to hide his deep faith. Officer Evaluation Reports on Dobkin always included words like “solid,” “steady,” and “self-possessed.”
He clasped his massive hands behind him and began. “The problem is—has always been—that guerillas can get away with the most outrageous antics in the hinterlands of underdeveloped countries. Israeli Army Operations cleaned out many of these Fatahlands. The Arab governments themselves partially finished the job.” He looked around. “But unlike some of my friends here, the Army cannot and will not exclude the possibility of some sort of aggression by Palestinians or other Arabs originating out of these rural Arab areas where there are still pockets of guerillas. The Army has only limited access, but we do send many Army Intelligence people there, where, with luck, they pass as Arabs. We spy out the land.” He hesitated. “As we’ve always done. As we did three thousand years ago. ‘And Moses sent them up to spy out the land of Canaan, and said unto them, “Get you up this way southward, and go up into the mountain: and see the land, what it is, and the people that dwelleth therein, whether they he strong or weak, few or many.”’”
Ya’akov Sapir, a left-wing Knesset member who was anything but religious, interjected. “And these army spies of
Moses, if I remember correctly, reported that this land was a land flowing with milk and honey. I don’t think anyone has trusted an army reconnaissance report since then.”
There were a few tentative laughs around the table and from the chairs along the wall.
General Dobkin regarded Ya’akov Sapir for a long moment. “And as a member of the Knesset Postal Committee, I think you might be interested to know that the Corinthians’ replies to Paul’s letters are still sitting in the Jerusalem Post Office.”
This brought more laughter.
Hausner looked annoyed. “Can we dispense with these learned Biblical barbs, please? General? Would you continue, please?”
Dobkin nodded. “Yes. All in all, it looks good. My counterparts in the Arab countries have sent word that they are moving to neutralize the remaining guerilla pockets where they can be located.”
Chaim Mazar leaned forward. “What kind of operation
could
they mount against this peace mission if they weren’t neutralized, General?”
“Sea and air. We are still concerned about sea and air. The Navy Department has assured me, however, that the flight path of the Concordes over the Mediterranean is being thoroughly patrolled not only by their craft and the American Sixth Fleet but also by the navies of Greece, Turkey, and Italy, who are staging a NATO exercise along the flight path. In addition, a sea-to-air missile, of the type that would be needed to bring down an aircraft flying at the height and speed of the Concordes is much too sophisticated to be either owned or operated by terrorists. And even if they did own one and managed to launch it at sea, the Air Force escort would have ample time to identify it, track it, and shoot it down. Isn’t that correct, General?” He looked at Itzhak Talman, Air Force Chief of Operations. Everyone turned toward Talman.
Itzhak Talman rose. He walked toward the picture window and looked into the distance. He was a tall, handsome man with a clipped British military mustache and the look of a dashing ex-RAF pilot. He spoke a mixture of bad Hebrew and worse Yiddish with an upper-class British accent. Like the British officers whom he emulated, he had a cool, detached, and imperturbable manner. But like a lot of those old officers of the Empire, Talman was play-acting. Actually, he had a highly
nervous, emotional nature, but he kept it very well hidden.
Talman turned back and faced the table. He spoke in a dispassionate voice. “My very best fighter officer, Teddy Laskov, is personally leading a squadron of hand-picked pilots, who are in turn flying the best fighter craft in the world. They are, at this moment, supervising
He clasped his massive hands behind him and began. “The problem is—has always been—that guerillas can get away with the most outrageous antics in the hinterlands of underdeveloped countries. Israeli Army Operations cleaned out many of these Fatahlands. The Arab governments themselves partially finished the job.” He looked around. “But unlike some of my friends here, the Army cannot and will not exclude the possibility of some sort of aggression by Palestinians or other Arabs originating out of these rural Arab areas where there are still pockets of guerillas. The Army has only limited access, but we do send many Army Intelligence people there, where, with luck, they pass as Arabs. We spy out the land.” He hesitated. “As we’ve always done. As we did three thousand years ago. ‘And Moses sent them up to spy out the land of Canaan, and said unto them, “Get you up this way southward, and go up into the mountain: and see the land, what it is, and the people that dwelleth therein, whether they he strong or weak, few or many.”’”
Ya’akov Sapir, a left-wing Knesset member who was anything but religious, interjected. “And these army spies of
Moses, if I remember correctly, reported that this land was a land flowing with milk and honey. I don’t think anyone has trusted an army reconnaissance report since then.”
There were a few tentative laughs around the table and from the chairs along the wall.
General Dobkin regarded Ya’akov Sapir for a long moment. “And as a member of the Knesset Postal Committee, I think you might be interested to know that the Corinthians’ replies to Paul’s letters are still sitting in the Jerusalem Post Office.”
This brought more laughter.
Hausner looked annoyed. “Can we dispense with these learned Biblical barbs, please? General? Would you continue, please?”
Dobkin nodded. “Yes. All in all, it looks good. My counterparts in the Arab countries have sent word that they are moving to neutralize the remaining guerilla pockets where they can be located.”
Chaim Mazar leaned forward. “What kind of operation
could
they mount against this peace mission if they weren’t neutralized, General?”
“Sea and air. We are still concerned about sea and air. The Navy Department has assured me, however, that the flight path of the Concordes over the Mediterranean is being thoroughly patrolled not only by their craft and the American Sixth Fleet but also by the navies of Greece, Turkey, and Italy, who are staging a NATO exercise along the flight path. In addition, a sea-to-air missile, of the type that would be needed to bring down an aircraft flying at the height and speed of the Concordes is much too sophisticated to be either owned or operated by terrorists. And even if they did own one and managed to launch it at sea, the Air Force escort would have ample time to identify it, track it, and shoot it down. Isn’t that correct, General?” He looked at Itzhak Talman, Air Force Chief of Operations. Everyone turned toward Talman.
Itzhak Talman rose. He walked toward the picture window and looked into the distance. He was a tall, handsome man with a clipped British military mustache and the look of a dashing ex-RAF pilot. He spoke a mixture of bad Hebrew and worse Yiddish with an upper-class British accent. Like the British officers whom he emulated, he had a cool, detached, and imperturbable manner. But like a lot of those old officers of the Empire, Talman was play-acting. Actually, he had a highly
nervous, emotional nature, but he kept it very well hidden.
Talman turned back and faced the table. He spoke in a dispassionate voice. “My very best fighter officer, Teddy Laskov, is personally leading a squadron of hand-picked pilots, who are in turn flying the best fighter craft in the world. They are, at this moment, supervising
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