“Can you at least tell me…”
“No,” interrupted Yatom. The truck drove off into the darkness.
Thirty minutes later they reached the crash site, which was illuminated with lanterns and the sayeret’s last few glow sticks. Perchansky and Feldhandler still worked inside on the inverted computer terminals, while Bolander rigged an area to hold Rafi stable during the return. With the capsule upside-down, it was going to be impossible for anybody to strap in properly. Bolandler was anxious to get home, but feared that they would all be killed on the journey, tossed about like pellets in a child’s rattle.
“What’s the story Doctor?” said Yatom stepping into the cramped space.
“Once the interior is usable, the men should climb in,” said Feldhandler. “I’ll transmit a coded signal. If things work properly, the Device will egress the capsule like any ordinary mission.”
“But you’re staying.”
“Yes. Dr. Perchansky will transmit the signal from inside the capsule—once I give it to her.”
“You haven’t given her the code yet?” asked Yatom in disbelief.
“No he hasn’t” said Perchansky with a touch of exasperation, but no real anger. It seemed to Yatom that she had enjoyed working again with Feldhandler, despite their difficulties and differences.
“Beseder,” said Feldhandler, “no harm now.” Perchansky took out a notepad, but Feldhandler waved her off. “You won’t need it. It’s simple, and it’s in English. U-P-F-A-L-L-2-4-9-1.”
“Cute” said Perchansky.
“I don’t get it. I understand the year backwards—that’s stupid—but the word is just nonsense,” said Yatom.
“Not really” said Perchansky in English, slipping into a school-marmish tone, not unlike Feldhandler’s. “You know in Hebrew we say el al, to ‘go up’ or ‘ascend’. An immigrant makes alliya, like Sergeant Bolander over there—ascending by moving to Israel.” She smiled at Bolander and he grinned in return, like a puppy thought Yatom—a killer puppy.
“Okay, I get it now” grunted the sayeret leader. “We go up and fall at the same time. A righteous mission—at least as you see it—fallen into the past. Is that it Benny?”
“Close enough” said Feldhandler. “There’s also some connection to concepts like negative energy and such—but it would bore you. Let’s get the rest of the chemo in here.”
Yatom climbed outside, and bid Bolander to come with him. Rafi lay on his stretcher at the foot of the capsule conscious but in pain. The rest of the sayeret survivors, minus Chaim and Shapira, stood behind him.
“Let’s say our goodbyes quickly” said Yatom. “We likely will not see each other again Remember our fallen comrades. Pray for our missing men. Hope that our sacrifices—their sacrifices—have not been in vain.”
The departing men hugged those staying. Yatom grabbed Mofaz and embraced the wiry Major.
“What shall I tell them Colonel—back home?”
“I don’t know—the truth I think.”
Mofaz turned away, and Yatom embraced the rest of his men, except for Rafi, who he patted gently on the cheek. He gave Perchansky a hug too.
When the men had secured Rafi, and finally themselves as best they could within the inverted capsule, Perchansky closed and sealed the door. Yatom, Feldhandler and Nir moved away several dozen meters, and lay down behind a large fallen oak. Inside the capsule Perchansky delivered the coded signal and a second later, with a rush of wind and a sonic boom, the capsule disappeared.
Chaim reached Biali three days later, having tried unsuccessfully to deliver a signal from the weakened radio. He looked like an escapee from a jungle prison, his face drawn, bearded, and scratched, his uniform torn, weapons dangling from his chest. Yatom greeted the exhausted commando on the outskirts, and hustled him away into his quarters. Yatom summoned Nir and Feldhandler. Over a hot meal and a glass of brandy, Chaim told them about his journey.
Twenty kilometers north of Belzec he’d run into a German patrol, and after a brief shootout, that used up the last of the Tavor’s ammo, abandoned the staff car and set off into the woods on foot. Carrying one of the MP-40s, his Sig and a little food and water, he’d navigated his way back to Biali.
Then Chaim described the attack on Belzec, the bravery of the demolition platoon, and how well Roskovsky’s jury-rigged charges worked He also told them of the terrible losses and the effective destruction of Sandler’s unit. Chaim did not see the intrepid Sonderkommando after the final SS attack, and did not know if he survived. Finally he told them what he knew of Shapira. He knew that Shapira had likely left Belzec in the hands of the SS, battered but alive.
After Chaim finished, Yatom told him about the Battle of Biali, and the loss of Roskovsky. Then reluctantly, Yatom explained why the rest of the sayeret was not around to greet him.
“For God’s sake Colonel, I figured that out two minutes after I got here,” groaned Chaim. “Don’t feel bad. I wouldn’t have gone back anyway—not with Lieutenant Shapira in a German prison.”
“How is your arm?” asked Nir.
“Sore but fine. Do you know if the rest of the sayeret made it back?”
Yatom shrugged. “How could we?” He looked over at Feldhandler who just opened his charred but healing palms.
“Chaim, you look half dead,” said Yatom. “We should leave you to sleep.”
“To tell you the truth, I’d rather we took walk, to where Roskovsky died, if that’s okay.”
“All of us?” asked Feldhandler.
“Why not?”
It was just after sunset when they set out, and the heat of the day had dissipated into a cool if humid evening. As they walked through the town Chaim caught sight of Norit, sitting alone under a linden tree, with Shapira’s iPod in her ears. He turned away so that she couldn’t see him. He would deliver his news to her personally, later.
They took a farm path to the battle ridge. As they walked, the surrounding countryside echoed with tranquility, the only sound the shuffle of their boots and the hum of a thousand insects. It was completely dark by the time they reached the ridge, but under a new moon Yatom pointed to the place where Roskovsky fell. From the ridge they looked back at Biali, nestled into its little valley, the shapes of its buildings barely visible against the distant forested hills.
“Have we really accomplished anything?” asked Nir. “I still have a hard time believing any of this is real”
“We won’t know really unless we see the future of this place ourselves,” said Yatom.
“Shapira believed it was worth it—he gave himself up for it,” said Chaim.
Nir pointed at something in the far eastern sky above the village, a white smudge in the sky just above the treeline. “What is that?”
Yatom raised his binoculars and trained them on the spot. “It looks like a comet” he said disbelievingly. “A small comet with a short tail—shaped like a triangle. It appears to be oriented vertically moving away from the horizon.”
“Let me see,” said Feldhandler, grabbing the glasses.
“Is there any record of a comet in appearing in northern Europe during World War II?” asked Yatom.
“I don’t know; I’m not an astronomer,” said Feldhandler. “But I suppose it’s possible.“
They were silent after that, watching the pale white comet falling upward toward its distant star.
Historical Note
While the transport of an Israeli commando sayeret into the past is entirely fanciful, much of this story contains historical truths.
As to the possibility of time travel, associated paradoxes, wormholes and the rest, there is plentiful scientific speculation on these topics, of which only the most optimistic suggest that a device such as the one described in the novel could ever be practically constructed The power requirements would be immense, and the problems associated with travel into the past extensive. For the purposes of this novel I have taken the tack that such travel, if possible, would not necessarily create a temporal paradox, based on the creation of a new “time line.” But that is just fictional convenience.