“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Who knows” said Feldhandler with a shrug. “Is she is even in charge at Dimona anymore?—assuming Dimona exists. But if she is not in charge there I can assure you, nobody will ever return.”
Like a condemned man grasping for a reprieve Yatom ignored all of Feldhandler’s qualifications. “It’s possible?” begged Yatom.
“Anything is possible Colonel. But if I’m dead, I can’t do anything.”
“What do you really want?” said Yatom, recognizing a devil’s bargain.
“Help me take the train, and Sobibor” said Feldhander. “When that’s done, I’ll give Dr. Perchensky some guidance on reprogramming the transmitter. But there are no guarantees, and there will be more to do after Sobibor.” Yatom sipped his water. “What’s to stop me from carving you up piece by piece unless you reprogram the transmitter right now?”
“The problem with the transmitter is not simply a piece of missing code or a series of numbers that I’ve memorized” Feldhandler explained patiently, confident that Yatom would not actually harm him. “Mina controls it—broke it, so to speak. How I don’t know. Perhaps I could resolve the problem, with enough time, Dr. Perchensky’s help, and under circumstances conducive to that kind of work. Torturing me would not be such a circumstance.”
Yatom had not seriously considered that, but knew that some of the men might not see things his way. Crazy or not, Feldhandler had them cornered.
“I’ll talk to the sarayet” said Yatom non-committally. “Try to stay alive in the meantime.” He set off back to the tree line, leaving Feldhandler in his ditch.
At the tree line Yatom found Mofaz and Perchansky seated on a fallen tree sharing a can of loof, a kind of kosher spam that Israeli soldiers have been eating and complaining about for generations. The sarayet had better and more modern rations but some soldiers actually liked the stuff. Mofaz was cutting himself another slice of the rubbery beef with a sharp combat knife when Yatom stepped through the brush. Mofaz offered his commander the slice—a peace offering. Yatom took the Ioof despite his lack of appetite and chewed it sluggishly. It really wasn’t all that bad. More likely his body just needed the food.
Yatom recounted his discussion with Feldhandler, omitting nothing. He expressed his feeling that they would have to go along with Feldhandler’s proposal, at least for the time being. “I’ll put it to you and the rest of the men to decide” he concluded. “But if Feldhandler attacks the train, and it’s defended, I don’t see that we have much choice in the matter. We’ve got to keep him alive.”
“I still don’t buy it” said Mofaz sensibly. “Why not just drag him back to the capsule, and keep him safe, until he starts thinking straight.”
Yatom considered this. He knew that of all the sayeret Mofaz would be hit hardest if what Feldhandler said was true, and the he would be feeling it now. Mofaz was a devoted family man who’d left behind a wife and three young children. Other than Mofaz, only Yatom and Roskovsky were fathers, and only one other man, Rafi, was even married. Being lost forever in time was frightening enough for the estranged and conflicted saycret leader. For Mofaz, a man with a decent family life it was crushing. Besides, what Mofaz said made sense. They still had little evidence that Feldhandler was telling the truth.
“Let’s see if any more evidence turns up that what he is saying is even true” suggested Yatom. “I don’t want to provoke a fight with Feldhandler—he may even be suicidal. What do you think Dr. Perchensky?”
“I agree that he might be self—destructive” Perchensky said, seemingly recovered from her ordeal in the capsule and taking on a scholarly mien. “One thing to remember is that he’s very clever and has had a long time to think about this—same with Mina. I’d be careful about trying to cross him.”
Yatom wished he could just shake off the dilemma or leave it to somebody else, but it was his rall—unless Mofaz continued to flat out refuse his orders. Then he’d have more problems.
“Motti” said Yatom, using Mofaz’s first name in an obvious bid for cooperation—“I’ll assemble the sayeret and leave Feldhandler to his devices for now. Let’s wait for a train and see what happens.”
Mofaz downed the last of his Inof. He hated Feldhandler at the moment, and he realized that emotions might cloud his judgment. Yatom was correct—they needed more information. There was also the fact that Yatom was his commander, and for all their occasional differences, he respected the chain of command.
“Beseder” said Mofaz guardedly. “I can count on you?”
“Danny” said Mofaz, gratuitously playing the name game too “you are the sayeret commander. If you don’t order me to do anything illegal or immoral, I’ll follow you.”
The sayeret gathered over the next several minutes, including Chaim and Bolander, back from their patrol to the stream. Only Shapira and Roi were absent, secluded in the copse of trees where the track disappeared. The soldiers were confused by the situation, but not in bad spirits. Yatom and Mofaz had agreed that there was little point in going through all the theories and permutations of their current situation with the men. The important thing was to prepare tactically and then decide what to do once their actual circumstances less muddled.
Yatom sent Chaim and Bolander, still sweating from their trek from the stream, to hike out and join Shapira, reuniting team Gimmel. The two commandos set off without a word of dissent, but Yatom was guessed there would be plenty grousing about their flaky officers en route. Mofaz took his team and deployed among the trees on the ridge to the east. There Ilan set up a sniper’s nest. Joined by Perchansky, Yatom’s team shifted to the west a few dozen meters in the direction of Shapira’s men. All the teams checked their radios again, which continued to function normally. The GPS tmits were still out, as were cellphones—which the men were not supposed to have with them, but they carried anyway.
Yatom then set off on his own to have a chat with Shapira and check his position, arriving a few minutes after Chaim and Bolander. The American lieutenant seemed more at ease with the situation than anybody. Perhaps thought Yatom that was because Shapira was used to leaving loved ones behind for a principle—and why he immigrated to Israel in the first place, that is, made aliya. Aliya, is the Hebrew for “ascension” or “going up.” It suggested that the immigrant had moved up to a better, more appropriate place. An American especially, Yatom knew, gives up much making aliya.
Yatom explained the situation to Shapira as best he could.
“So you just intend to wait for a train to arrive?” asked Shapira after Yatom finished, “to see if Feldhandler is being truthful?”
“Yes. I’m going to give it an hour or two and if nothing happens we’ll reconsider. I’m hoping that Feldhandler might come to his senses.”
“What are we going to do if it is a train full of Jews heading to Sobibor.”
“It’s still not our business” answered Yatom.
“I’m not sure I agree” said Shapira.
“Whether you agree or not, I need to know that you will follow my orders.”
“Of course” said Shapira mildly. “You know, if Feldhandler does stop a train, and it is filled with Jews, they will be our responsibility. There will be thousands of them. They’ll need food and water.”
Yatom said nothing.
“Feldhandler picked this spot because it’s a good ambush site, and because of the stream” continued the lieutenant. “That train is going to come, and it’s going to be our problem colonel—with all due respect.”