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 Weathered
Walls Settle Nothing

Terry Sanville

    The merchants were engaged in their normal haggling. Children darted amongst the dusty stalls, their laughter ringing out in the morning heat. At the edge of the marketplace, three Israeli soldiers relaxed and gossiped. When Tariq pulled the assault rifle from his tunic, it took them a few moments to notice. He wanted them to notice. They looked surprised, then afraid. The light-haired one with blue eyes stared through him, across the Jordan Valley toward the river, his lips moving, as if in prayer.
    The spray of bullets from Tariq’s gun shredded them. The rest of his militia unit opened fire, taking apart the checkpoint. An armored personnel carrier exploded into flames. From inside the fenced settlement of No’omi, dust roiled up from a charging Israeli Defense Force platoon. Tariq and the dozen al-Aqsa fighters piled into vans and fled southward across the desert, toward the palm-studded city of Arisa. If we can reach it and blend in, they’ll never catch us, he thought.
    At the outskirts of town they flew down a straight road bordered by orchards then bobbed and weaved along crowded lanes, horns blaring, the Israelis sliding in and out of vision in their mirrors, but closing.
    Near the arched entry to a high-walled compound, Tariq pointed. “There.”
    The driver yanked the steering wheel and they shot through the opening and into an interior yard.
    “Close that gate,” he ordered.
    Hamir and Sohaib jumped out and ran to the heavy wooden structure as robed men fled into the streets outside. The iron-sheathed door was pushed shut and heavy bolts thrown.
    “Get up on the walls,” Tariq commanded. The Martyrs Brigade unit spread out and climbed onto the roofs of brick huts built against the old fortification. Their refuge formed a rectangle, maybe 50 meters on its longest side, fully enclosed by thick walls and surrounded by narrow lanes and adjoining apartment blocks.
    The Israelis pulled up along a bordering street and opened fire with 50-caliber machineguns. The rattle of guns and death shook the morning.
    They will call in air support soon enough, Tariq thought and remembered with anger how his brother and father had disintegrated in a blistering explosion that had rocked their West Bank village. It is easy to murder from the clouds. Let us see how these devils handle real fighting.

    The Israeli infantry unit hunkered down in the narrow lane, exchanging machinegun and rocket-propelled grenade fire with the militia. Two of their vehicles were ablaze, three men dead and a fourth badly wounded. Clouds of black smoke billowed up, drifting over the cinderblock apartments that surrounded the compound.
    “What do you think?” Second Lieutenant Rozen asked.
    Staff Sergeant Shimon shook his head. “This is going to be a tough one. I’m sure their vans were stuffed full of ammunition and weapons.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know, sergeant.”
    “Well, sir, since you’re new to the West Bank, we’re inside Area A.”
    “So?”
    “The Palestinian Authority controls here. We can’t use air support. Too much collateral damage.”
    “Says who?”
    “Came straight from Headquarters last month, sir.”
    “We can use armor.”
    “Yes, sir. We could try ramming the gate or the wall...”
    “Get on the radio to HQ and request –”
    “...but I’m sure they’ve got B-300s and a tank would be an easy target.”
    The lieutenant sighed. “Call in the sniper squad. They’ll take positions on the roofs of those buildings.”
    “Yes sir. But that wall is too high and...”
    The lieutenant glared at his sergeant. “They’ll keep them pinned down until I figure things out.”
    “Yes sir. You...you realize the Palestinian Authority will be furious if we don’t leave.”
    “Fuck ‘em. It’s not their dead that need avenging.”
    As the gunfire slacked off, Lieutenant Rozen scanned his surroundings. Faces peered from behind screened second-floor windows. Shit, al-Aqsa could be in any one of those houses. We’ll need to watch our backs, use the APCs to patrol the perimeter...at least once a day. But not until the snipers are in position.
    Sergeant Shimon reported. “Sir, a squad will be here in 30 minutes.”
    “We must get our men on all sides to contain them. What is this place?”
    “Some kind of storage yard, a piece of the ancient Canaanite city. We’ve been here before.”
    “Simply fucking great,” Rozen muttered. “Here we go again.”

    Days of back and forth firefights left five of Tariq’s men wounded, weak from loss of blood, but still manning the wall. As the afternoon of the sixth day wore on, he peeked over the thick parapet. Something moved on the roof of a nearby apartment and he lobbed a grenade across the narrow gap. With a scream, an Israeli fell into the side alley, his rifle spitting fire all the way down.
    “They keep trying to catch us out,” Tariq said. “When are they going to learn?”
    Hamir grinned and wiped the breach of his weapon with an oily cloth. “I still think we should blow up those APCs...and that infidel music they play during prayers is...is blasphemy.”
    “Relax, Allah still hears us. And that’s what they want...keep us on edge...expose our positions when we try using the rockets. Their snipers would kill us easily.”
    Hamir scowled. “So are we to just sit here and grow old?”
    “You and I will never grow old, Hamir.”
    “Well, I wish they’d stop that racket. What is that foul noise anyway?”
    Tariq grinned. “They call it hip hop.”
    “I’m surprised the Israelis haven’t slit their own throats after listening to it.”
    The sun dropped behind the western hills and the city’s golden glow turned gray as sunset drew near. Tariq and Hamir unrolled their prayer rugs in preparation for Maghrib. The call to prayer echoed throughout the city. The Israelis were quiet at their posts. The savory smell of their food cooking over camp stoves infuriated Tariq. They’re having a proper meal while we’re ready to eat the cats and dogs. Where is the justice? This is our city. Why should we be the captives?
    A flare illuminated the darkening sky just as Tariq and Hamir bowed toward the west. Allah, you are our light. Show us the way to cast these devils from our midst.

    A sliver of a moon hung over the quiet, stifling city. Lights glowed from interior rooms, but blinked out after night prayers were finished. Lieutenant Rozen sucked on a cigarette and exhaled slowly. Two years to go with the Tsahal...it will be strange returning to Tel Aviv...to life without uniforms, without this...this hateful...
    Sergeant Shimon joined him in the front seat of the Humvee. “Everything is set, sir.”
    “Do our men on the roofs have enough RPGs?”
    “Yes, sir. At first light they will be ready.”
    “And the Humvees?”
    “All seven are ready.”
    “When will the armor units arrive?”
    “0600 hours, sir. They’re sending a single Merkeva...should have a good shot at the gate, if we can keep the enemy pinned.”
    “What about the 50-cals?”
    “They’re ready, sir.”
    Rozen sighed. “I want to hit them hard, break down that gate, kill every last one of them...no prisoners.”
    “I suspect they feel the same,” Sergeant Shimon said.
    “We will never win if we keep fighting like this.”
    “Well, sir, it is their city...”
    Rozen scowled and flicked his cigarette butt across the road. “One smart bomb from an F-16 and you could have been fucking your girlfriend a week ago.”
    “I’m all for that, sir.”
    Rozen passed a cigarette to the sergeant and they watched the sky lighten in the east. The morning call to prayer echoed through the streets. They waited, murmuring their own invocations. Sergeant Shimon stepped from the Humvee and gave the signal. Engines rattled and coughed to life.

    Tariq watched the seven enemy vehicles pull from a side street and accelerate. He motioned for his men to take cover. The chuffing of the 50-calibers destroyed the quiet. The top of the eastern wall disintegrated into a rain of mud shards. Sohaib and the others tossed grenades over the parapet and scrambled down. Muffled explosions followed, but the vehicles continued circling.
    “Order the men to stay down,” he told Hamir. “These devils will pick us off if we stand and fight.”
    A rocket-propelled grenade shattered the wall close by. Hamir fell backward. “I’m... I’m just grazed. We need to use our rockets.”
    “Not yet. They will not bring in armor until they are sure we are pinned. Have Sohaib and Hamdi set up the B-300s over the front gate.”
    Tariq caught sight of a sniper on an adjoining roof and blindly fired his assault rifle as the parapet crumbled around him. He jumped to the ground, crushing an ankle.
    The Humvees continued circling, all the while spraying the compound with heavy machine guns. Sohaib and Hamdi crouched behind the parapet and assembled their shoulder-launched rockets.
    “Not yet, Sohiab,” Tariq yelled. “Wait till you see their tanks.”
    “I see one, I see one.”
     In that instant, the machine guns went silent. The Humvees’ horns blared. A shout arose from the Israeli soldiers. The first 120-mm round shattered the front gate. Three more destroyed the wall where Sohaib and Hamdi had crouched. The ground shook as the tank advanced. The shaking increased. Tiles fell from the roofs of nearby buildings. A cloud of dust rose from the compound. Tariq dragged himself to the center of the yard as the walls collapsed into the streets, onto the Israelis. The guns and engines went strangely quiet. But the shaking continued. Balconies sheared from buildings, power poles toppled, the very ground rolled like the Dead Sea under him. Then it was over. The distant cries of women and terrified children filled the hot morning.
    Tariq tore off a piece of his tunic and bound his ankle. Hamir lay in the ruins, half buried but alive. Tariq pulled him free and, supporting each other, they scrambled through the rubble and disappeared into that most ancient city.

    The ambulance bounced northward, passing through groves of olive trees and date palms. Lieutenant Rozen groaned and rolled onto his back. But the broken ribs would give him no rest. His breath caught as the pain shot downward to his groin.
    “I’m glad you’re awake, sir.” Sergeant Shimon’s bloodied face hovered above him.
    “Where...what...”
    “We got caught in an earthquake, sir.”
    “The men...how many...”
    “Don’t know. Our vehicle was only partly crushed. But the others...”
    “And those bastards inside?”
    “Gone or dead.”
    “Shit...wasn’t supposed...to happen...that way.”
    “What do you mean? The walls did come tumbling down.”
    Rozen tried grinning back but his face stuck in a grimace. “My...my parents... always told me...to stay clear of Jericho.”
    Sergeant Shimon shrugged. “Then they shouldn’t have named you Joshua.”
    A medic reached forward and adjusted the morphine drip. Rozen felt the world slip away, but not before feeling the weight of millennia wash over him, just one more futile soldier who fought in that ancient city that never seems to die.



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