No Mission Is Impossible (7 page)

South of the compound, four Egyptian military trucks came from Rafah, carrying reinforcements. Danny Matt's men were ready. When the first truck approached, Katcha jumped on it and squeezed his trigger into the driver's cabin. The vehicle stopped and the paratroopers attacked the Egyptians with submachine guns and hand grenades. Another man jumped on the canvas top of the truck and fired long bursts on the Egyptians below. The other trucks stopped, and the Egyptian soldiers ran into the fields, firing at the Israelis from afar but not daring to approach.

One after the other the paratroopers' companies returned toward the border, carrying their eight dead and twenty wounded comrades. Sharon radioed, “We are on our way back, we are very heavy.” The staff officers who waited for him didn't understand, but his wife, Margalit
(“Gali”), who had come to take care of the wounded, understood that they were heavy with casualties. Many of the wounded were carried on improvised stretchers made of rifles and shirts. At the last moment, after he had crossed a large gully and was approaching the border, Uzi heard that one of the wounded had been left behind. He ran back, found the abandoned Major Michael Karten, a staff observer, and carried him on his shoulders to Israel. He did not know that Karten was already dead.

The Egyptians had thirty-six dead and twenty-eight wounded. Twenty-two of them had been killed by Danny Matt's men.

Following the battle Moshe Dayan awarded the Medal of Valor to three of the fighters: Uzi Eilam, Aharon Davidi and the late Suppapo.

A week after the battle Ben-Gurion visited the paratroopers' base, watched their parade and spoke to them. He called them “trailblazers”—the volunteers who march ahead of the nation.

Legendary paratroopers and commanders. Standing, from right to left: Assaf Simhoni, Moshe Efron, Danny Matt, Moshe Dayan, Ariel Sharon, Meir Har-Zion. Crouching: Rafael Eitan, Yaakov Yaakov, Aharon Davidi.

Abraham Vered, Bamachane, IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) archives

Black Arrow inaugurated the era of night retaliation raids. From then on, the IDF would respond to acts of murder and sabotage carried out by the paramilitary Arab infiltrators—called “fedayeen”—with attacks on the enemy's army bases and military targets. This mission started a vicious cycle of terrorist acts and reprisal raids that continued up to the Sinai campaign of 1956.

Ben-Gurion explained forcefully to a reporter, “These raids also have a moral and educational purpose. These Jews [whose settlements are close to the border] come from Iraq, Kurdistan, North Africa. . . . There their blood was free. . . . Here we have to reassure them that the Jewish people has a state and an army, and their life and property have a price. We have to make them stand tall, instill in them a feeling of independence and pride, for they are citizens of a sovereign nation that is responsible for their lives and safety.”

   
UZI EILAM, LATER DIRECTOR GENERAL OF THE ISRAELI ATOMIC ENERGY COMMISSION

          
“When Suppapo was killed, I was thirty feet away. Suddenly, Davidi appeared next to me, strolling calmly under heavy fire. I stood next to him—it wasn't pleasant sitting when the deputy battalion commander was standing. I learned from him to stay calm and controlled during every battle. This gives tremendous confidence to people, who believe that you know exactly what you want and where you're going.

              
“I decided to attack with four soldiers, the only ones from my unit who weren't wounded. We cut through the fence and cleaned out the base from behind. Eventually, with just one other soldier, I reached the command building. There were two platoons of Egyptian soldiers there, and a portion of them fled. Then I informed Davidi that it was possible to blow it up; the battalion's sappers arrived and we blew up the two buildings, and also the water-pumping facility.

              
“After the operation, I was in the hospital for a series of surgeries on my hand, and I was sent to a rehabilitation center.
I escaped, and during the Husan action [a retaliatory raid] I was in a Piper Cub flying over the troops. I also flew in a Piper during the Qalqilya raid. On the eve of the Sinai campaign I was appointed company commander with Motta, and the doctor finally cut off my cast.

              
“Two months after the Sinai campaign I was discharged. Three years later, when I got married, I left the kibbutz. They were very angry with me, and ‘forgave' me only after I took part in the liberation of Jerusalem during the Six Day War.”

In the fall of 1955, Egypt signs a formidable arms deal with Czechoslovakia, acting as a proxy for the Soviet Union. Egypt will receive hundreds of jet fighters and bombers, tanks, cannons, and other weapons with which it can wipe Israel off the map. In response, Ben-Gurion wants to launch a preemptive war against Egypt. In July 1956, Egyptian president Nasser nationalizes the Suez Canal, and Israel suddenly finds two major allies for an attack on Egypt—France and Great Britain—who want to take over the canal and dethrone Nasser. A secret deal among the three nations is reached in October 1956—they will launch an attack on Egypt.

O
n a pitch-black night in October 1956, the Israeli Air Force pilot Yoash (“Chatto”) Tzidon took off on the commands of his Meteor 13 night fighter, a sleek British-made jet, its black nose cone carrying a rounded radar device.

Chatto knew that his dangerous mission was crucial for the outcome of Israel's next war. Accompanying him in his Meteor was the navigator Elyashiv (“Shibi”) Brosh. The pair knew that their assignment, if it succeeded, would stay top-secret for decades to come. Chatto also already knew that, the next day, October 29, Israel would launch its attack on Egypt. Ironically, his squadron, nicknamed “the Bat,” hadn't been assigned a significant role; yet somehow, now, at the last minute, it had been tasked with Operation Rooster.

Chatto Tzidon's Meteor nightfighter.

Air Force Journal (AF Archive)

Chatto was accustomed to dangerous assignments. A fighter in the Palmach from the age of seventeen, he had served in a naval unit, departing for Europe in mid-1945 as a founder of the Gideons, an underground group of wireless operators that ran the communications network among the Aliya Bet (illegal immigration to pre-state Israel) command in Europe, illegal-immigrant camps, ships at sea and the Aliya Bet headquarters. He had escorted illegal immigrant ships, established a secret wireless station at a detention camp in Cyprus and participated in a sabotage mission against the British vessel
Ocean Vigour,
which was involved in expelling illegal Jewish immigrants. In Cyprus he met a nurse from Israel, Raisa Sharira, whom he made his wife. During the War of Independence, Chatto would command a military convoy to Jerusalem and, at the fighting's conclusion, would enroll in the first pilot-training program in Israel.

As a combat pilot, he had made the transition to jet aircraft, and in 1955 was assigned to train a squadron of “night-fighter all-weather” jets. He called the squadron Zero Visibility.

In the last week of October 1956, Chatto was urgently recalled from
England, where he was completing his training for nighttime dog fights. In Israel, his superiors informed him, in total secrecy, of the upcoming Sinai campaign, or Operation Kadesh. “In a couple of days,” they said, “we'll be at war.”

On October 28, Chatto was transferred to the Tel Nof airbase, closer to the future theater of war. It was there, at 2:00
P.M
., that he was urgently summoned to the IAF headquarters in Ramleh. The air force command dispatched a Piper plane to Tel Nof to bring him immediately, even though the trip from Tel Nof to Ramleh lasted barely twenty minutes by car. The head of the Air Department, Colonel Shlomo Lahat, locked the door of his office and explained the assignment to Chatto.

Lahat spoke succinctly, after swearing Chatto to secrecy. “You know,” he said, “that a joint command treaty was recently signed by Egypt, Jordan and Syria. We have learned that the Egyptian and Syrian military chiefs of staff are now conducting talks in Damascus. All the senior staff of the Egyptian Army, Navy and Air Force is participating in the discussions, which are run by Marshal Abdel Hakim Amer, chief of staff of the Egyptian Army.

”Trusted intelligence sources,” Lahat added, “report that the Egyptian delegation will return to Cairo tonight on a Soviet-made plane, Ilyushin ll-14.

“Your mission,” Lahat told Chatto, “is to bring down the plane.”

Chatto understood the tremendous significance of the assignment. If he shot down the plane, the Egyptian armed forces would be left without a military staff and a supreme commander on the eve of a war. The outcome of the entire conflict might hinge on his success.

Lahat expected that the Egyptian plane would choose a flight path far from Israel, outside the range of its fighter planes. He proposed that Chatto take off in his own aircraft and circle above Damascus while he waited for the Egyptian Ilyushin to take flight.

Chatto disagreed. “If they discover my presence, I could get in trouble with their interceptors. Or my fuel tanks could run out before they've even taken off.”

Lahat asked what he proposed instead.

Chatto knew that the up-to-the-minute information would be reported by the IDF special units listening to the Egyptian-Syrian communication channel. “Call me half an hour after takeoff,” Tzidon said, “when the plane is over the Mediterranean, in range of our radar.”

Lahat looked at him in surprise. “Do whatever you think is best,” he eventually said.

The Piper jet brought Chatto promptly to Ramat David airbase, where he had parked his Meteor. Shibi Brosh, the navigator, was already there. The pair prepped the plane, even conducting a nighttime test flight. Chatto knew that his principal problem was that the Ilyushin ll-14 was a relatively slow piston aircraft, and that his own Meteor was fast. To hit the Ilyushin, he would need to slow his plane down as much as possible—to landing speed or even less; but at such a speed, his aircraft might stall with its nose upward, and then dive and crash. An idea came to him about how to overcome the problem—by partially lowering the landing flaps, which he practiced midair.

Night fell. The call came several hours after dinner. Chatto, with nerves of steel, had even managed to sleep for about thirty minutes, when, at ten-thirty, he was awakened. The Egyptian plane had taken off from Damascus, he was told, and it had turned toward the sea in a wide arc. It was somewhere at the edge of the Meteor's range of action, advancing toward Egypt at a height of ten thousand feet, or thirty-two hundred meters.

At 10:45, Chatto and Shibi took off into the night. All of Israel was dark; there wasn't a trace of moon in the sky. Chatto had never seen such darkness.

The Meteor advanced through the total blackness, with the cockpit faintly illuminated by infrared light so that the pilot's and navigator's night vision wouldn't be diminished. On the two-way radio, Chatto listened to the flight controllers on the ground, identifying among them the serene, restrained voice of Dan Tolkovsky, the IAF commander.

Then the first glitch occurred: Chatto discovered that the fuel in the detachable tanks wasn't transferring into the main tanks. The plane had taken off with two reserve wing tanks, each containing 350 liters of fuel,
and Chatto realized, just like that, that he had lost seven hundred liters. With no other choice, he detached the reserve tanks from the wings and dumped them into the sea. A short time later, he heard Shibi's excited voice on the internal two-way radio: “Contact! Contact! Contact!”

“Contact!” Chatto radioed to the ground controller.

Shibi sent him precise instructions: “Boogie [unidentified plane] at two o'clock! Same altitude, three miles away, straight forward, moving to three o'clock, now moving to four o'clock, taking a hard right. Lower your speed! Pay attention, you're closing in fast!”

Chatto couldn't see a thing, but he followed Shibi's instructions to the letter, not cluing him in to the problem that would arise when he needed to bring his own speed into line with that of the slow transport plane.

“Eleven o'clock,” Shibi continued. “Descend five hundred. Lower your speed. Distance: seven hundred feet.”

Chatto strained to see. At first, it appeared that he could make out the Egyptian plane's silhouette; then he discerned a “faint, hesitant” flame emitting from the pipes of the piston engines.

“Eye contact,” he reported to ground control.

Tolkovsky's voice echoed in his earphones. “I want a confirmed ID of the vessel whose outline you've observed. Confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Understood?” The air force commander wanted to avoid any mistake that might unnecessarily cost human lives.

Chatto was now behind the Egyptian plane. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted its exhaust pipe and maneuvered left, until he could discern the stronger light of the passenger windows. He approached the Egyptian plane, coming to it “nothing less than wing to wing.”

Gradually, the silhouette of the entire plane became perceptible. The shape of the windows in the passenger section resembled those of windows on a Dakota aircraft, but the cockpit windows were bigger, a feature unique to the Ilyushin ll-14. Chatto could also identify the shape of the Ilyushin's tail.

As he approached the windows, he could make out people in military uniforms walking in the aisle between the seats. Those in the seats also appeared to be wearing uniforms. Flying in close to the Ilyushin
had cost him at least ten minutes of fuel, but it had been necessary to confirm the initial identification.

“I confirm ID,” he radioed to ground control.

“You are authorized to open fire only if you have no doubt whatsoever,” Tolkovsky instructed.

The moment had arrived to test the maneuver Chatto had attempted earlier. He lowered the landing flaps by a third, thereby preventing a stall.

“Firing,” he announced into the two-way radio, and pressed the trigger.

Two malfunctions immediately occurred. Someone had loaded the cannons with munitions that included tracing bullets, which, for a moment, blinded him. The second glitch was a blockage in the cannon on the right, which brought about the same effect as an engine breakdown. The Meteor went into a spin, but Chatto regained control and steadied it. Although the Ilyushin had been darkened, he hadn't lost it, and he could see a flame that flickered from the left-side engine. He reported the hit.

“Finish it off, at any cost,” Tolkovsky's voice commanded. “I repeat: at any cost!” Chatto knew that if the plane wasn't brought down right now, Israel would lose the surprise factor during its attack on Egypt the following day.

The Ilyushin was now flying with one engine, much slower than the Meteor's landing speed. Firing again—with unequal kickback from the cannons, now that one was blocked—would surely throw the Meteor into a spin. Chatto again lowered the landing flaps, increased the power of the engines, and lurched at the Ilyushin. Suddenly another danger materialized: a collision with the Egyptian plane.

Chatto put this fear out of his mind and sped toward the Ilyushin. When he came within fifty meters of it, he heard Shibi shout, “Change course! Change course! We're going to hit it. I see it on both sides of the cockpit.”

Shibi's command probably saved them both. At the last second, Chatto squeezed the trigger and suddenly found himself “in the midst of hellfire.”

His shells exploded into the Ilyushin, barely a few feet from the muzzle of the Meteor's cannon. Fire engulfed the Egyptian plane, shooting
across it at the same instant that an explosion transformed it into a fireball. Flaming parts flew past the Meteor. The burning Egyptian plane spun and dived—and, because of uneven kickback from its own blocked cannon, so did the Meteor. Both planes plunged. “A fireball and a darkened plane spun one beside the other, and one above the other,” Chatto later wrote, “both out of control, as if performing a sickening, surreal dance.”

At the last moment, Chatto was able to exit the spin, at an altitude estimated at between 150 and three hundred meters. Simultaneously, he saw the Ilyushin smash and explode into the waves of the Mediterranean.

Chatto climbed to fifteen thousand feet and reported, “Accomplished!”

Tolkovsky wanted to be sure. “You saw it crash?”

“Affirmative. It crashed.” Chatto then looked at the fuel gauge and was horrified. “I'm low on fuel—very low. Give me directions to the closest base.”

He had no idea where he was. The sole radar that located the Meteor was an aircraft battery device on the Hatzor airbase. The battery's commander took it upon himself to direct “the Bat” to the landing strip.

“I'll fly in this direction as long as I have fuel,” Chatto radioed.

“You think you can make it?” The controller's voice sounded dubious.

Chatto attempted to keep things light. “I poured the fluid from Shibi's cigarette lighter into the fuel tank.”

Tolkovsky cut him off: “No names!”

The fuel gauge dropped to zero. One minute, two minutes, three . . . Suddenly, Chatto could make out the lights of the Hatzor runway, which had been illuminated for him despite the blackout. The plane glided toward the landing strip, and Chatto touched down.

As the plane barreled down the runway, the engines shut off, one after the other. The final drops of fuel had run out, but the Meteor was on the ground.