(Temporary Cover)
Chapter 1 Change
Here is a different ending for Chapter 1 to A Half Hour of Silence. I thought it was too depressing to start my book. There will be more than enough dark situations for my characters to overcome along the way through the coming tribulations.
The alternate chapter would have started Here.
With his arm around the branch and Rick with a firm handhold, Eddie paused panting and exhausted from the struggle with the drag of the cascading floodwaters. After a short rest, they assisted each other out of the water, gasping for air. Sitting on the waist thick branch next to the trunk, they both stared at each other with the unspoken knowledge that they had narrowly escaped death. Eddie silently thanked God for their deliverance from the dark swirling hell below them. He knew it was not luck that had saved them.
“Did you see…where Tony went?” asked Eddie, breathing heavy from their exertion.
Rick shook his head and yelled above the roar of the flood. “We have to climb out of this tree…before it goes too,” he panted. “Then find Tony and the boys!”
The colossal cottonwood leaned dangerously from the current but held firm.
“We need help, Rick,” Eddie said. “We need God’s help. Let’s pray.” Eddie’s appealing eyes looked into Rick’s.
Rick, exhausted from the struggle to gain the safety of the tree, appeared frightened. No, Eddie decided, not frightened but worried for the safety of his friends. Were Tony, Mike and Keith still alive? Did Seth make it free? If they were alive but still in danger, he and Rick had to find them very soon. Rick regarded Eddie with a tense expression on his face. Not the usual doubt or exasperation he normally gave when asked to pray to God. His eyes held hope of their friends’ survival.
“Go ahead.” Rick appeared earnest for the first time Eddie had known him when the subject of prayer came up.
Eddie nodded in thanks and bowed his head as he clung to the tree trunk and prayed.
“Father in Heaven, thank you for answering my prayer by aiding Rick and I to escape from the water. We now humbly ask You to help us find our other friends, Tony, Seth, Mike and Keith so that we can help them too. I am sorry for ignoring Thy warnings. Please forgive me and help us.” Eddie closed in Jesus’ name and glanced up at Rick. He had the strangest expression on his face that he had ever seen, resembling astonishment or wonder and nodded.
Eddie and Rick both turned to the floodwaters searching for any signs of their missing party members using their still working headlamps. Behind them, they heard a shout. Thinking it was Tony, Eddie turned to find Seth on the bank of the raging, flooding river. This was the first time he was ever glad to see Seth, Eddie thought. He had Rick’s emergency pack on his back, a rope in one hand and a flashlight in the other, which he now turned towards them as they both yelled his name. They discovered that one of the stout cottonwood’s tree branches spanned to the edge of the floodwaters enabling them to easily join Seth on the shore.
“Let’s get out of here!” Seth’s eyes were wide in panic as the hand holding the flashlight shook.
“No. We have to find Tony and the rest,” Eddie insisted, giving Seth a blistering look.
“That’s right!” said Rick, his face hard.
“I doubt that they’re alive.” Seth stared wide eyed with a haunted look. “You two barely made it. I saw how you almost d…drowned back there.”
“We are all they have right now,” Rick said with single-minded determination. “I will not leave until we find them, no matter what!”
Eddie did not want to think what the ‘no matter what’ may mean. They have to be alive, he told himself, refusing to imagine any other alternative.
Eddie took Rick’s more powerful Maglite from Seth and began searching the debris on the shore and the few trees still struggling to stand against the floodwaters. They called out their friends names, barely audible above the roar of the torrent and the rain shower. The tree Rick and Eddie had found safety in, finally gave up its fight against the press of the current and the debris caught in its branches, rolled over into the floodwaters and was pulled into the depths as the boys walked away.
Eddie led, as the three boys made their way along the thinning riverbank searching for their friends. The canyon soon began to narrow and Eddie’s hope began to fade. The muddy floodwaters now filled the canyon from wall to wall.
“It’s hopeless. We must go back,” insisted Seth with relief in his voice, seeing their path blocked by floodwater.
Saying another silent prayer, Eddie asked God what they should do. A feeling prompted him to shine the light up the side of the cliff. In the dark, he discerned a ledge above their heads. Shinning the light left and right, he saw that a rock shelf formation ran parallel fifteen feet above the canyon wall.
“Rick, see that ledge?” asked Eddie, shinning the light at the ledge. “That could be a better vantage point to find the rest of the guys. Can you make it up there in this rain?”
“Yes.” With a curt nod, eye narrowing, Rick examined the face of the wall in the glow of his headlamp. Finding what he was looking for, he reached for the rope in Seth’s hand and began to climb, picking his hand and foot holds swiftly, with the ease of years of experience. Rick was the best rock climber of the Troop and easily reached the top of the ledge with a speed and agility on the wet slippery rock that amazed Eddie.
Rick disappeared from view for a few moments as he secured the rope. He reappeared and tossed a coil of rope down to the waiting boys. Seth ran to the rope, shouldering Eddie out of his way, and caught it hurriedly before Eddie could try for it. Eyes wide in panic and without a word he scrambled up the rope to safety. Eddie, shaking his head, waited until Seth had reached the top before joining them on the ledge.
As Eddie reached the rock shelf, the rain began to ease to a drizzle. He saw that the ledge was twelve feet at the widest and followed the cliff’s face for as far as he could see in the light of the Maglite. The three boys cautiously picked their way around rock outcrops and boulders they encountered as they followed the shelf downriver in search for their friends.
They found Tony fifteen minutes later barely clinging to a rock outcropping not far from the ledge, fifteen feet below them, the raging current tugging at him. Tony appeared pale and weak as he turned his head toward them when the light hit him. He feebly raised his arm in supplication and said something. Eddie couldn’t understand what he said over the roar of the water but understood his intent. Tony seemed to be pointing down the canyon as if to say someone else needed assistance.
Rick made a twirling motion with the rope to Tony, pantomimed tying the rope around his waist, and pointed at Tony. He nodded and waved for the rope. Rick coiled up enough rope to reach Tony and threw it using the skills his grandfather had taught him over the summers calf roping. The loop of rope flew toward the rock where Tony clung. The rain and wind caught it, forcing the loop to land in the water behind him. Rick hastily re-coiled the rope and tried again, this time compensating for the wind. Tony narrowly caught it and tied it with difficulty around his waist with a bowline knot, grimacing in pain. It took all three of the boys straining with difficulty to pull their heavy friend off the rock, up the cliff face and onto the shelf. Tony grunted and moaned in pain all the way to the safety of the ledge.
In the light from their headlamps they were able to now see how terribly injured their friend was. Tony had a flap of skin the size of his palm hanging from the back of his head and many facial cuts. His arms were covered in cuts and bleeding gashes. His shirt and pants were ripped to shreds and the worst part was his right leg. It was at an odd angle as if he had two knees, his femur sticking through his skin and pant leg. Seth took a step back, turned his head and vomited. Rick took the emergency pack from Seth and began to assess the damage to Tony. Rick with Eddie’s help, immediately began to use their First Aid training. They bound the most grievous wounds to staunch the bleeding and then went about stabilizing the leg.
“Eddie, go get two forked branches, at least two inches thick, off that mesquite tree,” Rick said, nodding at the shadow nearby. “One six feet long and the other four.” Eddie knew exactly what Rick wanted and quickly found the branches they needed to set Tony’s leg.
Rick crouched down next to the crooked leg touching and probing. Tony grunted in pain through clenched teeth, eyes tearing in pain. He understood what Rick was doing and endured the agony.
“Can you feel this?” Rick asked, tenderly touching the skin, avoiding the jagged bone sticking through his pant leg. He began at the foot and went up past the bone to the waist.
Tony briskly nodded his head with his eyes shut tight.
“Okay, there appears to be no nerve damage or major internal bleeding. You’re lucky,” Rick said. “Now the fun part, we’re going to have to set the leg, Tony, so we can carry you out. You ready?” Tony grimaced again and nodded.
Rick took the longer branch, placed the fork under his right armpit, and carefully laid it out next to the broken leg. Next, he placed the fork of the shorter branch in Tony’s crotch avoiding any delegate organs down there. Both splints extended past Tony’s heal by at least a foot. With rope from the pack, he secured the splints at the hip and waist and attached a short crosspiece of wood at the other end, at least twelve inches past his foot. Next he tied a loop around the ankle of the broken leg, holding the ends of the rope in both hands. Rick sat down near the crosspiece at end of the splints, facing Tony and placed a booted heal against each one and braced his legs. Rick readied himself, taking out the slack and looked up at his hurt friend, a fierce tight grin on his face.
“Ready?”
Tony nodded, dreading what was coming.
“On three. One…two…three!” Rick leaned back, muscles tensing as he pulled the rope tied around the ankle stretching Tony’s leg back toward him. A scream of pain escaped Tony’s clenched teeth as his thick thigh muscles stretched, pulling the bone back under his skin.
“Is it far enough?” Rick asked through tight jaw muscles, looking up at Eddie.
“Yes, the legs are the same length. Tie it off.”
Rick quickly tied off the rope to the cross piece to keep the leg in traction and the bone, hopefully, in place until they can get Tony to a doctor. Eddie looked over at his injured friend and found he had passed out. He’s in shock!
“Tony! Wake up! You gotta stay awake, buddy, or you’ll die.” Eddie patted Tony’s cheeks trying to keep him alert. Tony’s eye fluttered. He grunted as Rick tied more ropes around the splint to keep the leg immobile.
“I thought I heard Mike yelling from down river,” Tony mumbled through swollen lips and clenched jaws as his friends finished tying off the splints. He began to shiver and started babbling about seeing snakes in the flooded river. Eddie took from Rick’s pack an emergency blanket to cover his friend before he could succumb to the shock.
“What did he say? Did he say sn…snakes?” stammered Seth, looking around him in fear.
“Forget about the snakes,” said Eddie in contempt. “Take this flashlight and rope and see if you can find Mike and Keith. We’ll take care of Tony.” Eddie knew Seth would be less than useless aiding their injured friend in the panicked state he was in. “Tony said he heard them just a little ways down river. Go find them.”
~~~
Seth would rather run the other way but knew in frustration he wouldn’t get far without the help of Eddie and Rick. He was stuck in this hell-filled canyon until they got Tony in shape to walk or at least be carried out. Seth reluctantly nodded to Eddie, took the light and rope and picked his way carefully along the narrowing ledge, searching for snakes in every shadow while at the same time periodically shining the light into the raging torrent. His intention was to go far enough away from Eddie and Rick, wait a suitable amount of time, and return to inform his friends that he was unable to find the two morons, much to everyone’s sadness. Walking away from his companions Seth noticed that the rain had stopped and the moon peaked from behind a cloud.
Why should I stick my neck out for those two idiots, Seth asked himself, anger replacing the fear he had felt now that he saw that the water stopped rising, the danger for him having passed. They wouldn’t listen to anyone and camped right on the creek. If it wasn’t for them we’d all be high and dry right now and safely away from this cursed river.
Seth, after following the ledge for roughly fifty yards, decided this was far enough. Setting on a large rock, he stopped and rested still looking out for snakes. A faint sound just barely audible above the freight train sound of the thundering river tickled his ears.
Did I hear something?
Standing, he shown his light out toward the river. Below him he was surprised to see Mike at the edge of the torrent clinging to a scrub oak bush growing from a crack in the cliff with one arm and the other around the armpits of his limp friend Keith. Both appeared in deplorable shape, bleeding from countless cuts and gashes. As soon as the light hit him, Mike began to yell for help. They were just below him, maybe ten feet from where Seth stood.
Seth remained there motionless, considering.
These two imbeciles are the reason for Rick and Eddie almost drowning in the flood and for all of Tony’s injuries. Who knows, he could be dead by now and just because of the acts of these two idiots. Seth showed the light back the way he had come to make sure no one was there. Rick and Eddie were out of sight and earshot further back around the bend trying to save Tony’s life. Up ahead a short distance the shelf ended.
What would Rick do, Seth asked himself, mocking the brave hero of the group.
He’d tie off the rope to this rock at my feet, climb down and rescue the two cretins, Seth answered, a scornful grin on his lips.
Do they deserve it? Could I do it if I wanted to? Yes I could, Seth decided.
If I wanted to, he thought darkly.
That was the question.
As Seth was deliberating whether to save the two boys or not, he was bathed in bright light.
~~~
Keith in desperation wrapped his legs around his unconscious friend. With the crook of his arm locked around the small oak trunk, he felt his strength going. In a desperate hope, Keith quickly fished around in his pocket with his other hand and found his water-proof flashlight. He knew he did not have much strength left and needed assistance soon or he and Keith would drown. He shined the light up to the cliff wondering what the people above him were doing. He spotted a figure standing above him on a ledge. It was Seth with a rope in his hand! We’re saved, he thought, encouragement replacing his hopeless panic.
“Help us, please, I can’t hold on much longer!” He yelled desperately.
Seth didn’t move. He stared down at him with dispassionate eyes. Like a reptile regarding an interesting bug it had never seen before.
He just stood there…. turned off his light…and waited!
“Seth, help us, don’t leave us!” Mike cried. He was exhausted from hanging onto both the bush and his friend against the strong current for what seemed an eternity. His grip began to slip.
Mike yelled one last time, “Seth, please!”
~~~
Seth watched for nearly fifteen minutes for that stubborn Mike to give up and let go. He sure is taking his sweet time, thought Seth with exasperated impatience. As he watched, Seth saw a huge shadow tumbling out of the darkness. It loomed over the boys clinging to the bush. Mike screamed, in defiance or futility, Seth wasn’t sure, as what appeared as a shed roof swept the boys down the river and out of sight.
Well it’s about time, thought Seth, as he stood and turned away from the ledge with relief. Now I can free myself from this retched canyon. I’ll first have to explain how I found Mike and Keith and valiantly tried to rescue them with much effort. Too late of course, he chuckled to himself, to save the two boys.
Rick and Eddie had just finished binding the last of Tony’s wounds when Seth walked up. Tony glanced up searching for his brother but didn’t see him. Seth was alone.
“Where’s Mike and Keith?” demanded Tony through pain clenched teeth.
Seth shook his head, attempting to put sadness into his expression rather than the relief he felt.
“Where are they Seth?” Rick asked evenly, eyes narrowing.
“Gone,” Seth said in the saddest tone he could muster, shaking his head.
“I heard them, they were just there”, insisted Tony through his pain, eyes glistening.
“A roof or something swept them down the river as I was trying to rescue them,” lied Seth, trying not to laugh remembering the look of terror on Mike’s face when he saw the roof materialize out of the darkness.
“Oh God, no,” cried Tony, burying his face in his bleeding hands and sobbed.
Rick and Eddie both held Seth in a steely glaze.
Do they know, thought Seth, wondering if he had given himself away.
Examining Eddie’s face he saw incredulity. Rick was stern, trying to accept the new horrible reality that had just hit them.
Tony sobbed in misery.
Seth exalted in triumph.
~~~
Sometime during the night, a National Guard Blackhawk helicopter flew overhead and plucked the four boys off the rock shelf. Luckily, the flood waters had begun to recede as they waited. The rescue team took them to the Havasupai trailhead where the National Guard had set up a makeshift aid station and where ambulances took the most seriously injured to the nearest hospital in Peach Springs. Helicopters came and went all night long picking up stranded hikers and villagers in the flooded canyon. Rick found the college girls at the aid station, who told of a harrowing rescue but all were safe with nothing but a few cuts and scratches. They had camped closer to the canyon wall and had been warned in time by the runner from the village. Nearly all of the hikers, one party of kayakers and the villagers were all accounted for by the search teams.
Only two were missing, Mike and Keith.
Tony lay in a drug-hazed silence on the gurney of the ambulance as it sped along Route 66 to the hospital. Seth stared off into the distance avoiding Eddie’s eye contact who was watching him in judgment. Rick sat in nervous energy, fighting the reality of their nightmare of that night and somehow wishing he could wake up from it to see Mike and Keith laughing from the prank they had played on everyone.
Why hadn’t we listened to Eddie’s repeated warnings, thought Rick, gritting his teeth in frustration. He was so sure that their last adventure together before they went their separate ways would have been a day of cheerful remembrance. They’d sure remember this night alright, thought Rick. A living nightmare never to be forgotten. Rick glanced over at the hunched over Eddie who was staring unseeing at his boots.
After helping to carry Tony from the helicopter to the aid station, Rick had found Eddie alone sobbing behind the large Red Cross tent. He had tried to comfort him. Eddie had blamed himself for the boys’ apparent death, for not being more insistent on leaving for higher ground earlier.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Rick had said, placing an arm around his grieving friend’s shoulders. “We are the ones who made fun of your warnings, especially Mike and Keith.”
“It’s not your fault,” Rick insisted again more forcefully, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
“I knew deep down I should have done something but I didn’t have the courage to act on what God warned me to do. I ignored His warning to me, Rick. You guys merely ignored the warnings from a fallible friend, me. I ignored the Holy Ghost’s prompting from God. I’ll never do that again.” Eddie said, turning to look into his eyes. His words sounded like a promise, not to Rick but to God.
As they all rode in the ambulance, Eddie reached over and took Tony’s hand as he laid in the gurney. His eyes were unblinking, as he gravely looked into Tony’s.
“No matter what happens buddy I will always be there for you,” Eddie said with unshakable conviction.
“Thanks. That means a lot to me Eddie,” Tony mumbled. “I’ve got your back too buddy,” tears welling up in his eyes.
Rick reached over too and placed his right hand over their grip. “No matter where I am I’ll be there for both of you,” Rick said, adding his promise to his two friends who meant more to him than life.
“All for one and one for all,” Rick added softly, the beginning of a smile grew on his lips. How many times had they said that before? Must be hundreds of times. This time he felt the words deep within him. Rick looked into the others’ eyes firmly, each sealing that promise into their souls.
~~~
Seth sat in silence as he heard the oath. Oh brother, the ‘three stooges’ should realize you can’t depend on anyone. Sooner or later they’ll stab each other in the back. Where will their precious oath be then! If life has taught me anything, it is to not depend on others, family and friends above everyone else. They’ll stab you in the back the first chance they get!
Seth sat staring at the floor of the ambulance. He could still hear a faint voice calling, “Seth, save us, please!” Seth smirked. At least those two cretans won’t be insulting me or my Mom again, he told himself, satisfaction filling his thoughts. As for the ‘Three Stooges’ they could join Mike and Keith for all I care. I am done with these self-righteous Boy Scouts, he thought derisively.
A week later, the cleanup crew found Mike and Keith’s bodies tangled in a debris field several miles downriver.
Operation Ezekiel
Major General David Nassi
Tel Nof Air Force Base, Judea, Israel
A cool desert breeze stirred the cool air of the dark moon–swept night. A lone raptor on wing, crossed the full moon rising over the Judean hill country, blocking its silver light for an instant as it glided on a thermal, hunting for a field mouse to pounce upon. How appropriate, Nassi thought. Soon the skies would be full of the Israel Defense Forces' own nocturnal birds of prey. Except these predators are hunting for much bigger game.
Major General David Nassi stood, surrounded by a covey of his staff, just off the crowded flight line of Tel Nof Air Force Base. Nassi was of average height with a muscular build acquired from his early days of welterweight boxing. He stood with his back straight, feet shoulder width apart, and hands held relaxed behind his back. Tonight he wore his neat, well-used, olive green Class B uniform sans all the medals and awards he earned over the years in the service to his country. Tonight was business, not an awards dinner or ceremony. All the displays of honor Nassi needed were his paratrooper's maroon beret, neatly tucked in his left shoulder epaulette and the matching red jump boots he proudly wore.
Nassi's expression relaxed as he watched the approach of two of Israel's best helicopter pilots. A man of medium height and a much shorter woman, both wearing khaki green flight suits, strode across the taxiway toward him. They were the last of the crewmembers to mount the awaiting helicopters. Eighteen menacing attack helicopters were perched on the tarmac, rotors slowing, thumping the night air in anticipation of their order to take off.
Major Uri Klein, their squadron commander, was a thin, energetic man, who tonight wore a hard, severe expression. He took Nassi's rough hand in his in a firm handshake. Nassi nodded and reached over to greet Klein's gunner, Captain Ariella Shapiro. "General Nassi, any last instructions for my squadron?" Klein asked in a cold flat tone. "No, Major Klein," Nassi said, raising his voice to be heard over the rumble of the waiting helicopters. "I have nothing to add from last night's briefing. I wanted to personally wish you and your crews good luck."
"Thank you, sir." He nodded stiffly.
"Are your people ready?"
Klein's face took on the look of a predator. "We're ready to blaze a trail through those animals for you and your brigade, sir. My squadron will make sure you have a safe landing zone (LZ)," Klein said, venom in his voice. Nassi wasn't surprised. The Fogelbaums, a family of five who were kidnapped by Al-Quds Martyrs Brigades were cousins of his, after all. Nassi considered using another squadron but Klein's professionalism was legendary. He was confident Klein would not let emotions cloud his judgment when he came to grips with the enemy.
"I don't expect miracles from you, Major. There's a lot of terrorists up there. I just need your squadron to give the Special Forces units the necessary assistance to clear the landing zone for my paratroopers."
"Yes, sir. I understand," Klein responded with a wolfish grin. "Just waiting for the word."
Nassi admired the audaciousness and bravery of Klein's squadron. They flew the feared AH-64H Apache Longbow attack helicopter. For an air element, they often came within knife distance of their foes. Well maybe not knives but their missions often took them into rifle and machinegun fire, not to mention dodging the odd handheld missile or two.
The Israelis dubbed their most effective ground support weapon, the Wasp or Saraph. The Apache ruled every battlefield they flew over for good reason. Each carried 1,200 rounds for their devastating 30 mm chain gun hanging under the nose. In addition, tonight they would carry thirty-eight, 70 mm air-to-ground high explosive rockets in twin pods on either side of the fuselage. More than sufficient firepower to support the initial strike teams, Nassi told himself.
Nassi glanced down at his watch.
"We shouldn't keep your people waiting, Major. You have a job to do." He took a step back as Klein saluted. Nassi returned the salute. "Good hunting, Major . . . Captain."
Klein and Shapiro turned and jogged over to their waiting Saraph. Nassi watched as they climbed into their helicopter and prepared for takeoff.
"General," shouted Major Riese, his second-in-command, or 2IC, attempting to be heard over the roaring engines of the rising Saraphs. "We must get going ourselves. You don't want to make us late for the party."
Nassi quirked a smile and jerked his head in a "Let's go" gesture. He and his 2IC turned from the ascending Saraph attack helicopters and jogged across the dark tarmac to the other squadron of helicopters waiting for the commander of Joint Task Force Eagle to join them. Twenty-three CH-53 cargo helicopters sat menacingly on the tarmac, filled with paratroopers and bristled with 50 cal machineguns. These heavy-lift airships were as big as a passenger bus and functioned as the workhorses of the mobile IDF units. Tonight they would take Nassi and his men to the enemy.
When General Nassi opened up the warning order from General Mofaz giving him command of Joint Task Force Eagle, it hadn't come unexpected. After the Israeli Defense Force's preemptive strike on Iran's nuclear weapons program, it was followed up swiftly by crushing retaliatory attacks from Iran's surrogates––Hamas, Hezbollah, and Fatah. Thousands of jihadists responded to the war cries against Israel in Judea, Samaria, Gaza, and southern Lebanon. Now only a few pockets of fighting remained. The Al-Quds Martyrs Brigades of Fatah were the most troubling and difficult to uproot. They captured and fortified much of Old Jerusalem. Everyone, especially the jihadists, knew that urban combat was the most difficult of battlefields to fight in. The Israelis, by necessity, became experts at fighting the enemy in their own cities and villages since the jihadists were more than happy to dare the IDF to fight among Palestinian houses, hospitals and schools, using their own populations to hide behind.
The Defense Minister, Moshe Sokoloff, insisted the IDF conduct an armored assault three weeks ago, which General Nassi warned would fail. Sokoloff and the general staff ignored Nassi's advice. As Nassi feared, the jihadis turned the assault back with heavy casualties using machinegun, mortar and anti-tank missile fire.
In retaliation for the failed IDF attack, the Al-Quds Martyrs Brigades kidnapped a family of five from a nearby village––Moshe and Rachel Fogelbaum and their three small children. The commander of the Al Quds Brigades were threatening to torture and kill the whole family if the IDF attempted another assault on their Al-Haram al-Sharif.
After the failed attempt, the High Command reluctantly gave Nassi the green light on his own audacious plan. Along with his 35th Paratrooper Brigade, they gave Nassi the assistance of the Sayeret Matkal, Sayeret Duvdevan, and Yamas from Shin Bet––three of Israel's top Special Forces units––in a desperate gamble to dig the Al-Quds Martyrs Brigades out of Jerusalem and rescue the hostages. After putting his task force through fourteen long, grueling days of training, Nassi's command team knew their chances of success were high. They also had no misconceptions about the high casualty rate they would likely sustain in that victory.
This necessity bothered Nassi the most about his mission. He loathed the idea of sacrificing so many of his people in this endless war his nation faced. He and his command team wargamed all of the possibilities but were limited by the light forces he had available to him, and the high concentration of enemy combatants and the fortifications they hid behind. Nassi and his tactical team were determined to rely on audacity and surprise rather than overwhelming firepower to crack this nut.
Climbing the helicopter's ramp, Nassi saluted the alert crewman at the heavy machinegun mounted on the ramp near the door. His command helicopter would be the first to take off and the first to land. And despite the vociferous objections by his command team, he would be the first to step off the ramp. Nassi was the kind of leader who led from the front and refused to hide behind a desk. His Headquarters Company knew that the life expectancy of such a leader was short on the modern battlefield and made sure there were lots of big men with equally big guns around their beloved commander.
Nassi quickly buckled into his seat and placed his headphones on.
"Situation report, Charles," Nassi prompted his senior staff officer, Major Penzik, who was monitoring the radio reports.
"Our snipers and drones report no unusual activity at the objective. The Matkalists are approaching the release point. Nemerah and Colonel Weiss are ready and awaiting the word to go."
Nassi only hesitated for a heartbeat. All the planning and preparations were done. Now all that was needed was the doing.
"Tell them we're just taking off and to give us a little time to get in closer," he said, his face grim. Nassi nodded to the pilot, who pushed the throttle down and lifted the CH-53's tail as it stately rose into the air and headed northeast toward the objective.
Opposite Nassi sat Brigadier General Eliezer, IDF's Chief Rabbi. His long dark hair and beard were flecked with gray, and his blue eyes considered Nassi through thick dark eyebrows. He smiled at his friend. Eliezer insisted on coming with Nassi. He argued with Nassi that this was the most important operation the IDF had ever performed since the Six–Day War of '67. Eliezer told him, "I'm not going to be left behind to sit, waiting by my monitor, and watch men and women die without the comfort of their rabbi."
The small and energetic general had been a father figure for the young David Nassi and he couldn't refuse his old mentor. Nassi's father died during the Yom Kippur War back in 1973. Eliezer, as a family friend, helped the younger Nassi overcome his loss and became his military mentor and teacher of the Tanakh, their Scriptures. Eliezer taught him to conquer the intense hatred he felt toward his enemies and to replace that enmity with love of God and his Jewish heritage. Eliezar also taught him to love his country, the land that God gave his people, which in the end, inspired him to follow his father and join the IDF, to offer his life in its defense.
Watching farms and orchards pass under him in the moonlit night, Nassi remembered the prayer Eliezar gave in the Task Force's last briefing just a few hours ago. General Eliezer had offered a blessing for all the men and women of Joint Task Force Eagle. The short, humble man had taken the folds of the prayer shawl that draped his shoulders and covered his head. A kind smile shown on his face as Eliezer began the prayer in a soft but firm voice.
"Oh, God, hear our prayer this night. These brave men and women are about to face our enemies in battle. May our hearts not fear. May we be brave in the face of our enemies—for it is HaShem, our God, who goes before us to battle against our foes. May the Lord deliver us from our enemies and confound their plans. Please be with these soldiers of the IDF, the emissaries of our nation, who are in a battle for our survival. Make them strong and courageous. Fight our fight, battle our battles, Oh, God. Make our enemies like the whirling dust or as stubble before the wind. As the fire burns the forest and the flames consume the mountains, so pursue them with Thy tempest, and make them afraid with Thy storm. Fill their faces with shame, Oh, Lord. Let them be confounded and troubled forever. Yea, let them be put to shame and perish. That men may know that Thou, whose name alone is God, art the Most High over all the earth. Amen."
Nassi, as did many others in the big hanger, had tear-stained cheeks as echoes of "amen" filled the crowded space. Nassi remembered feeling the Spirit whisper to him, as if to say, You are doing the right thing, My son. Tonight, many on both sides will die and return back to Me. Through your actions, My people will receive many blessings from tonight's momentous events.
I pray that Thou will help us prevail this night, Adonai, Nassi prayed silently in the loud vibrating confines of the helicopter.
Major Riese turned to Nassi. "Colonel Weiss has 'reminded' us his men are ready."
Nassi smiled with a lopsided grin on his face and nodded. Weiss, ever the eager one to get it over with.
"Give him the go-ahead signal," Nassi said firmly as his eyes turned hard as steel. "The music has begun, and the dance is about to begin."
Colonel Simon Weiss
Colonel Simon Weiss strode into the abandoned warehouse where his men and women prepared for their mission. A yellow glow from the overhead lights illuminated the crowded interior filled with delivery trucks and Duvdevan operators. The scent of dust and diesel permeated the dry air. All around him, men and women were busy checking trucks that were "filled" with boxes of "food" and supplies for the terrorists in Jerusalem. In actuality, the 'supplies' were false fronts hiding the rest of his men from enemy inspection. Weiss could feel their nervousness, as they busied themselves preparing for the coming firefight. Their professionalism kept that undercurrent of unease at bay as they hurried about the hanger, finishing last minute tasks.
Weiss' Sayeret Duvdevan were the cream of Israeli Special Forces. Actually they were the cherry on top of that cream. Unit 217 was named duvdevan, which meant cherry in Hebrew. His men and women often boasted that other units, such as Nassi's paratroopers and the various sayeret, or reconnaissance units, might be the cream of the IDF's armed forces, but the Duvdevan were the cherry on top of that cream. The Duvdevan were one of the Mista'aravim, or Arabist units, of the IDF. The Arabist units' missions were to infiltrate the enemy, identify their leaders and either snatch them off the street or end their career of terrorism permanently and send them to their awaiting seventy-two virgins.
Colonel Weiss loved his people. Each was a patriot of their tiny nation and was filled with love for their Jewish heritage. Almost every one of the recruits was from the new Aliyah, or migration, from almost every corner of the world. The Jews' enemies found they could not defeat the Israel military on the field of battle; therefore they adapted their attacks to the battlefield of ideas, using propaganda, disinformation, and anti-Semitic biases against them. They waged this new war in the political arena, across social and mainstream media. This information war resulted in spreading bigotry and hatred like a wildfire in the streets and the shrinking neighborhoods wherever Jews congregated around the world.
This new wave of persecution intensified to the point that many felt compelled, for the safety of their wives and children, to flee to the one place on earth they could worship in peace, Israel. They were calling this growing tide of fleeing refugees, the Second Great Aliyah, an exodus that surpassed all the other mass migrations from the past by several magnitudes. While the secular Jews were forced because of safety to migrate, the faithful Jews were drawn by the call of their ancestors, who preceded them in Israel's long, colorful history. Language, culture, and religion were encoded in their DNA and drew the long–absent descendants back to their home.
This Second Great Aliyah created an IDF that was truly a melting pot. Corporal Maurice Bloch, his driver, stood next to Weiss with a grim smile on his face as he waited for the men to gather around their commander. Bloch was from Paris, France. He joined the Aliyah because a mob drove his family out of their burning home.
Standing next to his truck, Sergeant Jon Cohen held his big Negev belt-fed light machine gun at port arms, the butt resting on his wide hip. Jon was beaten by a group of thugs on his way to his synagogue in Brooklyn because he dared to wear his yarmulke in public.
Lieutenant Natan Dimitriev gathered his men to hear their commander's last–minute instructions. Dimitriev's wife was raped and killed in one of the more horrendous pogroms in Russian history, where government-inspired mobs burned down whole neighborhoods in St. Petersburg and Moscow.
Sergeant Yona da Gama, Weiss's demolitions expert, fled Brazil after gangs swept through Jewish neighborhoods, beating anyone they saw walking the streets. These men and women fled the violence and returned to the home God gave them in an attempt to worship and live in peace.
Weiss jumped up to the open tailgate of the beat–up pickup truck he was to ride in at the front of the resupply caravan and stood at parade rest. In the back of the truck were several "slave girls," or at least that's what they appeared to be. They wore skimpy, dirty dresses and had "bruises and cuts" deftly painted on their skin. Under the blankets upon which they sat, lay hidden objects any "slave" was never allowed to touch. Weiss considered these girls his "daughters," for most of them were of the same age as his own three girls.
Weiss scanned the room silently and waited until he had everyone's attention.
"Tonight you will be heading into battle," he began. His eyes held his people in a resolute gaze. "A thousand terrorists wait to greet us on the Temple Mount. These men desecrate our Temple site and their own third holiest mosque by using it as a base to spread their religion of terror to the innocent civilians of Jerusalem, whether they be Christian, Jew or Muslim. You have all seen the atrocities they have committed on the news and social media. Their rockets and mortars bring down homes upon the heads of women and children; their rifle bullets indiscriminately kill schoolchildren and aging grandparents. Now they have kidnapped the Fogelbaum family and threaten to torture and behead them if we try to stop their reign of terror. We will not let that happen," he growled, bare steel in his voice, his eyes hard.
A murmur of agreement rose from the gathered men and women before Weiss.
"In the briefing last night, you all heard how we are to coordinate with the Sayeret Matkal and Yamas in securing the LZs on the Temple Mount for Nassi's 35th Paratroopers Brigade," Weiss said pausing. His frown gradually lifted and became to a smirk.
"We are not going to jump out of a perfectly good airplane and parachute to the objective as our comrades in arms, the Sayeret Matkal, are doing tonight," he said, taking a mocking tone, waving his hand grandly in the air.
A few catcalls and rude remarks came from his men. The Duvdevan always boasted that they were the best of the Sayeret units, much to the chagrin of the Matkalists and others.
"Neither will we skulk over a wall like the Yamas operators with their civilian contractors they are babysitting," said Weiss with an exaggerated dismissive tone as a corner of his mouth lifted. More whistles and catcalls erupted from the crowd of men and women dressed like civilians.
"No, we are going to walk through the front door and kick Haji in the teeth!" Colonel Simon Weiss stood, feet braced apart, chest out and fists held at his hips. A roar of approval erupted at Colonel Weiss's swaggering bravado. He allowed his people to cheer for a few minutes then raised a hand.
"The Al-Quds Brigade is expecting a resupply very shortly. We will begin an hour before they are to arrive––only we won't be bringing food, ammunition and sex slaves." He paused for dramatic affect. "Oh, we will have lots of ammo. But we will deliver it. One. Slug. At a time!"
Cheers and whistles met Weiss's raucous boasting. The applause was so loud and rowdy, he worried the metal roof would come down. Weiss allowed his people to drink in the moment, then lifted his hand, palm out. He knew his people needed supreme confidence in what they were about to do. Tonight they would need every ounce of courage to pull off what he and Nassi had planned.
"We will have very beautiful women with us to help with our 'ammo distribution.'" He waved a hand at the women behind him in the bed of the truck." Their hands were 'tied' and they knelt on blankets. Underneath those blankets were Galils and grenades, the tools of their trade. "We have a dozen volunteers from among our small arms instructors at Beit Mitkan Adam to pose as Jewish and Christian sex slaves! These are not the frightened, battered, and abused women they are accustomed to. Their foreplay will be Krav Maga, the dagger and 7.62 slugs!"
A thunderous cheer rose around Weiss in the warehouse. The walls vibrated with the operators' fervor. The beauty and ability of the female instructors of the IDF's Camp Mitkan Adam—where all Special Forces operators went for training—were legendary. Colonel Weiss never lacked for volunteers. He had asked for recruits at the school to pose as "sex slaves" to help them get past the guards. He knew not a man among the lustful and misogynistic jihadists would deny admittance through their gate to these beautiful women.
"In a clandestine operation just a few hours ago, we 'borrowed' the leader of the real resupply convoy and now have him in custody. The Al-Quds do not know he is missing. Lieutenant Zimman, who looks remarkably like him, will take command of our convoy full of the fierce Duvdevan," said Colonel Simon Weiss to catcalls and whistles of approval.
"Mount your vehicles." Weiss jumped down to the ground. "It's time we head for the Gate of Tribes and introduce the terrorists to hell!" he exclaimed, a predatory grin on his face.
All around him, the Duvdevan were loading into their trucks and gunning their engines in excitement and anticipation of the coming fight.
Master Sergeant Simon Novak
Master Sergeant Simon Novak of the Sayeret Matkal lugged his heavy 'Barak' .338 Lapua Magnum rifle to his new position. A star shell burst over the target and lit it up as if it were noonday. Novak grimaced as he crouched over to keep out of sight as the dark night turned to day. The IDF cut power to this area of Jerusalem to keep the enemy in the dark. Now Israeli artillery illumination rounds made a brilliant contrast of dark shadows and brilliant swaths of light.
"Stupid!" Cursed Novak at his "more enlightened" superiors. The illumination shells were supposed to ruin the night vision of the terrorists' sentries, but they forget the bright light does the same to us! he grumbled to himself.
"Right here," said Novak a little too testily. He and his spotter reached their planned position.
He knelt and went prone, carefully inching his way on his elbow and kneepads over the cold hard shingles to the edge of the roof. He stopped next to the air-conditioning unit he planned to use as cover. His spotter, Sergeant Greenberg, lay behind his right shoulder. Greenberg set up his Leopold spotting scope on the tripod and searched the objective six hundred meters away for that last sniper that he and the other Matkal sniper teams were hunting. Each of the teams were assigned a zone to cover. His was the southwest quadrant.
"See him?" asked Novak, adjusting himself and his rifle into a comfortable position.
Greenberg was silent behind him, studying the objective. Novak knew his teammate well. Greenberg was good at this deadly game of hide-and-seek and earned high marks in sniper school.
"Got 'em!" Greenberg announced. "Right-hand corner of the Fakhria Minaret's parapet."
Novak nodded in acknowledgement and swung his point of aim to the left until he found the squared-towered minaret that rose eighty feet above street level. An ornately carved stone parapet surrounded the platform where the call to prayer was given five times each day. The Al-Quds sniper had chosen the northeast corner as his hide site, just under one of the huge speakers. His kneeling spotter was searching through a scope next to him, desperately trying to find his enemies before they found him.
As Novak watched, the spotter stopped tracking. His scope was a perfect circle. Novak could almost see his target's eye grow larger as he excitedly spoke to his partner.
"They see us," said Greenberg excitedly.
"Yeah, I see 'em," Novak said and began the breathing technique they taught him in sniper school called 'box breathing.'
Matkal snipers were trained to make kill shots past two thousand yards. Long-distance shooting was much more complicated than simply sighting in a scope and pulling a trigger. At those distances, the sniper was required to sit in a classroom for days, learning the effects of distance, altitude, temperature, heat, wind, and humidity all had on a bullet's flight. Many, many more hours were needed to adapt that knowledge on the gun range, until the sniper could almost calculate all of the many variables by feel. Adrenalin coursed through Novak's veins as he watched his enemy turn his rifle towards him. Novak quickly adjusted his scope for the shot and paused, forcing his breathing to go shallow and his heartbeat to slow. Clear your mind, Si.
His prey, the Al-Quds sniper, steadied his rifle.
Novak held the rifle like it was his newborn daughter––secure and steady but not too tight.
The Jihadi spotter was now yelling something at his partner.
Novak gently squeezed his trigger until he felt it engage the sear. The prey waited, dead-still, just as Novak did.
Novak subconsciously was keeping track of his heartbeats. In between two beats, at the bottom of his breath, he gently squeezed the trigger. The big gun bucked into his shoulder. At almost the same instant, he saw a flash and smoke erupt from his target's own muzzle.
Greenberg cursed as he ducked down. They both waited for the rounds to find their targets. Novak felt the sniper's bullet pass within inches of the top of his head. He hadn't moved and watched as his round punched through the prone Jihadi's chest as he slumped where he lay.
Novak looked for the spotter but found he had disappeared. He paused and rolled over into cover.
"Took you long enough, Si!" Greenburg groused through eloquent and colorful curses. "You almost got me killed . . . again!"
Novak turned his head and gave his partner a lopsided grin. "He missed you by at least six inches. He took his shot too fast." Novak laughed at Greenberg's upraised hand and digital response. "Let's get to our next position." Novak crawled behind the A/C unit and finally standing, out of sight just in case there was another sniper they hadn't spotted.
Once in their next position, Novak scanned their objective in a more leisurely manner. He knew soon enough the sky would be full of Sayeret Matkal parachutes. He and his fellow sniper teams were given the task to soften up the target and keep the jihadists' heads down so that his fellow Matkalists could parachute in and secure the landing zone for Nassi's paratroopers.
"Would you rather be parachuting down with Rayzel and Bravo Company?" asked Novak scanning the target. Novak liked his company commander, Captain Rayzel, whom his men respected and enemies feared.
"Not on your life," he insisted, a wry smile on his face. "I'm much safer dodging the odd sniper bullet or two with you than landing among a thousand bloodthirsty jihadis," said Greenberg with a chuckle.
"Come on," Novak countered. "All Rayzel and our company have to do is clear dozens of sentries off of roofs and courtyards, rescue the hostages and keep a thousand terrorists busy until Nassi lands . . . easy." He winked. "Or we could have gone in with Colonel Uzziah and Alpha Company who'll be clearing the buildings along the west wall and the four minarets."
Greenberg barked a laugh. "Rayzel's a little too 'John Wayne' for me. I'd rather cover his little behind from up here than parachute down in the middle of a jihadi convention and have mine shot off."
Novak chuckled as he sought more targets among the buildings, walls, trees, and shrubbery of the Temple Mount. This thirty-seven acre walled compound was the most sacred spot in Israel and the most religiously contested land in the world. Three religions claimed it as holy ground: Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. To the Jews, it was the Temple Mount, where the House of the Lord, the Temple, stood for centuries until the Romans pulled it down in 70 AD. To the Muslims, it was the Al-Haram al-Sharif, the Noble Sanctuary, where in a vision, Mohammed ascended to the heavens and where three mosques now stood. To Christians, it is where Jesus Christ taught, worshiped and performed many miracles and where once stood the Byzantine Church of Saint Mary.
This is going to be a tough objective if all the rumors I've heard are true, Novak told himself. Over a thousand jihadis took control of the walled Old Jerusalem and now used it as a base of terror, daring the IDF to come and take it from them.
Novak scanned the site. In the artificial light of the artillery flares, he could see where the terrorists blocked nine out of the eleven gates that led onto the Temple Mount using paving stones and debris. The two remaining gates, Gate of the Tribes near the northeast corner of the compound and the Gate of Darkness near the Al-Omariya Madrassa remained open but heavily guarded.
From what he had seen while covering the objective, the Jihadis were using both gates to transfer men and material in and out of the Temple Mount. He estimated that there were at least seven hundred jihadis in the Madrassa itself. These were the reinforcements for the four or five hundred men scattered throughout the buildings on the Temple Mount proper. Two hundred or so were billeted in the Al Aqsa Mosque. Another hundred and fifty to two hundred were in the Al Marwani Mosque. This has been a late addition to the Al-Haram al-Sharif's worship locations. It was originally an empty underground vaulted space, built by King Herod when he expanded the original Temple Mount platform. It had erroneously been named "Solomon's Stables" by the Crusaders who had kept their horses there.
Years ago, the Muslims turned the vaulted expanse into a mosque. This over five–thousand–square–foot area was supported by eighty-eight massive pillars. The new mosque could house hundreds of Jihadis.
I hope our troops don't have to go in there to flush them out. That would be a perfect killing ground for jihadis willing to trade their lives for as many of the hated Jews as possible. More Al-Quds were camping out in the old Islamic buildings along the western and northern edge of the Dome of the Rock platform and in the Golden Gate, nestled along the eastern wall of the compound.
One last building drew Novak's search, the old Muslim Museum in the southwest corner of the Temple Mount. In a back office somewhere, the Fogelbaum family lay in fear, hostage to their Al-Quds captors, waiting for rescue, or execution. Novak remembered seeing a picture of the family soon after their abduction. It was of a happy couple surrounded by three little children, two small boys and a girl. All Novak could think of was his own two small children and his wife. A knife dug into his gut just thinking what the family must be experiencing right now. He knew his Matkalist brothers were good and had a more than even chance of saving the family. Still, it pained him to think of what failure would mean––torture and a slow death.
"Seen any Infrared markers yet?" Greenburg asked, interrupting Novak's thoughts.
The generals, in their wisdom, knew that there would be a great deal of small arms fire in and around the Temple Mount. Therefore, to keep the Arabist units, who wore Arab civilian clothing, from killing one another in the confusion of a pitched battle, they issued them infrared markers to wear around their heads. Just hope the jihadis aren't using IR scopes too, Novak thought grimly.
"Nope," he said glancing at his watch. "We're still a little early. I don't think the Duvdevan or Yamas operators are in position yet. They'll be here soon enough." Novak turned to look at his partner. "When they kick over this anthill," he nodded to the west, and smiled, "we're going to have a target rich environment." It was a very wolfish kind of smile.
Stephen Ben-Yosef
Stephen Ben-Yosef wiped his sweaty palm on his pants as he waited in the cold, spring night. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes sought the dark moonlit shadows, seeking any traces of rifle-wielding sentries. Nemerah assured him that there were no terrorist guards in the cemetery. Did they expect their dead to keep the hated Jews away? Or was it the Matkalist snipers on the Mount of Olives keeping them behind the ancient wall of Jerusalem?
In the still night, Ben-Yosef could smell the nearby flowers and musty scents from the olive tree in the cemetery they were using as cover. It is silent as the grave out here, he told himself with an edge of irony. After all, we are kneeling among the tombstones of an old Muslim cemetery! And why is a fifty something year old academic crawling around in a cemetery surrounded by enemies? he asked himself . . . again.
Because you told General Nassi "yes," you idiot, he responded, swallowing a low chuckle. Now I'm talking to myself. Isn't that the first sign of going crazy? Only if you answer back.
A corner of Ben-Yosef's mouth quirked up. General Nassi asked me, an out of shape archaeology professor, to help in the assault on the Temple Mount. Now, me and my three colleagues are General Nassi's "civilian contractors" and have one of the more important objectives on this operation. Nassi insisted that without his help, he couldn't proceed with the mission.
A loud popping sound jerked Ben-Yosef from his musings. His eyes darted up, in a desperate attempt to find its source. Had they finally been discovered by the jihadists? The dark night turned to bright day as an illumination flare gave off its eye–piercing light. He sighed in relief. It wasn't an Al-Quds militant aiming a rifle at him, about to end his career as a "famous Yamas operator."
Ben-Yosef silently cursed the magnesium flares. He was getting tired of dodging the bright light the flares gave off. At least the high eastern walls of ancient Jerusalem kept him in deep shadow of the illumination flares that lit up the Temple Mount. Ben-Yosef understood the theory. Ruin the night vision of any sentries on the walls and roofs as the Sayeret Matkal parachute down on top of their heads. He didn't like dodging through the shadows. Neither did Nemerah, the leader of the small group of special forces counter-terrorist unit called, Yamas, he was with. She and her Yamas operators were assigned to escort him and his three colleagues to the objective. She looked like she could strangle the command staffer who came up with the idea.
Kneeling among the tombstones, some of the Yamas operators were nervously looking at the graves on either side, as if the dead would rise and seek vengeance on their ancient enemy. Being among the dead didn't bother Ben-Yosef at all. In fact, he was at home in graveyards. He was an archaeologist, after all, with a doctorate from Hebrew University and was an expert on the Second Temple period. Studying gravesites was one of the best ways to learn about an ancient culture.
No, it wasn't the dead that bothered Ben-Yosef. What he feared most were the living men carrying guns on the other side of the wall who wanted nothing less than to stop him and his friends from what they were about to do.
Across the valley to the east, he could see the Mount of Olives outlined by countless stars, beautiful and serene in the quiet moonlit night. Every so often, Ben-Yosef heard the crack of a supersonic .338 Lapua Magnum round from the snipers hidden on the Mount of Olives zip past above his head and take out another curious jihadi poking his head over the wall. I hope those snipers are paying attention to the IR identifiers we're wearing. Ben-Yosef wiped his sweaty forehead.
The Yamas operators around him were silent as ghosts, alert and waiting for their time to move. The leader of the squad was a woman whose nom de guerre was Nemerah, which meant leopardess. It was a very apt name for the female operator. She was as beautiful and graceful as a leopard and just as deadly. Nemerah's her long dark hair was covered by a black hijab and she wore a dark ankle-length dress with leggings underneath. She had a pretty face and the build of a dancer with little or no body fat.
Ben-Yosef learned that Nemerah began her military career as one of the female instructors at Camp Mitkan Adam before capturing the attention of Yaakov Turowitz, the commander of Shabak, the Israel Security Agency. He invited her to try out for his Yamas unit. Nemerah became the first of several female operatives he used in the secret organization. She was just as tough and just as deadly as the men in her unit. She boasted that the Yamas female agents were highly successful in infiltrating deep into enemy territory unseen. Nemerah said that it was easy because the typical Arab male looked down on women and disregarded their presence. Women were almost invisible in Arab Palestine.
A shoulder rubbed against Ben-Yosef, startling him. Avner Sivitz, his friend and partner at the university, sat quietly next to him, waiting for their sprint across the open road. Avner nodded at him and smiled. Ben-Yosef could see Avner's ever-present smile glowing in the moonlight. Nothing seemed to bother his unflappable fellow archaeologist from the university.
He and Avner graduated from the master's program the same year and became good friends and colleagues over the years. Ben-Yosef admired and drew on Sivitz's depth of expertise and knowledge of Holy Land history. Besides Avner, Ben-Yosef's team was joined by an expert from the university specializing in ancient architecture of religious structures, as well as a physicist whom Ben-Yosef had not known before this operation. He leaned on their great depth of knowledge and skills to help plan this part of the mission Nassi gave the team.
Ben-Yosef and his colleagues rediscovered forgotten muscles during the previous weeks of rigorous training and endured the ribbing of their Yamas taskmasters. Even though Ben-Yosef and the other three had done their two-year mandatory stint in the army, Ben-Yosef relished the irony of four out of shape professors working with some of the most renowned soldiers in the IDF's arsenal.
Yamas operators went through grueling training in Palestinian dialects and mannerisms, brutal hand-to-hand combat, small arms expertise, and urban navigation and warfare. The Shin Bet, the Israel Security Agency, established Yamas as a long-range infiltration unit. Their missions required them to go behind enemy lines to find terrorist leaders, bomb makers and financiers, to either end their careers of terrorism permanently or arrest them for questioning and trial.
A slight movement woke Ben-Yosef from his musings. Nemerah cocked her head, listening to her ear bud. She nodded and gave Ben-Yosef and Avner the hand signal to go. Crouching low, Ben-Yosef silently dashed past the dark entrance of the Lion's Gate, praying that no Jihadi saw him and his friend cross the dark, open street. They quickly ducked through the entrance of another cemetery that surrounded the Golden Gate.
He hugged the giant ashlar stones each weighing several tons, of the Temple Mount wall, as he made his way to the others of his party. Nemerah and Sergeant Calev were the last to join them. Over the past two weeks they practiced this part of the insertion for many hours.
Nemerah ensured everyone was in the correct formation. Once she was satisfied, she signaled "move out." The dozen Yamas agents and their four academics moved as silently as shadows along the base of Ancient Israel's Temple Mount, slowly picking their way to their insertion point.
Nemerah taught him how to creep silently in the night by showing videos of cats, in this case the leopard, stalking its prey, carefully picking each step, one at a time, with the knees slightly bent and loose. She also taught him how to use his peripheral vison to see at night, never looking directly at the spot but just to the side. When he first tried the slow creeping stalk, his thigh muscles burned like someone were thrusting hot pokers into them. It reminded Ben-Yosef of the yoga exercise his wife used to get him to do. Now he wished he had stayed with it. After two weeks of practice, the pain wasn't too bad. His wife would be proud of him.
Stephen Ben-Yosef understood why the IDF generals asked for volunteers rather than ordering his men and women to assault the Temple Mount. Orthodox Jews believed that it was sacrilegious for anyone to step foot onto the inner courtyards of the ancient Temple. Only ritually cleansed priests could enter the inner most precincts of the Temple itself. Not knowing exactly where these boundaries were, made the assault almost impossible to plan, let alone execute. The general did not want to order his men to risk their own condemnation before God.
That was precisely the reason Ben-Yosef and his three colleagues were here. Ben-Yosef's paper on the exact location of the Temple convinced many experts in Middle Eastern archaeology of his new radical theory. His discovery of the cache of artifacts in an undiscovered cave near Qumran was the decisive factor. His discovery proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the Temple site was two hundred meters to the north of the Dome of the Rock—not on top of it as many previously believed. The smooth stone under the Dome of the Spirits was the ancient threshing floor where once sat the Ark of the Covenant in the sacred Holy of Holies of the Temple.
General Nassi came to Ben-Yosef and asked him to lead a team of experts to establish an outline of the precise location of the inner courtyards so that he and his men could avoid desecrating the holiest site in Judaism. Stephen Ben-Yosef readily agreed and sought experts to help lay out the location, first on paper, and then on the Temple Mount itself. Tonight he and his three colleagues were going to transpose the outline of the Temple using beams of light on the flagstones of the court where the Temple once stood so that Nassi's troops could steer clear of the area.
Simple, he thought wryly. All we have to do is walk past a thousand Islamic warriors who have a price on my head and ask if it's okay to prove that a Jewish temple once stood here. What could possibly go wrong?
Captain Ezra Rayzel
In a C-130 Air-Transport, Over the Coast of Israel
Captain Ezra Rayzel sat pensively in the crowded cargo bay of the lead C-130 cargo plane and scrutinized his men around him. He was proud of the men he trained and commanded and never doubted their capabilities as the most elite soldiers in the world. Some of the men like Sergeant Gershon, laughed and joked with their comrades, while others slept, or at least pretended to. Others prayed to God for protection, guidance and to watch over their families if they did not return. A few, including himself, appeared nervous. He hadn't been this apprehensive since is first jump fifteen years ago.
He did not doubt the importance of the mission, nor did he fear for the coming HAHO, High Altitude High Opening, jump into combat against the notorious Al-Quds Martyrs Brigades. Tonight they would deploy at an altitude of thirty thousand feet and paraglide to the drop zone (DZ) thirty miles away. Rayzel had used his Ram-air parafoil chute at least a dozen times to silently glide far behind enemy lines to surprise an unsuspecting enemy. In fact, he had done hundreds of practice jumps and twenty-eight combat jumps during his military career. The chute either opened and you made it safely down to face combat, or it didn't. Either way, you would still make it down, albeit a little faster than the rest of the men if the chute failed.
Brooding on his present mission, Rayzel absently adjusted his oxygen mask and twitched his shoulders to try to shift the weight of the hundred–pound load of equipment he carried, failing to find a more comfortable position. To keep the fall rate roughly the same and to keep the formation together, each man's load was distributed evenly among the company. Rayzel being one of the smaller men in the company, carried more than the bigger men. Sergeant Gershon was more than happy to give his company commander the extra ammo to feed his hungry Negev machine gun to help balance out the load. Rayzel smiled remembering the exuberant pleasure Gershon had when loading his commander down with his reloads.
No, I am not concerned about the readiness of my men or the ultimate outcome of the mission we face. Captain Ezra Rayzel was a devout Jew and knew the significance of this operation. If the civilian contractors were successful in delineating the Temple outline, he would have no need to fear desecrating the Temple or himself by stepping onto sacred ground unclean.
No, I'm not worried about any of those things. What I fear most will be the repercussions of this mission—what the consequences of our success could bring down upon my people. It was the aftermath that was worrying Rayzel. The politicians were sure to give the Temple Mount and its control and management back to the Islamic Waqf of Jordan, who now administered all aspects of the holiest site of Judaism. The Waqf, with the approval of the Israeli government and the endorsement of past rabbinical counsels, refused to allow Jews or Christians to worship on the Temple Mount. Once under Jewish control, he was not sure if it would be so easy to return their most holy site to their enemies and continue to prohibit the Jews and Christians from worshiping there. Especially after all the Jewish lives that were about to be spent to get rid of the Islamic terrorists who had the blood of over three hundred men, women, and children on their hands.
Then there were those who called for the rebuilding of the Third Temple as prophesied in the Tanakh, particularly since the exact location was recently discovered. Even he had contemplated what the significance of a Third Temple would mean to Judaism. Every faithful practicing Jew would make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to have actual roasted lamb for the Passover Seder. There would be literally millions of Jews who would come to the Temple—just as they had in ancient times. The Islamists of the Middle East and all the world would not let that happen and there would be war like none other seen. The Islamic leaders would muster millions of jihadists from across the globe to stop the construction of the Third Temple.
The jumpmaster's ten minute warning ended Colonel Rayzel's uneasy musings. "Time to go to work, gentlemen," said Rayzel through the Matkalists' radios over the roar of the powerful engines of the C-130 cargo plane.
The crew chief attached himself to a hook on the bulkhead near the rear ramp and began to lower it, opening the rear of the plane to the dark, cold night. The ebony skies, sprinkled with stars, came into view high over the Mediterranean and the coast of Israel. Rayzel loved the view of the star-filled skies of his homeland reflecting off the silver-speckled water far below. The pre-jump adrenalin began to fill his veins. After all, it was not natural for man to jump out of a plane almost six miles up.
Captain Rayzel's company stood and formed a group behind their commander checking each other's parachutes and equipment to make sure all was secure and functioning properly. Each man carried an average one hundred-pound load for the jump, the square–sailed Ram-air parachute and the "bailout bottle" of oxygen for use in the rarefied air five–plus miles above the shadowy waters of the Mediterranean.
Tonight the Matkal carried the updated version of the venerable Israeli–made battle riffle, the Galil. The version they carried tonight was chambered as the same round the enemy used in their Kalashnikovs. In fact, they could use the jihadis' own Kalashnikov magazines if ammunition ran low. Rayzel examined his carbine, making sure that the safety was on and his magazine was loaded with the blue-tipped subsonic rounds and not their louder and more deadly cousins. We don't want to announce our arrival too soon, he thought wryly.
One in four of the Matkal carried either the Negev Light Machine Gun or the IWI 40mm grenade launchers mated to their short Galils. This gave the Matkal more firepower to bring to bear while covering the assault when the nest of vipers finally stirred. Besides Galils and LMGs, they each carried a pouch of grenades and their favorite pistol and knife.
Besides all of the other typical equipment a twenty-first-century warrior carried, Captain Rayzel had an item not considered regular issue in this day and age. An item more common for one of King David's soldiers of the ninth-century BC. His beloved shofar, the spiral ram's horn that he sounded on holy days, was tucked safely away in a padded pouch at his side. Rayzel was his synagogue's Ba'al T'qiah, or shofar sounder, which literally meant "Master of the Blast."
He learned the shofar as a child and loved the sound of his ram's horn. Today he planned to sound his shofar when the proper time came, not the usual song of celebration or calling the people to worship—but to sound the call to war—to inspire his men and to strike fear into the heart of the enemy.
Captain Rayzel observed the final equipment check of his men. Their expressions were difficult to read around the oxygen masks, but he could see the excitement and determination in their eyes. "Radio check," he said over the unit radio frequency. "Everyone hear me?" Most of the men acknowledged affirmative except for a few who adjusted their radios. "Stay in formation and don't wander around sight-seeing. At twenty-thousand, we'll form into our teams for the final assault. We're the first wave; Colonel Uzziah's company will be right on our heels. As soon as the sentries are silenced, we must quickly advance to our objectives. Any questions?"
"Yes, Capitan. Do we have to save any for the thirty-fifth?" asked Sergeant Gershon in his habitual lighthearted baritone. He carried his Negev LMG as if it were a toy, shaking it in the air. His companions barked laughter in agreement as they loosened up, readying for the run out the rear ramp of the plane.
"No, we don't, Sergeant, but save a few for us, will you?" He could hear the confidence in his men as they laughed and bantered with the Sergeant. Confidence was good but too much could lead to disaster.
"Clear your heads and get laser–focused men. You have all faced our enemy many times before. They are ill-trained, unorganized, and unpredictable, but fierce. Don't get too overconfident and let a fifteen–year–old haji end your life and make your children fatherless. Our job is to send them to their paradise of seventy–two virgins—may they all be fat and ugly." The men all erupted into a cheer as the two-minute warning light came on.
"Sir," said Sergeant Gershon, "will you honor us and lead us in a blessing?"
Captain Rayzel knew that millions of Jews around the world were attending their Seders at this very moment and saying blessings during the meal.
"Of course, Sergeant," he said through his radio.
In unison, Rayzel's Matkal, on the edge of war, repeated with him, "Blessed art Thou Lord God, King of the Universe, who has sustained us and kept us and has brought us to this day."
Captain Rayzel said, "Blessed art Thou, who comforts Zion and builds Jerusalem." Everyone shouted "Amen!" as the jump master yelled, "Go!" Rayzel called out the 'unit's' motto, Who Dares Wins, as he ran down the ramp of the C-130 with his men close behind and jumped into the black abyss of the night far above their target.
Base of the Temple Mount
Stephen Ben-Yosef's legs were quivering in exhaustion. He wasn't sure how much farther he could keep doing what Nemerah called the "leopard walk." He was crouched low, with his hands braced on his knees. He balanced on one foot as he reached out with the other to take a light step, softly coming down on the outside of the ball of the foot then slowly rolling it to the inside where he could slowly lean forward to put his weight on the foot. Then he'd lift the other foot, balanced, and start the slow maddening process all over again.
Ahead of him he sensed the dark form of his friend Avner inching forward. Behind him, he could feel that Sergeant Calev was about ready to poke him in the back again with the muzzle of his rifle, so he took another agonizingly slow, quivering step, one after another.
After an eternity in yoga-stalking hell, a hand reached out and halted his progress. He lifted his head and noticed the shadows before him had stopped. Nemerah stalked past quickly but without a sound, giving him the halt signal. He rested his back on one of the massive ashlar stones of the Temple Mount's East Wall and breathed a sigh of relief. To his right, or south, of their present position, loomed the magnificent Golden Gate. It took him and his colleagues over an hour to silently creep their way to the insertion point at the base of the wall. Their planned route was to follow the base of the Temple Mount wall on their right with the eerie Muslim cemetery on their left—hiding in the shadows of the illuminating star shells. The hillside directly below the east wall and the Golden Gate was densely covered with Muslim graves and headstones. Stephen thought how ironic it was that an Ottoman Sultan would seal off the Golden Gate and place an Islamic graveyard at its doorstep in order to stop the fulfillment of prophecy. But it did not stop him and his colleagues or their Yamas guardians.
How do they think it will stop the true Messiah or His prophets? What lengths prideful men will go to try and stop the course of God's will.
Across from Ben-Yosef was the Mount of Olives outlined by the stars, beautiful and serene in the quiet night. Above him, the stars shone brightly, a few clouds blocking their twinkling light. As he watched, Ben-Yosef, thought he saw the movement of something high in the air momentarily blocking a few stars during its passage through the night sky. Was that an owl or some other nocturnal bird? Or was it the Matkal coming in?
In answer, he saw more dark shapes high up, swarming like buzzards gathering around a carcass. Ben-Yosef prayed that the star shells were indeed blinding the watchful jihadis so that the Matkal could land without being seen. He prayed too that the Yamas agents among the enemy, who were to help them over the wall had not been captured.
Ben-Yosef had been working with the operators of Yamas for weeks now and knew that there were at least a dozen operatives who had infiltrated the Mount and were providing much-needed Intel on the ground. He also heard from his new friends that some of the operators had been exposed, captured, and tortured. Their Yamas comrades working with Ben-Yosef and his team wanted very badly to get to the Mount and find and rescue their friends and exact revenge on the Islamic terrorists.
Ben-Yosef heard a slight noise from the top of the wall, nine meters above his head, and looked up expecting to see a jihadi with an AK pointed down at him. Instead he saw four ropes being quietly lowered down to the waiting Yamas operators. Apparently, several of their fellow agents had indeed succeeded in getting free to lower ropes down for their waiting comrades. Rope ladders were quickly attached and soundlessly pulled up. On a signal from Nemerah, the first set of Yamas agents silently ascended the ladders. Soon it would be the scientists turn and their role in the assault on the Temple Mount would begin.
Museum Office
"I need to go potty," pleaded little five-year-old Yonatan Fogelbaum to Mostafa.
"Use the bucket in the corner, little one," said Mostafa, their guard, in a calm voice. "You know you can't leave the room."
"It's nasty over there." Yonatan was too young to understand completely what was happening to him and his family. All he knew was that bad men with guns took them from their home and forced them to sleep on the floor. Moshe, the father, tried to assure his family, that they would be eventually freed, knowing full well what the fate of Jews in the hands of Islamic terrorists could be. Rachel, his wife sought comfort in his arms while Yonatan's sister, Leeba, and brother Avraham, slept fitfully in her lap.
"Shut up, you little nit," snarled Ya'qub, waking in a foul mood. His usual, thought Mostafa. "Use the bucket or your pants. It won't matter much longer. General Zaheed has plans for you and your filthy Jewish family. One by one, we'll throw what's left of you over the wall when me and my men are done with you. You'll be famous," Ya'qub said with an evil grin.
"Quiet, Ya'qub," rebuked Mostafa. "You'll do nothing until my cousin Salim says so. We have first claim on the Jews. He was the one brave enough to lead his men outside the compound and take hostages while you and your 'General' sat safely behind these walls."
"You doubt my courage, old man." Ya'qub growled baring his teeth and drew his long knife partway out of its sheath, his eyes dark and threatening.
"Not your courage," Mostafa said calmly. "Your intelligence is what is lacking, young man. First, hostages are useless dead. Second, you forget that three of my nephews are standing behind you."
Ya'qub did not bother looking around, knowing the old merchant was telling the truth, on both accounts.
"The time will come when the Jews will be useless to us," murmured Ya'qub, his eyes as cold as his voice. "When that time comes, Mostafa, they will be turned over to me and my men for a little fun before what is left is displayed to the world." He turned to go, but before he left, Ya'qub gave Rachel Fogelbaum a lingering look of lust and a hint of the plans he had before she was beheaded.
"Mostafa, you won't let those bad men hurt us, will you?" said Yonatan innocently, after Ya'qub left. That's what hurt Mostafa the most. Over the last couple of weeks, he became well acquainted with the hostages since his cousin put him in charge of guarding them—not only from an Israeli rescue but also from fanatics like Ya'qub, who wanted to torture and kill the filthy Jews. Yonatan reminded Mostafa of his son when he was that age and it saddened him to think of what was going to happen to them and their inevitable torture and death.
"It's in Allah's hands, young one," said Mostafa with gloomy resignation. Both Moshe and Rachel Fogelbaum looked into Mostafa's eyes and knew the truth. He could hear their whispered prayers as he went to find a clean bucket for the boy.
Temple Mount
Rayzel floated high above Judea and could easily see Jerusalem under the illumination of the artillery star shells. Any other time it would have been a beautiful sight. Tonight he was leading death to that holy city. How ironic it was that death was required to bring peace. As a soldier, he hated the need to kill. Sometimes causing death is the only way to stop evil.
Rayzel again went over in his head the plans that Colonel Uzziah and his operations officer developed with Rayzel's input. The first phase was to neutralize the sentries stationed around the Temple Mount. They memorized every inch of the Temple Mount using a model on a sand table and committed to memory the schedules of the sentries, patrols and their habits. They established their meal times and when they frequented the latrine.
The plan was to have two companies of the Sayeret Matkal to make a HAHO jump, or High Altitude High Opening, to their target. Captain Rayzel commanded Alpha Company, the first wave, whose assignment was to eliminate the sentries in the southern quadrant of the Temple Mount. Many of these were positioned to keep the South Wall approaches under surveillance, while the remaining watchmen were stationed on the roofs of the museum and the Al Aqsa Mosque. The jihadis regularly sent out four man patrols to sweep the east gardens, the plaza, and Dome of the Rock platform.
General Nassi chose these areas as Landing Zones (LZs) for the paratroopers' CH 53 helicopters. It was up to Rayzel's men to clear them so the paratroopers could land in relative safety. Not that Rayzel's commanders believed that all of the Al-Quds gunmen could be eliminated. With the number of jihadis on the Temple Mount and the number of places they could be hiding, everyone knew that some would escape detection and elimination before the helicopters began landing. Rayzel's job was to neutralize as many threats as he could find. If he failed to do his job, the incoming helicopters and men would be massacred as they landed, leaving wreckage on the landing zones blocking any further attempts to re-take the Temple Mount and leaving his men and the Fogelbaum family to be slaughtered. No, Rayzel was confident he and his men would accomplish their role in this operation.
Captain Rayzel's second and most important duty was to help free the hostages. As soon as they landed, his Second Platoon, joined by several Yamas operators, would storm the museum, eliminate all threats, and save the hostages. Yamas operatives were to have inserted themselves among the guards holding the hostages, making the task of their rescue much simpler and safer.
Unfortunately, just before Ezra boarded the plane, the colonel told him that some of the Yamas operators were compromised and captured by the Al-Quds. Colonel Uzziah did not know if they were tortured or not, but knowing the cruel nature of the Islamists on the Temple Mount, they all took it for granted. If that were the case, there was a chance that the mission was compromised and he and his men were about to land in a trap. Colonel Uzziah said that intelligence and drone surveillance had shown neither deviation of their patrols nor Jihadi reinforcements on the Mount. It was a risk, but General Nassi decided to green light the operation with the disturbing information. The mission was too important and the risk was too great to the hostages and to Jerusalem itself.
As for Colonel Azriel Uzziah, he commanded Bravo Company and was just minutes behind Rayzel. Uzziah's mission was to clear the tall-spired minarets, which commanded the high ground of the Temple Mount and surrounding neighborhoods, and silence their machine guns and heavy weapons. Four special teams, rehearsed for days on mock-ups and were headed for their entrances. They would eliminate the guards at the doors and storm the spiral steps leading up to the minarets' balconies. After breaching the doors, the teams would fight their way up to the top gallery, where the call to prayer was heard five times each day. In those same prayer galleries, jihadis with sniper rifles and heavy weapons guarded the approaches to the Temple Mount. The remainder of Colonel Uzziah's Bravo Company was to clear the buildings, which clung to the west wall of the Temple Mount.
Captain Rayzel himself volunteered to lead the neutralization of the sentries. He knew how difficult a task it was to take out sentries quietly and efficiently. Hollywood and phony ninjas on YouTube made it look easy. Just sneak up on a sentry and punch or stab him and he instantly falls dead. The reality of silent killing was much different. Ezra knew first hand that men do not die easily. It takes at least a minute for a man to bleed out. They will fight to their last heartbeat and breath, and usually made a great deal of noise doing it.
Ezra had done it the old-fashioned way. It was not easy to stalk your prey—for hours sometimes—in the dark and catch him unawares to place a knife in the throat or down behind the left clavicle to find an artery and heart. One unexpected move and the knife or garrote missed the target and you end up in a very noisy wrestling match. When taking a man's life, while holding him so as to not make a sound with hand clamped over mouth, is a very profound and lasting experience that is often relived in the darkness of nightmares. This same problem occurs with hammers or tomahawks. Placement is important and a miss will sound an alarm and all his friends will run to help.
Silenced weapons were another choice for sentry elimination but no weapon is truly silent, which is another myth from Hollywood. These weapons still make noise when subsonic ammunition is used to eliminate the loud crack of the bullet breaking the sound barrier. The weapon's action cycling makes audible noise along with the hammer on the firing pin, the movement of the slide, and the ejecting shells striking pavement or concrete, producing a very distinct sound. On the other hand, silenced or suppressed weapons greatly reduce the noise made by a gunshot and disguise the sound to make the location of the shot uncertain to the hearer. In an urban environment, it could help blend it in with the ambient noise of traffic, barking dogs, and police or ambulance sirens.
Tonight, because of the sheer numbers of sentries and the importance of speed, they decided to go with the suppressed Galils with subsonic rounds. A bonus was if they ran out of the limited ammunition of their combat loads, they could use their enemy's own ammunition against them.
Less than a hundred meters to go. Captain Rayzel floated below his Ram-air chute above his first objective, the roof of the Al Aqsa Mosque. He knew that other teams were headed for the museum roof, plaza, and to the entrances of the minarets. He noted that the guards were where they were supposed to be. Their goal was to silently get as far as they could in the assault before the Al-Quds discovered they were there. The farther the better.
His four-man team approached the Temple Mount from the south. Sergeants Gershon, Siegel and Wexler were just above and behind him. Other teams were coming from the west so the dark skies wouldn't get too congested. Captain Rayzel turned toward his first target again and realized he was only meters away. He adjusted his course using the steering lines to swing around behind the two Jihadis watching the southern approaches of the Temple Mount. His team swung around silently just meters above and behind his targets.
Firing two short bursts he dropped the two terrorists, then pulling down hard on the toggles, he landed almost at their feet as they fell. He quickly chopped down on the parachute lines with his arms to deflate the sail and rolled it into a ball as his teammates landed around him. Stuffing their chutes under the bodies, he stripped off the now useless bailout bottles and mask and scanned the area for more jihadis as he listened for any sudden calls of alarm. Thirty meters away he could barely hear the muffled shots of another team take out the other set of sentries on the same roof but heard nothing else besides a couple of dogs barking in the distance and the faint sound of a truck engine somewhere in the city.
Seeing and hearing no alarm, he and his team headed for the west side of the mosque.
This same scenario was happening on other roofs of the Temple Mount. The Matkal were landing and the terrorist guards falling.
Gate of Tribes
"Naji, hurry it up!" Jalal called testily. "The Jews will shoot your rear off if you don't get under cover."
"I'm coming. Couldn't hold it anymore," Naji whined. A dark figure ran back, hugging the wall, having difficulty zipping up his pants as he crouched low to avoid the Israeli snipers. Jalal took a hurried glance up into the starlit night, worried about the drones he knew were spying over Jerusalem.
The hell spawn Jews were relentless in their sniper fire from the Mount of Olives. That's why Jalal and his twelve men waited under the protection of the arched stone Gate of the Tribes. Besides, General Zaheed wanted them undercover so that the Jaysh's, Israeli military, drones could not see what they were up to. After torturing and questioning the Jews who had infiltrated the brigade, they now knew all about their plans to attempt another assault on the Haram, except this time it would be from above. All of the Palestinian freedom fighters were ready for the attack and prepared to kill the parachutists as they arrived. Zaheed gave him and his men the task to ensure none tried to escape through the Gate of the Tribes.
Jalal jiggled the lock on the tall double doors that sealed the gate to make sure it was secure. He looked down at his watch. We still have an hour before the supply convoy gets here. I just hope they're not late. It would be unfortunate if they arrived when the shooting started. We'll need the ammo after tonight's slaughter and are almost out of food. He smiled at the thought of the added pleasures if the convoy brought some "wives" for them to play with.
Around him, his men, bored by the hours of waiting, were dozing along the inside of the walls of the gate, waiting for something to happen. General Zaheed assured them that tonight was the night. That's what he said last night and the night before that. His men were beginning to doubt the Jews were stupid enough to try again.
The sound of distant truck engines reverberating down the narrow street interrupted Jalal's thoughts. They sounded like they were getting closer. Good! They're early.
Jalal kicked a nearby foot. "Rafeeq, get up! The trucks are coming."
Jalal's men started to stir as the sound of truck engines increased. By the time they were standing, an old beat-up Toyota pickup turned the sharp corner from the narrow street and pulled into the el-Ghazali Square in front of the gate. Three dilapidated delivery trucks followed close behind the first. None had their headlights on, for which Jalal was thankful. No need to draw sniper fire, or worse yet, a drone missile.
Once the first truck was under the protection of the stone archway, his men's interest suddenly piqued. Jalal saw that indeed, the bed of the first truck was filled with women. Very beautiful women, wearing very thin dresses.
"Can I pick my 'wife' now, Jalal?" Rafeeq asked, leering at one of the slaves, his hand rubbing a bare leg of one of the prettier girls. "I am very lonely," he leered hungrily.
"Step back, you fools!" Jalal snarled. "You know very well that the general gets first pick." The men grumbled as they reluctantly complied. No one wanted to defy their commander. You only did it once.
Jalal walked over to the driver side window and turned on his flashlight to shine it into the cab. He saw two men he had never seen before. That's strange, he thought. Wasn't my cousin, Hamad, supposed to be leading the supply convoy?
"Where's Hamad," he asked the man who, oddly, looked a lot like his cousin. The two men paused, exchanging a quick glance. Their expressions and posture didn't change. There was something about their eyes, though, they seemed to tighten. Jalal also noticed the men's right hands were hidden. Alarm bells began to go off in Jalal's head. He took a step back and began to raise the radio he held when the driver's hand came up, filled with a silenced pistol.
That was the last thing Jalal ever saw.
~~~
Weiss dropped the first guard at the gate and shifted his aim down the line of surprised men on his side of the truck, dropping the startled jihadis with head and upper torso shots. As he did so, he heard Zimman's suppressed pistol doing the same on the other side of the truck. Before he could turn, an AK from behind him fired a loud burst, some of the rounds hitting the truck. Weiss jerked his door open and crouched down, looking for more targets. Hadassah Kogan, finally gotten free of her "bonds," fired her suppressed Uzi into the guard dropping him.
Weiss herd more gunfire coming from the plaza where his trucks were waiting to follow him through the gate. The men in the cabs were returning fire, but unless he could get the rest of his men in the cargo compartments to dismount, they'd soon be overrun and killed.
Weiss turned to say something to Zimman and didn't see him. He feared the worst when he saw a couple girls around a bleeding figure on the ground. The rest were releasing themselves from their "bonds" and arming themselves.
"Zimman?" he asked Hadassah, who had jumped out searching for more target.
"He was hit. Adina is checking him."
Weiss cursed. "We've got to get out of here, get to the Gate of Darkness, and seal it off before all the reinforcements from the Madrassa get loose on the Temple Mount." He spoke into the unit's radio channel. "Squad three, stay here with your truck and block this gate! I don't want those jihadis getting in behind me. I'll take the rest of the unit to the Gate of Darkness to see to the terrorists in the Madrassa."
Eastern Wall
Stephen Ben-Yosef was helped over the top of the wall. Another short rope ladder led to the Temple platform itself. Once on the ground, Ben-Yosef noticed several dead jihadis the Yamas operators had taken out. They all knew that the Al-Quds had put men at the east wall and in the Golden Gate. He saw no movement yet. So far, so good.
Nemerah signaled for Ben-Yosef, Sivitz, Kavka, Bacher and her team of Yamas operators to follow her through the east gardens toward the Dome of the Rock platform where the Second Temple once stood. They quietly made their way west, keeping the Golden Gate on their right. Nemerah and her teams weaved their way through the trees to the approaches of the Dome of the Rock platform and the broad stairs that led up to it.
Ben-Yosef felt relief. The Temple Mount was silent and he could see no movement among the trees and buildings. The jihadis, thankfully, must be asleep and unaware of the assault. The star shells had ceased, indicating that the Matkal had landed taking out the sentries above them on the roofs and minarets. He heard nothing to the north and hoped the Duvdevan were at or through the Gate of Tribes, pushing to the Gate of Darkness to keep the hundreds of jihadis in the Madrasa out of the game. I hope we can reach the temple site and have it surveyed before the larger force of jihadis in the Madrasa wake up and before General Nassi arrives with the cavalry.
Silently picking their way through the olive and pine trees of the eastern gardens Ben-Yosef heard the unmistakable sound of AKs firing to their north and west. Well, it's hit the fan for sure.
Temple Mount
Captain Rayzel secured his rope on a pipe jutting from the roof and rappelled down from the mosque's roof to the stones of the Temple Mount plaza. His team lightly dropped behind him fanning out and looking for unaccounted–for enemy fighters. Through his night vision goggles, he could plainly see, the Dome of the Rock a hundred meters north of his position and situated on the elevated platform where the majestic temple of Solomon once stood. The night was silent except for a barking dog in the distance and a slight wind through the nearby trees.
A distant burst from an AK, north of his position, shattered the silence of the moonlit night.
A movement near the steps of the Dome of the Rock caught his eye. Three unseen jihadis appeared from around a pillar, pointed at his team and yelled a warning in Arabic. They looked startled at first, but Rayzel could see the reality of the situation dawning on them. His team leapt for cover as a hail of rifle fire nipped at their heels. One of the Negev machine guns, set up on the roof above him, put two of the jihadis down. He turned his head and heard more shooting in one of the minarets north of his position.
"Well, they know we're here," Captain Rayzel said to his team. Realizing that all surprise was gone, he took out his shofar. He sounded it long and loud to let the enemy know God's soldiers were here and to strike fear into their hearts and provide encouragement to his men.
"First Platoon, follow me. We need to clear the Mosque of Hajis before they can gather themselves," commanded Captain Rayzel over his company net. "Second Platoon, link up with the Yamas operators and rescue those hostages before they are killed. Third Platoon, establish your blocking force and keep the jihadis from reinforcing from El Marwani, Rayzel out."
Switching to his platoon net, the Captain continued, "Let's go," looking quickly at his watch. "We have twelve minutes before the general and his men arrive."
Thirty seconds later, Captain Rayzel ran through the mosque's door following directly behind First Platoon's breaching team.
Museum Office
"What's that?" asked Naji, looking at his uncle, Mostafa.
"Gunfire . . . lots of it . . . and a shofar. We have visitors." Mostafa looked at the Fogelbaums, then his nephews. "Looks like the kafir have taken the bait. Take the hostages into the back room. I'll go see what's happening." Mostafa picked up his rifle and hurried out of the room.
In the outer offices, Mostafa saw Ya'qub and his two dozen heavily armed men waking up, preparing for battle. Ya'qub had a grin on his face as he saw Mostafa enter. "I told you they'd come. I knew the filthy pigs would go for the bait. Now we'll slaughter the Jaysh fools in the trap General Zaheed set for them and then later have a little fun with the Jews in the back room. Israel will learn not to trifle with Allah's warriors."
"Not yet, Ya'qub," Mostafa said in ill-contained patience as if speaking to a recalcitrant teenager. "You have no say in the matter. It's up to Salim. Now go and find out how many they are."
Ya'qub bristled at being ordered around by Mostafa, whom he called "the store clerk." Ya'qub bragged that he had killed many Jews in his years in the Al-Quds.
"Fawzi," growled Ya'qub, "find out what's going on." A little man carrying a maltreated and dirty AK nodded to Ya'qub and ran out of the room toward the front of the building.
Mostafa wondered if he should just shoot Ya'qub right here and be done with him. No, Mostafa would need Ya'qub and his men if he suspects who had just arrived outside their door. As Fawzi left the room, one of Ya'qub's men winked at him. Wonder what that was about, thought Mostafa absently.
Well, it's in Allah's hands now. Mostafa walked to the back room. General Zaheed will unleash the waiting trap for the cancerous Jews and their vile Jaysh.
Temple Mount, East Gardens
Nemerah stopped everyone in her party with a raised fist, listening to something on her radio headset. Must not be good, thought Ben-Yosef, seeing her frown in concern. Upon concluding her whispered conversation with her superiors, her expression changed to resolve.
"Turowitz is getting reports from the drones that a large body of jihadis is stirring in the Golden Gate. It looks like the Al-Quds knew we were coming. They were ready and waiting for us," she said, regarding her men. Seeing their steely determination, she continued. "Them knowing that we're coming and being able to do something about it are two different things," Nemerah said with a feral grin, and her team mirrored their leader's grim expression.
"Our new orders are to ambush the force as they exit the Golden Gate," she said.
Ben-Yosef and his team of scientists quickened their pace through the east gardens. No jihadis yet, thought Ben-Yosef as they came opposite the gate. The Golden Gate itself was below the Temple Mount platform. The jihadis would have to climb a steep set of stairs before they could reinforce their friends on the Temple Mount. Maybe HQ was wrong.
"Take cover behind this low wall," Nemerah ordered Ben-Yosef and his team of civilians. The waist high wall faced the top of the stairs 30 meters away. Two Negev machinegun teams raced to the north where the wall turned ninety degrees to the east to enclose the gate on the north. The rest of Nemerah's team and her grenadiers stayed with her and the civilians behind the wall facing the stairway exit. Ben-Yosef saw that she created a classic L–shaped ambush. As they waited for the Al-Quds gunmen, he could hear them stirring at the bottom of the stairs.
Nemerah listened to her earpiece and gave an acknowledgment. She then turned to the four scientists. "They're getting ready to charge. Check your weapons and prepare to receive the enemy. Keep out of sight until I give the word. No one fires until I do." Nemerah eyed everyone in her party, principally the four scientists making sure they knew not to trigger the ambush prematurely. No one wanted to bring the wrath of Nemerah down on them, especially after the two weeks of hell training she and her commanders put them through.
As she spoke, Ben-Yosef could hear an innumerable group of men climbing the stairs, still out of sight. He could hear dozens, maybe hundreds of feet climbing the steps and hear harsh commands in Arabic as the Al-Quds leaders encouraged their men to action. Ben-Yosef feared that they would spread out too far and envelope their hasty ambush position before the jihadis could be overwhelmed.
He looked over at the female operator kneeling at his side. She looked cool and calm as if hiding from a farmer whose pomegranates she had just stolen. She cradled her AK 74 in the crook of her arm and waited calmly. She looked over at the nervous Ben-Yosef and a corner of her mouth quirked up.
"Make sure you don't lose your IR marker, Ben-Yosef" she said lightly. "Those snipers on the Mount of Olives will blow your head off or anyone else who looks like a jihadi."
Ben-Yosef reached up to make sure his was still on. From here he hid behind the low wall, he could not see the gate opening but he could hear the large number of jihadis climbing the stairs. Immediately he heard the crack of the large 338 Lapua rounds begin to target the jihadis as they came into view with sickening splats confirming the accuracy of the Matkal snipers on the Mount of Olives.
"Those snipers are putting down a steady fire," he whispered to Avner. "Too bad there aren't more up there."
"Get ready," Nemerah whispered. "They're almost here. No noise and don't fire until we do," she said to the nervous scholars. They had been practicing with their weapons over the past couple of weeks but stationary silhouettes were much different from the deadly jihadis he could now hear coming. Paper targets didn't shoot back. Sounds like a lot of men coming! He looked over at his friend Avner Sivitz. He gave Ben-Yosef a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the coming jihadis, took his AK off safe, and shouldered his weapon like a pro. Wish I could feel that confident.
He could now see the top of the stairs fill with jihadis in the moonlight—running towards them on a wide walkway directly at their position. There must be hundreds of them, he thought with apprehension. He said a quick prayer for the protection of himself and his friends. Nemerah chose her ambush site well. Once they came to within a few meters of their position, they were to fire into them while the rest of Nemerah's team on his left––the terrorists' right––would unload with machine gun fire on the bulk of the jihadis.
Ben-Yosef jerked in surprise when Nemerah fired short, quick bursts into the oncoming jihadis who were almost on top of them, picking off her targets as if she was on the gun range. The other Yamas operators opened up almost at the same time, with Ben-Yosef and the scientists the last to fire on the oncoming Al-Quds gunmen.
The slaughter was horrific. Before the Jihadis could react, many of their number were down from the heavy fire of Yamas Light machineguns and Kalashnikovs. Nemerah's two grenadiers began rapidly firing 40–mm fragmentation grenades into the middle of the mob to try to stem the flow of jihadis and temper their zeal to kill Jews.
Those not down, dead, or wounded, tried to flee from the hail of lead slugs and metal slivers from the exploding grenades. The fleeing terrorists did not get far. Most were felled like wheat under a scythe. A few scattered and fled to the south and into the trees of the east garden to hide from the death-dealing Yamas operators.
"Stay here," said Nemerah to the four scientists when no more jihadis presented themselves as targets for Yamas' deadly fire.
She ran, body low, evading a few ill-aimed shots coming out of the gate's stairway. She was headed for her machinegun teams using the low wall as cover. Ben-Yosef could hear the grenadiers firing down into the gate structure itself to keep the jihadis from closing on them. The jihadis had the numbers but no cover, while the Yamas operators behind their wall could fire straight down into the stairs trapping anyone left in the Golden Gate.
Nemerah was gone with her command team for what seemed like an eternity as Ben-Yosef and his three friends hid behind cover. Curiosity and nervousness overcame Ben-Yosef. He took a quick peek over the top course of bricks and saw a scene of death unlike anything he had ever seen. A thick trail of bodies led from as little as a meter from the safety of their wall all the way to the stairs and beyond into the darkness of the gate itself.
Nemerah returned, unnoticed by the civilians. "Get down, you fool," she growled at Ben-Yosef. "They have snipers in the windows above the gate. One team is going to remain behind to block any sally the Al-Quds may attempt until we get reinforcements from the Matkal or the 890th. The rest of us will head to the Temple site."
"Will you have enough men to clear the site?" asked Ben-Yosef nervously.
"It will have to be," said Nemerah, looking at Ben-Yosef. "We have no other choice."
Ben-Yosef shook himself. He had a mission to accomplish and they were now behind schedule.
"Let's go!" yelled Nemerah at her team and looking down at her watch. "General Nassi and the 890th will be here soon. We have to have the Temple site pinpointed for them or there's going to be hell to pay, literally," she said to the four "civilian contractors." They all got up and ran crouching through the trees for the Dome of the Rock platform.
Al Aqsa Mosque
Captain Rayzel ran behind the Sayeret Matkal breaching team as they rushed through the huge double doors of the Al Aqsa Mosque and saw his men instantly cut down by automatic rifle fire from inside. By instinct, he and the remainder of the squad took cover behind nearby three-foot-diameter columns on either side of the doors taking more fire as they sought shelter from the storm of bullets. He felt AK rounds buzz through the air all around him, some tugging at his clothing and equipment, not knowing if any drew blood and not caring at the moment.
"Stay out!" he ordered over his radio. "It's a trap!" His brain flashed pictures of dozens of jihadis behind makeshift barricades spread out before the doors, firing at him and his men as they took cover. He also remembered seeing glimpses of objects hanging from the beams between the columns and stuck his head out just long enough to make sure it was what he thought it was. After checking the condition of his team, he checked to make sure he had no serious wounds.
Switching to the command channel, Rayzel reached Colonel Uzziah on the radio, "Colonel Uzziah. We just ran into a trap. There are several hundred Al-Quds barricaded in the mosque. They just took out the breaching team and have me and First squad pinned down inside. There were a dozen mutilated bodies hanging from the mosque's beams. I assume them to be some of the our Yamas operators tasked to recover the hostages. I will attempt to disengage and join the rest of my men outside." He signed off without confirmation. He did not have time—either they left now or joined the men hanging from the beams. It was difficult for Rayzel to speak as jihadis were firing and advancing onto his position.
Rayzel looked to see who was left of the men. Three men were with him at his column and four more behind its twin on the other side of the entrance. "Two frag grenades each, then smoke," he called out to the men, yelling over the din of AK fire. He waited for each man to prepare his grenades. He counted to three with his fingers. On three, eight fragmentation grenades were lobbed at the advancing jihadis, followed by eight grenades further back behind the barricades.
As the explosions began, eight canisters of smoke were lobbed just between the two forces. In the chaos, Rayzel's eight Matkalists charged through the blind fire of the remaining Jihadis and retreated toward the wide double doors of the mosque.
The Command CH-53, Over the Hills of Galilee
Major General David Nassi turned from the radio and to his Senior Staff Officer, Major Penzik. "Just heard from Colonels Weiss and Uzziah. The Al-Quds were waiting for us. The intelligence we received was accurate. The Al-Quds must have captured and tortured some of the Yamas infiltrators," he said with a grim expression.
"Are you going to call off the mission, sir?" asked Major Penzik gravely.
General Nassi stared at his new senior staff officer in disbelief. Didn't he listen to the briefings I gave to the unit commanders? Nassi asked himself in frustration. I realize he just joined my staff last month. Still he should know me by now. "No, Penzik, I meant what I said during yesterday's staff briefing. This mission is too important to turn back."
The general paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. He visualized the Temple Mount and its surroundings. They had a plan for every contingency and the commanders on the ground knew what the general would do if he ran into more jihadis than were reported on site.
"Send in the "Saraphs." Two Apaches to block the Al-Quds in the Madrassa and two against the forces in the mosques. That should keep them pinned down until we get there." Nassi looked at his watch. "We have six minutes until we arrive. The Apache Longbows should be there about now. Let's use them. Remember, no rockets on the mosques or Dome, solely in the open areas and the Madrassa," he said with a wicked grin on his face. Wait until the jihadis get acquainted with "Mr. 30-mm chain gun," he thought. That should take the edge off their jihadist fervor—one way or another.
Museum, Temple Mount
Ya'qub barged into the back office with his two dozen men and faced off against Mostafa and his four nephews guarding the Fogelbaum family. Moshe Fogelbaum stood in front of the mattress where his wife kneeled holding little Avraham in her lap with her arms around Leeba and Yonatan on either side. Mostafa stood up from the chair behind the desk near the door. His nephews stood and became instantly alert from the chaotic entrance of Ya'qub and his men. One of them carried a large knife in his hand. "General Zaheed has ordered that we behead the hostages and throw their heads out for the Jews to see that they are responsible for their deaths." Ya'qub smiled in triumph, daring defiance from his competitor.
"They'll die when Salim orders it," insisted Mostafa. "No sooner."
"Salim has agreed with General Zaheed." Ya'qub handed over a note. "Here's his written order."
Mostafa read over the note carefully. Yes, it was written by his cousin's own hand and had his signature on it. The time has come to make a decision, Mostafa. His hatred for the Jews did not burn as hot as in the heart of his cousin Salim, who lived in the Territories. Mostafa lived in Israel and owned a store and was prosperous. Mostafa's brother and two nephews had been killed in the last Intifada and he was angered about their deaths and many others. He hated the Jewish government, their policemen, and soldiers but did he hate all Jews?
Before this, he thought he had, but after watching over the Fogelbaum family, he was not so sure. Moshe and Rachel loved their children just as much as he and his wife, Adeba, loved their four children. Yonatan reminded him very much of his Hazim when he was that age. No, Mostafa you don't hate all Jews as do Ya'qub and his men, who will enjoy the beheading of the children while the husband and wife watch. Then the wife while the husband watches. Moshe would be saved for last. No, they will enjoy it too much, for their hatred burns deep and hot. The question for Mostafa was, could he just sit back and let it happen or disobey his cousin and clan leader.
He looked up from the note into the eyes of his nephews to see their reaction. "Yes, Ya'qub is correct. Salim orders their execution immediately." Mostafa saw in the faces of his nephews what he wanted, surprise and revulsion at the thought of beheading this family. Mostafa felt pride for these young men who stood with him.
Mostafa went to hand the note back to the grinning Ya'qub when he drew his pistol and shot Ya'qub in the chest three times. Ya'qub's grin faded as he fell to the floor. Mostafa's nephews, knowing what their uncle might do, lifted their AK 74s and fired into the front ranks of Ya'qub's men, who returned fire randomly into the room toward the guards and hostages. Mostafa dared not turn around but emptied his pistol into the men in front of him before reaching behind him for his rifle.
By the time he turned around with his Kalashnikov, the firing had stopped and all but one of Ya'qub's men were down, most were dead, others mortally wounded. The jihadi that survived had joined Mostafa and his nephews in stopping Ya'qub's goons, firing into the rear of the gunmen. He now hid behind a column near the office door, not knowing if he would be shot by Mostafa too.
Mostafa turned around, afraid to see who survived. Three of his nephews were down, unmoving, and the last one standing was bleeding from an abdomen wound. Next to him stood Moshe Fogelbaum with a now empty AK 74 in his hand not sure what to do with it. He ejected the empty magazine and handed the weapon to the remaining wounded nephew, Kassab, and began to help him with his wound. "Thank you," Moshe said to Mostafa. "Now what?"
"I am not sure," said Mostafa. "I've never been in a position where my enemies and my friends wanted to kill me." He looked down at Rachel Fogelbaum curled up in the corner protecting her children. She couldn't speak but gratitude shone in her teary eyes. Rachel comforted her children as they sobbed from fear and from witnessing the slaughter of men in such close quarters.
Mostafa now turned his attention to the surviving jihadi who aided him. He suspected it was the man who winked at him before all the shooting began.
"You. Behind the column. Why did you help us?"
"I do not delight in the murder of children," he replied in perfect Palestinian–accented Arabic, staying hidden.
"Not what I would expect from one of General Zaheed's men," said Mostafa.
"I am not one of his men. My name is Ibrahim." Mostafa noticed he did not add a family or clan name.
"Why did you kill Ya'qub and his men in defiance of your general and clan leader?"
"Zaheed is no General, just an excellent killer of women and children. Ya'qub also. Just more so than the rest," replied "Ibrahim."
He suspected that Ibrahim, meaning Abraham in Arabic, was actually named the Hebrew version, or Avraham, but kept the suspicion to himself, for now. He handled his weapon much too well to be an average jihadi.
"Bar the doors," he told "Ibrahim." "Your fate is tied to ours now." Turning to the Fogelbaums, he said, "Your fate is in Allah's hands and the side who wins the battle outside that door."
If it is General Zaheed, I will kill Kassab, then myself. No need to leave us for the General's men to play with. They'll have enough fun with the family as it is, Mostafa thought grimly.
Al Aqsa Mosque
Captain Rayzel lost two more men before he made it to safety. Second Platoon was firing short bursts of automatic fire into the doors of the mosque while grenadiers were lobbing 40 mm grenades into the open doors and windows of the mosque to slow the jihadis down and keep them under cover and to prevent them from getting out into the open compound. Rayzel feared the worst scenario that he and his commanders contemplated––If they get out and are able to surround us, the jihadis will easily overwhelm us by numbers alone and slaughter us all.
After escaping the trap in the mosque, the captain and his handful of men ran for the safety of the Al Kas Fountain, a small sunken area the Muslims used to ritually wash before prayer. It was five meters in diameter and four steps below the level of the plaza. The center had a small fountain at the level of the Temple compound with water faucets protruding from the bottom of the fountain for the ritual washings. Around the faucets were stone benches for worshipers to sit on. From there it was four steps up to reach the level of the compound.
This was where Rayzel's team took cover from the fire from the Al Aqsa Mosque. Another team took up position there as well covering the sides and rear. They were all taking fire from both the Al Aqsa Mosque on the south and the Dome of the Rock to the north. Out of the frying pan into the fire, thought Rayzel with dark irony.
He listened to his other platoons as they reported in. Third and Fourth Platoons were barely holding the Al-Quds at the entrances to the El Marwani Mosque where the dead were stacked three high as they tried to get out and kill the Matkal. The Israelis were almost out of ammo even after scavenging the enemy bodies for more. Second Platoon, who were assigned to rescue the hostages, were trapped between the Dome of the Rock and the mosque and under fire from reinforcements from the buildings near the Dome platform. Time to change the beat of the music, thought Rayzel, but how? His men were already low on ammo as were the rest of the assault teams. Several of the LMGs on the roofs were out completely and his men were using the weapons of the dead Al-Quds guards to cover their trapped comrades. He knew there was no retreat. He looked at his watch and realized what General Nassi planned in such an eventuality and what was on the way.
"First and Second squads of First Platoon stay put and keep those jihadis in the mosque under cover. Third and Fourth squads are with me. We are going to reinforce Second Platoon and clear the LZ for General Nassi and the 890th. On my command we go."
At that moment two roaring Saraph AH-64 Apache attack helicopters rose above the southeast corner of the Temple Mount, stirring violent dust devils on the floor of the Haram's courtyard. The front Saraph faced the east side of the mosque and fired bursts of 30 mm cannon fire into the mosque's doors and windows, slewing around to the front while facing the mosque. The soda bottle-sized rounds of the chain gun tore through bodies, brick, and door alike. The accompanying Saraph swung up and around to fire bursts into the entrance to the underground Al Marwani Mosque turning bodies, living and dead, into small pieces. The attack helicopter then swung around and fired more bursts into the east side of the mosque as the Saraph's companion continued around firing into the front of the Mosque.
"Go," commanded Captain Rayzel and charged the surprised Al-Quds near the Dome of the Rock firing accurate single rounds to conserve ammo.
Temple Site, Dome of the Rock Platform
As Ben-Yosef and his partner, Avner Sivitz, approached the site of the Second Temple, excitement overcame the four scholars. Ben-Yosef's latest finds in a newly discovered Qumran cave turned Middle East archaeology upside down. Among the objects Ben-Yosef discovered in his dig was a 2nd Temple Scroll with a detailed description of the Temple Mount and, even more important, where the Temple itself was situated on Mount Moriah. It also contained ceremonies and songs performed in the Temple. Along with the scroll, he found two–thousand–year–old priests' clothing and several of the vessels that escaped the Roman destruction of Herod's Temple.
The Holy of Holies of the Second Temple never sat over the site of the Dome of the Rock, as many suspected, but rather over the Dome of Spirits, a hundred meters further to the north. With these discoveries, a great desire to survey the Temple site overcame Ben-Yosef and his partner. The problem was that the Islamic Waqf, which controlled the Temple Mount, would never allow Jewish scholars to prove the existence of a temple on their Al-Haram al-Sharif. Unlike years ago, Muslims now denied that an Israelite temple ever existed on Mount Moriah.
To get around the injunctions placed upon Jews by the Waqf and Israeli authorities, Ben-Yosef had an engineering friend add a laser range finder and internal GPS to his old 35 mm camera. With the help of Avner and their make shift "survey instrument" they were able to pinpoint the exact location of the Temple, doing the calculations in their heads and making notes on several return trips back to Ben-Yosef's home. It took dozens of visits to the Mount, which at times were interrupted by the frequent protests and riots incited by the Palestinian Authority and their rival, Hamas, on the Temple Mount.
When his paper was published, the Islamists were outraged that he had surveyed the "mythical Jewish temple" on their sacred Al-Haram al-Sharif. A massive protest was held after prayer services at the mosque on the following Friday with hundreds of Islamists stoning the Jews trying to pray at the only location near the site of their ancient temple where they were allowed to worship, the Western Wall. An imam from Iran put out a fatwa for the execution of Ben-Yosef and Avner for their blatant attempt to supersede the authority of Muslims over the third holiest site of Islam.
Nemerah stirred Ben-Yosef from his memories as she waved him to hurry as she searched the shadows with her night vision goggles for stray jihadis who could end their mission in an unpleasant fashion. They made their way west along the same pathway as the ambush and headed for the stairs that led to the large platform of the Dome of the Rock. Ben-Yosef was looking for the central axis of the Temple, beginning at the Dome of Spirits, running through the original Shushan Gate, and lining up with the high point of the Mount of Olives—the original location where the sacrifices of the red heifer were performed. This was one of the many keys that led to the discovery of the actual temple location.
As they silently made their way up the stairs, Ben-Yosef was awed by the desperate battle taking place just a few hundred yards south of their location. Stray bullets buzzed above his head from the intense fighting, sounding like angry bees seeking targets. The Matkal and Duvdevan were in a death grapple with the Al-Quds for supremacy of the Temple Mount. The rocket explosions and 30 mm chain gunfire from the attack helicopters were having an effect on the jihadis but there were so many—some who escaped the slaughter, were beginning to scatter.
The spectacle brought a strong urgency to Ben-Yosef's team to complete their mission before the 890th arrived. The Yamas operators were clearing the Ottoman period buildings along the north side of the Dome of the Rock platform. The Matkal west of their position were in a savage fire fight for the minarets and the buildings along the Western Wall. Fierce fighting to their north could be heard around the two passable gates, the Gate of Darkness and the Gate of Tribes, where the Duvdevan fought in a last-ditch battle against the reinforcements from the Madrassa. A ferocious battle was raging all around Nemerah and her team. Ben-Yosef was transfixed by the spectacular scene, and at the same time, horrendous nightmare he witnessed.
A flash in the corner of his eye drew his attention to the south. A jihadi with an RPG launcher shouldered, ran out from behind a pillar of the Dome of the Rock and, before being cut down by rifle fire, launched an RPG round at one of the Apaches, hitting it just behind the engine. There was a great explosion as the fuel ignited, ripping the tail section away. The pilot attempted to steer the falling helicopter away from the Matkal on the ground while striving to clear the Temple Mount and crash land into the unpopulated Kidron Valley.
Before he could clear the east wall of the Temple Mount, the helicopter fell directly on top of the entrance to the underground Al Marwani Mosque, dumping more burning fuel on the waiting Al-Quds trying to get to Captain Rayzel's men, effectively trapping them in the subsurface structure. A black mushroom cloud of burning aviation fuel erupted from the wreckage in the entrance producing a deafening explosion. Behind the roar of the fire, he could hear sickening shrieks of pain from the men fighting to get clear, as they became flaming pyres. Ben-Yosef said a quick prayer for the dying men in the fire—both Jew and Muslim—whom he could hear screaming over the sounds of battle.
Taking out his GPS, Ben-Yosef headed for his starting point and found it in short order. Tuvia Bacher, the physicist, helped him set up the laser while his friend, Avner Sivitz and Medad Kavka, the expert on ancient architecture, went around to the other side of the platform with part of Nemerah's squad.
Avner and Medad waited near the top of the stairs on the northwest corner of the Dome of the Rock platform while the Yamas operators cleared the area. Bacher helped Ben-Yosef survey the centerline toward the Dome of Spirits with the laser range finder. They found the line of uniform paving stones that ran from the original Shushan Gate to the Dome of the Spirits. Stephen learned this was a common device used by ancient architects when constructing temples. They made a mark at the center of the eastern side of the Temple site with water-soluble florescent spray paint. From there they established the northeast and southeast corners of the temple site, anchored lights into the cracks of the paving stones, and turned them on illuminating the east, north and south wall lines along the paving stones of the Dome of the Rock platform.
All around them raged the battle for the Temple Mount. Men dying on both sides for a small plot of land that three of the largest religions in the world held holy. What must God think of what is occurring on the very spot where we believe He created the earth, thought Ben-Yosef as he worked. To his north, he saw the Apaches firing rockets into the Madrassa and the Gate of Darkness where many Al-Quds gunmen were attempting to get to the Israelis who were seeking to wrest control of the Al-Haram al-Sharif away from them.
As Ben-Yosef worked, he looked west to see how his friend was doing. He could see Avner and Medad similarly marking out the western borders of the Temple. As they worked, a burst of rifle fire came from behind them from the nearby trees. His friend Avner fell along with a Yamas operator. Ben-Yosef and the rest of his team fell prone seeking cover on the open platform and returned fire into the trees. Nemerah's Yamas team fired as they ran down the stairs to engage the enemy. Another of her operators fell as Ben-Yosef watched in horror.
Nemerah grabbed Ben-Yosef by the shirt and drug him to his feet. "We must finish the survey! You're finished here! Avner's down, go help Kavka! We have to be ready for the 890th!" Nemerah shouted, pushing Ben-Yosef toward the gunfight where Avner's work had been interrupted.
Yamas operators concentrated their fire on the stray Jihadis among the trees attacking Avner's team. The enemy's weapons were silenced within seconds. Nemerah ordered her men to re-form into fire teams and re-secured the Temple site to protect the three remaining civilian contractors.
Ben-Yosef ran toward the prone figure of his friend with Nemerah at his side, their weapons at the ready. Ben-Yosef knelt next to his friend examining his wounds. He now saw that Avner was struggling to breathe, his lifeblood seeping out of a gaping neck wound. Avner looked up, glassy–eyed, at his friend, silently pleading for life as blood gushed onto the flagstones of the Temple platform. They both knew he wouldn't make it off the Temple Mount alive. Nemerah grabbed Ben-Yosef's shoulder, "He's gone. Get this done or we'll all join him. Calev!" She waved to the nearest Yamas operator with her rifle. "Help Avner!"
With one last tearful glance at his friend and a short silent prayer, Ben-Yosef turned to go. Avner nodded to Ben-Yosef, letting him know to finish the work he was sacrificing his life for.
Ben-Yosef quickly ran to help Kavka finish establishing the west end of the Temple. They placed the lights so that now all four sides of the inner court of the ancient temple were illuminated by beams of light shining down along the flagstones of the temple platform. The perimeter of the Jews' most holy structure could now be easily avoided by the Jewish soldiers.
In the distance, Ben-Yosef heard the thump, thump, thump of many helicopters approaching from the east.
Temple Mount
Captain Rayzel watched the first helicopter approach the east gardens recently cleared of Al-Quds gunmen. Heavy gunfire could be heard in the north at the Madrassa and west where they were still attempting to get to the hostages in the old museum. Apaches were rotating in and out supporting the Matkal as they helped clear the Temple Mount of the jihadis. Reports were just coming in that the civilians were able to delineate the Temple's perimeter. As the first CH-53 came in, ramp down, a crewman fired the .50 caliber heavy machine gun that was mounted on the lowered ramp into the trees, killing several brave jihadis. More .50s were manned, one at each window on either side putting down a withering amount of suppressing fire around the helicopter.
The CH-53 swiftly landed, followed by three more nearby. Rayzel watched as General Nassi jogged down the ramp of the first helicopter. Of course, General Nassi would insist to be the first of his brigade to dismount. He was immediately followed by his headquarters company and a TRT (Turkish Radio and Television) TV camera crew bringing up the rear.
What are they doing here? thought Colonel Rayzel in surprise. He waved to Nassi's command group to take shelter with him near the Dome of the Rock's platform wall and some trees they cleared of Al-Quds. What was the General thinking bringing the enemy's propaganda arm on the assault? As Nassi approached, Rayzel fought the urge to salute the general. No need for me to show any nearby haji who the commander for this operation is by saluting him.
"Where is Colonel Uzziah––I lost contact with him?" said General Nassi upon greeting Captain Rayzel.
"I, too, lost contact, sir. My radio was shot up near the fighting for the Al Aqsa," said Rayzel. "It's pure chaos up here, sir. I heard they took heavy casualties taking the minarets."
"Managed chaos, Capitan." Nassi flashed a lopsided grin. "Well done." He shook hands with the Matkal officer. "You were able to fight through the trap set by the Al-Quds."
"Yes, sir, but we took heavy losses doing so," Rayzel said with a sad expression. He knew every man in "The Unit" and hid the pain of their loss until afterward when he would mourn their deaths along with the rest of the survivors.
Captain Rayzel moved closer to the general and asked, "Why on earth did you bring them with you, General?" He indicated with his chin the camera team setting up.
"I want the world to see the evidence for themselves of the depravity and desecration the jihadists committed and how this battle is being fought. I am not afraid of the truth Capitan. I made a deal with a very hungry reporter." Nassi turned to watch the female reporter and her crew set up. "It's a live feed direct to the internet and once the camera is on, it doesn't get shut off. I have two of my meanest paratroopers to make sure of it." Nassi indicated two large men "protecting" the TRT team. "They'll be shown how their compatriots defiled their own mosque, torturing our soldiers and hanging their bodies there. No, Rayzel, the world will see what is occurring here, for good or ill."
Rayzel was skeptical of the general's reasoning but had no way to object now. He took out of a pouch a tablet with a map of the Temple Mount complex, marked with the current status of the fighting. "We've cleared all the structures along the east wall and here around the Dome. As we speak the west porch is being cleared. We've held the door closed to the mosques and as I understand it, the Duvdevan have held back the terrorists in the Madrassa for the arrival of your 890th. We wanted to save some of the fun for your men," said Rayzel as he saw another batch of CH-53s land with .50s firing, disgorging its load of paratroopers to join the fighting on the Mount. After deploying their troops, the helos, engines roaring, rapidly lifted off to make room for more of their companions circling in.
"What about the hostages, Capitan?" asked General Nassi.
A sour expression came to Rayzel's face. "I was right about the Yamas operators. One of the survivors told us that the team that was to retake the hostages was exposed, captured, and tortured to death. They hung the bodies in the mosque for us to find on entry." Captain Rayzel nodded at the body strewn plaza around the Al Aqsa mosque. "We were preoccupied with the Al-Quds in the mosques and clearing the LZs and didn't have enough men to rescue the hostages, sir. I'm sorry. Just now my men, with the help of the Duvdevan, are fighting their way to the family as we speak. I fear the hostages may be dead by now," Rayzel said with a frown.
"Blast Rayzel! The longer we wait, the less chance that family has to survive!" Turning to his second in command and pointing to a squad running down the ramp of the nearest helicopter, he ordered: "Take that squad and get me those hostages, Benyamin, alive!"
Colonel Benyamin Dreyfuss nodded with a wolfish grin. "Yes, sir," he said, eyes hard as granite. Dreyfuss turned, signaling the waiting squad to follow him.
Temple Site, Dome of the Rock Platform
Ben-Yosef, in a daze, helped take the wounded IDF soldiers and jihadis to the helicopters as they lifted off to bring more men and supplies. His friend Avner died before reaching the helicopter and was placed in a long line of those who sacrificed their lives to gain the holiest site of the Jewish people and rid it of the terrorists who had occupied it. He saw a Matkal soldier chanting the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead, over his fallen comrades. Ben-Yosef felt drained, both physically and emotionally.
Why can't I cry? he asked himself. He felt nothing inside. Empty. More men were being brought over to the aid station nearby. Those with critical wounds were being taken back to the airbase hospital on the now empty helicopters. Looks like they will be busy there for a while. Even the wounded Arabs are being treated and transported. Many were now surrendering while others were willing to die for Allah and take a few Jews with them. Ben-Yosef had grown up with the hatred between these two people. When will it end, he asked himself? God, he pleaded, let it end soon.
"Ben-Yosef, are you wounded?" asked a worried female voice.
The dazed Ben-Yosef looked up and saw Nemerah and a couple of her men walking towards him. Her head scarf was gone, her long dark hair hanging down in a ponytail. She looked as exhausted as he felt and had a worried expression on her face. "You're covered in blood," she said with concern in her voice.
Ben-Yosef looked down at himself. The fronts of his shirt and pants were drenched with blood.
"It's not mine," Ben-Yosef heard a distant voice say. The horror of that night suddenly hit him like a wall slamming into his chest. He looked at his blood–soaked hands and arms in shock. The site of jihadis and Jews alike being struck down by bullets and grenades came to him in a rush as he stood there looking at his hands. He saw the dead jihadi sentries at the Western wall. Grotesque shapes with open throat wounds and skulls crushed by rifle slugs. He saw a teen-age boy cut down in the ambush, crying for his mother as he died. He re-lived the sight of the helicopter crashing down on the men in the entrance to the Al Marwani Mosque, screaming as they burned to death.
"What have I done?" Ben-Yosef moaned in desperate grief as he fell to his knees. He saw his friend Avner being shot in slow motion, blood spraying from his neckt as the bullet tore his friend's throat out. Ben-Yosef, tears streaming down his face, looked up to the sky, clouds illuminated by the fires and explosions on the most sacred place on earth. His emotions were released at last. Ben-Yosef wailed for the loss of his friend and the death that was occurring all around him. The deaths that he had facilitated! He wailed like a grieving child for the loss of his mother for the futility of all the killing and death over the many years of Israel's existence.
Nemerah knelt next to the grieving man, putting one arm over his shaking shoulder.
"It's okay, Stephen. The battle is almost over," she whispered.
Ben-Yosef looked through his tears into Nemerah's dark eyes, not able to put into words the emotions he felt. He felt guilt for participating in the killing and surviving while many did not. Grief for the friends he saw killed, and anger at the hatred in the world and all the wars and killing. When will the death and destruction end? How can I explain the depths of the sorrow I feel?
"It's . . . it's so ugly," stammered Ben-Yosef, trying to express in words his feelings, but failing.
"I know, Stephen. You don't have to tell me. I have seen what war does to a person in too many faces of my friends," Nemerah said in a compassionate voice. Then, almost to herself, she whispered, "I have seen it all too often in my own mirror."
"Does it ever go away? This feeling?" he asked in a hope that seemed so distant.
"No, Stephen. Not completely. It will be a part of you for the rest of your life," she said sadly.
"How do you deal with it?"
"Remembering the many lives you save by taking a few," she said looking off into the distance of remembered battlefields, tightening her arm around the sobbing scientist.
Museum, Temple Mount
Mostafa looked at the family again. Moshe, the father, sat in front of his wife and children waiting for their fate to be decided. Moshe had taken two rifles from Ya'qub's dead men and gave one to his wife who had served in the IDF for two years as he had. Moshe had a look daring Mostafa to take the rifles away. Like a lion protecting its pride. I would do the same in his place. Now what do you do, Mostafa?
He looked at the back of "Ibrahim" who stood off to the side of the door listening, alert, to the battle being waged in the museum and the Al-Haram al-Sharif outside. He was trying to decide if "Ibrahim" was Duvdevan or another Yamas agent, who had escaped their search for infiltrators. Yamas he decided. Did Zaheed's trap work or were the Satan-following Jews killing their men and about to enter the room? What do I do with the Yamas scum?
Mostafa looked over at his nephew, Kassab. He had lost too much blood and was barely conscious. No help there. He'll be out soon and dead if he doesn't get medical attention very quickly.
Well Mostafa, you have gotten yourself between a bolder and a mountain. If the Jews get through, they'll kill you outright with no remorse and free the hostages. If General Zaheed wins and the Jews flee, as they did last time, Zaheed will have his men capture and torture you as a traitor for disobeying his orders and kill the Fogelbaums. Either way, Kassab and I will die.
"What is it you want, Mostafa?" a still small voice deep inside his soul asked.
Mostafa thought for a moment and whispered, "I want to see my son one last time."
"Turn around," the voice said.
Mostafa looked behind him where the Fogelbaum family knelt. Instead of the five Jews, he saw his wife, Adeba, and their five children, small as they would have looked ten years ago. In his wife's arms was little five–year–old Hazim, his youngest, clinging to her as if in danger. The children were afraid but his wife had a look of love and affection for her husband. She whispered something to her children and they all smiled up at Mostafa with expectation and hope in their eyes. They were looking to Mostafa for protection and felt safe with him there.
"What do you see, Mostafa?" the soft voice asked. Mostafa felt, more than heard the voice, as if it filled his soul with love and comfort.
"My answer," he replied. As he said this, he felt satisfaction from the voice and a warm feeling of knowing, of resolve for what he knew he must do now. Sacrifice his life for what was right.
He looked back to "Ibrahim" who was looking at him with a queer expression on his face.
"You all right, Mostafa?" "Ibrahim" asked.
"Yes Avraham," Mostafa said, guessing at his real name. Avraham's eyes opened a little wider. "Are you ready to help your friends out there?" Mostafa asked.
"What are your intentions?" asked Avraham in an even tone, shifting his rifle in his hands.
Mostafa ignored the question and turned toward Moshe Fogelbaum. His face was calm and serene.
"Will you protect Kassab?" he asked, indicating his now unconscious nephew.
"Yes, I promise. We'll be sure he's not hurt and gets medical care," Moshe said, understanding what Mostafa was about to do and gave him a warm smile in gratitude.
Mostafa nodded thanks and got up. He walked over to where Avraham stood rifle ready and nodded toward the barricaded outer door.
"Let's do this," he said, steel in his voice.
"Are you sure?" asked the Yamas operator, his voice hard, his eyes steady.
Mostafa just nodded.
"The Al-Quds are behind a sandbag barricade in the far office," said Avraham. "They locked this door and in the next room have a dozen reinforcements. We can either go in quick, shooting them down in surprise, or use a ruse and walk in."
"Let's go quick," said Mostafa. "I am not good at deceptions."
"Okay, Mostafa," Avraham said with a lopsided grin. "I'll go left. You go right. Start shooting as soon as we go in, from right to left. I'll shoot from left to right. Once they are all down we'll head for the outer offices and the gallery."
Mostafa looked into the confident eyes of this infidel he was about to help to save a Jewish family. I better not think about how ironic it is for me to kill fellow warriors of Allah to save his mortal enemies, he thought.
"Let's go before I change my mind," Mostafa said grimly.
"On three," said Avraham with a predatory smile, getting readying to kick open the flimsy office door. "One . . . Two . . ."
Al Aqsa Mosque
Captain Rayzel oversaw the surrender of the Al-Quds in the two Mosques. The fighting had been bloody taking the Al Aqsa Mosque, converging from three sides on the barricaded jihadis inside. Without the help of the 890th, they would have all died in the intense fighting.
After they removed the wreckage of the downed helicopter from the entrance of the Al Marwani Mosque, the survivors were more than happy to be rescued from the underground death trap. Many died from the flames and asphyxiation. He could hear some fighting in the north where what was left of the Madrassa stood in ruins. The 890th was now spreading into the Old City with the help of mechanized army units coming in from the west. Soon Jerusalem would be free of the nightmare that the Al-Quds presided over during the past several months. Behind him, Rayzel heard running footsteps on the stone plaza. He turned to see Sergeant Gershon and two of his squad mates approaching him, out of breath.
"Capitan," said Sergeant Gershon, hands on his knees, panting. "The general has been trying to get ahold of you. He wants to see you at the museum."
Rayzel cursed. His radio was knocked out and his exec, who was his only way of communication, was wounded and being airlifted back to base.
"Let's go," said Rayzel as he jogged in the direction of the museum.
He found General Nassi just outside the museum talking to the Fogelbaum family. Rayzel and the rest of the Matkal shouted with joy when they heard that the hostages were found alive and unhurt. The Matkal, with the support of the Duvdevan and paratroopers, were successful in breaking through the barricaded jihadis in the museum. Casualties were heavy and the fighting intense until the very end when the IDF broke through with the help of a Yamas operator on the inside. I guess not all of the agents were captured. He tried not to envision the mutilated corpses they had cut down from the beams of the mosque.
Rayzel approached the party of uniformed soldiers around the Fogelbaums. "General Nassi, you asked for me?"
"Ah yes, Captain Rayzel," said General Nassi. "I want to again congratulate you and your men on such an amazing feat to take and hold the Mount long enough for reinforcements to arrive and to free the Fogelbaums."
"Couldn't have done it without the support of your paratroopers General," replied Rayzel sincerely.
"Assign a squad to escort this good family to one of the helicopters returning back to base," ordered the general. "My men are searching the buildings for stray jihadis hiding on the Mount. The Duvdevan were hit pretty hard clearing the northern wall and gardens. Both of your units deserve a much–needed break from the action. The paratroopers will take it from here Capitan."
"Thank you, General," said Rayzel, again fighting the urge to salute.
Rayzel turned to Sergeant Gershon, saying "Sergeant, take your team and escort the Fogelbaums back to Tel Nof. Return with one of the supply helicopters."
"Sir," said Sergeant Gershon, the word sounding more like a protest than an affirmation of orders. Rayzel knew Gershon wanted to stay with the rest of the Matkal but wouldn't protest in front of General Nassi.
"I promise if we find a secretly hidden army of suicidal jihadis," Rayzel's lips quirked up, "I'll save them for you when you get back, Sergeant. Now take this good family out of this carnal house."
"Yes sir."
"Mostafa!" called a child.
Rayzel turned to see the young Fogelbaum boy run to a stretcher leaving the museum. On it was a wounded man he assumed to be this "Mustafa."
Yonatan approached the stretcher with concern in his voice and on his young, innocent face. "Are you okay, Mustafa? Did the bad guys hurt you?"
The man on the stretcher looked to be an Arab in his fifties with gray in his beard. His face was ashen from loss of blood and he didn't respond immediately to the boy. Finally he said, "Hazim, tell mother I love her . . . take good care of her Hazim . . . I love you."
"We must hurry," said the medics. "He's lost a lot of blood." They rushed their burden toward the waiting helicopter.
"Who was that?" asked General Nassi.
"The man who saved our lives," replied Rachel Fogelbaum with a tear in her eye.
Captain Rayzel watched the stretcher leave and thought how war brings out the best and worst in men. Will the same be said of me when my times comes?
Dome of the Rock
Ben-Yosef sat with his back to a wall of the Dome of the Rock, watching the aftermath of battle. With fascination, he watched a parade in the sky. Large cargo helicopters were coming and going landing more men and supplies and taking off the dead and wounded. Whole containers were being landed, filled with heavy weapons, rockets and mortars, and enough food and ammunition to last for months. What is going on? The fighting was all but over here on the Temple Mount. He could hear gunfire from the Old City but that was sporadic and distant now.
"Let's go get something to eat, Ben-Yosef, you must be as hungry as I am," said Nemerah. She approached with a few of her surviving team members.
"Even more so Nemerah." Ben-Yosef stood up slowly letting the kinks and sore muscles loosen.
"Nemerah," said Ben-Yosef as he and his surviving colleagues walked toward the stairs that lead to the mosque. "I think that after all we've been through, you can at least tell me your real name. I promise not to tell anyone—even my wife," he said with a tired smile. The rest of the group laughed, breaking the tension of the past few hours.
Nemerah looked into the eyes of the professor. Seeing something, he was not sure what, she laughed and said, "Talia Naimon, pleased to meet you, Stephen Ben-Yosef." She reached out her hand and gave Ben-Yosef a firm shake and held it for a few seconds longer.
"War and adversity create a strong bond, Ben-Yosef. You three are now our brothers." Talia looked at the three scientists and her team members who all agreed with her. "We will always remember your bravery under fire and how you helped free the Temple Mount of the evil men who occupied it. If you ever need our help again, any of you, I promise you we will answer the call no matter where we may be." The warrior named Talia Naimon let go of Ben-Yosef's hand and stepped back with her team. A bond was cast at that moment that would never be broken. He could feel it, tangible and strong. Looking at his two colleagues, he knew they felt it too. This was an experience he had never felt before and would probably never have again. He reveled in it and feared it at the same time. Would I be worthy of it in the future? he asked himself.
"Come on, brother," said Micha, Talia's second in command. "Let's eat," said the big man wrapping his arm around Ben-Yosef's shoulders.
As they descended the steps from the Dome of the Rock platform, they saw General Nassi and a group of his paratroopers headed their way toward the stairs they were on. General Nassi saw Ben-Yosef and his group and waved to him. At that moment, a movement caught Ben-Yosef's attention. It was a man running toward the general's party. He was yelling something. It was "Allahu Akbar!"
~~~
General Nassi's whole party turned to the sound of jihad and death knowing what always followed. He wanted to thank the scientists who helped on the mission and was told they were on the Dome's platform. Nassi and his party were approaching the stairs to the platform near the Al Kas Fountain where Captain Rayzel escaped the trap in the mosque. A jihadi wearing a suicide vest was hiding there among the bodies, waiting for a group of Jews to come by. He yelled the death shout of jihad and ran toward the group, trigger in raised hand, ready to set off the steel ball bearing–laden explosives wrapped around his chest and waist.
Without a thought, Lieutenant Eleazar, Nassi's huge aide, ran at the jihadi like a rugby back a position he loved to play, taking out a swingman going for a touchdown. He picked up the surprised smaller man and took them both down into the bowl around the fountain and Muslim ablution station.
"Get down!" yelled General Nassi as everyone sought cover for the inevitable explosion.
As he hit the paving stones of the Al Aqsa Mosque courtyard, he heard an explosion from the Al Kas Fountain. Shrapnel buzzed through the air as slower and heavier objects followed, landing with wet splashes.
"No!" cried General Nassi as he stood and wobbled from the concussion to the edge of the depression and looked down into the Al Kas Fountain. Sickened by the sight, he turned away, tears in his eyes. He loved Uri Eleazar like a son and hoped he would mentor him to be the great leader he had the potential to be. Now he was gone in a flash. Life ended so quickly and abruptly. This war is unending, he thought in sorrow. When will God return our blessings?
When you rebuild My house and renew your covenants, a soft answer came back to his soul.
His resolve intensified to see through what he and his "conspirators" designed to do before this operation began. Would the men agree? He faced long odds but he believed in the rightness of the path they had set out to do. Soon would come a decision that would affect the nation of Israel and every Jew in the world.
~~~
Captain Rayzel could not believe that only three hours passed since he landed on the roof of the mosque. It seemed like it had been days, as he watched the sunrise over the Mount of Olives. Clouds to the east glowed red as the sun rose over the horizon. So beautiful, thought Rayzel not wanting to look around him at the ruin, blood, and death of the past few hours.
General Nassi asked those units who helped take the Temple Mount to gather on the Dome of the Rock platform near the site of the original temple surveyed by Ben-Yosef and his team. Rayzel gathered those of his men who were not busy guarding the entrances to the Mount and had returned from escorting the prisoners and wounded back to Tel Nof. Colonel Simon Weiss was there with his Duvdevan, looking as exhausted as Rayzel felt.
Yaakov Turowitz was with the few handfuls of Yamas operators who survived the assault. The torture and murder of their friends and comrades by the Islamic terrorists hit them hard. It had been very difficult to keep several of them from executing the Al-Quds surrendering from the mosque where their friend's bodies were hung as trophies.
General Nassi joined the men on the platform of the Dome of the Rock. Beside him was Brigadier General Eliezer, the Chief Rabbi of the IDF, who looked somber and tired after comforting so many of the assault's wounded.
General Nassi and Eliezer looked at the men for a moment before beginning, waiting for the murmuring and speculation on this meeting's topic to end. Brigadier General Eliezer stepped up on a stone bench nearby and began first. "Let us all now recite the prayer for the fallen soldiers of this war against all of our people's enemies."
Captain Rayzel bowed his head and could hear soldiers weeping around him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he recited the prayer with the rabbi and his fellow soldiers.
"Merciful God in Heaven, may the heroes and the pure be under Thy divine wings, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure who shine bright as the sky. That the souls of soldiers of the Israeli army who fell in this battle against the enemies of Israel, who fell for their loyalty to God and the land of Israel, who fell for the liberation of the Temple, the Temple Mount, and Old Jerusalem, the city of the Lord––may their place of rest be in paradise. Merciful One, O keep their souls forever alive under Thy protective wings. The Lord being their heritage, may they rest in peace, for they shall rest and stand up for their allotted portion at the end of the days, and let us say, Amen."
A solemn "Amen" echoed across the courtyard of the Dome of the Rock as Eliezer stepped down and Nassi took his place.
~~~
Major General David Nassi stood tall and looked out over the exhausted, dirty, bleeding men and women who fought to retake the Temple Mount. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words. He knew what he wanted to say, what should be said, but didn't know how to begin. On the perimeter of the crowd, he saw the TV crew recording for the world to see the events of the past few hours. He noticed that Corporals Harel and Wexler were with the TRT team, scowling at their charges like unsatisfied taskmasters readying their whips.
General Nassi paused. The reporter had filmed the mutilated bodies of the men and the blood and gore found in the rooms where they were hung and tortured for hours before dying. They also interviewed the Fogelbaums and their children. It was interesting how they recounted that one of their Palestinian guards had helped rescue them. TRT made sure that was emphasized. They were outraged at the battle scars of bullets, shrapnel, and 30mm canon shells on the mosque and Dome of the Rock. They showed the bodies of the Al-Quds that were lined up right next to the dead Jewish soldiers on the plaza. That seemed to upset them. Too bad, thought Nassi. If it wasn't for their hatred and inculcating their children from birth to hate and kill Jews, there wouldn't be any dead or broken bodies Muslim or Jew here or anywhere else in this tiny country of ours.
General David Nassi noticed that all were looking up at him, patiently waiting for him to speak, eyes moist from the prayer.
So he began.
"First, I would like to thank all of you for your sacrifice and the bravery you showed this morning. None of you wanted this." He opened his arms wide. "What you want, as every soldier wants, is peace. That was taken from us over seventy years ago when this nation was born. The Muslims did not want us in the land God gave us. But the Lord had a different plan and has brought us back again as prophesied in the Tanakh."
"Fifty years ago, Colonel Motta Gur led his paratroopers to take this same ground we stand on. Our people were not allowed to worship anywhere near our holiest place on earth, the place where we twice built the House of the Lord at His command. We bled and took this ground then, in an act of moral cowardice, our politicians gave it back to the one religion which forbad all others to worship here who revered Mount Moriah as holy."
Nassi asked, "Why can't all who wish, worship here?"
General Nassi paused to let the question simmer. "Two billion Christians believe that their Savior walked, taught, and performed miracles on this very site. They built churches here, which were either converted into another religion's edifice or destroyed."
"Islam believes that their prophet Mohammed rose to heaven from that rock." Nassi pointed at the Dome of the Rock. "They built a shrine over that same rock and mosques nearby," now pointing at the Al Aqsa Mosque. "They used them to store weapons, terrorize men, women and children and ultimately to torture and kill our soldiers in that holy building," he said with derision. A harsh murmur came from the men around Nassi. Many of them had taken down the mutilated bodies of their friends and comrades and prepared them for transport back to the airbase.
General Nassi continued, "They have a right to worship here even if they profaned their own Noble Sanctuary."
Several "No's" were shouted out and protests were heard. The General Nassi raised his hand and the men quieted down. With his hands, he indicated the Dome and the mosques. "Those are the Muslim's holy places. Let them worship there."
The general turned and pointed to the still visible temple site Ben-Yosef's team marked out, sacrificing as they did so. "Three thousand years ago, Solomon built the First Temple where we worshipped the Lord and offered sacrifices as He commanded. It was destroyed on the ninth day of Av by the Babylonians twenty-six hundred of years ago. We rebuilt it as commanded and worshipped there again. Because of our unrighteousness it was destroyed a second time on the very anniversary of the destruction of the First Temple's destruction, the ninth day of Av. The Roman General Titus left no stone upon another and scattered our people over the Roman world, which we called the Great Diaspora. Over the two millennia since, we meticulously kept our religion and language and have now returned once again as foretold by every prophet."
"Our scholars determined that before the Third Temple could be built, certain events had to occur. Each one an improbable historic event and all were thought to be extremely unlikely a hundred years ago. First, a return of our people from the Diaspora. That began as a trickle two hundred years ago and culminated with the establishment of the nation of Israel in 1947, a miracle in and of itself, which leads me to the second one," he said.
"A Jewish government must be established in this land led by a descendant of King David. We have the government but no heir of David . . . yet." Nassi smiled. "Third, a Sanhedrin must be created and appoint a High Priest. Last year the New Sanhedrin was formally organized and is in negotiation with our government. We also need trained and ordained priests, the Cohen, led by the new High Priest. That High Priest was chosen by the Sanhedrin last year. Through modern science and breakthroughs in molecular genetics, we have found the specific genetic markers, which, combined with genealogy, will identify the descendants of Aaron who will officiate in the Third Temple."
"As of now, the future priests are unable to enter into the precinct of the Holy Sanctuary." Nassi pointed to the Dome of the Spirits and the Temple outline men had died to survey. "This is because they lack the means to purify themselves––to enter into the waters of the Mikvah and receive the ablutions from living waters sprinkled with the ashes of the red heifer.
"I can announce to you this morning that there is an unblemished red heifer in an undisclosed location being well cared for and well-guarded. She is ready to be sacrificed by a High Priest today. There is nothing to hold back the construction of our Third Temple . . . except the weak hearts of man."
~~~
Captain Rayzel listened to his commander with apprehension. If Israel attempted to rebuild the temple as Nassi seemed to be proposing on the Al-Haram al-Sharif, all hell would break out in Judea, Samaria, Gaza and in the entire Muslim world. Every jihadist in the world would be on our borders within the year to drive the Jews into the sea as has been their wish since this nation was born. What mad scheme is Nassi up to, now? he thought bleakly.
~~~
"As of a few hours ago, no Jew or Christian could pray or worship on this their holy ground. Isn't it about time religious intolerance and hatred ended right where the three come together?" Nassi asked, hands outstretched, his voice imploring. "We have a Muslim mosque and an ancient Israelite temple site. The Christian Church of Saint Mary of Justinian once stood here. Why can't these three religions come together in the same location held sacred by all and be at peace?" he asked, indicating the Temple Mount with his hands spread wide. "Each one professes to be a religion of peace. Let them live that belief!"
"My men have spilled their blood to cleanse the Temple Mount from the killers who desecrated it. The Islamic Waqf invited them in, gave them access, stored their weapons of war, and helped in the kidnapping of innocents and allowed the torture and execution in their third holiest shrine. I refuse to give all of it back to them," Nassi said in an unyielding voice. "I plan to guard it from evil men until the three great religions can come to an agreement to make peace once and for all, so that any who wish can worship on Mount Moriah be they Muslim, Jew, or Christian. Until then, I declare the Temple Mount or the Noble Sanctuary, to be an important protected historical and archaeological site. No existing religious structure will be disturbed, particularly the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock. They will be guarded, protected, and restored to their former glory once the scars and blood of war and torture are cleansed from them. If they come in peace, Islamic workmen will be welcomed to do the work on their shrines while others conduct a study of what lies just beneath the surface of the platform, north and away from the Dome of the Rock."
~~~
Ben-Yosef stood, stunned at the audacity of General Nassi. How could he accomplish what he proposes to do? The Muslim world is at this very moment probably rising in anger, he thought, as he looked over at the TRT crew broadcasting Nassi's speech to the world. The flames of the last Middle East war was barely extinguished. Now a new war will begin, but this one will be a holy jihad by several billion Islamists. The government of Israel will be just as angry at General Nassi as the Muslims. They are mostly a very secular bunch and not very patient about their fewer and more orthodox brothers. They'll come down hard on General Nassi and any who will follow this foolish plan in order to stop the coming jihad.
Yet deep down Ben-Yosef was excited. What would he give to be able to prove his theories by conducting an archaeological dig in his proposed location of the First and Second Temples for artifacts and the foundation stones that must surely be there? Could Nassi really do what he has proposed? Ben-Yosef could easily find the foundation stones of the Second Temple the first day if his calculations were correct. He knew where to dig after all. The foundation stones surely must be just below the surface of the platform. Ben-Yosef's anticipation grew as he imagined the elation of rediscovering the Second Temple.
~~~
General David Nassi continued. "It would seem to me that after a thousand years, the time has arrived for the Islamic world to accept Israel's nationhood as a fact, for here is the sole state in the international community that has the same territory, speaks the same language and upholds the same faith as it did three thousand years ago. We have accepted Islam's right to worship here on our holiest site, the Temple Mount. It is time now for religious tolerance to overcome the hatred and bigotry of the past. Let Christianity, Islam and Judaism come together in peace and all worship their God as their conscience dictates. I declare at this moment freedom of religion in Jerusalem and above all, on this holy Mount Moriah."
The cheering lasted for minutes. They feel joy and relief. Nassi waited patiently for the roar to die down. What will they feel in the coming days if world opinion turns against them or when they are termed traitors by their own government and fellow soldiers? Who knows how this will turn out? It's in God's hands now.
General Nassi raised his hand to conclude his speech. "There is much work to do here in the coming days. We will be here as long as it takes the three religious communities to come to terms with the new reality and decide what to do with this thirty-seven acres of holy ground. Be prepared. Many will oppose us. A few will join us. Those of you who do not agree with this proposal can depart and return back to El Nof on the last helicopters out. No one will think ill of you. But know this. I will not budge from this holy ground until peace has been brought to this mountain top so that never again will human blood be spilt here in the name of God."
General Nassi stepped down and, using his command voice, ordered, "All officers follow me."
Nassi walked to the eastern set of stairs leading down from the Dome of the Rock platform to the gardens. He looked to make sure they all followed and noticed that the television crew continued to record. Should I allow them to record my meeting with the commanders? Nassi stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to the TRT reporter from Turkey, Sinem Tilki.
"What did you think of my speech, Ms. Tilki?"
"Unexpected and earth–shattering, General Nassi. I have been told that this live report is being broadcast by every cable and news outlet on the globe. Since I began recording over three hours ago, the audience has passed three billion and is still climbing. You have the world's attention, General."
"That's not what I asked, Ms. Tilki. What do you think?" pressed the general.
Sinem Tilki was caught off guard by the question. Reporters were more used to asking the questions than coming up with answers. She paused for several heartbeats. "Your plan of bringing three religions that have been at war for centuries together in peace is a laudable and altruistic goal, General. Will the extremists on either side go along with your plans?"
"A well evaded answer and a very good question. The extremists are a minority in every religion. The moderates give them power by keeping silent. Isn't it about time that those who love peace shout down the minority who hate and stir up violence against others of differing religions? Maybe it's time that the 'religions of peace' act on the teachings of their various prophets and scriptures."
With that, General David Nassi turned and walked to an area untouched by the recent fighting where some could sit on stone benches. Nassi stood to allow the more exhausted officers to rest. With him were the four men who had stood with him at the hanger of El Nof just a few hours ago at the final briefing. It seems like weeks have gone by instead of hours.
"I only want volunteers on this wild adventure of ours." A few of the more alert officers noticed the plural form "our" in his statement. "Yes," he said, "Lieutenant Colonel Uzziah, Colonel Weiss, Yaakov Turowitz, and Brigadier General Eliezer discussed this together when the mission was given to me a month ago. I proposed it to them and they all agreed that no more blood will be spilled on our Temple Mount. God must look down in disgust at the bickering of His children. We decided to make the attempt to bring peace here or die trying."
"Any of you who wish may leave now and retain your honor. I must warn you that those who remain will be pariahs among our own people and the world. If this doesn't work, the fury, hatred, and bigotry of this world will come down around us in an avalanche. There will be no half measures, gentlemen. We will either succeed and share this holy place with all or die here. I see no other option."
~~~
Captain Rayzel knew the four men standing with General Nassi. He served under each one in his career at one time or another and put his life in their hands many times serving to defend his little county against very heavy odds. This time it was different. The enemy was defeated and the mission given to them by their civilian commanders accomplished. They should now stand down and return to base to prepare for the next attack of their enemy. General Nassi was asking each officer and soldier to defy the civilian politicians and their oath they sworn to uphold. What their commanders were asking went against every principle Rayzel had lived for the past two decades in the service to his country and his people. It felt wrong superficially. Deep down where Rayzel's soul lived it seemed utterly right. To fight for something more powerful than politicians, flags, or lines on a map. This felt more like a spiritual battle for peace and to put a stop to the decades of killing that seemed to go on forever against the forces of evil. Following General Nassi felt more right than anything he had ever endeavored to do. Looking around at his fellow officers, he saw the same resolve. Sacrifice all to bring peace to this tiny mountain top.
~~~
An exhausted TV reporter, Sinem Tilki, walked a few steps from General Nassi's command group as they finished up the meeting and hurried to the tasks given to them by the five commanders. Looking a little disheveled, mascara beginning to run, and dirt smudges on her face, Tilki looked into the camera and said, "The amazing events of the past few hours have stirred the emotions of the world. As General Nassi's forces strengthen their defenses on the Al-Haram al-Sharif, world leaders are gathering at the UN. The Muslim leaders of the Middle East are outraged at the slaughter instigated by the aggression of General Nassi and his soldiers-turned-mercenaries to the cause of the extremists of the Zionist movement in Israel, who want to demolish the Islamic shrines and build their mythical Third Temple. Russia and China have called a meeting of the Security Council to demand the return of the Al-Haram al-Sharif back to the sovereignty of the Jordanian Waqf who have controlled the area for centuries."
As Tilki spoke, grumbling could be heard nearby and the camera jostled as the cameraman seemed to have lost his balance. Tilki looked off camera and hesitated for a moment.
"We will resume broadcasting after my crew and I take a much–needed break to rest and eat. We'll be back in half an hour," said the Turkish reporter for TRT as the camera crew turned off their equipment.
J.K. Sellers