Sarah 14

A Col will be leading the convoy. Immediately before boarding, he gathers everyone, "I agree, what you have been asked to do today is a terrible deed. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not excusing the High Command. Merely stating one fact in mitigation. Any time a raid is pinned on us, Hezbollah retaliates; some poor Israeli near the border dies. So, this disguise will actually save Jewish lives."
The split second before each pod exits the hangar it goes into visual and radar cloaking. Once all are out, we streak at treetop level towards the blue waters of the Med.
Out to sea, we switch to silent running, as we make our turn towards the target. Just north of Iskandarouna on the coastal road is a dangerous curve. We've chosen it, to take our victim at minimum speed.
"There he is," the Col chortles with wicked glee, "trust an Arab to be late."
We've been hovering in line of four abreast, commence the run up.
My pod comes to rest on the road immediately in front of a jeep. We've only exited visual cloaking two seconds before.
Our victims are taken by total surprise. Turn their heads, see another pod, immediately behind. Two more, each a hundred meters away blocking traffic.
The lads do not have a ghost of a chance for a showdown. Open jeep, no body armor, one centuries old AK47. The driver and guard sensibly raise their hands.
As I cover them with my "H&K" Sarge merely handcuffs each to the steering wheel.
I catch their looks of relief. They know they've been let off. If we were gonna kill, we'd have already done so.
There are eight black plastic garbage bags. It seems odd that Hezbollah, famous for always being short on money, should show such complete disrespect towards it.
Sarge and I carry the bags. Even before the doors fully close, we're lifting off.
We stow the loot in an armored compartment of the hold, just in case of booby traps.
Col grins, "always thought it was a crying shame, the womens wing disbanded after that minor indiscretion. My hat's off to you - twenty two seconds on the ground."
Sarge replies, "just glad we didn't hafta kill. Neither has started to shave."
Col guffaws, "so now Hezbollah is broke, yet again. How many times have they come back to life?"
Sarge laughs, "cats only have nine lives. These guys have already used lots more."
Upon our return to base, we simply leave the loot in the hold. Bomb disposal experts will open it, just in case.
And then, the big invite. General summons Sarge and me, "here, pour a coffee, have a cigarette."
I don't smoke, but to be polite simply pretend to puff.
General smiles, "your word what we say never leaves this room."
We agree.
He opens a folder, shows a newspaper in Arabic, "fear not my friends, this is no ordinary paper. Not something you could buy in a kiosk. Internal newsletter, Intel is drooling over how much info it contains. And that is to say nothing of all the forms and letters. It's the biggest information haul in over a decade. There was no money. Just a flowery article on how funds are short this month."
We all laugh.
"And if any of your fellow raiders press for an exact figure, merely say this. The General felt it wisest not to disclose a monetary figure. However he pronounced himself as satisfied."
I shift my cigarette uneasily, the smoke keeps drifting to my eyes.
And then and there he pins Lt insignia on me and Capt on Sarge.
It's been a wonderful afternoon at Cafe Hillel. Definitely things are promising; I eagerly agree to return. He turns over the check, starts laughing.
"What's funny about a check?"
He shows me, we've been given an IDF married couples discount.
Grin, "we do look good together, don't we?"