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Mordechai on the main left-side wing door, critical for the opening moments of the assault, and added Marco to Bibi’s team on the other side of the aircraft.

It was then that Yoni arrived back from Negev. He insisted on being added to one of the assault teams. In one respect, that made sense. He had more battlefield experience than almost everyone in the unit. But there was an unwritten sayeret rule never to place two brothers together in the line of fire. “It’s too late,” I told him, with an arm on his shoulder. “Bibi has already been training his team.” He went off to find Bibi. I thought there was little chance of Bibi standing down, but didn’t feel I could stop Yoni from trying. Five minutes later, they came to talk to me. Bibi said: “Yoni wants to replace me. We want you to decide.” I assumed both of them knew what I’d say. “Today, it’s Bibi,” I replied. “But Yoni, this is not our last operation. I will make sure you are there the next time.”

The last marshal to join us was a tall, thin redhead we always called Zur. He’d had only 15 minutes to begin training when I got word that Dado – along with Ze’evi and Ahrahle Yariv – were on their way to see a run-through. As they filed into the hangar, I quickly explained the operational plan. I showed them how we would push in the wing doors in, and then ushered them inside the 707. Two minutes later, the emergency-door teams climbed on to the wings. When I gave the agreed two-finger whistle, they stormed the plane. “OK, gentlemen,” Dado told the team leaders when it was over. “We’ve seen what we needed.” Before returning to the control tower, however, he took me aside. “You know they have explosives, right?” he said. When I said yes, his tone softened. “You don’t have much time, Ehud” he said. “Don’t waste it. BeHatzlakha.” Good luck.

We still had to outfit ourselves in mechanics’ overalls, and swap the sayeret’s paratroop-style red boots for black ones. I directed all the men to conceal the Berettas on a waist-belt inside their overalls. We got acquainted with our mechanics’ toolboxes. Finally we organized our maintenance motorcade: four electronic buggies in front, towing four ladders, two short ones for the wings and taller ones for the front and rear doors. Waiting for the order to move, I said a final few words. Seeing the determination and nervous anticipation on the faces of the men around me, I began by reiterating that the first five seconds would be critical. “We all know that nothing ever happens exactly according to plan. Each and every one of us has to focus on speed, momentum and precision. No one can wait for anyone else to act. From the moment I give the signal, or if we come under fire, each team has to act as if

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