The Glory by Herman Wouk

his son had not fallen off a bike, he
     had been blooded in a combat disaster. He resumed writing, as though advising any promising junior officer:
    — and remember, our longest border is not with Jordan or Egypt, it’s our coastline. Interdiction of hostile sea forces has
     to be a seaborne mission. The air force has its own mission,
Clear skies over Israel
. It can’t be diverted from that. Even if our navy is not a decisive arm, the
lack
of a navy is not an option for us. Granted, the navy is at a low point now, but don’t for a minute assume that we’ll never
     be able to contend with Russian missile boats. Jewish heads are hard at work, including Uncle Michael. Need I say more? I
strongly
recommend that you stick it out. Of course the tanks are vital, but you’ve made your mark in the navy, and your leaving now
     would hurt an already wounded service …
    Barak broke off writing, wondering whether the reference to his brother was a security breach. The missile program was ultra-secret,
     and Michael Berkowitz as a Technion physicist was much involved. But it was only a letter to a very prudent young naval officer,
     so he let it stand.
    “They’re here.” Nakhama poked her head into his small den, a converted maid’s room. In came a skinny youngster with flaming
     red hair, followed by Colonel Benny Luria in blue dress uniform. At Halliday’s request, Barak had arranged for Benny to lecture
     at the Air Force Academy. Maybe there would be a return favor somewhere down the line.
    “Elohim, is this Danny?” Barak laid aside the writing pad and jumped up. “Benny, by my life he’s grown a foot.”
    The boy barely smiled. Luria embraced Barak, saying, “I couldn’t resist bringing him along. It’s important for him to see
     that Air Force Academy. He’ll be the envy of every boy on the base, and I’d have brought Dov too, if he weren’t tied up in
     the pilot course.”
    “So, Danny,” said Barak, “you want to be a fighter pilot, like Abba and Dov?”
    “That’s what I will be,” returned Danny in a new deep voice.
    Barak’s two daughters came gambolling in, crying, “Danny, Danny,” and the boy’s serious mien melted in laughter, kisses, and
     hugs. Galia, the twelve-year old, now hardly came up to his shoulder, though they had been wrestling and chasing each other
     as equals since childhood. She too was altered, by the beginnings of a bosom, and after the first rejoicing she withdrew from
     Danny, leaving Ruti to do the romping around him.
    “He’ll be taller than you, Benny,” said Nakhama, smiling in the doorway. “He’s shooting up. How come? Irit’s not tall, neither
     is Dov.”
    The thickset aviator grinned and nodded, as the girls dragged Danny off to their room. “Genes, Nakhama, genes. Irit’s father
     was a redheaded six-footer. Danny looks me straight in the eye right now. He’ll have trouble folding himself into a cockpit.”
    “Let that be your biggest worry.” Nakhama scooped up pistachio shells scattered on the desk. “Dinner in half an hour.”
    “Zev, what’s really happening at the UN?” Luria dropped on the convertible couch. “A real katzenjammer, no, since we blasted
     the refineries?”
    “More than a katzenjammer. The superpowers are pushing hard for a deal now, Benny. The Russians don’t want the Arabs to take
     another trouncing, and the Americans have their hands full in Vietnam, and desire no more trouble in the Middle East. So they’re
     negotiating a quick wrap-up resolution between themselves, behind the scenes, and we don’t know what the devil they’re cooking
     up. Gideon Rafael’s very concerned.”
    “He should be.”
    “Well, meantime on the good side, the Americans are releasing those forty-eight Skyhawks, but —”
    “Fantastic.” Luria sat up. “They are? Two more squadrons!”
    “—
But
, I say, also pledging fighter aircraft to five Arab countries.”
    “Ah. Evenhandedness.”
    “Exactly. Not to Nasser or Syria, since