"If Egypt today cannot tolerate what I say in my book, the fault lies with her rulers and not with me." General al-Shazliy

BEFORE THE WAR, we resolved to avoid the lies and exaggerations which had so damaged the Arabs' reputation in previous battles. This time our communiqués would tell the truth.

There were, I confess, two exceptions. Our initial communiqués embroidering the charge that Israel had attacked first were untrue, though sanctified by long Israeli usage of the same ploy. And none of those photographs of our crossing were genuine. Those men in dinghies while the Egyptian flag flies high on the enemy ramparts ahead of them; the soldier kissing the soil of Sinai; the first tanks streaming over the bridge-all, I regret to say, fake. No photographers, even military ones, were allowed into the crossing zone before October 8.

But the communiqués remained truthful, at least until our tank losses of October 14. After that their veracity declined until, with the enemy penetration at Deversoir, they succumbed to straightforward lying. First ignoring the penetration, then denying it, finally when it was impossible to keep the secret any longer, peddling the fantasy of seven tanks in the bushes.

Isma`iyl was putting out this nonsense. I heard him do it. On the afternoon of October 18, when the enemy force on the west bank amounted to four armored brigades with a fifth imminent, I heard him talking on the phone to the Deputy Prime Minister, Dr. `Abd al-Qadir Hatim, who was also Information Minister. "The enemy have only seven tanks west of the canal," Isma`iyl was saying. "They are following guerrilla tactics. Hit and run. They escape into the thickets there. That is why it is proving a bit difficult to find and destroy them." I could not hear Hatim's end of the conversation, but it was clear he did not believe the story.  Isma`iyl had to repeat it, with elaboration, several times.

I tackled Isma`iyl about this. We had diametrically opposing views. Bad news might affect morale,  Isma`iyl said, not just in the armed forces but throughout Egypt and the Arab world. I said bad news would serve as a spur to every soldier and civilian to give of his best. With memories of arguing over my withdrawal of the anti-tank guided weapon battalions, I said it might make those not directly involved in the west bank fighting readier to help those who were. It was useless. Isma`iyl was clearly working with the President. Our media continued to write lies to the end of the war.

And after. On October 30, when the plight of Third Army was desperate, the Egyptian newspapers appeared with banner headlines: "Our forces are in complete control of the West Bank of the Canal between Deversoir and Suez Town" and: "The Third Army is Receiving Supplies in the Normal Fashion." The whole world was being told of the encirclement of Third Army except the wives, mothers, sisters and sweethearts of the men suffering out there. Of course, rumors began to circulate. It was a catastrophe too big to hide. And people in Egypt have learned to trust rumor over their Press. But the authorities persistently denied the truth. The President even denied it in front of the People's Assembly. (In his memoirs, Sadat continues to blur the point.)

At 1700 hours on December 5, I gave an interview to Arnaud de Borchgrave of Newsweek magazine. (It had been arranged through the usual channels.) I revealed no military secrets but I spoke freely. As a rule, a copy of any interview must be submitted to our censorship bureau. Next day Isma`iyl summoned me. An Arabic translation was on his desk. He asked if I had said all that. I said yes. He said I should not have. I should have cleared the substance with Defense Intelligence beforehand.

"How could I possibly ask the Intelligence Service?" I said. "They are my subordinates. I know what needs to be secret far better than the Director of Intelligence. I have a wider perspective and a deeper knowledge. Anyway, why should we hide things which everybody in the world knows except our own citizens?"

Isma`iyl himself had just given a markedly indiscreet interview to Hasanayn Haykal, the Editor-in-Chief of Al-Ahram. So I added: "Some things, our losses and our reinforcements since the war, are not known to the world so I declined questions about those. But you felt able to tell Haykal our losses and he promptly published them. If the enemy can discover our reinforcements since October 6, and they probably can, they can work out our present strength."

The discussion which followed was outspoken. Isma`iyl told me to call de Borchgrave and withdraw the interview. I refused on principle.

Five days later, on the morning of December 11, I picked up my copy of Al-Ahram. Big headlines: "Our Troops East and West of the Canal Have Advanced Ten Kilometers." It was attributed to United Nations Emergency Force headquarters in Cairo. It was total fabrication. Nothing of the sort had happened. Furious, I started to track down the source. Our liaison officer with the Emergency Force reported that the United Nations had issued no such information. Defense Intelligence also denied knowledge. That left only two sources: the Editor in-Chief of Al- Ahram and General Ahmad Isma`iyl.

Isma`iyl, when I went to see him, also denied knowledge to my mind, uneasily. I lost my temper. "Somebody must be punished for this," I shouted. "This is madness. It is untrue. It is damaging. It is telling lies to the nation and making us a laughing stock internationally. We must find the culprit and punish him."

"By what right are you so angry?" Isma`iyl said. "Are you the minister responsible for information? They might consider this in the best interest of the country."

"They," I asked. "Who do you mean by they?"

"I do not know," Isma`iyl insisted. "But I must tell you that you have no right to interfere in either the Intelligence Service or the Information Service."

I replied that as Chief of Staff I would interfere in anything affecting the armed forces. Then, my suspicions thoroughly aroused by Isma`iyl, I went off to tackle the Information Minister. Shortly before 1300 hours I was in Hatim's office. I favored him with my views on our information policy in general and this incident in particular, and I wound up: "There are two people I have no authority to question. One is the War Minister, General Ahmad  Isma`iyl; the other is Hasanayn Haykal, the Editorin-Chief of Al Ahram. I call on you to discover the facts."

My fury was such that next morning, December 12, Al-Ahram printed a correction and some lame excuse. But what is now clear is that Sadat himself was the ultimate source of the story. He even repeats it in his memoirs: "In December 1973 I was ready to liquidate the enemy's Deversoir pocket. Our forces started a war of attrition .. . . We regained a good deal of ground every day-sometimes advancing a few yards, sometimes a few miles, but always advancing .. . . " Total lies. But it explains the events which followed.

Since October 1, I had been home once, for that hot bath and change of clothes in the lull on October 7.  By the middle of November things had calmed down. I was not continuously needed with the troops or at GHQ. I had even had time to resume my daily exercises. I had lost almost 11 pounds in six weeks. But how could I relax while the 45,000 officers and men of Third Army were cut off? I made a private vow not to go home until our lines to them had been re-established.

But December 13 was my wedding anniversary and I had persuaded myself I might spend one night at home. I told myself a hot bath, and a deep sleep without the noise from patrolling guards would do me good after 73 days of fairly primitive existence. So at 1700 hours on December 12, I went home. On an impulse, perturbed by the undercurrents swirling that day, I took from the desk drawer my private diary, in which I habitually kept notes of every important event, and I took from my safe the most important of my papers. I stuffed them in my briefcase and left.

At about 2000 hours, my dream of a quiet evening was shattered. The phone rang. It was Isma`iyl. He said he was at his office at the War Ministry and would like to see me. I said it was my first evening at home for weeks; I had changed into slacks; if it was not urgent I would prefer tomorrow. Isma`iyl was friendly but pressing. I could come in civilian clothes, but it was important. I changed and within half-an-hour walked into his office. I found Gamasy and Ma'muwn there, attentive as if  Isma`iyl were issuing instructions. As I entered all talking ceased. Isma`iyl asked the other two to leave us. Then he embarked on a rambling monologue, but slowly wound to his point:

Isma`iyl: "The President has decided to end your service in the armed forces. He has signed a decree appointing you an ambassador in the foreign service. You are to present yourself in the foreign ministry from eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

Shazliy: "I thank the President for his offer. But please convey to him that I could not accept an ambassadorship. I prefer to stay at home."

Isma`iyl: "Does that mean you refuse the order of the President to report to the foreign office?"

Shazliy: "Look, General, you put it how you want. If the President is doing me a favor I have the right to accept it or not. If he is doing it as punishment I reject that too, and request to be court-martialed so that all the facts can be brought out."

Isma`iyl: "What you say is extremely serious. Shall I inform the President of this?"

Shazliy: "The telephone is at your side. You can call him at once."'

After that Isma`iyl changed tack and tried to convince me it was unwise to reject a presidential decree like this.

Shazliy: "What will the President do if I refuse? Court-martial me? So be it. I don't care. I am ready for anything." As I left I repeated I would not go to the foreign office.

I went home to tell my wife. "I am glad they have taken the step" I said. "I have been unhappy at the way things were going for so long, but I could never have resigned at such a difficult time." My wife, characteristically courageous, supported my decision and, with her usual fortitude, restored my sense of perspective: "Thanks be to God you are leaving the armed forces after they have crossed the canal while you were their Chief of Staff. Thanks be to God you are leaving while both of us are in good health. After all your travels, let us enjoy the rest of our life together. I swear if I add up the time you have spent at home since we married it would not amount to a quarter." We laughed-and began to celebrate our first wedding anniversary in civilian life after more than 33 years in the armed forces.

But the evening was not over. That morning de Borchgrave had asked to see me to express his thanks for the interview, even though our censorship had not let him dispatch it. I had said he could come to my home that evening. I got back from Isma`iyl barely 15 minutes before de Borchgrave arrived with his wife. I told him my news and laughed at his shocked expression. "But you are lucky," I said. "You are the first journalist in the world to know." They stayed for two hours and we had such a pleasant time, and my wife and I were so cheerful, that de Borchgrave clearly suspected some leg-pull. Then, of course, when I assured him it was true, he worried that his copy had been the cause. Well, it was probably one cause, but only one. I didn't want him to feel guilty. So I reassured him it had nothing to do with the case. When he and his wife left about 11:00 P.m., though, de Borchgrave was still worried.

Fifteen minutes later, as I was at last preparing for bed, the telephone rang again. Mubarak on the line. He wanted to see me on "an important matter." I did not know whether he knew of my dismissal, so I tried to put him off. But he pressed me until I felt obliged to reveal my news. "Oh, I know," Mubarak said. "That's why I want to see you. I have a message for you from the President."

"In that case welcome," I said wearily. "I will wait up."

He arrived about 11:30. "The President is most appreciative of your services to the armed forces in peace and war," he said. "But the bad relations, continuous quarrelling, between you and the Minister are too dangerous to continue. Your appointment as an ambassador is in no sense intended as a demotion. You will go with the rank and salary of a minister. The President proposes to send you to London, which as you know is the most coveted posting in the service. As a final demonstration of his appreciation, the President is promoting you to four-star general (fariyq 'awal) forthwith. He hopes you will accept the job."

"It would have been better," I said, "if the President had called me to tell me what you have just said. To let Ahmed Isma`iyl tell me, when the President has always known quite well the relations between us, can only mean that the President accepts General Isma`iyl's position. For that reason I could not and cannot accept the offer. I prefer to stay at home." And I repeated what I had told Isma`iyl: if it was a reward, I was free to reject it; if it was a punishment, I wanted it openly done.

It was after midnight when Mubarak left. Even then he had not told me everything. I learned from the newspaper headlines the next day, December 13,that the Commanders of the Second and ThirdArmies, General Wasil and General Khaliyl, had also been fired. (Ma'muwn, whom Khaliyl had replaced, was fired a little later.) The other two had been offered civilian governorships with the rank of deputy minister. The scapegoats had been found.

The comic part was that the President did not have the nerve to announce it. The papers next morning, December 13, carried the news that General Gamasy had been appointed Chief of Staff. Not a word about what had happened to me. The comedy ripened. In due time a presidential decree posting me to London was signed. The papers dutifully announced my appointment. And all the while I was sitting at home, going nowhere near the foreign office. (I had been back to my office to pick up my belongings on December 14. My files had been rifled.) As the New Year arrived, I decided it was time to tell the President to his face that I did not want the job. I was summoned to meet him at Aswan on January 6, 1974.

I met the President in the garden of his winter resort. He was all affability, asking after my family, our health and so on. I thanked him for his interest; everything was fine, thanks be to God.

"No, no, things are not fine," he suddenly said. "I am disappointed. How could you behave like this? Are you mad? I send Husniy Mubarak to you and you reject my message."

"Mr. President," I said. "I am not disgruntled at leaving the armed forces. Every soldier has to make room for others. What wounded me was the way in which my services were terminated and in which I was told of the decision. When you appointed Isma`iyl as Minister of War I reminded you of my relationship with him."

"That is just why I decided you had to go," Sadat said. "I have no time to investigate who is right and who is wrong. I do not want to get involved. You know why I relieved Mahmuwd Fawziy as Prime Minister and took the added responsibility myself? He was complaining that some ministers were not carrying out his orders. I can't waste my timeadjudicating between my senior officials. Either you or Isma`iyl had to go and I decided it would be better if you left. So I offered you one of the best posts we have. When Ahmad Isma`iyl told me of your rejection of the offer, I thought he was exaggerating or that you were perhaps unwilling to listen to anything coming from him. So I sent Husniy Mubarak and still you rejected the offer. I even considered sending for you myself but Husniy advised me not to do it." He laughed suddenly: "I think he was scared of you. How do you manage to frighten your subordinates so much?"

He went on to express his admiration for what I had achieved in the armed forces and especially in the crossing and he assured me of his continued confidence. "I am not sending you to London just for prestige. We are opening contacts with Germany to get new weapons. I want you to deal with all that. Our present Ambassador in Bonn, Muhammad Ibrahiym Kamil, knows nothing about military matters. I know him. He was in the same prison as I was."

On that basis, I replied, I was prepared to accept the job. We settled down to discuss particular aspects of our relations with Britain. It was almost 1:30 P. M. when I left. I went down to the Old Cataract Hotel for lunch and to wait for the afternoon flight to Cairo. The inquisitive Hasanayn Haykal of Al-Ahram was there and buttonholed me. I told him what had passed-omitting reference to European arms purchases.

Those who like happy endings should stop reading at this point. The truth is, the warm glow of Aswan lasted barely a month.

Strange rumors began to circulate-friends in Intelligence kept me informed-that I was going to London to die. After a certain amount of international publicity, the Israelis seemed to have picked upon me as the author of their misfortunes. In London, it was now rumored, I would be an easy target for Zionist or Israeli extremists. And that was the idea.

I paid no heed to the rumors. After a fairly full and adventurous life I am a fatalist in these matters. But I was soon driven to conclude that President Sadat did earnestly wish I was a non-person. When he drove to the People's Assembly in February 1974, to pay tribute to the armed forces for their achievements in the war, three people were missing: General Shazliy, General Wasil and General Ma'muwn. The President then distributed commemorative medals. We were not named. 

I was at home, watching this remarkable performance on TV. My wife was so worked-up she wanted to switch off, but I insisted. It was part of our country's history. As I watched, I suddenly recalled a comment Sa`d Ma'muwn had made in my office at GHQ before the war: "If this crossing fails, I can tell you three heads which will roll," he had said. The crossing had been a triumph. The three heads had rolled just the same.

To add to the comedy, President Asad shortly afterwards held a similar thanksgiving ceremony in Damascus at which decorations were awarded to Syrian heroes of the war. The ceremony was broadcast and, like millions of Egyptians, I listened on my radio. I was awarded Syria's highest military decoration. At the mention of my name those at the ceremony applauded for several minutes.

My departure for London had been set for May 13. A few days before I was due to leave I was officially warned by Rif`at Hasanyn, the Deputy Director of the National Intelligence Service, that a group of Israeli extremists planned to assassinate me in London. My travel plans should not be announced beforehand, and I should take extreme care. So it was without announcement that I arrived in London on May 13, 1974.

I began to receive reports that President Sadat was accusing me, with increasing stridency, of responsibility for the Israeli penetration at Deversoir. Then came an elaboration: I had been a nervous wreck when I got back to the Operations Room on October 19 after my stint with Second Army. Finally he began saying he had dismissed me on the spot.

I could so easily disprove all of this that I began to worry for my safety. I acquired two Libyan passports in false names for my wife and myself, as a first precaution against assassins of whatever persuasion.

Nothing happened. The final note was again one of comedy. One day, after I had been in London for some months, our defense attaché came to see me. He was so embarrassed he could hardly speak. "General, sir," he finally blurted, "I am sorry to find myself in this position and I hope, sir, you will understand my situation. You have been awarded the Military Star of Honor, and I have been asked by Cairo to deliver the star and the letter of citation to your excellency."

I calmed the young man, said his feeling did him credit, I quite understood-the usual things. I took the small case. The Syrian decoration had arrived six months earlier. Still, I thought as I slipped it into my pocket, better late than never.
 
 

I have tried to tell the true story of the October War, giving answers to some of the many questions which have for so long been unanswered-or wrongly answered. This is the first book on that war to give the Egyptian point of view without being censored by Sadat and his autocratic regime.

Some Egyptians may ask: has General Shazly revealed military secrets? (And they may be encouraged to ask this by their state-controlled media.) If by "secret" we mean information useful to the enemy and detrimental to our own national security, the answer is clearly no. Any democratic society should be able to tolerate all that is written in these pages. If Egypt today cannot tolerate what I say in my book, the fault lies with her rulers and not with me.

For the last six years Sadat has tried to hide some of the facts and to destroy others in order to cover up the blunders committed during the war or to shuffle the blame on to others. I have written these memoirs to set the record straight. Their authenticity cannot be questioned since I have documents verifying what I have said.

What I have written in particular about the Battle of Deversoir is something well known to the Israelis but which, sadly, has never been officially told to the Egyptian people themselves.

I believe that we could have done much better than we did during the war if Sadat had not so frequently interfered in military decisions. Egypt's soldiers and Egypt's commanders were of a high standard and they fought well. They were let down by their political leaders.
 
 
 

(The End)