by Uzi Eilam
Injury and the Difficult Road to Recovery
During night-time orienteering training in the Galilee I passed by a settlement populated by Jewish immigrants from North Africa. I said hello to the armed guards at the gate, and they responded in kind. However, after I walked another twenty or thirty meters they apparently changed their minds and concluded that I was actually an infiltrator. They began shooting, and the bullets struck me in my arm and my leg. I fell to the ground and lay there bleeding until the security officer of the settlement arrived. The security officer was a young native-born Israeli. He understood that the guards had erred and called an ambulance. I was taken to Military Hospital 10 in Haifa, where an orthopedist from Rambam Hospital stitched up my wounded arm and leg quickly, but, unfortunately, not very professionally.
I returned to active duty in my battalion before I was fully healed and again got injured, this time during a night-time parachute drop. My leg had still not healed, and the impact of the landing and the blow I received to my leg caused me to lose consciousness. A few months later we embarked upon a five-day trek through the Judean Desert toward Ein Gedi carrying the very heavy “elephant packs” on our backs. After two days of walking, my leg gave out.
When I returned from the exercise, battalion commander Sharon took me to task. “I won’t let you put your health in jeopardy,” he said. “You can’t go on like this. You have to recover, and until you do you will be my intelligence officer.” I told Sharon that I had not yet completed intelligence officers’ training, but he dismissed my concern: “No, no, no,” he said, “You’ll learn with me.” I never imagined the level of schooling that awaited me, not just in intelligence, in which Sharon was a master, but in tactics and the meticulous and creative planning of military operations.
For almost a year and a quarter I attended what I like to call the “Arik Sharon school of intelligence and operations” where every day had its new lesson. At first I was the intelligence officer of the 890th Battalion, and when the framework of the paratroop brigade was established, I became the brigade intelligence officer.
The brigade staff worked as a small, tightly knit, harmonious, well-focused, and extremely active unit that produced an abundance of plans and commanded a large number of reprisal operations, all from the school of Arik Sharon. Every once in a while I found myself lagging behind Sharon in the acquisition of new intelligence information. He had the benefit of his experience in intelligence, having served in this capacity in the Southern Command, and also knew how to obtain new information directly from sources in the upper echelons of the General Staff ’s Intelligence Branch.
Sharon Eyes My Trumpet
Being Arik Sharon’s intelligence officer in the Paratroop Brigade required planning at a dizzying pace. I needed to read his thoughts and prepare intelligence information for operations that I believed he was hatching. It also gave me a clear appreciation of some of Sharon’s less positive qualities. As the commander of the 890th Battalion, Sharon was interested in neither training nor what was happening in his companies. His primary focus was to obtain more and more authorizations for carrying out reprisal operations. Davidi was the one who weighed in on the training programs and kept abreast of the mood within the battalion. I also began to realize that Sharon invested great effort in gathering information about other senior officers. Later, I understood that this stock of personal information played an important role in the kind of manipulation in which he became a virtuoso. After a year and a quarter of serving alongside Sharon as his intelligence officer I knew exactly how his mind worked.
Regardless of whether they were ultimately executed or cancelled at the last moment, the long list of operations that Sharon planned constitutes an incomparable source of material for the study of military tactics. Each of Sharon’s plans was a work of craftsmanship, based on his understanding of the field, his precise knowledge of the enemy’s forces, and a wise assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of their defenses. But in addition to the typical military situation assessment regarding the field, the enemy forces — and our forces — every Sharon-made plan had a twist of some kind that made it special. In some cases it was the unique way the forces were organized; in others it was an unexpected route to the target or the way we went about sealing off the area of operations from the possible intervention of external enemy forces. Sharon was obsessive when it came to integrating variety and innovation into planning his operations, and this enabled him to continue surprising the enemy with new tactics every time.
One day during the planning of an operation to conquer Fort 108 in the Gaza Strip, Sharon’s creative spirit latched on to my silver trumpet. During the long days and nights of waiting before operations, when we would assemble in the officers and sergeants’ canteen and sing Israeli folksongs, I would accompany the men with my trumpet. “Why don’t you take your trumpet with you and take up a position with a team behind the fort,” Sharon suggested. “The moment you let out a blast, we’ll attack.” This time I was taken aback thinking that Sharon had reverted to some kind of Napoleonic War fantasy. I told Sharon that I preferred my Uzi as a weapon and that, in any event, my trumpet belonged to the kibbutz and could not be placed in such a high-risk situation. When he heard my response, he gave up on the idea.
The Husan Operation
In September 1956 I decided that I had gotten all I could get out of serving as intelligence officer of the Paratroop Brigade. Sharon honored my request to be discharged, and Gideon Mahanaymi, who had been transferred to us from the Givati Brigade, was named as my replacement.
I was now able to report for another complex operation on my arm. But my knowledge of Sharon’s modus operandi was always at the back of my mind. After leaving hospital I was again assigned to Convalescent Home 3 on the slopes of Mt. Carmel where I found myself with Micha Kapusta from the paratroop reconnaissance unit. We somehow got wind of the plan to attack the Jordanian fort at Husan (September 25–26, 1956). We couldn’t phone anybody and the planning and timing of operations were kept completely secret. But I knew Sharon, and we knew just when to take unofficial leave of absence from the convalescent home and reach the staging area. I came to Sharon with my entire arm in a cast, and it was clear to both of us that I would not be able to join the fighting force. But Sharon came up with a solution: “Go to Tel Nof and fly a Piper above the area of the operation,” he said. “After all, you know the area and the plan well. Look out for any reinforcements that the Jordanians try to bring into the area, particularly from the direction of Hebron, and report in to us.”
As I flew elliptic routes from Hebron to Bethlehem, the operation began. Soon enough, I was able to hear the far off sounds of gunfire and the explosion of grenades coming from the battle being fought at the Jordanian fort. A convoy of vehicles left Hebron with their headlights on, but quickly turned them off. I immediately warned Sharon, who asked me if I could direct the artillery fire of the relatively meager 25 pound cannon at our disposal at the convoy. I established communication with the artillery battalion and, based on an estimate of the rate of travel of the reinforcements, who were now driving without headlights, I provided the gunners with waypoints along the route of the convoy where they could aim their salvos. The next day, we learned that the artillery fire had been accurate and that the convoy had been brought to a halt by direct hits. Years later, this episode became a formative legend of the Artillery Corps.
The Qalqiliya Action — Operation Shomron
I returned to Convalescent Home 3 to continue my medical treatment, which lasted much longer than I had patience for. Two weeks after the Husan operation, Israel suffered another attack that came out of Jordanian territory — the murder of workers at the town of Even Yehuda. It was clear that Israel would show no restraint after such an act, and that Sharon was already busy persuading the General Staff and the political leadership to authorize the brigade to carry out a reprisal operation. I again slipped out of the convalescen
t home without asking anyone’s permission, put on my paratroop dress uniform, and hitchhiked to Kfar Saba. My instincts and experience after more than a year as Sharon’s intelligence officer again brought me directly to the location where the forces were assembling. Again, I reported to Sharon, my entire left arm still in a cast. Sharon remembered my role in the Husan operation and without delay told me to go to Tel Nof, and to fly a Piper above the area of the operation, the police station in the West Bank town of Qalqiliya just a few kilometers east of Kfar Saba in Israel’s coastal plain.
This time Motta Gur, with the 88th Battalion, was assigned the coveted mission of attacking the operation’s main target — the police station. Eitan’s 890th Battalion was designated as a reserve force, and his flushed, wrinkled face revealed his displeasure with this supporting role. The large reserve and rescue forces designated for the action were a sure indication that the operation would be large and difficult. We drove to Tel Nof and I even managed to eat dinner in the pilots’ dining hall, a meal that I regretted the entire night I spent flying above the area of the operation. We entered the area the moment the shelling of the police station began, and it took only a few minutes before I saw the lights of a Jordanian reserve force en route from the direction of Nablus. I reported the information to Sharon, and after the vehicles turned off their headlights I continued to provide him with updated estimates of their location.
I could see from the plane that the battle being fought in and around the police station was a difficult one. My radio was linked into the brigade radio network, and I could hear all the reports and commands as they were transmitted. Less than an hour after the operation began I observed the Sayeret reconnaissance unit fire on the first vehicles of the Jordanian reinforcements. The Jordanian army had been established and trained by the British and was well prepared to contend with such situations. Infantry forces quickly leapt from the vehicles and began a flanking maneuver aimed at attacking the Sayeret. There was no direct channel of communication between the Sayeret and brigade command, and I functioned as a relay station for communications between the two.
After the battle I went straight to brigade headquarters and walked into Sharon’s office. He was tired and contemplative after a difficult night with considerable casualties. He was concerned about the Sayeret after the tough battle in which their commanders had been wounded. “Go to the base at Sataf,” he told me, “and see how we can help them.” When I arrived at the Sayeret base at Sataf near Jerusalem I found a familiar scene: a unit with many wounded members after a difficult battle. The concept of combat trauma only started to be widely recognized many years later, especially after the Yom Kippur War. I spoke with people and listened to them recount the stages of the battle as they experienced them. And in the course of that long day, I watched them become themselves again.
The Big Leap With the 88th Battalion’s B-Company during Operation Kadesh
I returned to brigade headquarters toward evening. Officially, I was on my way to being discharged, waiting for the final operation on my arm and the recovery period at Convalescent Home 3. Still, with the brigade licking its wounds after the difficult battle I found myself unable to just get up and leave. My visit to the Sayeret accentuated these feelings. “Arik, I’m not going to be discharged,” I said when I walked back into Sharon’s office after returning from the visit. “Do you have a position for me?”
Sharon lifted his head and looked at me with tired eyes. “You’re staying?” he asked, just to be certain. “Arik,” I said, “I can’t be discharged now, and I’m not going back for any medical treatment.”
Sharon did not hesitate. “A company commander from Motta’s battalion was just killed,” he told me, although I already knew. “Go to Motta. He’ll turn the company over to you.” It was only a short distance from Tel Nof to the Bilu military base, where the 88th battalion was located, and fifteen minutes later I was already meeting with Gur, who had been told that I would be assuming command of B Company. My arm was still in a cast from my shoulder to my palm, but neither Gur nor Sharon had any doubt about my abilities at this point. It was my decision, and as far as they were concerned I was fit for any mission. In the evening, I met with the company’s officers, including my deputy Pinhas (Alush) Noy, who was awarded the Medal of Courage for his role in the battle at the Qalqiliya police station. The next day we began a training program near Nes Harim, and I quickly got to know the soldiers and officers. It was there that I first met Company Sergeant Major Zvi Vander, who was a never-ending source of energy and good spirits. Vander would remain with me for many years, during my reserve duty with the 98th Battalion and as master sergeant in the 71st Battalion, the first battalion under my command.
After one week of training at Nes Harim I felt well integrated into the company. There were incessant rumors about a war that was about to break out, and I decided to clarify the issue with the most reliable source possible — the brigade intelligence officer. Mahanaymi let me in on the carefully guarded secret of the French airlift that was then underway in the dead of night, carrying weapons such as non-recoil cannons, and the British and French pledge to provide us with air cover in the event of war in the Sinai Peninsula. I returned to the company tent encampment at Nes Harim feeling tense and anxious. All I told my officers was that the rumors regarding a major operation were well based and that we would undoubtedly receive orders soon. All I needed to do now was to get rid of the cast that was limiting my arm movement. I asked the company medic for my medical file and then made off with a pair of scissors while he was distracted. Within a few minutes, I cut off the cast and liberated my arm. The zipper-like stitches that ran the length of the scar on my arm remained in place and were only dealt with after the war, when I asked the battalion doctor to remove them.
For us, the war started with a long drive and a night encampment at Hatzeva in the Arava near the road to Eilat, a route that was meant to deceive the Egyptians into thinking that Jordan was the target of our operation. We left Hatzeva in a long convoy of trucks via the Faran (Jirafi) riverbed toward the Egyptian Kuntila police station near Eilat. On the way we had to get out and push because most of the trucks did not have front-wheel drive. But by the time we crossed the flat hard-surfaced desert towards the Egyptian police station at Kuntila it was as if we were driving on an asphalt road. We didn’t have to wait long before the front force of the brigade reported that it had conquered the police station and that we could continue advancing along the road. On the way to the Mitla Pass in central western Sinai were the fortifications at Bir A-Temed, which our battalion was supposed to take, and the Egyptian army base at Nakhel in the center of the peninsular. When dawn started to break, we were driving quickly along the road between the fortifications of A-Temed.
I ordered my men to get out of the vehicles, and we spread out to the right and left of the road, entered the trenches of the Egyptian forts, and took them over. Immediately following our conquest of the fort, we were attacked by Egyptian MiG fighter planes, which shot rockets and bursts of automatic gunfire at us. We spent all afternoon feverishly digging pits. Shortly after the air attack came to an end, my men spotted three Egyptian soldiers approaching the fort and brought them to me. I told one of my officers to take the prisoners to one of the trenches and to kill them. “Uzi,” said Benny Gefen, an older reservist who was in command of the communications squad. “I can’t believe my ears! Did you just issue an order to have them executed?” I immediately understood the significance of what I had said, and I stopped the officer, instructing him to drive the prisoners to the paratroop force in the rear. The memory of this near mistake remained with me during all the wars in which I took part, and I owe my integrity as a soldier to Benny Gefen.
My company did not participate in the bloody battle of Mitla, and when the fighting at the Pass ended we were ordered to travel northward to prepare for an air-drop into the southern Sinai Peninsula. We sat in the planes waiting to take off, but we
were stopped at the last moment. Avraham Yoffee, commander of the 9th Brigade, had reported via radio that he had conquered Sharm el Sheikh, and the General Staff now regarded the drop there as unnecessary.
After the war ended the debriefing within the brigade took three days and involved all officers above the level of company commander. There were accounts of the stages of fighting, of the parachute drop of the 890th Battalion near the Colonel Parker pillar, and of the brigade’s advance into the Peninsula and the conquest of the Kuntila police station, the at-Tamad forts, and the Egyptian army base at Nakhel. The most controversial issue, which aroused significant debate and criticism, was the battle of Mitla. Sharon ordered the brigade to enter the area without paying sufficient attention to the Egyptian forces that were dug in there, and this resulted in a fierce battle in which dozens of paratroopers were killed. Only later did I learn that senior officers including Eitan, Rur, Davidi, and deputy brigade commander Yitzhak Hofi had had an extremely tense meeting with Sharon regarding his role in the battle at Mitla. The commanders who fought and suffered heavy losses at Mitla were unable to forgive him for not being involved in the difficult part of the fighting, after Hofi’s and Gur’s forces came under heavy enemy fire. The accusation that Sharon was not on site when the brigade was bleeding ultimately proved to be much more important than his urge to enter the Pass under the guise of an exploratory patrol. At the end of the Sinai War Sharon left his position as brigade commander and was assigned a position with the General Staff ’s Training Department that did not involve commanding combat forces.
