Run With The Brave Read Free Page A

in towards the wadi. Minutes later he landed in the dry bed, quickly shed his parachute harness and desperately searched for cover. Within seconds, to his left and right, no more than twenty yards apart, the other members of Unit 269 landed and did the same in the sparse terrain that was flat, littered with small rocks that offered little cover, together with sporadic clusters of boulders that did provide some semblance of protection. They scrambled for the nearest cluster against the base of the wadi wall just as the first of the two trailing vehicles came to a halt on the edge of the opposite side.
    Heavily armed troops spilled from the rear and began to spread. It looked hopeless but the captain was not prepared to surrender without a fight.
    â€œFan out, make every shot count,” he urged the others, each carrying a P226 pistol with a 15-round magazine giving a total of 120 rounds between them.
    With backs to the jagged wadi wall 10 to 15 feet high, Yoman and his team spread themselves no more than several yards apart in a rough curve. Each man had chosen a boulder large enough to give a modicum of cover. None spoke nor moved once settled, waiting, pistols cocked and ready, for the onslaught to begin. The wadi at this point was some forty yards wide.
    The second truck arrived and discharged more troops who, together with the squad from the first, scrambled down into the wadi and began to zigzag towards the Israelis’ position.
    Yoman steeled himself, estimating twenty to thirty heavily armed men now homing in, edging closer from all angles across the dusty wadi-bed using whatever cover available; shadows only in the twilight haze.
    The Iranians opened fire first, spraying bursts of metal into the bank behind, sending sandstone and slivers of rock showering down on the commando’s positions.
    During the intense firefight that ensued, Yoman, on the outer stretch of the curve, caught a sudden movement to his left, swivelled, and as he rolled to another boulder close by, gunned down two soldiers in rapid succession about to shoot from close range. He picked off several more under a hail of bullets but it became increasingly difficult to line up a target the closer they came and the more accurate their machine-gun volleys became. Now with only a few rounds left and nowhere to go, he knew it was only a matter of time before they would be overrun.
    Suddenly, an ear-shattering explosion followed by an agonised cry.
    Yoman looked to his right and saw Sergeant Moshe Soch writhing on the ground, right arm shredded to the bone and left leg severed at the knee; the bastards were using grenades! With blood gushing from his wounds, the burly sergeant struggled up, retrieved his pistol, and continued to fire until the magazine emptied before he died, bullets churning the ground around him. He then saw Corporal Abir Yaakov at the other end of the curve. Under intense attack, the corporal broke cover, firing wildly at the oncoming shadows, downing three as he stumbled erratically over the short distance towards a boulder that looked to give better cover. He never made it, reaching only halfway before he was almost cut in two by a fusillade of lead smashing his broken body against the wadi wall.
    Yoman, in despair, kept blasting away until he heard the click of the firing pin against an empty chamber. He could do nothing now but await the outcome; either to be killed or taken prisoner. With the ammunition of the five other surviving commandos expended too, return firing finally ceased.
    For several seconds an eerie silence hung over the wadi, Yoman remained still, looking straight ahead, waiting to be mown down at any moment. ‘Abyss’ had been an omen after all; they were now about to face the void. Slowly, one by one, the Iranian troops emerged from hiding and edged menacingly forward in the semi-darkness, weapons cocked. When they reached the Israelis, now standing in line, a stocky little man in battle fatigues