My preparations are complete. I have checked the hand

grenades ten times. The ammunition is distributed around my pockets, within easy reach. The individual first-aid dressing is in its place. To the right of me in the tent my friend Shlomo is lying down. Neither of us says anything. I can hardly believe that just three days ago I was a recruit in the training camp. We have gone through so much since then. Being woken up in the middle of the night and told to be ready to set out in two hours. The contradictory rumors about the aim and the location of the operation. The attempts to get a mes-sage to the parents. The strange feeling when we saw the heavy weapons and realized that this time it was going to be a really big operation. The night march from Naan to Hulda - a world full of experiences.

I have a strange feeling in my belly. Is this /ear? I ask Shlomo. He has the same feeling. This will be our first battle. Are we going to get through it alright? Yes, we are sure of that. And still there is a weight on our minds.

The time has come. We put on our equipment - a rifle, one hun-dred and fifty rounds of ammunition, three hand grenades, a box of rounds for the machine gun, a grenade for the grenade launcher, two dressings, the iron ration, the mines for the preliminary operation, a folding spade. We are loaded down like mules.

Then we jump up and down, to make sure that nothing rattles. Someone brings some charcoal from the camp fire so we can blacken our faces, necks, and hands, to reduce their visibility in the dark. Someone suggests that Shlomo should blacken his bald pate, or else he’ll endanger the whole company. Someone else asks Yehuda, our man from Damascus, why he bothered at all. He is as black as pitch in any case.

Here and there orders are given, questions whispered and answered. "Where is the platoon orderly?" "Hey, you, radio operator, which section do you belong to?" "Platoon leaders over here!" "Damn it, where are the mines?" "For God’s sake, the dress-ings belong in the other pocket!" "Where is the scout from the Palmach?" The command is given to set off.

* * *

We leave the village behind. The night is dark. No one talks. We walk in a long column, like a giant snake.

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