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| In the canal, not the one in Sinai, the one in Berlin |
I don't know why, but lately, I've been thinking a lot about war and the military. I've been humming "Ash and Dust" and remembering stories from my service time in the army. One of my favorite stories is about the strangest thing that ever happened to me with a watermelon.
My first ambush as a commander was a scorching hot day, and the evening wasn't any better. It was at a base called Rotem (or Ras Al Bayada), on the coastal area in the northwest corner of the South Lebanon Security Zone. I can say a lot about it, for example, that it's on a cliff that slopes down to the sea above the Lebanese coastal highway that is carved into it. And I can say it's next to a village called Ras Al Bayada, which in Hebrew means "Egg Head." And I can say that below Rotem was a tremendous railway tunnel that once ran along the coast from Cairo to Beirut. And I can say many other things, but we have an issue with a watermelon.
So this watermelon thing started on one of the hottest days at Rotem, and just by chance, it was the day that supplies arrived. I don't remember how often supplies came, but we usually finished all the good stuff on the first day. That's how delaying gratification in the army is. Before leaving for the ambush, we used to do military drills with an officer. Our CO was a severe moron, so I won't mention his name, and whoever remembers him deserves it. Besides being a moron, he didn't particularly like me (I have no one to blame but myself because I was a moron, too), so this moron CO made us do drills.
One of the gear items carried a lot in ambushes, and the most hated thing to carry is a "medic pack," which is a slightly more beautiful name for a stretcher. The soldier who carried the medic pack, a more attractive name for a stretcher, was Golan. And Golan was a fellow soldier in my company, the Support company. And besides that, he was the nicest guy in the world.
So during the drills of the moron CO, I turned to Golan, who was carrying the medic pack, which is a slightly more beautiful name for a stretcher, and asked him to give me his helmet so I could attach it to the medic pack so it will be easier for him. I forgot to mention that there is a designated place for a helmet on the top of the medic pack. If you don't put the helmet in its designated place, then any movement with the medic pack ends in casualties for our forces because the entire medic pack becomes an uncontrolled load.
So I turn to him, and he says, 'Leave it. I don't need it.' I didn't give up and turned to him again, and he said, 'Leave it, Miler, I don't need it.' The moron CO started to get angry that we won't be ready on time, ordering us to stand in movement positions and put our helmets in place.
I grabbed Golan's helmet and tried to put it in the designated place for the helmet on the medic pack, which is actually a slightly more beautiful name for a stretcher. But the designated place was packed. So I asked Golan, 'You already have a helmet. Why do you need two?'
And Golan answers me .. 'Miller, this is not a helmet.'
'So what is it?'
'It's a watermelon.'
..
Of course, I told him he would throw the watermelon back in the kitchen as soon as the drills were over.
And, of course, as soon as the drills were over, the moron CO wanted to get rid of us as quickly as possible and sent us straight on our way.
And, of course, I didn't say anything to him about a watermelon that needs to go back to the kitchen.
And, of course, the highlight of the ambush was eating watermelon on the edge of the cliff of Rotem base in southern Lebanon on a scorching hot day as the lights of Tyre reflected in the calm waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
Of course.
