On the Border: Golan Heights, Syrian border, Spring 1979

Under the midday sun I found myself crawling in the dusty soil on the enemy-facing side of the border fence. I was as close to the border as a person could be without crossing it. Low dusty green shrubs filled my snake-high horizon. The asphalt army patrol road, the well-maintained dirt track brushed daily to help the Bedouin army trackers detect footprints, the three-meter-high chain link fence topped by barbed wire, adorned by its electro-mechanical sensors, and the adjacent silver-gray concertina wire coils stacked four levels high on the enemy side of the fence were behind me. At this location, there were not supposed to be mines between me and the enemy because the army did not want to give hostile forces easy access to the explosives contained inside the mines. Nonetheless, I carried my metal military probe and commando knife to detect and uncover buried mines in case I should unexpectedly find myself in a minefield or discover a booby-trapped IED. Out here I was alone. The technician responsible for maintenance of the electronic fence stayed a short distance off the road, trying to not draw the attention of enemy observation towers.

My commanders in the Engineering section of the 36th Divisional HQ at Nafaḥ had sent me to reseal the hidden path through the border fence that had been opened during the previous night to welcome a secret visitor from the other side.

I carried a coil of thick wire looped over my shoulder, wire cutters, and pliers in my belt. My M16, slung onto my back, kept getting caught in the concertina wire as I crawled through. Emerging from the jungle of stainless-steel razors and springs, I surveyed the area in front of me while staying low. I expected to encounter scorpions on the ground, but I didn't want any surprise visitors while I was working. I also didn't want to be observed by any enemy outposts. I unloaded the wire, wire cutters, and pliers. Facing the enemy line, I again lay with my belly on the ground, and I crawled backward, back into the opening from whence I had come. Piece by piece, from top to bottom, I started to reconnect the separate strands of concertina with pieces of the wire that I was carrying. Cut off a section of wire from the loop, pull the coils of razor wire together, twist the wires together with the pliers, repeat. Closing the opening in the fence, slowly moving backward, I focused on my work.

Suddenly, loud blasts of automatic light arms fire came from the enemy side of the border. Had I been detected? I couldn't tell. No bullets had passed close to me. I stopped my work, buried my face into the ground, and lay flat and silent, completely surrounded by a web of sharp steel. Sweat dripped into my eyes and ran down my back. After a few minutes of silence, I resumed my work, cutting pieces of wire, connecting coils of concertina, removing evidence of the passage. A black scorpion scrambled toward me on the ground under the cloud of concertina wires. I smashed it with the handle of my commando knife and swept it aside with the blade. At least, I hadn't seen any white scorpions. Finally, moving backwards, I reached the chain link fence. After reconnecting the final pieces of concertina, I emerged onto the dirt track on our side of the fence, feet first, and I sat up, leaning against the fence. More enemy gunfire erupted, but none was aimed at me. I waited. After several minutes had passed, I signaled to the technician that I was done.

The technician drove his pickup truck on the border road to my position. First, he repaired the opening in the chain link fence. I stood guard while he worked. When he finished with the fence itself, he reconnected the interrupted sensor wires, verifying that the springs were held with exactly the right amount of tension. We radioed the surveillance center to tell them that we were going to test the sensors. Each wire was tested, and the center confirmed the alerts. When we were finished, we loaded the equipment into the pickup truck and drove off the border road to a shaded clearing nearby. The technician unloaded his butane burner, aluminum coffee pot, Turkish coffee, two glass cups, and a jerrycan of water. We boiled strong black coffee with sugar under the shade of a tree, and each of us smoked a cigarette, talking about nothing important. Time passed slowly, and neither of us felt an urge to report our assignment complete.