by David Khara
“That’s the gist,” Avi said. “The alleged program appears to have something to do with transhumanism. But that doesn’t tell us why the military wants Eytan. I thought they were interested in the way he doesn’t age, but that seems to be too easy an assumption.”
“Yes, it is a bit easy. However, you are partially correct.”
“We’re just dying to hear your words of wisdom,” Eli said.
“Do you see how upset he is that I’m the smarter one?” Frank said as he walked over to one of the blackboards. “I’ll draw it out for you. That way it’ll be easier to understand.”
He erased the traces of his research with a rag and drew a human form.
“From a purely mechanical standpoint, there’s nothing revolutionary about the arm you’ve brought to me. This kind of medical technology has been around for a while. For example, in targeted muscle reinnervation, developed right here in Chicago, severed nerves are redirected to allow an amputee to control his artificial limb. It works along these lines. Normally, your brain sends electrical signals down your spine and through the peripheral nerves to the muscles that control your limbs. If you lose an arm or a leg, the nerves still carry the commands generated by the brain, but they can’t get to the place they’re intended to go. In TMR, the nerves are redirected to a healthy muscle elsewhere in the body. A surgeon might attach the nerves that controlled an arm to your chest. When you try to move your amputated arm, the signal will cause your chest muscle to contract. Then electrodes can be attached to your chest to provide signals to a prosthetic arm. So just by thinking, you can control the prosthetic device. It’s the same principle with a prosthetic leg.
“Although we’ll have to wait to hear what my students have to say about the arm you’ve brought me, its technology appears to be much more sophisticated than what most specialists in the field have been able to accomplish so far. I’m wondering if this arm is the next step—if it has the capability to carry the signal in both directions: from the brain to the limb and also from the limb to the brain.”
“So what does that mean?” Eli asked.
Frank sighed.
“It means, dimwit, that human beings could take a big leap forward from an evolutionary standpoint. At its very simplest, someone wearing one of these arms could detect hot and cold. But let’s think of the military applications. Soldiers gain experience in training and combat. At the same time, however, they’re getting older and less efficient. If you hook them up with artificial limbs, which are immune to the type of aging that humans experience, you’ll increase their longevity. Plus you can continually upgrade the equipment. Over time, you’ll end up with a fighting force of seasoned veterans with superpowered arms and legs. But the thing is, the brains and central nervous systems of these seasoned vets will deteriorate through the natural process of aging. Therefore, to fully exploit the prosthetics, the military needs skilled subjects with superior physical abilities.”
“Okay, so if your soldiers don’t show any signs of deteriorating, they’ll remain efficient longer,” Avi said.
“Which means they’ll be more profitable. It takes a lot of money and time to train someone for combat. So now you understand why they want Eytan. It’s his nervous system they’re interested in. These days, we can make technological advancements much more quickly than we can modify the genome. And there are too many ethical barriers related to genetic manipulation. In the case of prosthetics, all you have to do is tell the public how beneficial they are for the millions of disabled people out there, and the whole world will give you a standing ovation. Never mind that they cost a fortune, and only the very wealthy can afford them.”
Frank turned back to the blackboard and wrote “proved” in capital letters.
“You know your stuff. I feel like such an idiot in comparison,” Avi said, plainly impressed.
“That’s how most people feel,” Frank said. “But I’ve managed to stay down-to-earth, wouldn’t you say, Eli?”
Eli tried hard not to snigger.
“Now if you don’t have any other questions,” Frank continued, “I’ll go ahead and prepare the doses for Eli to take back to our favorite bald giant.
“What doses?” Avi asked.
“His serum,” Frank said.
“You’re the one who makes it for him?”
“Under top-secret conditions. I use my best students, and each one prepares just a single ingredient. That way, no one knows the end result. Then I measure the ingredients and mix them to make the serum. All right, I’m off. Wait for me here. I won’t be long.”
Frank Meyer left the office. While Eli was relieved for the few minutes of respite from his overbearing sibling, Avi was clearly impressed with the man.
“Your brother is quite a character. You are polar opposites.”
“Quite a character, indeed. And it makes sense that we’re so different. Frank and I happened to be on the same ship after the war, when we were being transported from England to Israel. We were orphans. Eytan took us under his wing, and Frank and I practically grew up together. I dedicated my life to Eytan by pursuing a military career. Frank did the same, but he went into science. He wanted to be a fighter pilot, but couldn’t because of his poor eyesight.”
“So that’s why Frank’s in charge of making the serum. You’re a one-of-a-kind family. That’s all I can say.”
Eli’s jacket started vibrating. He took out his phone and answered the call.
“Eytan?”
“Hi Eli, it’s Jackie. Eytan’s behind the wheel. We’ve completed the Baltimore mission. We’re heading toward Fort Wayne now. We have big news.”
“We do too. Everything went well at your end?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.”
“What do you mean kind of? Did Eytan get hurt again?”
“No, this time we had trouble with Jeremy,” she replied.
Eli picked up some embarrassment in her voice. “Be more precise. You’re making me anxious. Is Jeremy okay?”
“He’s okay, I think.”
“You think? Where is he? Let me talk to him.”
“I’m sorry, Eli. No can do. He’s in the trunk.”
Chapter 30
Poland, March 1943
The men passed the matchbox around, and each of them lit a cigarette. The captain slipped the matches back in the pocket of his jacket. The five soldiers smoked to take their minds off the bitter cold. The captain complained about the weather almost as much as he complained about women. And the subject of women often filled their conversations—ribald stories were a favorite, and the captain let them have at it. On this day, one of the men was bragging about seeing a young elementary school teacher being raped by a bunch of Luftwaffe pilots in Krakow.
“The best part was that it took place in the middle of a downtown café in front of a crowd of like-minded privates,” he said.
The men stopped laughing and elbowing each other. The light-hearted vibe vanished, and an awkward silence fell on the group.
Sheltered from the snow by a large evergreen, Karol watched and listened. He felt the simultaneous urge to throw up and put a bullet between the eyes of that asshole, who was still laughing. The professor took some comfort in the other men’s silence, which he took for disapproval.
Captain Reinke led his small Wehrmacht garrison with an iron fist and refused to tolerate any violence against civilians. He was an old-school officer who was tough but fair. Those who lived in villages under his authority considered themselves lucky. Younger, less-seasoned commanders could be very hard on civilians. Even Janusz was inclined to let Reinke be, at least for the time being, even though some of the other men wanted to eliminate him. Janusz was convinced that a replacement would lack Reinke’s moral compass.
Reinke gave the man a tongue lashing before sending him to the hut next to the elementary school that had been turned into a barracks. The shamed private obeyed without protest.
They’re not all monsters, Karol thought. But his musings would ha
ve to wait. He had to focus on the night’s objective.
Spotlights on metal supports illuminated three buildings situated in a U shape. The Germans had put up the lights immediately after taking over the place. Surrounded by a six-foot metal fence, the school playground now served as a lot for the troop’s trucks. At that very moment, two of the trucks were parked next to each other between the fence and the covered pavilion under which Reinke and the four other soldiers were conversing.
Immediately after Karol raised his arm, two shadows dashed out from the edge of the woods a hundred feet behind him. The professor watched as they flew by. Even crouched, Vassili and Eytan soared ahead with astounding speed, like two ghosts hovering above the snow. They reached the fence in the blink of an eye and nimbly climbed over it.
Once over the fence, they headed toward the trucks and ducked behind one of them. From there, they looked back at Karol, who dropped his arm. Vassili stood up first and carefully lifted the hood of the truck. Eytan rummaged through his shoulder satchel and took out a tin. He opened it and scooped up a dark substance, which he smeared on the engine’s oil filter.
They quickly executed the same maneuver on the second truck. The Germans were still chatting, unaware of the two saboteurs. With their crime completed, the duo returned to the forest, with Karol following behind.
A safe distance into the woods, the three men met up with the others. Pawel and Janusz had been covering them—Pawel in a tree with a rifle and Janusz on the ground with a machine gun.
“Nice work, guys. First nighttime mission completed,” Janusz said.
“Karol, what did we put in their engines?” Eytan asked.
“Carborundum. It’ll clog up the pistons, causing the engine to overheat and the head gasket to explode. The truck will hemorrhage oil until it stops completely. That will keep our dear Reinke quite busy during his next drive,” the scholar boasted.
“Is this really how wars are won?”
“You might see this as a minor setback, but all these small acts of sabotage add up and will eventually create big problems, especially since this is an army that depends on logistics. Trust me, this will take a toll on troop morale.”
“Nicely put,” Pawel said. “Plus it’s fun. Right?”
“When you talked to me about my first mission, I imagined something different,” Eytan said.
“If the devil is in the details, then we’re the demons who haunt the Wehrmacht. The Polish people will rise up one day. That moment has yet to come, but it’s fast approaching. Anyway, don’t worry. By sunrise you’ll have your share of action.”
“Karol’s right,” Janusz agreed, putting his hand on Eytan’s shoulder. “Our next mission is a more serious one. We’ll be intercepting a convoy of weapons.”
He looked at the feathery clouds obscuring the full moon. With a whistle, he ordered his men to move out. Vassili led the group, holding back the tree branches when necessary. Following behind were Eytan, Karol, Pawel, and the Bear, bringing up the rear. They marched steadily for half an hour, despite the snow, which weighed down their boots and slowed their stride.
The Siberian stopped in his tracks and raised his fist. The row of men did the same, their senses heightened. Then they heard a familiar voice coming from the underbrush.
“You’re as discreet as a herd of cattle,” Piotr mocked, emerging from his hiding spot. He brushed off his parka.
“And you, you’re so well hidden, we almost stampeded right over you,” Pawel taunted back.
“Tell me that the convoy hasn’t passed through yet and that you’ve brought the bag,” Janusz demanded.
“Who do you think I am?” Piotr replied. He tossed a bulky army duffle to Karol, who was nearly thrown to the ground by its weight.
“The Germans are more precise than one of Marek’s detonators,” Piotr said, spitting on the snow. “Those bastards should be here soon.”
“Their timeliness will screw them over tonight,” Pawel jeered as he made sure for the tenth time that his rifle was loaded.
“Keep your jokes for the campsite,” the Bear said. He pushed aside some bushes to scan the main forest road. “You all know the plan. Now get to your positions!”
Pawel and Vassili crossed to the other side of the road. The shooter climbed a tree overlooking the road and got into position.
Piotr armed himself with his new machine gun, which he had swiped from a German officer during their last attack, and crouched behind a tree with Eytan. He looked at the kid’s fearless face. In the two months since Eytan had joined the Armia Krajowa, he had undergone an incredible growth spurt, and every one of his teammates had been forced to dig through his measly stash of personal items to find clothes that would fit him.
Janusz was positioned about forty feet in front of them. He readied his machine gun before lying down on the ground.
Karol pulled a Wehrmacht soldier’s uniform from the duffle that Piotr had brought. Pants, jacket, shirt, boots—all the standard items were there. Shivering in the cold, he put on the outfit and stuffed his own clothes into the bag. He then planted himself in the middle of the road.
“We used to run a rope across the road to stop the motorcyclist at the front of the convoy,” Piotr whispered to Eytan. “But the Fritz have gotten more careful. They drive slower when it’s dark. So we’re trying something new tonight.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to put me or Vassili on the road instead of Karol?” Eytan asked. “We’re better at close combat than him.”
“That’s true, but Karol can act German better than anyone else. How do you think we know so much about the way they transport their troops and ammo?”
“I never thought about it. So you mean when Karol disappears...”
“He goes off to blend in with the Krauts and comes back with pockets full of information. Did you really think he was just in our unit to teach you math, reading, and phil-whatever-it’s-called?”
“Philosophy.” Eytan corrected him with a mocking smile.
“Yeah, whatever,” Piotr said before spitting out a loogie. Eytan could tell he was annoyed. “We all have our jobs here.”
“What’s mine?”
“Hard to say. You’re good at everything, even boxing, you little shit.” He faked a round of jabs to the kid’s chest, which Eytan pretended to block. “You gotta tell me how you stay so calm. The first time we attacked the Fritz, I pissed my pants. It’s no big deal if you’re scared.”
“Scared?” Eytan repeated. “I’m not scared.”
“No kidding.”
“Fear is only a fuzzy memory for me. Nah, I’m just restless.”
The sound of distant engines interrupted their chat. A motorcycle headlight lit up the road, followed by the much stronger beams of a truck, then a second, and a third. The procession was rolling along slowly. Karol, meanwhile, was lying on the ground with his arms outstretched.
The motorcyclist slowed down about sixty feet from Karol and then came to a complete halt, as did the rest of his convoy. He dismounted and approached the prostrate Karol, his machine gun at the ready. At the same time, someone inside the closest truck lifted the rear flap, and two men, also armed, emerged. They joined the motorcyclist.
The motorcyclist yelled something abusive at Karol twice. Still lying on the ground, he turned his head toward his comrades in the bushes.
Eytan, the only one who could speak perfect German, resisted the temptation to translate the conversation. He settled for giving a thumbs-up to assure Piotr that things were going smoothly.
As evidence, one of the soldiers put down his weapon and held out his hand to help Karol off the ground.
That was when the grim staccato sounds of Janusz’s machine gun erupted. The bullets studded the truck’s tarp in sync with the cries of shock and pain from the men inside.
The three Germans tending to Karol spun around to face the convoy. Karol, in turn, grabbed his pistol and fired a bullet into each of their skulls.
The panicked soldier b
ehind the wheel of the first truck started pulling away, but a perfectly aimed bullet delivered by Pawel soared through the windshield—shattering it—and continued until it hit the poor guy between the eyes. A second shot nailed the soldier in the passenger seat. The crazed vehicle was now rolling toward Karol, but the professor managed to leap out of the way. He dived into the forest and hit a tree. Before they had time to react, the entire team in the second truck was taken out.
The machine gun stopped spitting bullets, and Janusz rushed to reload his weapon. Five survivors took advantage of the pause to jump out of the third truck and flee into the forest.
Two of the soldiers headed in Vassili and Pawel’s direction. The others were close to Eytan and Piotr, who leaped up to give them chase. But Eytan soon lost Piotr. After weeks of training with Vassili, the Siberian forester, Eytan now moved through the woods as naturally as a wolf. Piotr, the stocky boxer, couldn’t keep up with his huge strides. Eytan was weaving in and out of the branches all by himself.
The three soldiers, meanwhile, were staying together, apparently unaware that their only chance of surviving was to split up.
Piotr, who was familiar with the forest terrain, managed to catch up quickly. He could see the Germans, but not Eytan. He ran even faster. Once he was close enough to the enemy, he hoisted his machine gun into shooting position. But just as he was about to start firing, he caught a movement to the right of his targets. A shadow emerged out of nowhere and pounced on the Germans, grabbing one of them by the hips. The figure raised the man in the air and threw him to the ground.
Piotr spotted the reflection of the moonlight on the steel blade of the knife as Eytan plunged it into the throat of the soldier sprawled on the ground. The man let out a gurgling cry. Piotr crept closer to find Eytan sitting atop his victim. There was an insane glimmer in the boy’s blue eyes and a wicked smile on his face. Eytan pulled the knife out and plunged it into the soldier’s guts, twisting as he bore down.
Shocked, Piotr did nothing for a few seconds. Then he snapped out of it and took aim at the other two men. But Eytan was in the way, and a bullet to either of them would have hit the boy. This gave the surviving soldiers the opportunity they needed to catch their breath and run off. They were now scampering like bunnies in different directions. One darted deeper into the woods, and the other veered in the opposite direction, back toward the main road.
