Upfall

The house was warm, dry and flush with electric light. Feldhandler, with Perchansky and Roskovsky assisting, immediately began fiddling with his converters and redrargers while the other Israelis handed over a jumble of NVGs, radios and gunsights for recharging. Despite Samsonov's promise to guard them, Yatom insisted on putting out his own watch, with Itzak and a glum looking Bull named Lev getting the first duty.

Yatom told Itzak to patrol around the house with Dev until relieved. "Just make sure our Russian friends don't shoot you by accident." Itzak returned a wry smile, not sure if Yatom was joking about his dark skin or just making a general comment. Lev looked at him       curiously—proliably the first dealings the young Jew had had with any black man, much less one that would give him orders.

Anxious for a bit of sleep himself, Yatom nevertheless insisted on calling over Shapira and Mofaz for another a powwow. They sat at the table where Feldhandler worked on the electronics.

"How is it going Doctor?" asked Yatom, relieved to be speaking Hebrew again.

"It is working—but it will take a most of a day to charge all of this stuff." Yatom looked at Shapira. "Your little performance was impressive. I‘m glad you decided to come on stage when you did."

"You're welcome.“

"Do you think we have a day?" asked Yatom, addressing the group.

"No" said Mofaz irritably. "I heard most of it—my English is good too—I don't trust that big galut"

"What he said seemed to be true" said Shapira. "Some carried British weapons—how else would they get them but from Allied airdrops?"

"I don't know Lieutenant" said Mofaz. "You're the historian. Ijust know that I don't like it."

"You don‘t like anything" said Feldhandler. "We know you don‘t like the general situation. What specifically makes you think we should not rest here for a day?"

"There is something about him" said Mofaz thoughtfully "that makes me think he is at best a criminal, at worst an enemy."

"What exactly?" asked Yatom.

"I don't know" said Mofaz. "You know" said Shapira "Major Mofaz may be onto something. That last bit Samsonov said about his father and Comrade Stalin—perhaps he's not a Communist."

"Most people in the Soviet Union were not Communists" said Feldhandler "just like most kibbutzniks"

That brought a laugh from the group, even Mofaz. The Israeli kibbutz movement was probably the purest practical expression of true communism modern history - but had recently fallen on hard times, economically and philosophically.

"I think we should stay through the day and depart again tomorrow night" said Perchensky, injecting a little practicality into the discussion. "The wounded especially need rest."

Yatom looked at Mofaz.

"Major?" asked Yatom respectfully.

"Beseder" said Mofaz. "But we still need petrol, which this Marshal Samsonov is not donating. What are we to trade for it?"

"We have plenty of weapons" said Yatom. "So does he—unless you are thinking of trading our equipment?"

"Not our equipment" said Yatom "except perhaps an Uzi or two. The Russian might like an Uzi. He might value novelty."

"I doubt he'll trade much petrol for one or two Uzis" guessed Shapira "but it's worth a try."

In the large house next door, Marshal Samsonov also sat at a table, considering his options, a bottle of rough vodka lubricating his own council of war. Samsonov had removed his fancy dress jacket and replaced it with his real army shirt, which carried the worn shoulder tabs of a senior sergeant. Another sergeant called Kuba sat at the table along with artillery lieutenant named Zinoviev. Zinoviev had long ago surrendered his authority to Samsonov, preferring to drink, fuck and accept the rare salute from the rabble around him. "These are certainly the commandos who have been raiding the German camps" declared Samsonov. "Anybody disagree?" Samsonov's boorish threatening tone didn't really invite disagreement, and his men were rarely inclined to challenge hisjndgnrent.

"You're going to inform Captain Reder?" asked Zinoviev looking over at the German wireless set in the corner of the room. "He certainly would pay us well for such advice."

"Would he, Zinoviev?" said Samsonov in his deliberate way.

"Maybe he would tell his master to send a division and liquidate the lot of us."

"Why would he do that?"

"It's what Nazis do idiot" said Kuba. "Once we've served our purposes."

"We've turned in plenty of partisans other than this lot" said Zinoviev. "We'd still be of value to the Germans."

"You might be right, Zinoviev, but it would be better to present these Englishmen to the Germans on a platter, rather than have them come and carve the roast themselves—that might give them ideas."

Samsonov paused and poured another tumbler of vodka for himself.

"Reder mentioned several times that these commandos were well armed. It concerned him. Did you notice their weapons?"

"Not really" said Zinoviev drunkenly. "I did" offered Kuba. "The weapons are odd—never seen anything like it—their uniforms and equipment too."