The Colonel nodded. “Carry on, guys.” The two officers continued on their walk.
“Colonel, one reason I came to take a look at how things are going is that the rest of your brigade will be here day after tomorrow. The same ships are carrying the twenty-seventh armored, as well as most of Golani. As the senior officer of this encampment it will be up to you to decide who goes where. I’m glad to see that you have the positions for the others marked, but we will have to make some changes.
“You will have to spend more time here than anticipated. I was notified that the operation will likely start only in July. I requested mobile homes to replace your tents – the weather here may become rainy and cold and I don’t want the men living in tents unless it’s absolutely necessary. We will house at least half your soldiers in the refugee quarters and feed all of them at the cafeteria there. I expect you to visit my office soon to coordinate with my chief of operations.
“Another issue we have to discuss soon is how to handle the British forces that will start arriving in a month or so. We don’t want them too close to ours but we need to do it without creating antagonism. Your advice would be welcome.”
***
Jacob Hirshson, the 20 year old grandfather of General Ephraim Hirshson, finished packing his bag. He was as ready as he expected to be for tomorrow’s trip to the local recruitment office. He was a refugee from Lithuania, one of a group who volunteered to go back to Nazi-controlled Europe to persuade his fellow Jews to leave. Jacob had come to Israel a year ago with his mother Sara and sister Sheina, both of whom were murdered in the Holocaust in the old time line.
Jacob sat on his bed for a moment, then went into the living room. It was a bit crowded with family members who had come to send him off. Jacob’s son from the other timeline, sixty-two year-old industrialist Ze’ev Hirshson, was there with his American wife Linda and youngest son Benjamin. The conversation stopped when Jacob entered.
“So how do you feel now about becoming a soldier?” Benjamin asked.
“A bit conflicted. It’s not easy to abandon a new business and leave for six months or maybe longer.”
“Don’t worry,” Jacob’s uncle Chaim said. “The business will be fine. Just take care of yourself.” Chaim and his family also hadn’t survived the Holocaust in the old timeline.
Jacob smiled. “I know that you will take good care of it. I’m conflicted about the long-term. Having a business and obligations makes joining the professional army more difficult. After all, Chaim, you’re not a surveyor and a surveying business needs a licensed professional at the helm.”
“I’m glad you see that,” Ze’ev said. “Hopefully you will weigh your options carefully and decide to join the reserves and not the professionals. It may be selfish of me but it’s enough that I have a son and Wolf in the army; both are likely to see action soon.”
“Enough serious talk,” Jacob’s mother Sara said. “Let’s eat something. Jacob has six months to make up his mind and things can change.”
***
Nitzan Liebler, Israeli Defense Minister and retired general, looked at the executives around his conference table. It seemed to him that most of them didn’t feel in their guts that the country was at war – the urgency was lacking.
“Gentlemen, I will repeat again: we have to go from making one Merkava tank a week to making one a day. Please don’t give me excuses; I know it’s going to be difficult. So let’s take it from the top.
“Itamar what’s your situation?”
Itamar Herz, Managing Director of Israel Aircraft Industries, checked the file in front of him: “I don’t know all the details of our subsidiaries’ operations but we will not have a significant problem quadrupling our output. Going to seven times the current output will take us several months.
“I’m sure that Elbit has about the same capabilities.”
The president of Elbit nodded. “We can do it, although for some parts and for the Trophy system we rely on RAFAEL. If they are good, we are good.”
The Chairman of the Armaments Development Authority (RAFAEL) just nodded his agreement.
The Minister looked at the Engineering Corps’ Commander. “Well, it looks like it’s up to you.”
“Not entirely.” The general looked at the Israeli Military Industries Chairman. “IMI seems to be the one having problems. But it may be best for their Chairman to explain. The other potential problem may be at Consolidated.”
Ze’ev Hirshson, President of Consolidated Industries, responded, “The only problem we are having just now is a slight delay in steel-making capacity. If we use all of our large casting capacity we will be able to make four hull and turret sets a week. To go up to seven or eight we will need our new facility in Refidim to go online. That will take another two to three months. The four sets a week now will be possible only if we do nothing else, so I’ll need you to coordinate with the Infrastructure Minister.”
“That will not be a problem,” Nitzan Liebler responded. “What about engines, transmissions, and guns?” he asked the IMI Chairman.
“Guns are a separate issue,” replied the Chairman. “If we retool the 60mm line that is making guns for the Brits, we will be able to supply about ten additional 120mm tubes each week. That should cover both assembly and replacement requirements. It will take us about a month to retool.
“Engines should not be a problem either, as we are assembling them mostly from parts supplied by turbine manufacturers and they have spare capacity. Transmissions are a different story. Our current plant is running at capacity. I think that we can make two transmissions a week if we run it in three shifts. Beyond that we need a new plant.”
“How long to set up a new plant?” asked the Minister.
“Probably six to eight months, maybe a year.”
“Unacceptable,” Nitzan Liebler almost shouted.
Ze’ev raised his hand in a calming motion. “We can probably start making parts within a month or so. Our machining shops have spare capacity due to lack of exports. We can also immediately start supplying precision castings. Hopefully this will let IMI assemble three or four transmissions a week starting in, say two months. We can gear up to make complete transmissions in about four months.”
Nitzan smiled for the first time in the meeting. “Good. I will have an order for you by the end of the week. And,” he turned to the IMI Chairman, “you will do your best to assist Consolidated. It is a good idea to have two sources for transmissions anyway.”
Chapter 2
March 1942
“Dr. Epstein, you’ve been testing our tetracycline for a month now. What’s your opinion?” The representative of Lancaster Pharmaceuticals was sitting on the edge of his chair – a picture of eager expectation.
The Medical Director of the Montefiore Hospital in New York City looked at the file in front of him. “I have to admit that the results were spectacularly good. I’ve never seen any medicine that could cure pneumonia and other infections so quickly. I did see another drug, penicillin, mentioned in research papers as having potentially similar abilities. We don’t have access to it. Merck told us they’re working on it and may be able to give us samples in five or six months. Does your drug have any connection to penicillin?”
The rep nodded. “It belongs to the same general family of drugs as penicillin but is far more advanced.”
Dr. Epstein leaned back in his chair. “Who is Lancaster Pharmaceuticals and how did you get so far ahead of everyone else in the business?”
“We are a British company and a fully owned subsidiary of ‘Teva’ – a pharmaceutical company in Palestine. As you can see, the packaging says the drug is made in Israel. You know, Eretz Yisrael.
“Would you like to order some for your hospital?”
“I will certainly recommend it to our residents and to every physician that is accredited with us,” Dr. Epstein responded. “Do you have any other drugs to offer?”
“We have a large variety, but I would recommend that you start
with three classes: antibiotics, analgesics and anti-acids. For stomach ulcer sufferers we have a special medication that cures ulcers completely in 85% of patients.”
The Teva/Lancaster rep, an Israeli employee of Teva, decided to hire more representatives and ask headquarters to set up a training program in the U.S. He envisioned explosive sales growth.
***
General Henry Maitland Wilson was the first, and so far only, British military officer to visit Israel. When Israel arrived in 1941 the British forces were fighting French Vichy in Syria. The Israelis gave Wilson valuable assistance. Churchill deemed him smart, and since he was the only other Brit to know the secret of Israel’s time displacement the general was appointed liaison to the Israeli ambassador, meeting with him regularly.
“How do you do, Ambassador?”
“How do you do, general?” responded Mizrahi. He sat in front of Wilson’s desk. Wilson occupied a suite at the War Office, which offered privacy.
“General, my government would appreciate the help of His Majesty’s government in leasing a piece of land in Canada. It will, of course, be done discreetly through a private corporation.”
Wilson nodded. “We are always willing to help, but you will need to give me more information: what do you intend it for, where do you want it, and what size should it be?”
“We intend to set up a landing strip. The idea is to make it easy for American Jews to go to Israel. We could fly them from a Canadian strip in the southwest corner of New Brunswick. To make it safe, we would need about a mile long runway and some support buildings. Probably two square miles would be satisfactory.”
“You don’t want to build it in the U.S.? It seems to me that building it closer to your target population would make it more useful.”
Mizrahi smiled. “The U.S. is fighting a war in the Pacific. We’re not their ally and have only the most tenuous contacts with them, so we can’t expect easy cooperation. Of course, this may change in the near future. We might accelerate the process if you find it difficult to assist us with the Canadians.”
Wilson extended a hand in a pacifying movement. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I was just curious. We probably can do something about Canada.”
Chapter 3
April 1942
It was a beautiful day. Michella would have preferred to be walking on the nearby Tel Aviv beach, instead of reporting to her boss, the Manager of the South European Desk of the Mossad.
“I finished reading the file and did some research of my own. The only thing I’m missing is the purpose of this exercise. What am I to do with the information?”
The Manager leaned forward in his chair. “It’s quite simple and I’m sure you’ve guessed what we want: If the government decides to go ahead we will need Mussolini to die quickly of an incurable disease. Any ideas?”
Michella smiled: “Sure. How long will I have to prepare?”
“The decision won’t be made until August, so you have three, maybe four, months.”
Michella’s face assumed a cold, clinical, expression. “The subject has syphilis. It seems to be well-controlled by his doctor, Ambrogio Binda. There’s not much information on the medication the doctor is using, but since he’s visiting Mussolini regularly and il Duce usually rests for a couple of hours after these visits, I assume it’s a version of Salvarsan or Neosalvarsan, you know, one of those nasty Arsenic based compounds they used to use to control syphilis symptoms. It really doesn’t matter as long as it’s an injection.
“I will befriend the doctor, probably get him to hire me as his nurse or pharmacologist and, when the order comes, add some polonium to the injection. Radiation symptoms will appear to be a worsening of his condition and he’ll die. Since polonium is fatal only if injected or swallowed no one else will be in danger.”
“Good. Sounds like a plan. You will have some time to study your identity and fly to Brindisi. Good luck.”
***
Jacob Hirshson was dead tired. Only two weeks remained until the end of basic training and he wasn’t sure he’d survive. His day started at six in the morning. A light breakfast was followed, on most days, by marching drills. After that came weapons training, different modes of infantry assault - some with live ammunition, hand-to-hand, more weapons training and more live ammo. The only rest came at about noon in the form of lunch.
By the time they were done with military stuff for the day the newcomers were in for an hour or so of Hebrew training, especially military jargon and acronyms.
Now he was preparing to go to sleep. At least today nobody called. Most days his mother called on his cell phone to remind him to eat and making sure he was healthy. His uncle called to update him on the business. Jacob really appreciated the rest and relaxation of the Sabbath. He also learned that five minutes were a very long time in which he could catch a nap, do his bed or even shower.
It seemed like the training achieved its main objective: turn a civilian into a soldier that obeyed orders first and asked questions, if necessary, later.
Someone stopped by his bed. Jacob opened one eye and jumped up to attention. His sergeant stood next to him.
“At ease,” the sergeant said. Jacob sat on the bed and the Sergeant sat next to him.
“I made some inquiries as you asked. There was a change in policy last month. If you want to go on to advanced infantry training and even to a commando unit it is possible. Your performance up to now is acceptable, so it’s up to you. Let me know by the end of next week. I need to submit the paperwork before you are done with basic.”
“What was that about?” Jacob’s friend and neighbor on the next bed inquired after the sergeant had left.
“You didn’t hear?”
“No, he spoke too quietly for that. Are you in trouble?”
“That depends,” Jacob smiled. “It seems that we are eligible for advanced infantry training and even commando units. I really don’t know what to do.”
“Well, I’m not going for infantry training. I’ll train as an auto mechanic. At least it has some use in civilian life and besides I’m dead tired of running around all day long.”
“I’m tired too but it’s temporary. This is what basic training is all about. I already have a profession so there may be some utility in obtaining training in something different, but I’m not that excited about it. After my experience at the hands of the Germans and Lithuanians I wanted to become a commando but I guess I’ll have to think some more.”
***
Amos Nir, the Prime Minister of Israel, stretched and took another sip of his lukewarm coffee. It had been a long day and he still had one visitor to deal with.
Dr. Ahmad Mazen, Chairman of the Palestinian Authority, entered and, at an inviting gesture from Amos, sat in the proffered armchair. Mazen had lost some weight since Amos met him last time. He also looked tired and worried.
“Well, Mr. Chairman, you asked for a meeting. The floor is yours.”
“I appreciate you meeting me so soon.” Mazen smiled. “I know how busy you are.
“Last time we met I promised to give you an answer: will we or will we not agree to leave to another time. We have come to a decision. It will be abided by all factions, including Hamas.”
“Please enlighten me,” said Amos.
“We’ve decided to stay. There’s no reason we can’t negotiate an autonomy agreement and continue to have our own limited government within the framework of the Palestinian Authority. If the principle is acceptable we can go into details.”
Amos was silent for a long while. Mazen became visibly uncomfortable. Finally Amos said, “I remember no such option being mentioned at our last meeting. The Palestinian Authority will cease to exist. The choice your leadership needs to make is simple: you can either leave to another time or you can stay. If you stay, you will all become citizens of Israel. No more separate autonomous government, especially as you have broken every agreement with Israel and there’s no reason for us to believe that you won’t break this
one at the first opportunity. We’ve had enough.
“Just in case you misunderstand me: if you stay, you and your colleagues on the PLO council will become private citizens. The PLO, Fatah, Hamas, and all your other organizations will become illegal and disbanded. The PA armed forces will be disbanded, all sixty thousand of them, and disarmed. We also did some thinking and decided that we really don’t want Arab political or terrorist prisoners in our jails. All these will be released no matter what you decide. They will be sent into the far past to fend for themselves. The same will be done with all future murderous fanatics. So do you still want to stay?”
Mazen was visibly shaken. “But this is unfair. We have a right to this land. Generations of our forefathers from times immemorial lived here. It is our land as much as it is yours. More in fact. We deserve some autonomy and our own elected leadership.”
Amos was annoyed and close to losing his temper. “Dr. Mazen, you also pronounced a while ago that Jesus was a Palestinian. Shall I treat all your statements as seriously as the Jesus one? You said just now that generations of your forefathers lived here. Can you tell me how many generations of your own family lived here? I can tell you: exactly two. Your grandparents came to Palestine in the 1890s from Algiers via Damascus. You would still be living in Safed, if it wasn’t for your parents’ idea that the Jews would seek retribution for the massacre of 1929. You yourself said that was the reason they left for Jordan and then Damascus in 1948 and took you with them. You’re not an exception either. You know why so many of your people bear the name al-Masri? It means ‘from Egypt’ and this is exactly where they came from not so long ago. So much for having lived here for generations. But this is all in the past.
“Why do you think you deserve anything from us? You broke every agreement you made with us. We offered you not just autonomy: we offered you an independent state. What was your response? You wanted your state to be completely free of Jews and you wanted to settle millions of hostile Arabs in Israel. You refused to accept the largest possible state we could offer you and still survive ourselves. Your response to that offer was riots and terror that cost us thousands of lives. Clearly your existence as a people is predicated on only one desire: the destruction of Israel and the Jewish people.
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