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Citizens of Medinat Yisrael, on June 16, a great injustice was committed against the Irgun Zvae Leumi by the forces of the so-called Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion. At least 13 of our men were killed in this action. Among the dead is Menachem Begin, leader of our great movement. His death will forever be a mark on the history of the Israeli State. We will have vengeance. We ask you to join our cause, to battle against the real enemy. For we can make the state of the true Zionist dream. . .
General Moshe Dayan looked at the wearied Prime Minister. "Sir, I think its a bluff. It must be. Something would have happened already if otherwise."
David Ben-Gurion looked up at his leading officers. "Moshe, I understand your view. However, you should know better. You know what the Irgun is capable of."
Yigal Allon spoke up, "We need a truce with the Irgun. They could strike at any time, just as the Arabs could. Our offensive is ready. We can completely demoralize the Arabs, but the Irgun can stab us in the back at any time."
Ben-Gurion paced around the room. When he looked up, his face looked doubtful. "Well, it's worth a try. Moshe, contact the Irgun."
"They're trapped, sir! We've got them! They're done for!" Moshe Dayan's eyes narrowed on one of the field commanders of the Negev Front. "Major Landelson, do me a huge favor and shut the hell up. We're not out of it yet." Dayan looked over the uneven lines of Egyptians. Landelson stood beside him. "Beautiful, isn't it, Ari." Landelson nodded. "We did it, even with no truce from the Irgun."
A crack of gunfire rang out, and a bullet whizzed over Dayan's head. "Get down!" Dayan hit the sand. Landelson did not. He was looking for the source of the bullet.
"Get down, you idiot!" shouted Dayan. Too late. A bullet slammed into Landelson's chest, knocking him to the ground. More bullets cracked nearby. Another officer collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg. A third fell. A fourth.
Dayan finally spotted from where the bullets were coming. Above the riflemen the flag of the Irgun fluttered. Dayan stared as the sand of the Negev turned a dark shade of red. "It's a real war now."
Yitzhak Shamir spoke to his half dozen hand picked troops. "Remember, we want Sharrett alive. This operation is only supposed to be a threat, not an act of war." The Irgun had been planning this assault against the a leader of the Provisional Government since the day of Altalena. Now, in the dead of night, it would be accomplished Shamir and his men snuck around the back of the residence of Foreign Minister Moshe Sharrett. One of his men stapped on a root and tripped. Shamir froze. No alarm, no shuffling of feet, no bullets.
Shamir waved his men on, toward the back of the house. There, smoking a cigarrette, was a gaurd. Shamir snuck around until he could hear the gaurd breathe, then lunged at him. The gaurd tried to shout, but was suppressed as a knife drove into his heart. Shamir waved on his men. Before going into the house, Shamir shined his flashlight into the guard's face. He was just a boy, no older than sixteen.
The lights were off in the house. Electricity was scarce all over anyway. Shamir made his way to the bedroom and found Sharrett himself in his bed. Suddenly, a burst of gunfire ripped through the house. Israeli soldiers burst into the house. Sharrett awoke and sat up. Moron, Shamir thought. Bullets crashed through the window. Sharrett fell off the bed, a bullet in his shoulder and another in his side. Shamir returned fire with his tommy gun.
Shamir dashed out of the room, only to find just one other Irgunist still standing. He fell after an instant, riddled with bullets. Shamir rushed to the back of the house, only to find Israeli soldiers there waiting. He raised his gun, but was showered with bullets before he could fire.
