Adrian D'Hage - The Omega scroll

Judging the temperature of the oven to be about right, Rafiqa placed the chicken and some onions in a battered baking pan, poured some of the precious water over the top and placed it in the oven. She reached for the pita bread she had baked earlier in the day and sliced it ready for frying.

‘What time will Ahmed be home, Mother?’ Liana asked excitedly.

‘Any time now, I expect,’ Rafiqa replied, her dark eyes softening at the thought of seeing her eldest son again.

The old bus from Ramallah wound up the hill towards the dusty square. Ahmed was surprised to find the driver having to slow down to negotiate his way past lines of Israeli tanks and armoured vehicles on either side of the road. The command vehicle was at the head of the tank column. Four thin aerials flexed in the light breeze and a group of officers in kevlar helmets were clustered around a senior officer spreading a map out on the desert camouflage of the jeep’s bonnet. Towards the top of the hill two Israeli helicopter gunships circled menacingly overhead. Above them, even more menacingly still, two F-16 fighters supplied by the United States were turning, their wings flashing briefly in a sun that on the ground had already been obscured by the mountains.

The bus juddered as the driver crashed the gears; it took him three attempts to get it into low, the gearbox clanging more loudly each time. Ahmed held onto the rusty iron of the seat in front as the bus lurched forward. A great cloud of black smoke belched from the various orifices of what passed for an exhaust system and a little more grime was caked onto the cracked and rusted blue and white paint. Ahmed knew he was almost home.

‘Ahmed! Welcome home!’ His father embraced his son warmly as he walked through the door. ‘The sun is almost set. You are just in time to lead us in prayer,’ he said, stepping back and holding his son out at arm’s length so he could look at him. Ahmed embraced his mother, brothers and sisters and after they had all washed, Abdullah led them out to the veranda where seven old but clean sheepskin mats faced, in accordance with the Sartawi’s qibla, towards Mecca. Each day, regardless of where they were or what they were doing, every member of the Sartawi family would observe the second of the Five Pillars of Islam – Prayer or Salat. In any one day there were five prayers that were regulated by the position of the sun. At dawn, Fajr; after midday, Zuhr; late afternoon, Asr. Immediately after sunset, Maghrib ; and before midnight, Isha. Together they stood saying the intention or Niyya to say four rakas of a prayer for God.

Allah Akbar – God is Great

Bismillah ir-rahman ir-rahim – In the name of God, the Most Gracious,

Most Merciful…

Finally, with the whole family still sitting, Ahmed intoned first to the right and then to the left.

Assalamu ’alikum wa – Peace and Mercy of God be on you.

And with that, the Sartawis rose and gathered for Liana’s dinner celebration.

‘There were Israeli tanks on the road as the bus pulled in, Father,’ Ahmed said as they sat on the mats around a low table.

His father shrugged. ‘It’s just show,’ he said philosophically. ‘They’re only soldiers doing the politicians’ bidding.’ Not even a whole regiment of Israeli tanks could disturb Abdullah’s quiet optimism or diminish his thanks to Allah for his daughter Liana. Abdullah Sartawi could not have been more wrong.

Jerusalem

The Israeli Chief of Staff, General Halevy, strode into the Command Centre and planted himself in front of one of two big operations maps that showed the West Bank and the Gaza Strip in great detail, along with the rest of Israel and the Golan Heights. General Halevy stared at the borders of the West Bank. How he detested the Palestinians.

The border with Jordan was a straight line formed by the west bank of the Jordan River and the Dead Sea. From there it was as if a big kidney had been cut from Eretz Israel, a cut from the land. This Arab scum fouled the surrounding landscape. To the south of Jerusalem were the Palestinian cities of Bethlehem and Hebron. To the north, Ramallah, Nablus and Jenin, and not far from Jenin was the festering little pustule of Deir Azun. The slightest excuse and he would erase it from history.

‘Get me the Commander of the 45th Brigade.’

The Director of Operations nodded to his communications officer.

‘Eight Nine Zulu this is Zero Alpha, fetch Falcon, over.’

The speakers in the Command Centre crackled and the voice of Brigadier General Ehrlich boomed in loud and clear.

‘Zero Alpha, this is Eight Nine Zulu, Falcon speaking over.’

Halevy took the handset and depressed the transmit button.

‘Eight Nine Zulu, this is Eagle. Confirm H-hour, over.’

‘In ten minutes, over.’

‘Roger. Minimum force might apply but should there be any resistance, the lives of your soldiers are not to be put at risk and you are to respond accordingly, over.’

‘Understood, over.’

‘Be prepared to stay as long as is necessary,’ Halevy said, adding yet another layer of interpretation to the Prime Minister’s original direction. ‘Out.’

Brigadier General Eliezer Ehrlich towered over his commanders with an understated presence. His demeanour was quiet and self-contained. Highly respected by superiors and subordinates alike, the tank general was a soldier’s soldier. He always made sure he was never far from the front. General Ehrlich passed the handset back to his signaller. Privately he didn’t have much time for politicians and even less for generals who followed them like an arselick. Whatever had happened in Panic Palace today, he thought, had caused old rubber dick Halevy to get his knickers in a right royal twist. Something was not making sense. Fleetingly he recalled the conversation he’d had with his wife Marilyn as he’d left his house the previous morning.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go. I have a bad feeling about this, Elly. When will they see this is not the answer?’

‘I know. One day they will try for peace,’ he’d answered, giving her a hug, telling her not to worry. Marilyn and his two sons, Yoram and Igael, waved until his staff car was out of sight.

As dusk approached Brigadier General Ehrlich kept his troubling thoughts to himself. It was not his place to complain, especially in front of his men. His task was to minimise the danger. For both sides. Ehrlich knew better than anyone the difficulties of the operation they were about to conduct. It was a filthy war and the expectations of those who judged from the comfort of their leather armchairs in the Cabinet Room were well nigh impossible to meet. Expectations that men who were trained to kill could, in the heat of a fire fight, somehow determine the difference between an innocent civilian and a terrorist. It was an advantage that terrorists and insurgents had been putting to devastating use ever since Nebuchadnezzar had patrolled the banks of the Euphrates.

‘There are three suspect houses,’ he said, ‘Here, here, and here.’ General Ehrlich tapped his finger on the map. ‘The one at the end of this track is highest on the list. Regardless of resistance we should remember that the majority of these people are innocent civilians. Only use as much force as is necessary. Any questions?’

His commanders shook their heads in unison. Eliezer Ehrlich looked at his watch.

‘Synchronise watches. Ten, nine, eight…

Deir Azun

Salim a’Shami was only nineteen but was already a veteran of more than twenty hit-and-run attacks against the Israelis. The Israelis had killed his two brothers, and Salim’s hatred was etched on his soul.

Hamas had trained him well, and the wiry young Salim had been a good pupil. His dark eyes were clear and his face devoid of emotion as he showed his two fifteen-year-old accomplices where to set up the mortar base plate behind some rocks in the hills overlooking Deir Azun. To the south, the outline of the Mar’Oth minaret could be seen clearly against an orange skyline; to the east, he picked out Mount Malkishua in the Gilboa range. Taking a battered compass from his pocket he took a back bearing on each. Working deftly, Salim converted the magnetic bearings to grid and marked the exact position of their mortar base plate on his precious 1:100 000 map. Taking an equally battered and treasured pair of binoculars, he scanned the road leading in to the village below. He stopped scanning and adjusted the binoculars to get the clearest possible focus. The tall figure of Brigadier General Ehrlich was unmistakable. This man had been pointed out to him on more than one occasion. The general and some of his officers were looking at a map that was spread out on the bonnet of a jeep. Salim knew they would not get a better chance than this. The two boys had finished setting up the mortar and were eagerly waiting for orders. Motioning to them with a slow hand movement signalling they should remain calm, Salim took a bearing on the jeep and made a rough alignment of the mortar bipod. More deliberately he calculated the range and direction to the target and adjusted the direction and elevation on the mortar sights. There would be no time for any corrections as this would allow the Israelis to take cover. The four high explosive rounds had all their charge bags attached and he gave the thumbs up to fire.