The Iron Wall: Israel and the Arab World

Preface to the Second Edition

IT IS A PLEASURE to introduce the second edition of The Iron Wall: Israel and the Arab World to the reader. This book first appeared in 2000; it was issued in paperback a year later and has proved a surprising publishing success for an obscure academic. As well as many printings of its editions in the United States (Norton) and United Kingdom (Allen Lane/Penguin), the book has been translated into Arabic, Hebrew, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Japanese, and German and Turkish editions are in the pipeline. The unexpectedly wide readership that the book has enjoyed, and the positive reviews it received on both sides of the Atlantic, have encouraged me to undertake the work for a second edition.

The first edition of The Iron Wall was a detailed study of Israel’s policy toward its Arab neighbors in the first fifty years of statehood, from 1948 to 1998. For this second edition, I have made only minor corrections and revisions in the original text. This book substantially expands and updates the original text to take the story from 1998 to January 2006, when Prime Minister Ariel Sharon fell into a coma and was succeeded by Ehud Olmert. It includes an additional section in chapter 15 on Binyamin Netanyahu, taking the story from 1998 to the end of his first term in office in 1999; two new chapters on Ehud Barak, 1999–2001; and two new chapters on Ariel Sharon, covering the period 2001–06. I have also added an epilogue and two maps, and have updated the chronology and the bibliography.

Although I am a scholar by profession and, as such, committed to high standards of objectivity, I cannot claim to write about the Arab-Israeli conflict with clinical detachment. The reason for this is that I have been involved in this conflict in one way or another all my life. A word about my own background might therefore be in order. I was born in Baghdad to an Iraqi-Jewish family in 1945. In 1950, following the first Arab-Israeli war, we were part of a major exodus of Jews from Iraq to Israel. We were not refugees, we were not mistreated, and we were certainly not pushed out, but in a real sense we were victims of the Arab-Israeli conflict. My family had probably lived in Iraq since the Babylonian exile two and a half millennia ago. We were Arab Jews, we spoke Arabic at home, and we had always lived in harmony with our Muslim neighbors. My parents had little knowledge of and no sympathy for the Zionist cause. As a result of circumstances completely beyond their control, we were suddenly uprooted and transplanted to the newborn state of Israel. My father never recovered from the ordeal of exile from his native land. In Iraq he was a wealthy merchant with a high social status; in Israel he was a broken man. He used to say with a deep sigh, “The Jews prayed for a state of their own for two thousand years, and they prayed in vain; did it have to happen in my lifetime?!” This book is dedicated to his memory.

I grew up in Israel and I did national service in the Israel Defense Force in the mid-1960s, but I received all my university education in Britain, first in history at Cambridge and then in international relations at the London School of Economics. For the last forty-four years I have been a university teacher in Britain, first at Reading and then at Oxford. At Oxford I was a professor of international relations, a fellow of St. Antony’s College, and a member of its Middle East Centre from 1987 until my retirement in 2011.

At the beginning of my academic career I made a conscious decision to steer clear of the Arab-Israeli conflict; it was too near the bone. My two main research interests, and my early publications, were political integration in Western Europe and the Cold War. The Ph.D. thesis that became my first book was on the United States and the Berlin blockade of 1948–49, a study in crisis decision making. Gradually, however, my interests shifted to the Middle East. To begin with, I had fairly conventional views about the justice of Israel’s cause and about the origins and causes of the Arab-Israeli conflict. Broadly speaking, I accepted the traditional Zionist version of events that I had been taught at school. As a result of research and observation of Israel’s actual conduct, however, I slowly began to develop a more critical perspective. I still accept the legitimacy of the State of Israel within the pre-1967 borders. What I reject, and reject totally and uncompromisingly, is the Zionist colonial project beyond the 1967 borders. It was particularly distressing to see the IDF, which in my day was true to its name and in which I served loyally and proudly, transformed into the police force of a brutal colonial power.

Zionist and pro-Zionist historians have tended to portray Israel as a peace-loving nation that goes to war only when there is no other choice. According to this school of thought, the fundamental cause of the Arab-Israeli conflict since 1948 has been Arab rejection of Israel’s legitimacy and Arab diplomatic intransigence. In the late 1980s, however, this standard Zionist version of the conflict began to be subjected to critical scrutiny by a group of “new” or revisionist Israeli historians. The term “new historiography” was coined by Benny Morris in an article that first appeared in 1988 in Tikkun, the liberal American-Jewish magazine, and was later reprinted in various places. The title of the article was “The New Historiography: Israel and Its Past.” The adjective “new” was perhaps too dramatic and more than a shade self-congratulatory. It was also misleading in that it implied the development of a new methodology in the study of history. In fact the new historians used a conventional historical method; it was the material they found in archives and reported in their books and articles that was new, or at least partly new. “New history” was not a methodological innovation but proper history—history based on archival research, primary sources, and official documents. But the term “new history” gained general currency in the debate about Israel’s past, and I, too, took to using it in the absence of a better alternative.

The main factor that helps to account for the emergence of the new history was the release of the official documents by the government of Israel under the thirty-year rule. This rule governs the review and declassification of official documents. Israel copied this rule from Britain and applies it in a commendably liberal fashion. I already observed in the preface to the first edition that it is very much to Israel’s credit that it allows access to its internal records and thereby makes possible critical scholarship about its foreign policy. Access to the official records makes it possible to write with some confidence, or at least with the support of some hard evidence, about the perceptions, the thinking, the intentions, the aims, the strategy, and the tactics of Israel’s foreign policy makers. Another factor was the change in the climate of opinion in Israel in the aftermath of the Lebanon War of 1982. For many Israelis, especially liberal-minded ones, the Likud’s ill-conceived and ill-fated invasion of Lebanon in 1982 marked a watershed. Until then, Zionist leaders had been careful to cultivate the image of peace lovers who would stand up and fight only when war was forced upon them. Until then, the notion of ein breira, of no alternative, was central to the explanation of why Israel went to war and a means of legitimizing its involvement in wars. But while the fierce debate between supporters and opponents of the Lebanon War was still raging, Prime Minister Menachem Begin gave a lecture at the National Defense College on wars of choice and wars of no choice. He argued that the Lebanon War, like the Sinai War of 1956 and the June 1967 War, was a war of choice designed to achieve political objectives. With this admission, unprecedented in the history of the Zionist movement, the national consensus around the notion of ein breira began to crumble, creating political space for a critical reexamination of the country’s earlier history.

The first and most comprehensive attack on the official version of what Israelis call the War of Independence was published by Simha Flapan in The Birth of Israel: Myths and Realities. Flapan was not an academic but the director of the Arab Affairs Department of Mapam, a left-wing party dedicated to the cause of peace between Israel and the Palestinians. His book was written with great integrity and insight, but it was the work of a political activist rather than an impartial chronicler. Flapan made no attempt to conceal his political agenda. His self-proclaimed purpose was to write “a book that would undermine the propaganda structures that have so long obstructed the growth of the peace forces in my country.”

The original group of new historians included Ilan Pappé, Benny Morris, and myself. All three of us studied for our Ph.D. theses in British universities. Consequently, we were familiar with the traditional canons of historical scholarship as practiced in the West. By chance all three of us also have been affiliated with the Middle East Centre of St. Antony’s College, Oxford: Pappé as a doctoral student, Morris as a senior associate member, and I as a fellow. Like Flapan, we all published books in 1988, on the fortieth anniversary of the creation of the State of Israel. Our books dealt with different aspects of the 1948 war, but we all relied heavily on recently declassified official Israeli documents, and we all depicted the Palestinians as the real victims of the War for Palestine.

Ilan Pappé argued in Britain and the Arab-Israeli Conflict, 1947–51 that Britain’s real aim in the twilight of the British mandate over Palestine was to abort the birth of a Palestinian state rather than to prevent the birth of a Jewish state. Benny Morris, in The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem, 1947–1949, demonstrated that the Palestinians, for the most part, did not leave Palestine of their own accord but were pushed out. My own book was called Collusion Across the Jordan: King Abdullah, the Zionist Movement, and the Partition of Palestine. I argued that the Arabs were not united in their desire to strangle the Jewish state at birth and that one of them—the ruler of Transjordan—had a tacit understanding with the Zionist leadership to divide up Palestine between themselves at the expense of the Palestinians. I also argued that political deadlock persisted for three decades after the guns fell silent, owing more to Israeli than to Arab intransigence. In The Iron Wall: Israel and the Arab World, I extended the revisionist critique of Israeli foreign policy from 1948 to 1998.

The new history has had a significant impact on a number of different levels. First and foremost, it influenced the way history is taught in Israeli schools. History textbooks for high schools were rewritten to incorporate some of the findings of the new historians. It is not that the standard Zionist version of the birth of Israel was jettisoned and replaced by the revised edition; rather, the new textbooks exposed students to different and conflicting interpretations of Israel’s early history, creating a space for discussion and debate.

Moreover, the new history helped the Israeli public to understand better how the Arabs view them and how they view the conflict between them. To Arabs, the new history represented a more honest history, a more genuine history, a history in line with their own experience, instead of the usual propaganda of the victors. Finally, the new history helped to create a climate, on both sides of the Israeli-Palestinian divide, in which the peace process could go forward. Palestinian negotiators at Camp David in July 2000 and in Taba in January 2001 referred to the work of the new historians, and especially to that of Benny Morris, in trying to establish Israel’s share of the responsibility for the plight of the 1948 refugees. In short, it was a history that made a difference.

In the last fifteen years, however, various developments in the political arena made the Israeli public more suspicious of the new interpretations of the past and more receptive to the old ones. The breakdown of the Oslo peace process and the outbreak of the al-Aqsa intifada in September 2000 led to a swing in public opinion away from the new history toward old, unreconstructed Zionist history.

Ariel Sharon was elected prime minister in February 2001 and proceeded to form a Likud-led government. Six months before the election, asked what changes he thought the education system needed, Sharon replied, “I would like them to study the history of the people of Israel and the land of Israel … the children must be taught Jewish-Zionist values, and the ‘new historians’ must not be taught.” Underlying this reply was a sense, widely shared among the country’s conservatives, that the new historians were undermining patriotic values and young people’s confidence in the justice of their cause. Sharon’s aim was to nullify the effect of the new historians and to reassert traditional values in the educational system.

Likud’s rise to power in 2001 brought in its wake a regression to fundamentalist positions in relation to the Palestinians and the reassertion of a narrow, nationalist perspective on Israel’s history. Limor Livnat, Sharon’s education minister, launched an all-out offensive against the new history, post-Zionism, and all other manifestations of what she viewed as the defeatism and appeasement that paved the way to the Oslo accords. In the Jerusalem Post, on 26 January 2001, she published an article, or rather an electoral manifesto, under the title “Back to the Iron Wall.” Livnat accused the Left of lying to the public about the Oslo process that was “secretly and illegally initiated by Yossi Beilin in 1992.” She failed to explain, however, why a diplomatic process initiated by a deputy foreign minister in a democratically elected government was illegal. The central theme of the article was the contrast between the pacifism of the Left and the realism of the Right. The ideology underlying Oslo, she wrote, was the direct opposite of the “Iron Wall” strategy that had guided the policy of Israel’s leaders since the establishment of the state. Livnat went on to warn against “the false belief that preaching pacifism and abandoning some of Zionism’s national claims would be enough to end the Arab-Israeli conflict.” The doctrine of the permanent conflict is stated even more forcefully in her conclusion: “It is time for Israel to rebuild the ‘Iron Wall’ that will once again convince the Arabs that neither military threats nor terrorism will weaken Israel’s determination to protect the rights and freedom of the Jewish people.”

Livnat’s summary of the strategy of the iron wall is so crude and simplistic that one is bound to wonder whether she ever read the writings of Ze’ev Jabotinsky. Had she read his work, she might have realized that he was not a proponent of the doctrine of permanent conflict between the Zionists and the Palestinians but an advocate of negotiations from strength in order to end the conflict. Like other prominent members of her party, Livnat tended to treat the iron wall as an end in itself rather than as a means to an end—deterrence and, ultimately, a negotiated settlement that secured Jewish statehood in Palestine.

One of the first things that Livnat did on becoming minister of education was to order the history textbooks for secondary schools to be rewritten, removing all traces of the influence of the new historians. In addition to these officially instigated attacks, two developments helped to weaken the credibility and the appeal of the new history. One was the Teddy Katz affair; the other was Benny Morris’s radical revision of his views on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Teddy Katz submitted in 1998 a master’s thesis at Haifa University that dealt with a massacre perpetrated by the Alexandroni Brigade in late May 1948 in the Arab village of Tantura, thirty kilometers south of Haifa. Katz’s finding that more than two hundred Tantura villagers were shot after the village surrendered was reported in the Israeli press in January 2000. This unleashed a firestorm, culminating in a libel suit brought by veterans of the Alexandroni Brigade against Katz. The court proceedings ended with the following statement signed by Teddy Katz: “After checking and rechecking the evidence, it is clear to me now, beyond any doubt, that there is no basis whatsoever for the allegation that the Alexandroni Brigade, or any other fighting unit of the Jewish forces, committed killing of people in Tantura after the village surrendered.” Later, Katz retracted his statement, but the court disallowed the retraction and ruled against him. The court case prompted Haifa University to institute an internal inquiry by a committee of academic experts. The inquiry revealed serious professional flaws in the thesis, especially in transcribing tapes of interviews, and as a result Katz was stripped of his master’s degree.

In the controversy a number of scholars came to the defense of Teddy Katz, notably Ilan Pappé of the Department of Political Science at the University of Haifa. Pappé was not the supervisor of Teddy Katz, but he was a major influence and inspiration. In Pappé’s view, the case shed light on the extent to which mainstream Zionists were prepared to go in discouraging research that brings to the fore such aspects of the 1948 war as “ethnic cleansing.”

The controversy surrounding the case was bitter and overtly political. The critics called into question the credibility not only of Katz but, by extension, of the entire corpus of new history. Attributing guilt by association is a shabby academic practice. The alleged flaws of one M.A. thesis hardly justified the sweeping attack on a whole group of historians, but when a lot of mud is thrown around, some of it tends to stick.

The new historiography suffered another setback when the person who had coined the phrase changed his political position by veering from the left to the right of the political spectrum following the outbreak of the second intifada. During the early stages of what became known as the al-Aqsa intifada, and more especially as a result of the violence that accompanied it, Morris’s thinking about the Arab-Israeli conflict and its protagonists changed radically. He began to lay all the blame for the collapse of the Oslo peace process and for the return to violence at the door of the Palestinian Authority. In the Guardian, on 21 February 2002, he launched a strident attack on the “inveterate liar” Yasser Arafat and explained why, in his opinion, peaceful coexistence with the Palestinians was impossible. This article, uncharacteristically for Benny Morris, was long on opinions and short on evidence. The following day I replied to Benny Morris in a long and angry article entitled “A Betrayal of History.” This article is reprinted in my 2009 collection of essays, Israel and Palestine: Reappraisals, Revisions, Refutations.

I do not wish to go over this ground again here but only to make one point: There is no longer a consensus among the original group of new historians that Israel has been the main obstacle to peace in the Middle East since 1967. Benny Morris now believes that the main obstacle to peace is the Palestinian national movement; I still believe that the main obstacle is Israel, or rather the Zionist colonial project beyond the Green Line. This conclusion is the result not of ideology or any bias against Israel but of painstaking research and sober assessment of the evidence. Israeli responsibility for the post-1967 diplomatic deadlock is not my starting point but the end result of my research. My basic aim is not to allocate blame or impute shame but to illuminate the past. My historical method is completely conventional, and it is as old as the hills. I subject the Israeli and Arab narratives of the conflict to critical scrutiny in the light of the available evidence and then discard all those notions, however deeply cherished, that do not stand up to such scrutiny.

The debate about Israel’s past continues, and it is the kind of debate that never ends. Consequently, it is premature to pass a final verdict on the new history. Clearly, though, there is an important link between the state of Arab-Israeli relations and popular attitudes toward the past. Just as disenchantment with the Likud government in the aftermath of the Lebanon War of 1982 acted as a spur to the new history, disenchantment with the Palestinians following the return to violence in 2000 served to isolate and marginalize the new historians. In this climate criticisms of specific policies of the Israeli government were increasingly construed as disloyalty to the state and even as treason.

The more Israelis feel under threat, the more they retreat into nationalist narratives of the past and the less tolerant they become of dissenting voices. But it is precisely in such times of crisis that dissenting voices are most vitally needed. Xenophobic and self-righteous national narratives only fuel and prolong this tragic conflict. A more complex and fair-minded understanding of the past is therefore essential for preserving at least the prospect of reconciliation in the future. My original aim in writing this book was to contribute to a better understanding of one of the most bitter, protracted, and intractable conflicts of modern times, and it remains my aim in updating it. It is not for me but for the reader to judge whether I have been successful.

Finally, a word of thanks to the individuals and institutions who helped me with the second edition. First, I would like to reiterate my gratitude to the British Academy for a research readership in 1995–97 that enabled me to get started on this project. The Middle East Centre has provided a most congenial environment both for the writing of the book and, more recently, for updating it. I would particularly like to thank friends who helped with the research and those who read and made valuable comments on the updates. They include Noa Schon-mann, Maximillian Thompson, Avi Raz, Seth Anziska, and Shlomo Ben-Ami. To Stuart Proffitt, of Penguin Books, I owe a profound debt for editing the updates and for his constant support and encouragement. My thanks also go to the team at W. W. Norton, and especially Amy Cherry and Anna Mageras, for their unfailing support in all aspects of the production of this book. For the flaws that remain, I alone am responsible.

AVI SHLAIM

March 2014

Oxford

Preface to the First Edition

THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE State of Israel, on 14 May 1948, was one of the most momentous events in the history of the twentieth century. This book is a study of the first fifty years of Israeli foreign policy, with a particular focus on Israel’s relations with the Arab world. A great deal has been written on the subject, much of it from a pro-Israeli perspective. Israel has been considerably more successful than its Arab opponents in putting across its narrative of events. But the Israeli narrative, like any nationalist version of history, is simplistic, selective, and self-serving. “A nation,” wrote Karl Deutsch in Nationalism and Its Alternatives, “is a group of people united by a mistaken view about the past and a hatred of their neighbors.” The Israelis are no exception.

For many years the standard Zionist account of the causes, character, and course of the Arab-Israeli conflict remained largely unchallenged outside the Arab world. The fortieth anniversary of the establishment of the State of Israel, however, was accompanied by the publication of four books by Israeli historians who challenged the traditional historiography of the birth of the State of Israel and the first Arab-Israeli war. The four books are Simha Flapan’s The Birth of Israel: Myths and Realities, Benny Morris’s The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem, 1947–1949, Ilan Pappé’s Britain and the Arab-Israeli Conflict, 1948–51, and my own Collusion across the Jordan: King Abdullah, the Zionist Movement, and the Partition of Palestine. Collectively the authors came to be called the Israeli revisionist, or new, historians.

Revisionist historiography has focused on the events surrounding the birth of Israel and the 1948 Arab-Israeli war. My aim in the present book is to offer a revisionist interpretation of Israel’s policy toward the Arab world during the fifty years following the achievement of statehood. I should state at the outset that this is not a comprehensive history of the Arab-Israeli conflict but a study of Israel’s policy toward the Arab world. Consequently, the emphasis throughout is on Israel—on Israeli perceptions, Israeli attitudes, Israeli thinking, and Israeli behavior in the conflict. The structure of the book is chronological, but I have tried to provide a critical analysis of Israeli foreign policy and not simply a chronology of events. Like the British historian E. H. Carr, I believe that the main task of the historian is not to record but to evaluate.

Carr also described the writing of history as a perpetual dialogue between the historian and his sources. A word about the sources used in the writing of this book might therefore be of some interest. The secondary literature on this subject is vast, and all the books and articles that I cite in the footnotes are also listed in the bibliography. But wherever possible I have preferred to rely on primary sources, whether in English, French, Hebrew, or Arabic. Since the subject matter of the book is foreign policy, the most relevant category of primary source material consists of official government documents. The student of foreign relations is well served both by the Israel State Archives in Jerusalem and by the excellent series it publishes under the title Documents on the Foreign Policy of Israel. Israel adopted the British thirty-year rule for the review and declassification of foreign policy documents. Arab governments only open their records for research, if they open them at all, in a haphazard and arbitrary manner. It is very much to Israel’s credit that it allows researchers access to its internal documents and thereby makes possible critical studies such as the present one.

The real problem for me has not been the imbalance between the documents available from the Israeli side and those from the Arab side but rather the fact that, under the thirty-year rule, I was able to consult Israeli documents only up to the mid-1960s. I had to choose between covering the early period in depth and attempting a more comprehensive treatment of half a century of Israeli foreign policy despite the relative dearth of official documents on the more recent period. I chose the latter course. It is for others to judge whether the attempt to provide an overview has been successful.

In writing this book I have made extensive use of interviews with policymakers and participants in the events described here: officials, parliamentarians, ministers, soldiers, and one king. Again, I am only too well aware of the problems and pitfalls associated with oral history, such as faulty memory, self-serving accounts, distortions, and deliberate falsifications. Nevertheless, I am a great believer in oral history not as a substitute for written sources but as a complement to them. Most of the interviews were held in 1981–82 when I spent a year in Israel gathering material for a book on politics and the management of national security in the first twenty-five years of statehood. I ended up writing Collusion across the Jordan, which focused on Israeli-Jordanian relations during the three decades that culminated in King Abdullah’s murder in 1951. So I was left with a treasure trove of interview material, which I put to use for the first time in the present volume.

The individuals I interviewed, Israelis as well as others, are listed in the bibliography. I am grateful to all of them for sparing the time to see me and for answering my questions. But I consider myself particularly fortunate to have had a two-hour interview with the late King Hussein bin Talal of Jordan in December 1996. The interview dealt with King Hussein’s relations with Israel from 1953 to 1996. It was the first time that the king spoke on the record about his meetings with Israeli leaders prior to the conclusion of the Israeli-Jordan peace treaty in October 1994.

AT VARIOUS STAGES IN the long journey that ended with the publication of this book, I received support from institutions and individuals that it is my pleasure to acknowledge. My greatest debt is to the British Academy for awarding me a two-year research readership in 1995–97 and for giving me a research grant. The readership freed me from my teaching and administrative duties at the University of Oxford, while the grant enabled me to travel, to visit archives, and to employ research assistants. Without the generous support of the British Academy this book could not have been written.

I am also grateful to my colleagues in the International Relations Department at Oxford for making it possible for me to take extended leave and to Dr. Erica Benner for taking over my teaching.

The part of the research that I enjoyed most was the time I spent in distant, dusty archives. But some of the work had to be delegated, and I am grateful for all the help I received from three very dedicated research assistants. Leanna Feldman gathered material in the Ben-Gurion Archive in Sede-Boker, Ariela Abramovici in the Israel State Archives in Jerusalem, and Dr. Michael Thornhill in the Public Record Office in Kew. In addition to working in the PRO, and in various Oxford libraries, Michael Thornhill rendered invaluable assistance as an adviser, administrator, accountant, editor, and proofreader.

A large number of Israeli friends have helped me in various ways, but three deserve a special mention. Dr. Zaki Shalom, of the Ben-Gurion Research Center, shared with me his knowledge and his extensive private collection of materials on Israeli foreign and defense policy. Dr. Moshe Shemesh, of the same center, educated me on Arab strategies toward Israel and spent many evenings, when he was supposed to be on vacation with his family in Oxford, poring over Arabic documents with me. Dr. Mordechai Bar-On, a former soldier and a scholar, has been a never-ending source of information, ideas, and arguments.

A number of friends and former students read the first draft of this book and gave me the benefit of their opinion. Sudhir Hazareesingh and Ngaire Woods read the early chapters and made constructive comments. Karma Nabulsi and Raad Alkadiri read the entire manuscript with great care and made extremely helpful suggestions for improving it. I am very much in their debt.

Elizabeth Anderson typed successive drafts of what must have looked like an interminable manuscript with exemplary patience, skill, and good cheer. Marga Lyall compiled the bibliography. Otto Sonntag copyedited the typescript intelligently, imaginatively, and with meticulous attention to detail.

My thanks go to the staff at W. W. Norton: to Donald Lamm for his wise editorial direction, to Drake McFeely for his unfailingly good advice and support, and to Sarah Stewart for being so helpful in so many different ways.

Finally I wish to thank my wife, Gwyn Daniel, for continuing to be interested in my work after twenty-five years of marriage, for many stimulating conversations, incisive criticism, perceptive comments, and encouragement throughout many seasons.

All the above institutions and individuals deserve a share of the credit for this book, if any credit is due. For the shortcomings that remain, I alone am responsible.

AVI SHLAIM

May 1999

Oxford

Avi Shlaim

THE IRON WALL

Israel and the Arab World

PENGUIN BOOKS

Contents

THE IRON WALL

THE BEGINNING

List of Maps

Preface to the Second Edition

Preface to the First Edition