The Marsh Angel, Hagai Dagan [free e reader .TXT] 📗

both of them who they were talking about. The person who stood at the head of the organization’s airborne unit was Ahmed Jibril’s eldest son, Jihad Jibril.

I’ve heard them being called birds in general before, Nissenbaum said, and once they even called the boss, the son of, al-Bashik, the hawk. But that’s it.

Okay. Check in tomorrow. It’s gonna be interesting.

Tamir hung up the phone, turned to Old Faithful, and issued a clarification that the nickname ‘the stint’ was indeed unfamiliar.

As soon as he sent his clarification and the screen cleared, an initial report by the Operations Branch at Northern Command popped up:

Spotter units in the Har Dov area reported the possibility of three to four small air crafts passing overhead, appearing manned. Fire was opened in their direction. No hits were reported.

Tamir’s pupils dilated as he read the report. A panting producer rushed over and dropped some more summaries on his table. He read them quickly, recognizing a couple of Hezbollah stations in the eastern sector of the strip. They were clearly on the move and coordinating linking-up. He reported it, first over gecko, direct to Northern Command, and then over Old Faithful. As he was sending his report, Astra and Gladiola outposts reported having been attacked with mortar fire. Balut outpost reported suffering two direct hits by anti-tank LAW rockets, after which radio communication was cut off. Attack helicopters were urgently deployed but hadn’t reached there yet. Ophira emerged out of the reception room and placed another summary from the same network on Tamir’s desk.

From: ?

To: A/U, BB.

We’re in. Clearing under the brothers’ fire. Yasser was killed.

Tamir looked up from the summary in disbelief.

She just nodded her head. They spoke very clearly, she said. In fact, they were yelling.

He nodded his head, and asked her to get it transcribed any way. He hurriedly typed in an initial report. Simultaneously, Northern Command reported:

The Har Dov outposts were hit by heavy fire, apparently by Hezbollah elements. Balut outpost was infiltrated using small aircrafts of a motor-glider variety. The infiltration was supported by cover fire from the ground. Combat engagement ensued in the base. One of the terrorists was killed and two others managed to escape in their aircrafts with the aid of cover fire. Attack helicopters did not locate the aircrafts. Our forces suffered seven causalities in different degrees. None fatal. One soldier claimed there was a woman among the terrorists. This hasn’t been confirmed by other sources.

The phones kept ringing. Northern Command requested a detailed report of the event and further surveillance of relevant organizations’ networks. Tamir’s department head, who had just come in to headquarters, said that it looks like Tamir did well under pressure and that he appreciated it. He asked to see a detailed intelligence analysis report, as well.

Zaguri came out of the reception room. He looked at Tamir with a grim smile. Well, he said, did we save the homeland?

Sort of, Tamir said. In the end, his warning did little to help. They arrived at the outpost and attacked it. As far as they are concerned, they were successful.

Those sons of bitches, Zaguri muttered angrily, did they come down on them with motor-gliders?

Yeah, it seems so. And there are soldiers wounded.

Poor guys, I tell you, lying out there in those outposts… Why don’t they just conquer the whole fucking country and kill them all?

Well, they tried something like that, Tamir remarked.

They didn’t try hard enough. If it was me, I’d nuke the place and end it.

Tamir decided not to spoil the surprising sense of comradery between him and Zaguri, and just nodded along. For a moment, he wondered whether Zaguri actually believed what he was saying, or if he just liked getting under the skin of leftist kibbutzniks like Tamir.

Zaguri looked at him in amusement of a moment, and said: Alright, I’m bushed. I’m off to sleep.

Tamir nodded. I’ve still got a lot of work to do, he said.

You analysts, you’ve got nothing better to do, Zaguri concluded and left. Tamir thought he might have heard a trace of empathy in his voice. He sighed and went to the kitchenette to finally fix himself that coffee he was going to make before Ophira interrupted him and the event started unfolding. His throat was parched the whole time, he suddenly noticed. His temples throbbed and he felt drained, emaciated, almost transparent. He felt a tingling sensation in his temples and the tips of his fingers. He grabbed his coffee and slumped back into his chair which was burning hot, despite the perpetual frost in the bunker. He started writing his report.

It was 2:30 a.m. when he finally left the bunker. The air was chilly and, oddly enough, seemed perfumed. Traces of adrenalin were still flowing in his veins; he felt both famished and utterly exhausted at the same time. He wanted to eat and sleep, and perhaps to masturbate as well. Sex was such a far-fetched option that it didn’t even cross his mind. Despite all this, he did not head directly to the living quarters. He felt the need to wander around aimlessly for a while after hours of constricted movement in the tiny space between the IAO desk and the transcription station. His legs carried him of their own volition through the winding paths of the base. The base didn’t seem as ugly in the small hours of the night. It shed its material form and was reduced to clusters of shadows receding from pools of pale light cast from the scant streetlights above. Tamir’s eyes were opened wide and he saw visions of the night, the sort that visited prophets in dreams and in mirrors. He saw snowy deserts, the moon emerging above frozen lakes, silver-furred wolves springing from spellbound misty forests. Inside the fog, in the thick of the spellbound forests, echoed a single line from Northern Command’s report: One soldier claimed there was a woman among the terrorists. A woman, the thought flickered in Tamir’s mind, a woman who descended from the