Beyond the Shield

by Nachman Kataczinsky

  Beyond the Shield

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, real locales, businesses and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Copyright © 2016 Nachman Kataczinsky. All rights reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First printing: September 2016

  First edition: September 2016

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016915878

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, North Charleston, SC

  BISAC: Fiction / Science Fiction / Time Travel

  ISBN-13: 978-1537705620

  ISBN-10: 1537705628

  Rank Armor Publishing

  www.TheShield.RankArmor.com

  This is a work of fiction dedicated to my parents,

  who survived the real horrors, and in memory of those who did not –

  my Uncle Ze’ev (Wolf) Frumin, aunt Sheina Kataczinsky,

  grandparents on both sides of the family, and millions of others.

  Introduction

  This novel is the second in a series taking place in an alternate universe. In the previous book, The Shield, 21st century Israel is accidentally transported into the past – specifically, 1941, days before Germany attacked the Soviet Union and started systematic mass killings of Jews. By stealth and force, the people of Israel stopped the Holocaust and brought the endangered people home, greatly increasing the population and creating confusing family relations. So that the reader will not be confused, here are the members of the newly-expanded Hirshson family featured in this book:

  From the 21st century:

  Ze’ev, 64 years old, founder and CEO of Consolidated Industries, graduate of the Technion, and an MIT Ph.D.

  Linda, Ze’ev’s wife, 60 years old.

  Chaim, Ze’ev’s and Linda’s eldest son and a manager at Consolidated Industries, in his late 30s.

  Ephraim, their second son. IDF Brigadier General, in his mid 30s.

  Shoshana, their daughter. A nurse and head of a nursing school, in her early 30s. Married to Noam Shaviv, an architect.

  Benjamin, the youngest son. A clothing designer, in his late 20s.

  From the 1940s or saved from the Holocaust:

  Jacob Hirshson, Ze’ev’s father, in his early 20s.

  Sara Hirshson, Jacob’s mother - saved from murder, in her forties.

  Sheina Hirshson, Jacob’s sister – saved from murder, in her late teens.

  Esther Frumin, Ze’ev’s mother, in her late teens.

  Nachman and Tzila, Esther’s parents – saved from murder, in their forties.

  Wolf, Esther’s brother – saved from murder, in his early twenties.

  Historical figures appear in this novel completely fictionalized, although I tried to make them as true as possible. Historical events are mostly fictional but weapons, both historical and modern, are as close to reality as I could make them.

  Beyond the Shield can be read on its own, although I do hope you will read The Shield as well. Enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  February 1942

  The weather was lousy, but what can one expect in London in February? At least the embassy was warm. Most of the damage done to the building by a German bomb in 1940 had been repaired and the structure was actually better than new; parts were newly constructed of thick, reinforced concrete to withstand a direct hit.

  The Israeli Ambassador to the Court of St. James, Avigdor Mizrahi, decided he had enough time to relax before his afternoon meeting with Winston Churchill. He was satisfied that everything was in order, including the outline of his presentation.

  He left shortly after lunch and arrived at his destination with no incident and on time. No mean achievement taking into account the traffic. England had definitely recovered from the German U-boat blockade and fuel was plentiful.

  ***

  “Good afternoon ambassador. How are you?” Churchill greeted Mizrahi cheerfully.

  “Fine, Prime Minister. And I hear that the news from Africa is good.”

  “Yes. The Germans seem to have lost their desire to fight. Montgomery tells me that he may be done with them within the next month or so.” Churchill started clipping a cigar. “We also have a proposal from the French to attack the Germans from bases in Morocco. What do you think?”

  “I’m sure that my government will approve. Since it seems that your forces will be free to decamp from North Africa fairly soon I was asked by my government to discuss the Italian project.”

  “Ah,” Churchill puffed on his cigar to get it going. “I agree. We need to get ready. But it will take time. As you know, we’re still gathering forces and doing our best to equip them.”

  “Mr. Prime Minister, one reason I requested a personal meeting is the issue of equipment. Britain isn’t as stressed as it was a few months ago and this may be a good time for a technological jump.

  “You may recall our concerns about giving you advanced technology. At the time our opinion was that it might cause damage by diverting your development and manufacturing efforts, thus reducing the number of weapons you were producing.” Mizrahi paused and unrolled some drawings. “One of our engineers came up with an idea that will both give you a significant advantage and is within your current capabilities.”

  He spread the top drawing on Churchill’s desk; it took up most of the surface. “This is the full manufacturing file for the Centurion tank. It would have been designed by Britain in 1943 and entered service in 1945, just as the war in Europe ended. We tweaked the design to improve reliability. This tank design was the mainstay of our armored forces for several decades.”

  The Prime Minister got up from his chair to take a closer look at the large drawings. “Mr. Ambassador, I am grateful, but did your government really think us so stupid and untrustworthy? They didn’t trust us – me - to make the right decision several months ago?”

  Mizrahi expected a response along these lines and was prepared. “Mr. Prime Minister, it wasn’t a question of trustworthiness or stupidity. May I remind you of the near catastrophe at Al Alamein? Your commanders got overconfident with the intelligence and weapons we gave you. If it wasn’t for our intervention Rommel would likely now be on the south bank of the Suez Canal. The temptation to switch to making the new tanks several months earlier would have been irresistible and my government decided to avoid the risk. Do you think that the Germans would have been beaten as quickly if Britain decided to switch tank models before the end of the African campaign? My government assessed the possibility of you going with the new tank prematurely at about 20% and it didn’t dare take that chance. Millions of our people’s lives depended on a prompt German defeat in North Africa.”

  Churchill sat down and revived his cigar. “Twenty percent? That low?” He smiled. “I would have estimated it at 50, but I do resent your government sitting in judgment on my possible decisions and depriving me of making my own choices. Can you let them know in the most forceful way that this is not acceptable to me?”

  “I will do that,” Mizrahi responded, “but I have to point out that we are allies and as such free to do what we think best for our own nation. I assure you that this is highly unlikely to happen again. History has been changed in massive ways and our clear crystal ball is now as cloudy as yours.

  “In any case, let me continue since I have several more pieces of technology to share.”

  Churchill nodded.

  Mizrahi removed the next bundle of drawings from his briefcase. “Here are all the plans and manufacturing data for what we call an as
sault rifle. This particular model is the AK-47. It would have been designed by a Russian, one Michael Kalashnikov, in 1947. In our estimation this weapon will greatly improve the firepower of your infantry. If you decide to manufacture it, we will be more than happy to assist. I also have several samples and boxes of ammunition at my office for General Wilson.

  “The next weapon we would like to offer for your use is a fuel-air bomb or, as it’s also known, a thermobaric bomb. This is a formidable weapon if designed and implemented properly. Your experts would have one designed and tested by 1944 but that design is not optimal. I have brought drawings and a design handbook. We have not used these bombs very frequently – they are basically block busters and city destroyers. The bomb in these drawings will easily destroy a typical European city block and cause widespread fires.

  “The last but by no means the least weapon I would like to present to you is what we call an RPG, Rocket Propelled Grenade. The name is a bit misleading. In fact it’s an anti-tank weapon that can also be used against fortifications. I will leave these drawings, specifications and photographs with you.

  “Here is another list. Your ‘Tube alloys’ project and the American ‘Manhattan District’ or ‘Manhattan Project’ are riddled with spies. Soviet spies. Any advance you or the Americans make is being reported to Stalin almost as soon as it happens. This list includes all of the spies and some outside the projects that serve as conduits. I hope you’ll deal with them soon.”

  Churchill puffed on his cigar without saying anything. Finally he put the cigar down. “I’m curious, Mr. Ambassador. You said that you didn’t use the fuel air bombs very frequently. Might I ask why?”

  Mizrahi nodded with a smile. “I guess I invited the question. There are a number of reasons we don’t use them. The most important one is that these are imprecise weapons that cause destruction on a wide scale and we Israelis always try to do as little harm as possible to civilians.”

  “Yet you give the technology to us. Why?” Churchill was again puffing on the cigar.

  Mizrahi smiled a predatory smile. “We learn from our past mistakes and don’t want to repeat them. An enemy has to know when it’s defeated and one sure way to impart this knowledge is to make the civilian population realize that an armed conflict is lost. Without such realization the next war is only a question of time.

  “I believe that you will agree with me, Prime Minister, that the Nazis couldn’t have started the current war if their population believed that Germany lost the previous war fair and square and wasn’t ‘stabbed in the back’. Such belief has to be visceral: If your neighborhood and city is mostly in ruins, you will be wary of anyone proposing a war.

  “We give you the tools to convince the enemy that they lost the war. These bombs will not necessarily win the war for us but they might prevent the next one.”

  ***

  Mizrahi’s next stop was the Soviet embassy. Ivan Mikhailovich Maisky, the Soviet ambassador to the court of St. James, appeared to be a simple and straightforward man. Mizrahi knew it was just a façade. Still, it was easier to work with people who were smart. The two ambassadors had met the previous month at a cocktail party organized by the British Foreign Office. Churchill had personally introduced Mizrahi to Maisky as “the honorable ambassador from Palestine”. If Maisky was puzzled he never showed it. Since then the two had a short, private discussion in which Mizrahi clarified what Churchill meant without disclosing the full truth. No hint was given of coming from the future with advanced knowledge. Mizrahi intended to take the second step and lay the ground for formal diplomatic relations at this meeting.

  “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” the Soviet ambassador asked.

  “Tea would be nice. Hot and no milk please,” Mizrahi responded.

  Maisky smiled. “No milk? You may not be as British as I assumed.”

  “Oh, I’m not British at all,” Mizrahi responded. “I represent the independent state of Israel that is located in what used to be called Palestine. We are allies with Britain in the war against the Nazis.”

  “I know,” Maisky said. “We heard from the British and our own sources how helpful you have been to them.”

  “We would also like to be of assistance to the Soviet Union. After all, we’re fighting a common enemy.”

  “What can such a small country do for us?” Maisky looked genuinely puzzled.

  Mizrahi relaxed a bit. It was clear to him that whatever information the Soviets had was very fragmentary and inaccurate.

  “We have superb information gathering and analysis capabilities. Let me show you an example.”

  Mizrahi pulled a photograph from his briefcase. “This is an aerial image from yesterday of the front near Moscow. It suggests that the salient anchored by Demyansk and Rzhev is vulnerable to being cut off. But if you look closely, the Germans have concentrated large forces near Rzhev. According to other information, they will try to attack in the direction of Mozhaisk and Moscow, leaving the northern forces near Demyansk where they are. They’re also ready for your counterattack on Rzhev.”

  Maisky studied the satellite photo. “This must have been taken from a very high altitude. Interesting. How do you know what the Fascists are planning?”

  Mizrahi smiled. “This is something I’m not free to tell you. You’ll have to trust us on the reliability of our sources.” He pulled out several additional photographs.

  “This is the general area around Voroshilovgrad, also yesterday. As you see, the Germans are almost up against the Don and we know that they plan to attack in two directions: primary attack across the Don in the direction of Stalingrad and a secondary attack to the south on Rostov. The Stalingrad attack will be by General von Paulus and his sixth army. His orders are to take Stalingrad, cross the Volga, and move north on Moscow.”

  Maisky carefully examined the photographs and asked, somewhat skeptically, “Do you have advice for our generals on how to counter this?”

  “We would not presume to give you advice of that sort. The Red Army knows what it’s doing. We only hope that this information will help. Please do not hesitate to call me if your High Command needs more information.”

  Maisky nodded. “Assuming your information is good, which I have no way of judging, what would you want in the future for information like this?”

  “It’s a little too early to discuss. I suggest that you transfer this information as soon as possible and after it proves useful we will meet again.

  ***

  The South European Desk Manager at the Mossad (the Israeli intelligence service) handed a file to the good-looking woman in her mid-twenties sitting in front of him.

  “I think you’ll like this job.”

  The agent, Michella Stern, looked at the first page. “Interesting assignment. You know that my family is still living in Milan in 1942? Maybe I’ll visit them. How long do I have to consider this assignment?”

  “You have until the beginning of April, but the file isn’t complete, so you’ll have to do some research.”

  ***

  General Ephraim Hirshson, the commander of the Israeli base in Brindisi, had been busy planning, observing the fighting in North Africa, and then more planning. He felt tired and thought that a walk outdoors might do him good.

  The weather was on the cold side but not too bad. His army issue coat was warm and the slight sea breeze was invigorating. The part of the base used for housing Jewish refugees from Europe was almost empty, with several hundred people waiting until there were enough to fill a ship. Hirshson expected more to arrive this week, a far cry from several months ago when the base was processing forty-thousand refugees every day.

  Ephraim himself was the grandson of Holocaust survivors. Most of his father’s family had been murdered by the Germans. In this new reality they were rescued and in Israel. This was both confusing and uplifting. Ephraim suddenly had a large extended family, with his grandfather, Jacob, younger than him.

  He walked through the gate built into th
e tall concrete wall separating the refugee part of the base from the much larger military part. Today no transport aircraft were parked on the runway. His jeep was waiting. The driver started the engine and they rolled across the wide field to the south, where elements of the Seventh Armor Brigade were setting up their encampment.

  The brigade had arrived only two days ago on an Israeli cargo ship, with the last vehicles rolling to shore only this morning. The jeep stopped next to the command tent and Hirshson walked inside. A small, dark colonel waved to him from next to a large map table: “Hello, Ephraim. Congratulations on your promotion.” The colonel saluted. “As you can see we’re setting up. I think we will be ready for a formal inspection tomorrow.”

  “No hurry,” responded Hirshson. “Inspections can wait. The German air force attempts to penetrate our perimeter several times a week. Don’t let them closer than fifteen kilometers.”

  “Yes, sir. If you’ll come with me I’ll show you what we’ve done so far.”

  The two officers walked around AA batteries, anti-aircraft missile clusters with radar and fire control computers. Hirshson stopped by one of the tanks. “Sergeant Frumin, how are you doing?”

  The move back in time meant many Israelis had odd family relations. Sergeant Frumin would have been Hirshson’s great-uncle, murdered in the Holocaust. In this time line he was just a younger member of the newly extended family Ephraim had just met and advised a few months ago. He smiled at the memory of Wolf’s crush on Ephraim’s great-aunt Sheina. Luckily they were not blood relations – Wolf was Ephraim’s maternal great uncle and Sheina was his paternal great aunt. Neither had survived in the original history.

  Wolf Frumin and the three soldiers next to him jumped to attention and saluted. “I’m fine, sir. Thank you for the inquiry.” He tried to brush some hair from his eyes but only succeeding in smearing black grease on his forehead. He had been in the process of cleaning and lubricating the main cannon – a job for the whole crew.