By the Rivers of Babylon (54 page)

But still they went on, driven not only by the knowledge that they had to lay hands on the Israelis in order to live, but also by the shouts and threats of Ahmed Rish and Salem Hamadi. And the Ashbals were still a dangerous force, even in their present state. They were like tigers and tigresses—for if nothing else,
they were no longer cubs—who, though wounded, must still be respected and given a wide berth.

Rish caught two young girls, sisters, who were moving in the wrong direction. They pleaded that they were confused by the gunfire that was coming from behind them and disoriented by fatigue, dust, and darkness. Rish seized the opportunity to stiffen discipline. He forced the two girls to kneel and shot each in the back of the head with his pistol.

For a moment, Hamadi wondered if that was to be the proverbial straw that would break the camel’s back. But the executions had the effect that Rish had anticipated. The small group, not more than two dozen now, moved more quickly toward the thundering Concorde. He marveled at how much tyranny men and women would put up with before they would rebel. There was a lesson there for him if ever again he should be in a position to lead men.

Hausner had been surprised at first to hear the Concorde’s engines exploding into life. Then he remembered Kahn’s untiring determination, and smiled. He doubted if Becker could produce enough thrust to move the injured aircraft with its long pointed nose buried in the dirt and its main tires flattened. Still, it was a splendid attempt. Even if the commandos moved fast, it could not be nearly fast enough. It might make a big difference if the Concorde could meet them on the east slope. That should surprise everyone, including, Hausner suspected, David Becker. Kahn always knew he would fix it, and he always knew he would taxi out of there.

Hausner knelt, fired, and moved back again and again. Some of the fire from the Concorde had come close to him, but that could not he helped. Now he noticed that the Israeli fire was very erratic, and as he listened it tapered off to almost nothing. Suddenly, the engines whined and he knew Becker was about to release his brakes. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the red glow of the engines. He turned back, and out of the dust a line of Ashbals came running and stumbling toward him. He could hear Ahmed Rish’s voice above the F-14’s, above the AK-47’s, and above the big engines. “Faster! Faster! This is your last effort! It is now or it is not at all! Come, my tiger cubs, follow me for the kill!”

Hausner understood why men and women followed Rish. The pitch and tone of the voice was familiar, and if the language
had been German instead of Arabic he would have had no trouble placing it. Some men were born with command presence, and when their minds were disturbed, the result was deadly.

Hausner fell back to where he knew the burial trench was. He found it and lowered himself into it. He felt the bodies under his feet and wondered who had come to an end in this way. He crouched down and waited for Ahmed Rish in the dark.

Lieutenant Joshua Giddel’s commando squad stayed behind at the small museum as the other two squads, with one jeep, bypassed the guest house and moved up the Processional Way.

Giddel’s ten men lined up, five on each side of the jeep with the 106mm recoilless rifle mounted on it. They began moving across the flat dust field that separated the museum from the guest house.

With Lieutenant Giddel in the jeep were a driver, a two-man gun crew, and Dr. Al-Thanni, the museum curator. Lieutenant Giddel had discovered him in his office in the small museum. Dr. Al-Thanni had been checking his spring inventory lists as though nothing were amiss outside his window. It reminded Giddel of the story of Archimedes, who was working on a mathematics problem when the besieging Romans entered his city. The Greek inventor had refused to let external events break his train of thought, and an infuriated Roman soldier had killed him. And so, thought Giddel, Archimedes became an instant hero and martyr to intellectuals, and soldiers got another black mark. Giddel had overcome the urge that he knew the Roman soldier had succumbed to and settled for sweeping the inventory lists onto the floor.

Now the curator was in Giddel’s jeep, bouncing over the few hundred meters that separated Giddel from his next objective. He spoke to Al-Thanni above the sound of the engine. “How many Ashbals would you estimate are in the guest house?”

Dr. Al-Thanni had a suite in the house, but had taken to sleeping on a cot in the museum. He still took his meals in the guest house and used the sanitary facilities. “They don’t confide in me, young man.” He straightened his glasses.

Giddel looked at him meaningfully.

“However, I would estimate that there are at least fifty with varying degrees of wounds and about ten or more orderlies with one doctor and a few sentries and duty officers.”

“Is there a basement in the building?”

“No.”

“All concrete?”

“Yes.”

“Any guests in there? Guest house staff?”

“No. The season has not begun.”

“Any other civilians or other noncombatants in there?”

“Sometimes a few village girls. You know.”

“Is there a radio? Do they speak with the Ashbals in the field?”

“Yes. A radio in the lobby. At the clerk’s counter where the duty man sits.”

“Do the wounded have their weapons?”

“Yes.”

“Any heavy weapons? Machine guns? Rocket launchers? Mortars? Hand grenades?”

“I did not see anything of that sort.”

“Where would they keep a prisoner?”

“They had a prisoner—a girl—in the manager’s office.”

“An Israeli?” Giddel knew of the prisoner from General Dobkin’s report to Jerusalem.

“I believe so.”

“How about the general?” Giddel had already told him all he knew of General Dobkin, but he could see that Al-Thanni had been very skeptical of this information and probably beleived that the Israelis were playing on his friendship with General Dobkin to use him. “But you did not see the general?”

“I told you, no.”

“You heard nothing about the general?”

“I would tell you.”

“Where else might they keep a prisoner?”

“I don’t know. Not the rooms. They are filled with wounded. Not the kitchen. The dining hall is used for meals. There is a recreation room, but this is also used. I think the manager’s office is the most likely. I have not been in the guest house since the time you say you received a call from him, so perhaps he is there.”

Giddel glanced up at the guest house. He could make out its outline and saw some lights in the windows. “Where is the manager’s office located?”

“To the left of the lobby as you walk in. Immediately to the left of the front doors. The windows face the front.”

“Who is the senior man there?”

“A man named Al-Bakr.”

“Is he reasonable?”

Dr. Al-Thanni allowed himself a small laugh.

“I mean, do you think he would negotiate rather than have his wounded caught in a firefight?”

“Ask him.”

Lieutenant Giddell looked out at the squat building. Incredibly, no one seemed to notice his movement. The jeep maintained a steady 5 KPH, and the commandos jogged along with it. The guest house was more clearly visible now, and Giddel put his starlight field glasses to his eyes. He could see struck tents lying in front of the building. There were a few eucalyptus trees around the house, and they partly blocked the views from the verandas. Some vehicles were parked off to the left of the house. He could see lights in a few of the windows and smoke coming out of the chimneys. Breakfast. A few men sat on the verandas on each floor. No one seemed to see them yet. He turned to Al-Thanni. “But do you think he would listen to
reason
? Do you have any influence with him?”

“Me?” He shook his head. “I am—or was—their prisoner. Make no mistake about that. I am not a part of these people.”

Giddel turned his attention back to the guest house.

Dr. Al-Thanni cautiously put his hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, “Young man, if I thought that my friend, General Dobkin, was in there and was alive, I would do anything in my power to get him out of there, but nothing I say can make a difference with these people. I have seen what they did to the other captive. Take my word for it—if General Dobkin was their prisoner, he is dead or he should be shot as a mercy. Don’t waste time or men on this thing.”

Lieutenant Giddel focused his field glasses. He could see several men looking intently over the railing of the side verandas. They were in white robes, and he could make out bandages on some of them. They were looking toward the Northern Citadel where the sound and light show had attracted their attention. They didn’t seem to notice him, but then he saw a few men staring intently in his direction from the top front veranda. He spoke to Dr. Al-Thanni as he watched. “Thank you, Doctor. Please jump off the jeep. Unless you want to come in with us.”

“No, thank you. Good luck.” He jumped off the side and rolled away from the moving jeep.

Lieutenant Giddel saw several men run into the building. “Increase speed.” The jeep moved faster, the commandos went from a jog to a run. “Load a concrete-piercing shell and prepare to fire the gun.” The 106mm gun crew loaded and adjusted their aim.

Suddenly, two long streams of green tracer rounds shot out of the guest house and passed overhead.

Lieutenant Giddel gave up any hope of negotiating now.

Another gun joined in, then another. Green tracers arched over the jeep, then dropped lower as the Ashbals began to get the range.

The jeep driver handed Lieutenant Giddel the radiophone. “It’s air cover.”

Lieutenant Giddel took the phone. “East bank two-six, here.”

“Roger. This is Gabriel 32. Can I make that house disappear for you guys?”

“Negative, Gabriel. Possible friendlies inside. We’ll do it the hard way.”

“Roger. If you change your mind, give us a yell.”

“Roger. Thanks.” Giddel turned to his gun crew. “Keep away from the left front ground floor. Commence firing.”

The gun crew fired a .50 caliber spotter round from the aiming rifle attached to the 106mm barrel. The .50 caliber tracer hit the building on the second story above the front doors, and the crew immediately fired the main round after it. The 106mm round streaked across the open plain and hit the building a meter from the spotter round. There was a deafening explosion, and the concrete shattered. Flames, smoke, and debris erupted from nearby windows. All the lights in the building went out. Lieutenant Giddel told the driver to increase his speed again. The commandos began firing their M-79 grenade launchers, Uzi submachine guns, and M-16 automatic rifles from the hip as they advanced on the run. The 106mm crew reloaded and fired again. The round smashed through the front doors and exploded in the lobby. Two commandos stopped running and set up their M-60 light machine gun. They began raking the building with long bursts of 7.62mm rounds.

The jeep and the commandos were within two hundred meters of the building. The Ashbal firing had stopped immediately after the first 106mm round hit. A third 106mm round entered a shuttered window to the right of the front doors and exploded inside. The right half of the building began to sag.
Flames and smoke poured out of the windows, and the front verandas collapsed on top of each other. Men and women in white robes began jumping out of the windows and fleeing toward the vehicles. The M-60 machine gun shifted its fires and began pumping incendiary rounds into the vehicles. One after the other exploded and the men and women running toward them fled out into the darkness.

Lieutenant Giddel had little stomach for firing on a place where wounded were kept, but it was also a place, according to Dr. Al-Thanni and General Dobkin, where prisoners were kept, and it was a headquarters as well. In addition, they had been fired at from there. The Ashbals had broken the cardinal rule about mixing medical and military facilities, and now they were paying for it.

At fifty meters the 106mm recoilless rifle fired again through the front door, and again the round exploded in the lobby, this time with a CS tear gas canister.

The façade was a mass of bullet scars, and the wooden louvers were splintered and burning. Smoke billowed from every window, and the smell of cordite was heavy. Screams could he heard from inside the building.

The jeep rolled over the struck tents, up the front steps, over the rubble of the verandas, and into the lobby. The driver turned his headlights on. Each of the commandos picked a window and dove through.

Inside the ruined guest house, dead and dying lay among heaps of rubble and plaster. Part of the floor above the lobby had fallen through, and burning beds and patients lay in a heap in the corner. The Israelis donned gas masks and threw canisters of CS into the doors that came off the lobby. Two commandos fired their grenade launchers with CS rounds up the stairwell and through the hole in the ceiling. Two other commandos ran out the back door onto the terrace in time to see about a dozen men and women in robes and in uniform disappear into the grey dawn. They let them go.

In the lobby, the sounds of screaming and moaning could be heard from overhead. Men and women, in shock, wearing burned and bloodstained night clothes, came marching down the stairs with their hands on their heads, coughing, blinded, and vomiting from the gas.

Lieutenant Giddel burst into the manager’s office. It was undamaged expect for the expected cracks in the plaster.
Calcimine dust lay over everything and some of it still sifted down from the ceiling. Giddel spotted the girl first, and as he ran toward her he stumbled over a body on the floor. It was a man lying face down with his hands and legs tied. He recognized General Dobkin from his bulk and height. He turned him over carefully. There was blood smeared over his face and one eye had been gouged out. It was hanging by the optic nerve, resting on his cheek. Lieutenant Giddel had to steady himself and turned away for a second. He took a dep breath and looked back. Apparently his torturer had been in the middle of his work when the first 106mm round hit. He still couldn’t tell if the man was alive or not until he saw blood-tinted bubbles forming around his broken nose and puffed lips.