Amiram Azov's new book Tzliha (The Crossing), published by Dvir Publications, fairly and impressively summarizes the 60 hours during which the Suez Canal was crossed in the 1973 Yom Kippur War. His work naturally brings back memories of this event. The events of October 15, 1973 will always be remembered as the turning point of the war on the southern front. On that day, the order was given to execute Operation Brave Heart, the plan to cross the Suez Canal and invade Egypt. It should be said that, to the credit of those who planned the operation, it succeeded in surprising the Egyptians completely. Days passed until they realized what had happened, days which we used to strengthen our bridgehead. Did this plan determine the outcome of the war? One thing that can't be argued with is the fact that one week after that operation, a cease-fire went into effect. I was drafted on the afternoon of October 6. My red boots were polished, and the tension was high. We were glued to the radio, listening to the rumors and wondering why we, the liberators of Jerusalem in 1967, were being kept waiting. We were concerned about missing the war altogether. On October 9 we were flown to Rafidim, and it was there that we experienced the war for the first time. It seemed as if everything was being improvised, and there was no following of pre-determined plans. It dawned on some to defend against Egyptian commandos. Then the morning of October 15 arrived. What's happening? Why is it so quiet,- I asked. Sit down and write your last will and testament, a friend answered. We're crossing the canal in rubber dinghies, it's a commando counter-operation, and apparently this is the point of no return. Total astonishment followed, along with a complete inability to react. I immediately wrote a postcard to my wife and parents that everything was fine and we would meet soon. That night, 15 combat troops, their personal equipment, ammunition and a rubber dinghy were packed into an armored vehicle. There was no transmitter, nothing we were trained to use. Only our bravery and fighting spirit. We moved to the target. In front of us lay the eye of the storm: blood, fire and billows of smoke. Screams and the sounds of tank engines. All units were fighting to keep the path open so we could pass through to the canal. We were squashed in the vehicle with no air, and, because of the gunfire all around us, it was risky to raise our heads. Explosions were heard near us, and we prayed not to be hit by a missile. We were not in control. We hoped the Egyptians would not realize where we were headed and would fail to close the gaps between their forces, enabling us to pass through. Meanwhile, the pontoon bridge was stuck on the road, and we bypassed it. It seemed like an eternity as we crossed the canal, but we finally arrived at the disembarkation point. Who or what awaited us there we did not know. We jumped from the dinghy, lay down on the soft sand, and listened. The surprise was absolute. There was no resistance. We waited for armored reinforcements. The first tank arrived and identified suspicious movement. The tank fired, and the first of our number fell to so-called friendly fire. The company commander forgot that he had given orders to open fire at the troops own discretion. The fallen was a good friend, a veteran in the platoon. We had not encountered the enemy, and already we were mourning the unnecessary death of a friend. We patrolled the field to expand our area of control and ensure the continued crossing of our forces. The enemy still had not detected our maneuver and its meaning. We were hungry; we could survive on our combat rations, but they were lacking. No cigarettes. But there were ducks and fleas. We eyed the ducks for our next meal and tried to brush away the fleas. I remember books and movies about other wars throughout history. As it was then, so it is now: a soldier seeks food and cigarettes. We listened to the radio and heard an announcement by Prime Minister Golda Meir from the Knesset that our forces had traversed the canal. She meant us. It was strange. Were we designated yet again to change the course of the war? In 1967 we captured Jerusalem, and now we were in Egypt. But why were we being exposed? We were worried that this would bring the entire Egyptian army down on us. Was the message delivered because of someone's ego? Was it a political issue? We had to survive. This was the private mission of each and every one of us. We counted the bullets. Would we be able to stem the tide of Egyptians- The patrols continued and the company commander decided to advance and capture the Sarafem range. The few against the many. Our laid-back commander. To the naked eye, this was a nondescript range, but it was actually well-fortified. In opposition to logic and intelligence, the highly decorated company commander, his decorations perhaps clouding his judgment, decided to enter the lion's den, apparently not assessing the situation correctly. The company advanced into the trap. Many were killed and injured, and another company was sent to aid. We ran to help those in need. The bullets flew around us. The most valiant soldiers, fighting to break the siege, were killed. Some were injured. We entered Sarafem on the orders of a laid-back commander, outnumbered, without proper equipment and armored support. There was no planning, no intelligence. A mistake in navigation led us to our own private hell. There was a crisis of command in the company. Officers wanted to oust the commander, but he stayed put. There was some shuffling of positions, but this did not involve the commander. Only after some time did he relinquish control to his second-in-command. We carried on with our task of protecting the bridgehead. The Egyptians recovered. We were hit by hundreds of missiles a day, mostly barrages of katyushas. We became experts in identifying missile fire. Morning combat rations. It was quiet. Suddenly missiles slammed near us and exploded. We ran for cover. We waited for the last one to explode, and then get up again. Our breakfast was obliterated by a missile. Luck struck again. The barrages continued, and we slowly ran out of clothing, food, cigarettes and showers. But we were aware of taking part in a decisive operation. The battle was won by the brave few, with their blood and bodies. A few generals boasted, some seeking glory, others soul-searching, or for political reasons. The government was busy with its survival. The soldiers and officers in the field were the real heroes. They busied themselves mainly with achieving military goals, even when they were not very clear. And in the end, they won.
The writer serves as a paratrooper in the reserves.
