The Minister and his two assistants looked through the photos. One of the assistants said, “I’m a bit of a car enthusiast. I know that the Fiat 2800 had an engine of about 85 horsepower. What will happen to the transmission and differential with a 290hp engine?”
Ze’ev smiled. “You laid your finger on the problem. Not the mechanical one but the one of time travel. We gutted the bodies and are using a Stirling cycle motor spinning an electric generator. There’s no transmission and no differential. The car is propelled by four electric motors in the wheel hubs. The result is a very quiet and powerful car. Look at the photos of the interior: we have seat belts, the instrument panel looks ‘normal’ but in fact it’s a flat panel display. It will be obvious to anyone taking a close look that this in no regular instrument array. Anybody lifting the hood of this car will see that it’s a bit unusual. They might also notice the radial tires.
“Would you guys like to see one and maybe drive it?”
The Minister looked at his watch. “I really don’t have the time to go to your plant. Sorry.”
“The car is in the parking lot downstairs - I drove it here.”
The others looked at each other and as one got up to follow Ze’ev downstairs. After a short drive around the parking lot the Minister looked carefully at the logo. “Sabra, and it actually has a little fruit growing on the front of the hood. Interesting design.”
“Our chief designer studied in Italy, many years in the future and is very proud of the design. He and his team are working on new car bodies. He is going to be famous yet. I’m sure you’ll hear about Hassan Amjad in years to come.”
The Foreign Minister looked at his assistants, who nodded. “Dr. Hirshson, I think that the Foreign Ministry will be your first government customer. We will buy both models for our overseas missions. We will also probably buy some for the ministry here. Our older cars are wearing out and need to be replaced soon.”
You’ll have to change the shape of both models, at least the cars that will go to our embassies, to make them look less like Fiat and Lancias.”
“That will not be a problem. Starting next month both Fiat and Lancia will start supplying us with bodies made to our specification. They look slightly more modern but not too futuristic. We have several prototypes at our plant if you want to see them.”
***
Zaretzky met with Boris Andreyev again, this time in an office building not far from the Palestinian legation. The building was cold but the first floor room they were using had a puffing and steaming samovar promising hot tea. The room was drab, with peeling greenish paint and squeaky wood floors. The windows were dirty and, as usual in Russia in winter, painted shut. At least the windows were double framed, which offered some hope of warmth if the samovar was left going for a while.
When Zaretzky came into the interrogation room, as this is what it was, Andreyev was already there sipping from a steaming glass of tea in an elaborate metal holder.
“Comrade Zaretzky, please sit. Help yourself to a glass of tea. We also have sugar.”
Zaretzky poured himself tea and settled at the small table opposite Andreyev.
“How can I help you today?” Zaretzky asked.
Andreyev smiled. “There are a number of issues we need to clarify. You know, just to understand what’s going on in the big, wide world.
“Can you tell me when and how the British agreed to grant you independence?”
“That’s an easy question.” Zaretzky smiled. “You should have had the answers as soon as it happened, but I’ll tell you the story.
“In June of 1941 the British were in very bad shape. The Germans were helping the Italians in North Africa and both were beating the living daylights out of the British. We made the British an offer they couldn’t refuse: grant us independence and we’ll help defeat Rommel or refuse and we’ll rise up against you. What can I say, they chose wisely.” Zaretzky smiled and sipped from his glass of tea.
“I’m still not clear on how you could help the British beat Rommel? After all, if they couldn’t stop him how could a bunch of Jews in Palestine do that?” Andreyev was now looking intently at Zaretzky.
“Comrade Andreyev, you must have figured out by now that the ‘bunch of Jews’ had something to offer. I really can’t tell you what it was except, as you know, we are a smart people and when necessary we are also very inventive and industrious. I don’t think that Mr. Churchill ever regretted the deal.”
“You can’t or you won’t tell me?” Andreyev’s tone was slightly threatening.
Zaretzky made calming gestures with both hands. “I’m not an engineer, so I don’t know anything that makes sense, at least not so I could tell a coherent tale. I could tell you about teleportation and remote viewing and such but this is just babbling without understanding.”
Andreyev made notes in a small notebook. “So this is how you are able to give us such accurate information about the Germans?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s your conclusion. The only thing I know for sure is that every evening a little machine that sits on my boss’s desk spits out some pictures and printed sheets that he delivers to your High Command. I have no clue how it’s done.”
Andreyev made more notes. “So let’s assume that you have some kind of magic that lets you look at the front lines and the German forces for hundreds of kilometers in depth and lets you know what they’re planning. Can you use the same magic to know what we and everyone else in the world is doing or planning?”
“This is an excellent question, comrade Andreyev. I don’t know for sure but my assumption is that the Germans are not different in this respect from anyone else.”
Andreyev wrote some more in his notebook. “I understand that you also can do damage to your enemies at a distance. Is that true?”
Zaretzky visibly hesitated then seemed to make a decision. “I really shouldn’t say anything but you probably know at least part of the story already. We got the Nazis to turn over all the Jews in Europe to us. It was done in part by diplomacy, but you know Hitler. Diplomacy not supported by a show of force wouldn’t have worked. I will only say that he had his demonstration. It was fierce enough to make our diplomatic offer attractive. I also understand that we did serious damage to Rommel’s Afrika Corps, so serious that he lost the North African war quite quickly.”
“Can you tell me how this was done?” Andreyev was leaning forward, a hungry expression on his face.
“Sorry to disappoint you, comrade.” Zaretzky smiled apologetically. “As I said before I have no idea how the mechanics of these things work or what exactly was done to the Germans.”
“What if your leadership decided to, say, destroy a city, like Moscow?” Andreyev was waiting with his pencil poised over the notebook.
Zaretzky looked surprised. “Why would they do that? You’re our friends and we don’t attack friends.”
Andreyev nodded. “Sorry for the bad choice of targets. How about destroying Berlin?”
Zaretzky shook his head in indignation. “Just because something is possible doesn’t mean that it’s going to be done or should be done, Boris Ivanovich. We are not barbarians. Destroying a city means murdering thousands upon thousands of innocent people. We would never commit a crime like that.”
Andreyev made a couple more hasty notes. “I appreciate your openness, comrade Zaretzky. Maybe we should meet here again soon. Someone will call you to set up a meeting.”
“Certainly,” Zaretzky smiled. “I serve the Communist Party.”
***
Wolf could sit up in bed. His platoon commander came to visit and sat on a chair next to Wolf’s bed. “How are you doing?”
“As good as can be expected. The doctor told me that they’ll have to take me back home for some rehab. How are the guys doing? Was anybody else injured?”
“The guys are mostly doing fine. The night you were wounded the company had several more casualties, none in our platoon. The medics notified me that you will be transported b
ack home. I brought some of your stuff, including your tablet. The guys send their best.”
“Do you know what happened? I mean, how did the Germans surprise us? I looked at all the monitors just before the attack and there was nothing there.”
“That’s one mystery we solved. Apparently some of their mountain troops climbed the slopes of the valley just north of us and stayed hidden beyond the summit. None of the drones were observing that area so they surprised us,” the lieutenant responded.
A nearby artillery battery opened up and the building shook slightly.
“I better go,” the lieutenant said. “It looks like the Nazis are getting frisky again. Be well and keep in touch.” They shook hands and he was gone.
Wolf took his tablet out of its case and started an email to his sister just as a medic came in. “Wolf Frumin?” the medic asked.
“That’s me,” Wolf responded.
“The doctor told me that you may be able to walk short distances. Want to try?” the medic asked.
Wolf threw off the blanket and started to get out of bed. He slowed down immediately – his head started spinning. The medic noticed and helped him.
“Take it easy. You lost some blood and are not fully recovered from surgery. Four days are enough to make it safe for you to move but only if you don’t try running,” he joked.
With the medic’s help Wolf got up and dressed in loose fitting tanker’s overalls. He could walk if he leaned on the medic.
“Let’s start slowly moving out of here. There’s a helicopter waiting for you and others to take you on the first leg home.”
“What about my stuff here?” Wolf asked.
“I’ll pick it up as soon as I settle you in. It will take only five minutes and I have to get one more wounded guy from the next room anyway.”
Half an hour later the helicopter was on its way to an airstrip near Venice. The weather was much better than it had been the night Wolf was wounded. It was sunny and calm. The air was cold and the helicopter’s heater was blasting. The flight took longer than the fifty mile air distance to Venice would suggest. They had to follow directions that kept the heavy helicopter within the range of Israeli air defenses – there was no point in offering the Germans an easy target.
They landed near Venice an hour later. The wounded were transferred to a waiting C130 Hercules, which took off for Israel.
Wolf slept most of the six hours on the plane in a bunk. He kept waking up with a painful reminder of his injuries whenever he tried to turn onto his left side.
Minutes after landing the passengers were loaded onto another helicopter that brought them to the Rambam Medical Center in Haifa.
After he settled in his room, Wolf could finally call his parents.
“I’m at the Rambam Medical Center. I’m doing fine. They examined me after I arrived here. Everything seems to be healing well. They will allow me to walk around later in the day so if you come in the evening we can party.”
“We will be there. In the meantime I’ll call your sister and let her know. Be well and we shall see you soon.”
***
General Uri Sadot settled into his Innsbruck headquarters. His first order of business was a review of the tactical situation with his staff and General Oded Almog, who was now the second-in-command.
“I want a Falcon AWACS system in the air at all times,” Sadot ordered. “It should let us know of any air activity or major ground advances. The German aircraft assembling in Munich and Vienna airports are here to support a ground attack, which is likely to start when the force to the east arrives. I would like to do two things: reduce the ground forces that are assembling against us in the east and destroy the Luftwaffe forces that are likely to attack us.” He looked around the conference table. “Any proposals?”
“We have one easy option: the Hungarian force is just being loaded onto trains. If we move reasonably fast we can attack and destroy them from the air,” General Almog proposed.
Others at the table were nodding agreement. “Good, let’s make it so,” Sadot said. “Any other ideas?”
The air force liaison, a colonel, said, “From the intelligence we have, which is mostly radio intercepts and satellite imagery, it looks like the Luftwaffe really pulled out all the stops. We’re looking at hundreds of aircraft, most of them bombers but also a fair number of fighters like the Bf-109, and even heavy fighters like the Me-110. If they attack together, which the Germans did sometimes in the Battle of Britain, we will have to expend a large number of missiles to destroy them. I suggest that we attack both the Munich and Vienna airports tomorrow, or even better, tonight. Ninety percent of their forces are in place and we can easily destroy them on the ground. A second attack will take care of their fuel tanks. By the way, some of the tanks are buried deep and protected by layers of reinforced concrete. We will have to use some of our bunker busters to get to them.”
“Why at night? Won’t it be easier to hit the targets in daylight?” General Sadot wanted to know.
“A night attack will be less dangerous. The Germans have lots of quad 20mm anti-air mounts at both airports. Not a concern if we are coming in at 8,000 or 10,000 feet but dangerous at the altitude we need to destroy their aircraft. In the dark the danger they pose will be much reduced. Our planes, even the older ones, are equipped with night vision sights and ground reflection radar. They’ll do a fine job on the Nazis.”
“That makes sense as far as it goes,” Sadot said, “but I have a question: why not eliminate the danger to our aircraft altogether? Why not drop some medium-sized thermobaric bombs to eliminate their anti-air defenses from high altitude and then come in for a low level attack on what remains?”
The air force colonel shrugged but before he could say anything General Almog intervened. “Dropping thermobaric bombs is not exactly the most civil thing to do. Fuel-air bombs kill in a large radius and we might kill innocent civilians.”
Uri Sadot’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “You mean that we can’t bomb or otherwise attack any facility that has civilians present?”
Almog nodded. “In essence that’s the situation. We were attacked by human rights organizations for years and years and they always demanded that we abide by the Geneva conventions, which we always do.”
General Sadot nodded. “Do you know what exactly the conventions say regarding civilians and which convention we’re talking about?”
“It’s the fourth Geneva Convention but I really can’t cite from it,” Almog responded.
“You are partially correct. The relevant rules are in Protocol 1 of the Fourth Geneva Convention as amended in 1977. Since the Fourth Convention dates to 1949, neither it nor the amended protocol can bind us in 1942. Besides, in the time we came from the USA and several other countries refrained from ratifying the protocol so all this nonsense is not binding on us.
“The specific articles that protect civilians are Articles 51 and 54 which outlaw indiscriminate attacks on civilian populations and destruction of food, water, and other materials needed for survival. Indiscriminate is the key. Are we intending to harm civilians in our attack? The answer is no, therefore any civilians that are close to a military target are not protected. Civilians that are engaged in activities that support the enemy don’t fall under the protection of this convention at all. The fact that this was used against us for years doesn’t mean it was justified or that we should change our tactics and endanger our lives. Israel was singled out for these kind of attacks and accused of killing ‘innocent civilians’, but did you notice that no one, not even the Palestinians, wanted to go to the International Court and file formal accusations? The accusers always knew that the accusations were bogus, just a propaganda tool.
“So to summarize: My orders are to bomb both Munich and Vienna airports in the morning. We start with a high altitude attack using five thousand pound thermobaric bombs. After their air defenses are gone we drop bunker busters on the underground fuel tanks.” Sadot looked at the air force colone
l. “You decide what size you need. If after all this there are aircraft still intact we destroy them. Is this clear?”
“Crystal clear,” the colonel responded.
***
Friday night was approaching and for the first time in weeks the family was assembling at Ze’ev’s house for a Sabbath dinner. The crowd included Ze’ev and Linda’s youngest son, Benjamin, plus their daughter Shoshanna with her husband Noam and their kids. Jacob brought his sister Sheina, mother Sara, cousin Tzipora, and Esther Frumin. Esther’s brother Wolf and her parents, Nachman and Tzila, were also present. Wolf’s left arm was still in a sling. Ze’ev’s son Chaim’s family was also at the table.
After the women finished lighting the Sabbath candles and the meal was served the conversation began.
“How do you like your new car?” Ze’ev asked Jacob, who had driven his brand new Sabra from Beer Sheva.
“I love it. It drives well and is so quiet,” Jacob responded.
“Isn’t it a bit small?” Chaim asked.
“I picked up Esther, Sheina, Tzipora and my mother. We all fit, a bit tight but not too bad. I didn’t want the larger model; it’s much more difficult to park.”
Chaim looked at Ze’ev. “You know that Jacob isn’t a connoisseur of automobiles. I think that a gasoline powered car would drive somewhat better. Why not drop the Stirling engine and switch to something normal?”
Ze’ev shook his head. “Chaim, you are missing the point. The current model drives worse than the cars we’re used to but better than its contemporary competition. And it’s our first attempt. The next generations will be even better.
Beyond the Shield Page 21
