We were being hit by small-arms and RPG fire from all sides. On the turret of our tank, Yishai and I were firing back, our Uzis on automatic, and throwing grenades. I could hear bullets pinging off the turret and the body of the tank. Then, from our far right flank, came the shoulder-mounted Saggers, honing in with their eerie blue-red glow, juddering towards us as the Egyptian soldiers corrected their trajectories. One of the missiles barely missed us, and the silky wire from its guidance mechanism was tangled over our turret. I tried using my binoculars to identify where they were coming from, but it was no use. To my right, I could see that the APCs had completed their first evacuation run and were coming back for more of Yitzhik’s men. There was a raggedness about it all: one APC, then a couple of others, then a gap, then another one or two. They were doing whatever they could, whenever they could, as the Egyptian fire continued to intensify. A few of Yitzhik’s men, whether desperate or dazed, simply stood up and starting walking west, toward the canal, only to be cut down by Egyptian gunfire. I directed Moshe Sukenik to take half the company and head toward the Saggers to try to take them out, even though we both knew that he’d have to risk heavy fire before they got close enough. He had two-inch mortars on his turret, but their range was only 500 yards, far less than the Saggers. Every 45 seconds or so, a salvo of Saggers zeroed in on our tanks and APCs. Within a couple of minutes, two of the tanks were hit. One was on fire. The SU-100 tank- destroyers were still there as well. Egyptian infantrymen were spraying us with small arms fire. The whole area was swathed in grayish smoke. Every minute or two, another tank or APC took a direct hit. There was a smell, too, which, once experienced, never leaves your memory: the scent of burnt human flesh. The fire from the foxholes was getting worse. “Run over them,” I ordered my tank driver. “Start with the foxhole i