Gun-Running!
185
buzzards all over the truck. That it held together was a tribute
to the genius of its American maker. Five hundred yards from
Kfar Etzion we halted again: tracer bullets from the Jews
would have blown us all sky high. We waited for an armored
car to come along and act as military escort for us until we
passed the Jewish settlement. Presently one came roaring behind us. We let it go ahead and followed close behind. Beyond the settlement the road sloped. Down the hill we now
dashed in a mad, suicidal flight at some seventy miles an hour.
I wondered which would be easier—crashing or roasting to
death. To my surprise we ran this gauntlet, too, without a
shot. To my greater surprise, the truck still held together. I
thought the Jews were asleep at Kfar Etzion, but I soon
learned they were holding their fire for bigger game.
Just as we reached the bottom of the grade, we met a large
convoy led by four armed trucks bristling with King Abdullah's British-trained, British-financed Arab Legionnaires. They
were followed by a dozen mammoth trucks, carrying thousands of gallons of gasoline in tins. A half dozen trucks filled
with more Legion troops brought up the rear.
We met the convoy a minute after running the Jewish
gauntlet. As the armored trucks reached the hilltop we had
just left, the Jews opened with a barrage. Watching the battle
from a safe distance, I realized suddenly that our truck had
missed being caught in the line of fire, let alone risking a
head-on smas