by David Khara
As was the case whenever Janusz and Karol were gone, the men in the camp were killing time. With his pince-nez resting on his nose, Marek was attempting to perfect a detonating pen that would be used to activate explosives. Pawel was dismantling the unit’s supply of weapons and cleaning each piece with tender care. Piotr was doing push-ups, jabbing invisible opponents, and practicing strength-training exercises to stay in shape. Vassili, meanwhile, was checking his animal traps, hoping to bring back a little game that would add some variety to their meals.
Eytan was skimming the pages of a book that Karol had lent him. He hadn’t mastered the German language well enough to fully grasp Stefan Zweig’s prose, but he had a good sense of the author’s depth, humanity, and suffering. Eytan had been reluctant to read anything by this Austrian writer, but Karol had insisted.
“The language does not belong to the Nazis,” Karol had told him. “This writer is proof of that. A civilization that brought the world Goethe, Mozart, and countless others must not be reduced to a bunch of degenerate extremists. Speaking of which, can you tell me what the first country to be invaded by Hitler and his pals was?”
“Austria, I think.”
“No, Eytan, it was Germany itself.”
This was just one in a series of lessons that had helped Eytan fully understand what they were doing. By opening the doors to German culture, Karol was counseling Eytan to develop his powers of critical thought. Karol was saying that it was wrong to make all Germans bear the sins of just some.
“If you allow yourself to be consumed by hatred, it won’t stop with just the evildoers,” Karol had told him. “Your hatred will soon spread to others. If that happens, nothing will separate you from your enemies. You’ll be one of them.”
Faced with these thoughts and in light of the savage behavior he had exhibited during the attack on the weapons convoy, Eytan was full of remorse. He hadn’t just let down those whom he now considered his family. He had lost respect for himself. He felt adrift, lost in a sea of doubt and darkness. He had allowed Bleiberg to change not just his body, but his very being. Once he had been a happy child who loved his parents and brother. That love had been replaced with a rage that would consume his soul if he allowed it to.
Piotr made no attempt to hide his distrust of the boy or the sadness he felt in seeing him on such thin ice. Janusz never mentioned the incident. Neither did Pawel, who continued his training as if nothing had happened, or Vassili, who remained silent as he calmly and carefully gave his knife-fighting lessons.
These men had welcomed Eytan into their group without asking for any gratitude in return. They had showered him with something he had been deprived of during the long, cold, and wet months at Stutthof: kindness. Amid the flames of war engulfing the globe, Janusz and his group had tried to reignite in him the embers of hope.
How could he turn his back on them? How could he let himself become a beast? What was the point in running away if he was destined to become the monster the barbarians wanted him to be?
Eytan rubbed his now-bald head. Karol had scolded him for shaving it. He viewed this as another renegade act. But Eytan didn’t see it that way. It was a form of discipline. He was ridding himself of everything that was alien—including the blond hair—and proving his resistance to what Bleiberg had done to him.
But deep down, Eytan knew the first enemy he would have to defeat was himself.
~ ~ ~
By the end of the day, Janusz had returned. The joy of seeing their leader again—never a sure thing—vanished when they caught sight of two men following him. The first, who looked to be about fifty, was tall and thin. He had an ugly angular face and a long nose. He was carrying a suitcase that appeared to be heavy. The second was carrying two bags. This one was shorter and younger-looking. Like Piotr, he was muscular.
Instinctively, Piotr leaped up to retrieve his machine gun. Pawel and Marek followed suit.
“No need to worry. They’re with us,” the Bear assured his teammates.
“Who are they? And where’s Karol?” Pawel asked, lowering his weapon and signaling Marek to do the same.
“Karol decided to spend two days undercover in Germany. This is...”
“Colonel Neville Wladowski,” the tall, thin man said in perfect Polish.
“Second Lieutenant Stefan Starlin,” his sidekick said.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Piotr spit out, ignoring the two newcomers.
“The British War Cabinet sent us to coordinate resistance activities in the region,” Wladowski responded.
“Does Churchill really think these two hicks can help us destroy the Germans?”
“Relax, Piotr!” Janusz ordered. “Our job is conducting the largest attacks possible all over Poland. The Allies want to debilitate Germany’s sphere of influence in preparation for a massive invasion from the Atlantic.”
Wladowski dropped his suitcase and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket.
“We’re from a special operations division. We’re trained in close combat, sabotage, and infiltration.”
“So basically you’ve come here to fix things that aren’t broken.”
“How’s that?” the colonel asked as he lit a cigarette.
“What do you think we’ve been doing here? Throwing pebbles at the Germans and running away like little school kids?”
Piotr’s face was turning red hot.
Marek and Pawel looked at each other and started laughing.
“Nobody said that,” Wladowski responded. “The Armia Krajowa’s accomplishments in Poland have been exceptional. Others out there are fighting with less training, fewer resources, and equipment that can hardly match your own. You’re the ones we’re using as an example for the other rebels across Europe.”
The flattering explanation, plus the offer of a cigarette seemed to put the boxer in a better mood. Janusz took advantage of the cease-fire to introduce his unit to his guests.
“We haven’t come empty-handed,” Wladowski continued, pointing to the three pieces of luggage.
Starlin knelt down and opened each one. In the first suitcase was a two-way radio whose miniature size won a round of oohs and ahhs. The second bag contained several Ordnance Survey maps of Poland. But the last case garnered the most attention when Starlin proudly displayed its supply of US-made corned beef hash, chocolate bars, cigarettes, and a large box of cigars.
“And the party wouldn’t be complete without...”
He raised a bottle of whiskey high in the air. Pawel and Piotr cheered as he unscrewed the cap. Even Vassili looked almost excited. Starlin filled the band’s makeshift cups, carved from wood found in the forest. Marek, however, went straight for the radio, which he thoroughly examined.
Eytan was sitting off to the side and happily watching the scene. Janusz walked over to him, handed the boy a cup, and sat down.
“I don’t know if...”
The Bear cut him off. “Drink up. It’s an order! Who knows when your next opportunity to get sauced will be.”
Without giving it another thought, Eytan swallowed the drink in one gulp. He handed the cup back to Janusz, who was scrutinizing the boy.
“Not bad,” Eytan said, grinning.
“That’s it? It wasn’t too strong? Your throat’s not on fire?”
Eytan shook his head.
“You never cease to amaze me,” Janusz said. “Here’s a second test. Smoke this.”
The Bear handed Eytan a cigarette. He struck a match against the sole of a combat boot and lit the cigarette. Suspicious, the teenager brought it to his lips.
“Breathe the smoke in, and blow out,” Janusz said.
Eytan complied.
“So?”
“It smells weird, but it’s all right,” Eytan said before taking a second puff.
Janusz roared with laughter and stood up.
“Don’t be such a wallflower. Come join us.”
“I’d rather watch from here. I feel like drawing.”
&nbs
p; “Another one of your many talents, although not exactly the most obvious,” Janusz said as he started walking back to his friends.
“Hey, Janusz,” Eytan ventured. “Are you happy?”
The Bear stopped and looked back at him.
“Those men are my only family,” he said softly. “They’re happy, so I’m happy.”
Eytan smiled as he watched him rejoin the others. Then Eytan picked up the sketchpad and charcoal that Janusz had brought back from one of his visits to town. He quietly began depicting the scene before him. His fingers swept over the page smoothly and precisely, and the figures and faces took shape.
The party continued well into the night. When the initial rush subsided, Stefan Starlin gave them more information about the war and how it was progressing in the rest of the world.
“Some one hundred thousand Polish exiles are fighting alongside the Allies, and they’re doing a hell of a job. The Germans sent to stop the advances of our troops in Italy know all about it.”
“This war started with Poland, and by God, the Poles will put an end to it!” Marek shouted, his tongue loosened by the alcohol.
“Hear, hear,” his cohorts replied.
“Let’s raise our cups to those who’ve sacrificed their lives at Pearl Harbor and Stalingrad,” Wladowski proposed. “The US has awakened from its slumber, and Stalin has decided to take on Hitler, as well. To Roosevelt and Uncle Joe,” he cheered before raising his cup to his mouth.
The others repeated the gesture, and the conversation continued until fatigue set in. Vassili was the first to say goodnight. He needed to rest up before his morning watch.
~ ~ ~
The next day, as always, Eytan awoke with the sun. When he emerged from his hut—where he had to sleep alone because of his nightmares—he found the vestiges of the night’s festivities. Empty bottles and cigarette butts covered the ground. Vassili came into the clearing, his arms loaded with tinder and logs gathered in the woods. He started to get the campfire going again. Eytan, meanwhile, began picking up the litter.
Janusz soon showed up and thanked Eytan. He yawned and ran his fingers through his unruly mop of hair.
“I’ve got the worst hangover.”
“No shock there, considering how much you all guzzled last night,” Eytan teased as he picked up an empty bottle.
“I don’t know what makes me unhappier—this headache or discovering that we’ve completely gone through our stash of alcohol,” the Bear joked. “Not that I’d want any at the moment.”
He picked up a canteen of water, took several huge swigs, and poured the rest over his face.
“Vassili, get our equipment together. We’ll be leaving for the Jablonskis,” he said. “And wake up Pawel. He’ll take over the watch while we’re gone. Eytan, get ready too. You’re coming with us.”
“Who are the Jablonskis? What are we going to do?” Eytan asked.
“Some chocolate bars and a few cans of meat won’t last very long, especially with two extra mouths to feed. We need more supplies. The Jablonskis own a small farm that’s a two-hour hike from here. They help us. Our initial meeting was actually in their barn. It’s time to apologize for what you did, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t mean to do any harm,” Eytan replied, ashamed.
“I know,” Janusz said. “I was teasing. But it is important that they get to know you in case you ever have to visit them without me.”
Someone yelling interrupted their conversation. It was Pawel.
“I wanted one of you to wake me up, but I didn’t need to get kicked in the ass, God dammit!”
Wearing a satisfied smile, Vassili emerged from the shelter that Pawel and Marek shared. He gave Janusz a thumbs up.
Ten minutes later, the Bear, the Siberian, and Eytan left the campsite and headed south to Bohdan and Cecylia Jablonski’s farm.
~ ~ ~
At mid-morning, Pawel, who was nursing a cup of ersatzkaffee, sprang up at the sound of cracking twigs. He didn’t have time to lift his weapon before a man in a German uniform came hurtling into view, as if he were being chased by a pack of wild dogs.
“Karol? For fuck’s sake, you scared the shit out of me. Next time, warn me before you come bolting back like a madman. I could have shot you. Or had a heart attack.”
Out of breath and dripping with sweat, the professor rushed to his comrade and grabbed him by the collar. Pawel had never seen him in such a crazed and panicked state.
“Where are Janusz and Eytan?” he asked several times.
“They left for the Jablonskis with that bastard Vassili. Why?”
“Oh no. Shit!” Karol shouted. “How long ago?”
“I don’t know. At least an hour,” Pawel ventured. “Calm down. What’s got you so worked up?”
“We have to go help them.”
“Help them do what?”
“Right now!” Karol cut him off, as if possessed. “Go warn Marek and Piotr. We don’t have a second to spare.”
“You wanna bring Marek? Are you nuts? He’s not even freakin’...”
“We need everyone, Pawel.”
“To do what?”
“I just came from Reinke’s garrison. A special SS unit is sweeping the area in search of a child who’s escaped from a camp. Sound like anyone we know?”
“They’re looking for Eytan?”
“Yes,” Karol said. “They’ve been spying on all the farms in the area for the past week, waiting for us to show up. Janusz and the others are going to fall right into their trap.”
Chapter 37
Fort Wayne, present day
The Audi was parked in the lot of a budget motel off I-469. Stretched out in the backseat, Jeremy was flexing his trader muscles as he analyzed the business plans he’d stolen from the H-Plus Dynamics accounting department. Jackie was in the front seat, studying the files she had swiped from the president’s office. Meanwhile, Eytan was enjoying a cigar outside the vehicle while checking Simon Attali’s text again for the location of General Bennington and his zombie commando unit.
From Eytan’s cool demeanor, not a soul in the world would have guessed that only a few hours earlier he had destroyed part of a skyscraper, eliminated four guys without giving them a second to defend themselves, and stuffed one of his four closest allies into the trunk of a car.
Jeremy’s brief moments of solitude in that dark cramped space had allowed him to collect his thoughts. His sense of humor, while bordering on abrasive, had always served as a defense mechanism. He often used it to hide his true feelings. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone when he cracked a joke. Yes, he realized now that comparing Eytan—who had endured a lifetime of horrors, pain, and suffering—to the brawny man on a line of household cleaners or the guy in green on a box of frozen vegetables might have sounded cruel. But surely Eytan understood how he felt about him. And whether Eytan admitted it or not, he was, indeed, a giant man in green clothes. Wasn’t there some humor in that? Besides, when it came to cleanup agents, Eytan was the champ. Hands down.
It would take more than a timeout in the trunk of an Audi to keep Jeremy from expressing his feelings for the Israeli agent in his own unique way. But for now, his role model was demanding serious work. And Jeremy would not let him down.
“Come on,” Jeremy blurted to Jackie after a prolonged silence. He opened the door of the car to get out.
“Did you find something? Because I did!”
“All right, we’ll both have our turns at show-and-tell,” he said. He exited the car and hurried over to Eytan. “You wanted juicy information. Here it is!”
“You have my attention.”
“I’d better have your attention! During my quick visit to the accounting department, I got my hands on the company’s business plan from last year. It includes a twenty-year projection, which is an unusually long time frame.”
“A projection?” Eytan asked. “You didn’t dig up anything on their current status?”
“No need. We already know what the c
ompany makes. I figured it would be more useful to find out what their long-term goals are in order to gauge their strategy. Aren’t war tactics all about anticipating your opponent’s next move?”
“Yeah,” Eytan admitted. “So?”
“So... It appears that our little friends are getting heavy funding from the US military. They won a military contract several years ago. But I haven’t been able to figure out whether the money’s coming directly from the Pentagon or a go-between in some kind of shadow arrangement.”
“How big?” Jackie inquired.
“Three hundred and fifty million big.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty big.”
“Actually, it’s relative,” Jeremy clarified. “Military contracts can run into the billions. To get a better idea, you have to put it into context. US military spending soared after the 9/11 attacks. The US got involved in Afghanistan and Iraq, as we know, and all those troops needed machinery and weapons. In addition, US weapons became much more sophisticated. The drone program, for example, really took off, because it eliminated so much of the risk of taking out targets. We could get rid of those nasty terrorists without risking any American lives. Lots of companies dipped their fingers in the arms honey pot.”
“How do you know so much about all this military stuff?” Jackie asked.
“Most of the companies making the weapons and machinery are publicly traded. When I was on Wall Street, I had to have an idea of what they were doing. And for the most part, it wasn’t a big secret. It was reported in the financial news. The US companies, by the way, aren’t the only ones producing arms. BAE systems and Airbus, both European corporations, are among the world’s top ten arms manufacturers.”
“That’s lovely. All out in the open,” Jackie grumbled.
“Unfortunately, war is big business in the world we live in, honey. But there’s something else about H-Plus Dynamics that’s intriguing: the company’s growth projection. Twenty years from now, they think they’ll be selling two million units annually in the United States alone. It’s interesting to note that the company is privately held but expects to go public sometime around 2025. That’s probably because they’ll need new manufacturing facilities—and an infusion of cash—to produce all those artificial limbs.”
