyptian ambassador rushed to confirm the claim, only to find it false. Thereafter, he sat removed from the Council chamber, in the observers’ gallery, waiting for guidance from Nasser.22

  But no one had seen or even heard from Nasser in almost three days. Locked up in his house, purportedly broken over his army’s defeat, the president had shunned all contact with the outside world and with military leaders in particular. Repeatedly, Sadat had sought audiences with him, urging him to fire ‘Amer and to take direct command of the military, but in vain. Nasser would not come out. Then, suddenly at midday on June 8, Egypt’s leader emerged. Smiling broadly, he entered Supreme Headquarters and announced that he had just spoken with Soviet and Algerian leaders, and that 200 new MiG’s were on their way. Egyptian forces would regroup, he predicted; they would hold the passes first, then rally for a massive attack. When asked by an old associate, ‘Abd al-Latif al-Baghdadi, why Egypt had not coordinated its policies with Moscow and accepted the cease-fire, Nasser snapped: “It doesn’t matter if we accept it or not. The Jews will keep fighting until they’ve achieved their objectives!”

  Nasser next summoned Mahmoud Riad and showed him a telegram he had received from Moscow urging him to approve a cease-fire. Riad was to reply that since Soviet intelligence had impelled the Egyptian army to enter Sinai, the USSR should not now join with Washington in demanding that Egypt cease defending itself. Egypt, Riad would state, was determined to fight until the Israelis were driven from its territory—a fight the Russians were expected to back.

  Riad was also optimistic, buoyed by reports that Egyptian anti-aircraft had driven off Israel’s planes, that enemy paratroopers had been decimated in the Mitla Pass and an armored column halted at Ro
mani. In addition to rejecting Moscow’s request, he personally phoned each of the permanent representatives to the Security Council to remind them that there would be no cease-fire without total and immediate evacuation. Radio Cairo again assured its listeners that fierce resistance was continuing on all fronts in Sinai, and the government had no intention of agreeing to a cease-fire.

  The chances for obtaining a resolution appeared to be fading, diminished by the Egyptians’ delusions of possible victory and their horror of public disgrace. In a conversation with Nolte, Secret Service Chief Salah Nasir discounted claims of Israeli triumphs and expressed confidence that Egypt would return to the prewar Armistice lines and perhaps even maintain the blockade. But Egypt could never agree to a cease-fire, he explained: “What would we tell the people?”23

  Those delusions could not, however, dissemble the image of utter devastation sprawling along the Suez Canal. An estimated 11,000 soldiers had crossed the waterway, while another 20,000 were stranded in Sinai and in desperate need of water. Gen. Fawzi, observing the rout from Isma‘iliya, saw entire tank companies abandoning their vehicles, their personal weapons, and swimming across the Canal. Mindless of these men and their plight, ‘Amer ordered Gen. ‘Abd al-Mun’im Khalil to dynamite the bridges spanning the Canal. “These were the last words that I heard from him,” Khalil attested, “his last disgraceful command.”