left, the company still has to act like a company. In attack or in defense.
Even Jamus understands that the men who have had enough have to be sent home. Their presence is even more dangerous than their absence. A coward will not rescue you if you are lying wounded in the field. And a scared driver will land the jeep in a ditch as soon as the first shell whistles over his head.
I have only once seen someone who really was totally shattered. That was Jeshajahu. A nice fellow, a recent immigrant. It happened under artillery fire. A shell landed in the trench where he was lying. But because the trench had a bend in it, he was not hit by the shrap-nel. When I saw him his face was greenish gray, he could neither hear nor speak, and his body was trembling. For hours.
Most of us believe that we can’t really be hit, even if we spend six-teen hours of each day talking about death. Without believing this we would not go into battle. We are only rarely overcome by fear — like before our first battle. Unless something unusual happens. Like that night when we accidentally found ourselves in the middle of the Egyptian positions, near Beit Jamal. Or when an aircraft is diving steeply toward us. Fear is a terrible feeling. It turns your stomach and makes your body shiver. You are ready to leave a comrade to his fate, just to save your own skin. Fear makes you stupid, paralyzes your willpower just at the moment when you need it most, because only reacting quickly can save your life.
* * *
I can now feel that we have all had enough. Actually we are not even a unit any more. We are just a shrunken group. In the eleven days our number has been halved. Some have fallen, others have been wounded, and still others have just had enough and disappeared.
We are lying beneath the trees with nothing particular to do. It is hot and clammy. The trees don’t have many leaves. They don’t give much shade. I take off my shirt. It is dirty and sweaty. I have worn it now for twelve successive days.
"Hey - you fart, put your shirt back on immediately," yells Mussa, the squad leader, who is lying under the next tree.
"What’s the problem?" I demand to know.
"Do you want to kill us all?"