Shadow Soldier: A Military Thriller Read online

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  Shadow Soldier

  Roni Eliav

  Copyright © 2020 Roni Eliav

  All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

  Translation from the Hebrew by Itamar Toussia Cohen

  Contact: [email protected]

  Contents

  In Lieu Of A Prologue

  CHAPTER 1 Pursuit

  CHAPTER 2 Orientation

  CHAPTER 3 Gibush: Advanced Selection

  CHAPTER 4 The Shadow And The Ghost: Boot Camp

  CHAPTER 5 At The End Of Your Rope: Advanced Training

  CHAPTER 6 1,100 Mag Rounds: Operational Duty

  CHAPTER 7 The Outsider: Officer Training

  CHAPTER 8 Independence Day 1980: Reckless Abandon

  CHAPTER 9 Team Assignments: Grit And Arrogance

  CHAPTER 10 Return To Operational Duty

  CHAPTER 11 Crossing A Raging Stream: End Of Qualification Course

  CHAPTER 12 Sleep And Dream: Mortal Danger

  CHAPTER 13 Wet Cooperation

  CHAPTER 14 Walking Operation

  CHAPTER 15 At The Foot Of Mount Hermon, 1981: A Senior Team

  CHAPTER 16 Lebanon-Sinai-Lebanon, 1981: An Officers’ Operation

  CHAPTER 17 Erez, Tal, And Eitan’s Story

  CHAPTER 18 Rain: Reserve Duty In Lebanon

  CHAPTER 19 Endgame: Settling The Score

  CHAPTER 20 Epilogue: Erez And Me

  Message from the Author

  IN LIEU OF A PROLOGUE

  This is a story about Erez Eliav— a boy, a soldier, and a man. Erez Eliav does not exist outside the pages of this book; I wish he had, since we share many values and convictions. He’s my kind of guy, I’d love to invite him for a pint of beer at the beach.

  The events described in this book are also fictional. But similar events might have happened to someone, yours truly included… The book contains no new insights or revelations regarding covert operations and events, nor about military strategy and tactics, and holds no unknown secrets.

  This is not a book about one particular unit or another. Rather, this is a book about a soldier who served in an elite unit— a soldier who has aspirations, succeeded, and failed, but never gave up. He mostly followed his convictions, and, like anyone, made many compromises along the way.

  Although the story is fictional, this book is personal. I could definitely have been Erez under certain circumstances. I know many people who have a little bit of Erez inside them. Not heroes— but warriors. And yes, sometimes they enjoy the warrior’s life. Either way, it was Erez’s character who directed my writing. I hope you will enjoy reading them as I enjoyed writing them.

  I would like to thank more people than brevity permits.

  This book is dedicated to my real brothers-in-arms and to my beloved wife, without whom none of this would have been possible, as well as to my squad-commander— the legendary Nachum Lev— who tragically died in a motorcycle accident.

  CHAPTER 1

  PURSUIT

  August, 2000. A military base south of Nablus, the West Bank. Erez, 42 years old, is an army major on reserves duty. Company commander.

  The night guard shook Erez awake. He groggily glanced at his watch. It was 4:45, still early. It would be at least another half hour before the rest of the soldiers woke up, had their coffee, and started loading up the trucks. Erez always hated waking up, both in the service and at home. But on reserve duty he made sure to be punctual. His position as company commander was dear to his heart; he could never quite explain to Lauren why that was. She hated the army, and viewed his reserve duty with contempt. Her European upbringing was different than his, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around the Israeli devotion to and camaraderie of the reserve army. Erez rose to his feet and started dressing meticulously: he put on a new pair of socks, comfy pants, and clean underwear, and applied a generous amount of anti-chafing cream. Just as he was finishing up, Jacob – his longstanding signaler – came in holding two cups of coffee. Erez thanked him, lit his first cigarette of the day, and the two of them walked out into the hustle and bustle of the company preparing for its assignment. Groggy soldiers walked past them, lethargically loading combat-vests, weapons, and helmets on to trucks, and then heading over to Albert, the veteran company’s cook, to get a strong cup of coffee. Albert could have delegated coffee-making duties to a staff soldier, but it had always been his habit to wake up with the rest of the company and follow them wherever they went, preparing their meals and maintaining a personal rapport with each and every one of them.

  “It’s a good company,” Erez said.

  “Looks like you’re going soft,” Jacob remarked.

  “Have been, for a while now,” he glanced over at his aging companion.

  “Yes, but only on the inside,” Jacob said.

  “Well, you gotta maintain your image,” Erez concluded. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  ***

  Ibrahim Nasser lay in a cave in the side of a cistern, his AK-47 and a bag of cartridges and magazines kept tidily by his side. He was thinking about Yusuf-Ali, whom he had sent along with his cousin to carry out a suicide bombing in Jerusalem.

  “In a bus full of children,” he instructed, “to hurt and humiliate the Zionists.”

  Ibrahim felt no pangs of conscience. His uncle had gotten him into this organization, and Ibrahim had taken his place after the Jews killed him in his home. Ibrahim lived outdoors, in the open terrain. He had no intention of repeating the same mistakes his uncle had made. He would enter the surrounding villages only under cover of night, to brief his foot soldiers, stock up on supplies, and dispatch operatives to carry out attacks. The rest of his time was spent out in the rugged expanse. As far as he was concerned, Jews were city-dwellers who didn’t know the first thing about the surrounding land. An Arab had every advantage out in the field. Jews were spoiled, over-reliant on technology. Ibrahim had become the stuff of legends among villagers, and his name travelled as far as Headquarters in Nablus. They wanted him to move to Nablus, but he was apprehensive. In the open terrain he was untouchable, but there, in the city, he’d be easy prey. The Israelis were after him, turning over every stone, interrogating his family. He lay awake, excitement coursing through his veins in anticipation of the attack that was about to be carried out. But he was nervous as well. The Jews are weak and spoiled, but they are vengeful and organized, and they have all their gadgets and contraptions, he thought to himself. If he wasn’t careful, they might arrest or kill him. But not today. Today he’d hide out here, and tonight his cousin would report back to him.

  ***

  The disorderly manner in which the soldiers unloaded the trucks irked Erez. It’s a lucky thing the enemy is inferior to us both in quantity and quality, otherwise we’d be done for by now, he thought to himself.

  Erez gestured for the platoon commanders to come over to him.

  “Yom-Tov, you stay to my right. Nadav and his platoon will be on my left. Eran, you trail in the rear, ready to move in. Maintain your lines, and divide your platoons into smaller squads. I remind you – this is a live-fire scan. If you come across something unusual or suspicious – fire at will. Just maintain your lines so we don’t shoot at each other. Hand-grenades are to be thrown only under your
express orders. Remember to report as you progress. Any questions?

  “What about breaks?” one of the commanders asked.

  “In coordination with me. Get a feel for your men. If they start to tire, let me know and we’ll stop. Remember, these guys aren’t so young anymore.”

  “Neither are you,” Eran teased. He was young, but the team now under his command was once Erez’s, and Erez gave him preferential treatment.

  “Let’s have a race when we get back, I’ll show you old.”

  “Sorry, I don’t pick on geezers.”

  “Alright, alright, enough with the nonsense. Let’s keep this tidy, and hopefully we can catch the son of a bitch today,” Erez concluded.

  The soldiers put on their helmets and combat vests. Using silent hand-gestures, the officers organized the platoons into a broad line and prepared to start scanning. Each band had a soldier trailing slightly behind, to provide safety in case of an ambush from the rear or to join in as backup in case of head-on combat.

  Erez gathered his command post in the center of the hill that was about to be scanned by the company, and cocked his M16 rifle. The sound echoed across the line, as the soldiers cocked their own rifles in reply. He pointed forward, and the long line started moving together.

  “Jacob, report we’ve started.”

  Jacob gestured to Erez that he got it, and relayed the message to headquarters. The thunderous sound of rounds going off echoed through the silence as soldiers shot into the bushes before checking them. Erez delighted in the scent of gunpowder filling the air. The thrill of the hunt made him feel strong and formidable.

  That feeling stood in complete contrast to the gloomy mood he’d been in lately, since coming to the realization that he had to shut down his startup company. With each passing day, it became increasingly clear there would be no new investors, while existing investors were losing their patience. Erez fought ferociously to save his company, but expenses were mounting and income was dwindling. Eventually, he’d had to throw in the towel and admit he’d failed. He gathered his employees and announced that the company was shutting down. He then faced the few investors left, and made sure the process was completed in an orderly manner. The warrant summoning him to reserve duty could not have come at a better time. This is what I’m meant to be doing, he concluded, bittersweet. I’m a predator, not a clerk.

  ***

  In a different place at the same time, Gal and Shunit got on the bus to school as they did every day. They were fraternal twins, ten years old. Gal was starting to hit puberty, while Shunit was still firmly preadolescent. Their developmental disparity was reflected in their relationship, with Gal becoming increasingly dominant, while his sister grew slightly clingy.

  “You see that guy, two seats in front of us?” Shunit asked.

  “What about him?” Gal wondered.

  “He looks suspicious,” Shunit asserted.

  “You’re just imagining things. Mom says we feel insecure because Dad’s in reserve duty.”

  “Mom thinks everything that’s wrong is because Dad’s on reserve duty,” Shunit shrewdly remarked.

  They both giggled. The issue of reserve duty had become a constant bone of contention between their parents. The kids tried to stay out of it. Gal was proud of his father, the army major with the imposing rifle; Shunit missed his warm embrace, so she tended to side with her mother.

  “Gal, that man scares me. Let’s get off.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “A terrorist. You remember what Dad told us. Why would he wear such a heavy coat in this heat?”

  “You’re just imagining things.”

  “Gal, please.”

  “Fine. We’ll get off at the next stop.”

  ***

  After an hour of scanning, the eagerness and fighting spirit was starting to die down. The sound of rounds going off was becoming less frequent, and the soldiers were sweating heavily. It was only 7 AM, but it was clearly going to be a scorching hot day.

  Erez called for a water break. The soldiers dropped right where they stood and started passing water canteens among themselves. Erez slumped down alongside Jacob and Yair, and looked ahead. They were on the side of a mountain, and to their left ran a channel with a nice, clear path. Above the channel, an Arab village crowned the mountaintop. Israel Border Police was keeping the village under curfew that morning. A path snaked down from the top of the mountain, patrolled by jeeps of the regular Combat Engineer force stationed in the area. The mountainside rolled on for three miles, eventually coming to a fork and splitting off into two channels. An armed lookout kept watch over the fork. Intelligence insisted that Ibrahim Nasser was hiding out on this mountainside.

  “You’re a fickly son of a bitch,” Erez muttered to himself, “but we’ll get you this time.”

  “You want candy?” Yair asked while peeling the plastic off a lozenge-shaped army sweet.

  “No thanks. You shouldn’t have any either. It’s bad for your teeth, and it’s fattening,” Erez replied.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Erez, but my teeth are already rotten and I’m already fat.”

  Erez looked over at his friend, who was already starting to lose his hair and had indeed grown chunkier. Yair was a successful accountant, and it seemed that sitting all day behind a paper-laden desk suited him well. Still, he always made it to reserve duty. Company soldiers who needed his professional assistance were always welcome, and paid when they could. Surprisingly, most of them never exploited his generosity. Erez sullenly recalled he owed Yair money for work he’d done for the company. Yair never mentioned the debt, but Erez felt he had to make an effort to repay him quickly.

  “Alright, let’s move. Let’s try to get this bastard before it gets really hot,” Erez got up and gestured to Jacob with a slight tilt of his head. After so many years together, Jacob knew what Erez wanted. He let all the platoon commanders know they were moving and informed the command post.

  ***

  Ibrahim awoke abruptly to the sound of boots shuffling and rounds going off. He grabbed his AK-47, but immediately realized how futile that was: one Soviet-era assault rifle against dozens of state-of-the-art American M16s. They couldn’t be looking for me, nobody knows I’m here, he tried to reassure himself.

  He listened in silence – the commotion was definitely heading in his direction. Voices were growing louder and clearer. They can’t find me here, they wouldn’t dare go into a cistern. Yes, the Jews were cowards – the thought comforted him, but he remained alert.

  Suddenly an explosive roar ripped through the air. Ibrahim immediately realized that was the sound of his hopes shattering. They really didn’t go into cisterns – they chucked grenades down them. The image of his body blown to bits flashed before his eyes. How did I ever think to trap myself in a hole with no exit! he thought to himself as he clasped his head tightly.

  Out of the depths of despair, he came to a decision: he would go out and face them. He would surely get killed, but at least he’d die like a hero.

  Ibrahim Nasser clutched his weapon, slung his bag over his shoulder, and stopped for a moment to listen again before heading out. They were really close, but, for some reason, they had stopped moving.

  ***

  The bus pulled into the station and Shunit rushed towards the exit. Gal reluctantly followed. “We’re gonna be late to school because of your hysterics,” he grumbled.

  Shunit turned around to reply, but from the corner of her eye she spotted the suspicious man reaching into his heavy coat. She desperately tried to force her way to the exit. Gal reached out to grab her.

  The explosion ripped through the dense air on the bus, sucking up the oxygen and building into a giant fireball. Whoever survived the initial blast died of asphyxiation. 54 people were killed, most of them children, and ten more were wounded.

  ***

 
; “Erez, command post wants you to drop everything and get over there.”

  “Tell ’em I’m busy,” Erez replied.

  “I did, but they’re adamant.”

  “Get rid of them,” Erez insisted.

  “They say it’s about your kids…”

  Erez froze in his tracks, panic flooding his body. The world seemed to move in slow motion: he noticed the strained faces around him, the light breeze cooling the sweat on his face, and the grey and white stones resting against the backdrop of the deep crimson earth. A thorny burnet bush pricked his calf through his fatigues.

  ***

  Erez mourned his children in his foreclosed house. His debtors had reluctantly agreed to delay the foreclosure for a week. Every day, streams of people came to console him. No one really had anything to say. Each of them, depending on who they were and their relation to Erez, tried to reach out to him, but he was utterly indifferent. In spite of her own grief, Lauren tried to break the ice – but Erez just sat there like a zombie, stiff and unresponsive. He nodded once in a while, and occasionally smiled to himself for no apparent reason. Guests gossiped about him out in the balcony. “He’s in shock,” they whispered to each other as they left the house, “he can’t process what happened.” Every evening, men from the nearby synagogue came to the house to join in the evening prayers. Erez participated unshaved, unbathed, and with his shirt-collar torn, as Jewish tradition dictated. He prayed thoughtlessly, mechanically going through the motions, lost in the depths of his anguish and despair.

  The funeral was a horrifying experience. Two tiny coffins, nearly empty as there wasn’t much left to bury. There had been no bawling and wailing on his part, only silent weeping. Erez said the kaddish prayer with a hollow voice and a blank stare. Ilan, his younger brother, took care of everything, and comforted their mother who was sobbing uncontrollably. Erez walked ahead of the procession; outwardly seeming composed and collected, but inwardly collapsing into a dimensionless black hole.