were also fitted with Matra ‘Diamond’ air-to-air missiles.
Michael flipped open his pre-flight checklist and commenced his pre-start checks. He could have done it blindfolded: Ignition/Ventilation switch – ignition Pre-heat switch – off Low-pressure fuel pumps – off Afterburner cock – on Speed brake switch
…
Halfway through his pre-start he pressed the rudder trim light to test it. He grinned as he glanced at the next check. Radio sets – on. Skip that one, he thought wryly. One after another he tested the armament master light, the speed brake light, the incident warning lights and the undercarriage flasher. Satisfied, he looked to his flight crew sergeant and gave him the thumbs-up for an engine start. Checking that the fuel cock and pumps were both on, Michael depressed the starter button and confirmed the ignition light. When the engine reached 700 rpm he moved the throttle to idle. Automatically his eyes flicked across the instrument panel, monitoring the fire warning lights, and the oil and hydraulic lights. With the rpm stabilised at 2800, he gave the thumbs-up again to his crew chief and when the wheel chocks were away he moved slowly out of the blast shelter to join the first wave of aircraft, sashaying down the taxiway to the far end of the runway – navigation and anti-collision lights extinguished, dark menacing shapes, engines with wings. The faint glow of the instrument panels reflected on the visors of the young Israeli pilots.
Death to the Arabs.
The Jordanians started shelling the Jewish sector of the Old City a few hours after the Israelis launched their attacks in the south against the Egyptian forces in the Sinai. At first the Israeli Cabinet was unperturbed. The High Command had expected that King Hussein would show a measure of loyalty to the Arab cause, but when the shelling got heavier and spread along the whole of the eastern front, the Cabinet began to realise that war with Jordan was inevitable.
As a lieutenant, David was not accustomed to attending even battalion orders, much less brigade, but these were not ordinary times and he took his place alongside his Commanding Officer and waited for Brigadier General Menachem Kovner to begin.
‘Last night the Jordanians machine-gunned innocent civilians on the Jaffa Road. This morning they captured the United Nations Headquarters at Government House and they have started shelling the city. Over six hundred buildings have been damaged including the Prime Minister’s residence, the King David Hotel and many of the holy sites, including the dome of the Church of the Dormiton.’ The Church of the Dormiton was just south of the Old City, close to King David’s tomb, and reputedly the place where Christ had presided over the Last Supper.
‘Mount Scopus has also been captured by the Arabs.’ Menachem strode over to the operations map. ‘The Jordanian presence south of the Old City threatens to outflank the entire city, including the Knesset. As a result, the 19th Armoured Brigade is now moving from its positions east of Tel-Aviv and has orders to re-take Mount Scopus and the Hebrew University to the north of the Old City. The 6th Brigade has orders to advance in the south and re- take the Mount of Evil Counsel. From there they will turn north towards the Garden of Gethsemane and the Mount of Olives. We have possibly the most difficult task of all. The American Sector and the Rockefeller Museum.’ Kovner paused and looked at his commanders. ‘It has taken nearly two thousand years, but a little over an hour ago, Cabinet approved plans to re-take the Old City of Jerusalem.’
His announcement was greeted with a loud cheer. As in the time of King David, the Israelites were preparing once again to take back their ancient capital. The modern equivalent of King David’s warriors were the crack paratroopers of the 9th Airborne Brigade, all of them Reservists.
When the applause had died down Brigadier General Kovner outlined his plan. If successful, the results of the battle would be broadcast in minutes, not only to Israelis, but to Jews in every corner of the world. If they failed, they would not be forgiven lightly.
‘Because of the holy sites, not only Jewish, but Christian and Muslim as well, there will be no artillery or air cover over the Old City itself. It will come down to hand-to-hand fighting,’ Menachem Kovner said, ‘but we have one advantage. We are experts at night-fighting, and for that reason we go tonight.’
Crump. Crump. Crump. The night sky over Jerusalem lit up as the Jordanians pounded it with artillery and mortar shells.
Death to the Jews.
David and the rest of his platoon took shelter in doorways and around corners as a sudden burst of machine gun fire crackled across the deserted road. When viewed from behind, the lines of green and red tracer seemed surreally graceful as they ricocheted off the old stone walls and climbed into the night sky, but on his platoon’s side of the road it looked decidedly ugly and David ducked as the bullets cracked and thumped around him.
‘Above the Gate! On the ramparts!’
‘I see him!’ One of his section commanders raised an M79 and took cool and deliberate aim.
‘Grenade!’ The shoulder-fired grenade snaked across the road and exploded on top of the Damascus Gate. The machine gun fell silent.
Death to the Arabs.
‘Cover me!’ David dashed forward another 45 metres to the next alleyway. Centimetre by centimetre, metre by metre, grenade by grenade, the platoon fought their way up Sultan Suleiman Street towards the Rockefeller Museum. The small-arms fire was sporadic now but again David asked for cover as he ran towards the corner of Haroun al-Rashid and Suleiman. Suddenly the world exploded and he was thrown to the ground. Dazed, he shook his head and crawled into the nearest alleyway.
‘Shit!’ he muttered to himself. ‘Fucking tanks!’ He felt his right cheek. Blood. And a lot of it. Another flash appeared from the bottom of the Mount of Olives and David hugged the cobblestones as the round exploded 45 metres in front of his position. Obviously the 6th Brigade had been unable to dislodge the Arabs.
Lieutenant Michael Kaufmann forced himself to relax as he waited to roll. The radio silence was eerie. They had done it before in practice but this time it was for real. He scanned his instruments again, looking for the slightest sign of a mechanical problem but all the warning lights were out, and the Mirage had an advantage over normal aircraft. Even if rotation and the point of no return was reached, Michael could still deploy his braking chute and bring the aircraft to a stop in the wire barrier at the far end of the runway. Once the nose wheel was up and he had lift-off, however, any engine failure could be catastrophic. Despite his thirst for battle Michael had no desire to join the select few who had survived an ejection during take-off.
Trims neutral. Booster pumps on. Afterburner cock on. Hydraulics normal, switch down. Canopy locked. Like a well-oiled machine, he routinely ticked off each taxiing check. Again he tested the controls for freedom of movement. A tongue of flame exploded from the rear of the first Mirage on the runway. His Commanding Officer was rolling. Michael was fourth in line and when his turn came he followed the other aircraft onto the ‘piano keys’ and checked his gyro against the runway heading. At the same time he applied the foot brake and quickly ran the engine up to ‘full dry’. The rpm needle spun around rapidly and when it reached 8500 he released the brakes and lit the after-burner. Checking for ignition, Michael pushed the throttle forward and was almost immediately pushed back in his seat as 6200 kilograms of thrust from the Snecma Atar 9C turbojet blasted out of the exhaust and the fully laden Mirage accelerated down the long runway. At the rotation point Michael eased the stick back and launched after the three glowing orange flames that were already well above him. Afterburners. They increased the aircraft’s climb rate to over 1500 metres a minute. The undercarriage lights went out abruptly and Michael checked his rudder trim. He quickly levelled out and closed on the three points of orange light in front of him. Out over the inky blackness of the Mediterranean towards the navigation turning point, selected to give the Israeli pilots an attack vector from the north from which the Egyptians would least expect them.
The launch of the fighters and the rest of Israel’s precious one hundred and sixty combat aircraft had been timed so that each would arrive over the seventeen Egyptian air bases at 0745, when the Egyptians would be at their mandatory breakfasts. To avoid the Egyptian radars the run in to the target would not be above 20 metres. It called for some very precise navigation and flying from the Israeli pilots.
Across the Suez Canal the Egyptian pilots and their ground crews slept peacefully. At the big Abu Suweir Air Base the main radar was turned off for repairs, the unconnected cables and technicians’ tools still strewn around the building. As Lieutenant Michael Kaufmann and the rest of his squadron streaked low across the Mediterranean towards the Nile and Cairo West, many of the Egyptian aircraft still had their protective covers on and were parked wing tip to wing tip.
At 0743 Michael followed Benny Shapirah as they climbed and turned on their final bombing run, bracing himself for the Egyptian anti-aircraft fire he felt sure would come soon. He watched as Benny dropped the specially
