

THE ARENDT FILES

By

Ivan Rosemblatt

### Chapter 1

The convoy finally appeared round the curving mountain road. The headlights of the trucks cut through the black upright pines in a zeotropic fluttering. For a few moments his squad was was visible clustered around him, flat on their stomachs or squatting low against the trees. The light revealed no color, only an amber hue like that of an old photograph, bits of dust momentarily revealed swirling in the air. The peculiar fluttering quality of the light through the trees reminded him of the Mutoscope movies he had watched on the boardwalk as a boy. He would beg, fight other street kids, dig through the trash for empty bottles of Moxie, do whatever he had to in order get that nickel, turn that crank, and watch the fat man slipping and fall into a puddle.

Adam looked over to the left to the steel bridge a quarter of a mile away. They had spent the last two nights lining it with explosives and now it was almost time. He wanted a cigarette, anything to keep his hands busy, other than nervously fumbling with the detonator. He hadn't seen tobacco since gathering his men two weeks earlier in a small town on the border of the German run North and the Collaborationist South. It was always hard to get his hands on cigarettes anyway, with the all the new anti smoking laws. It was just one more thing he hated about the Nazi's, their focus on cleanliness and health.

Last time he had been home he couldn't believe how clean and quiet New York had become. Giant buildings had risen from the rubble like kudzu in a swamp. After the endless bombing slave labor had allowed them to rebuild at an astonishing pace. They wanted a new capital for the new country they were trying to create, one that matched the style in Berlin; a Nazi New York City. It was a place for people who preferred wide streets and glimmering shops to the teeming narrow tenements he had grown up in and loved. "Can't get a fucking decent slice of pizza any more. Schnitzel, fuck schnitzel."

Adam remembered Hitler's parade during the visit in 49. The party had managed to line the streets with throngs of people brought in from all over the state. Schools were let out early, factories closed, anything to add hands waving tiny flags; songs blared over loudspeakers. There were cheerleaders, marching bands, and floats. The Fuhrer had been genuinely touched to see the unofficial hand sewn flags some traitors had fashioned, the red, white and black replaced with red, white, and blue. It was a down home, mom and apple pie Nazi flag. Hitler liked it and decided then and there that he would adopt it alongside the official party flag.

He was developing his philosophy of empire. After conquering a place integrate their elites into the state, Roman style. They needed people on their side and they believed that many of their Aryan brothers in America would join them, given the right conditions. This was, after all the country of slavery and the Klu Klux Klan, a country that had resisted entering the war tooth and nail, that had pioneered eugenics. The country was too big, too rich, too productive, to be run from the outside. There simply weren't enough capable people to administrate the occupation, they needed natives. It could never be just a colony, it had to be brought into the fold.

After the visit newsreels in theaters ran on a loop endlessly repeating the color images of fresh faced blond, blue eyes children approaching the podium holding gifts of apple pie in their tiny hands. He would lift the smaller ones up to kiss them on the cheek. In the close up shots it was possible to see that Hitler's face had changed since the end of the war. Age seemed to have mellowed him. He was fatter, his hair greyer, his smile mild and forbearing; the stresses of the war were behind him. The resistance had learned that he had given up the use of amphetamines, a bitter pill for them, they preferred him unhinged.

Hitler's psychological operations officers had made it clear that in order to pacify and recruit people they would need to create a mixture of the familiar and the new. American's were innocent and childlike; they needed their toys. Hitler loosened the reigns on industry and let the industrialists do what they did best, what they had never for a moment stopped doing. It wasn't long before Germany was importing blenders, washing machines, radiators, and countless other durable goods pouring out of the American factories; a small swastika printed in metal or plastic sandwiched between the words "Gemacht in Amerika" and "Made in America"

Now, eight years later, with Hitler dead and gone, Park Ave. and Time Square bustled with seemingly happy shoppers. Those who cooperated were better off than before the war. Giant spotlights shot up from the tops of buildings like pillars from an ancient temple as movie projectors shone their images on the sides of buildings. Images of progress, of the Fuhrer, of young healthy bodies exercising, of smiling factory workers operating giant machinery, and words. Words at angles, words that shrank and grew, words with endless strident exclamation marks, words encouraging, demanding, telling .people to stop smoking, to report danger, to turn in suspicious neighbors, an endless stream of word and images.

As he remembered looking up at the giant images of blond faces and hard lean bodies so unlike his own he was reminded of those people who had hidden him immediately after the invasion. He managed to make his way from the Bronx to Wisconsin. He had been taken in by old solemn taciturn farmers, many of them old time wobblies. He was shocked by how quickly the families of the old Swedish settlers had reverted to their traditional left wing roots.. He had trained them in sabotage, weapon's manufacture, and all sorts of dirty tricks and tactics, things he had picked during his training in military intelligence.

They hadn't only helped, they had been kind. He spent the first year and a half in a hay loft on a remote farm. The women tended to his needs, washed and ironed his clothes, brought him warm food, smiled. The men visited in the evenings after their work was done and sat with him smoking a pipe and talking. One of the older daughters would come back out late at night and they would make love and talk. She was a full foot taller than him and a strong country girl. She had liked how different he was, the way he smoked a cigarette. They had an easy way with each other. She taught him Joe Hill's song "Rebel Girl"

There are women of many descriptions

In this queer world, as everyone knows,

Some are living in beautiful mansions,

And some wear the finest clothes.

There are blue blooded queens and princesses,

Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl;

But the only and thoroughbred lady

Is the Rebel Girl

With there help he made contact with with the Rebbe and from there with the Jewish resistance under Arend'ts command, who had sent him here, to blow up this bridge. The lead truck was almost all the way across. There were a few more trucks on the bridge and a number more pulling up behind on the road. He twisted and pushed down on the detonator cap.

### Chapter 2

The the Mercedes open coach gave him the sense of being immersed in a fragrant past. The weather was idyllic and the slight early Summer humidity contributed to his sense of being submerged. The style and rhythm of the old south suffused everything. After having been stationed in Virginia for eight years Von Schemmel had come to appreciate the Southern way of life, it's sense of rhythm and repose. The bushes and flowers along the road were well tended but lacked the angularity he had grown up with in Cologne. It was an overgrown, luxurious flowering. Over time he had come to understand that the design of this particular plantation had little to do with chance or carelessness, it was a cultivated disorder meant to soothe the mind.

It was the Southern gentry who were the natural allies of the Nazi, the Fuhrer in his brilliance, had recognized that. Hitler had understood that America was a nation that would need to be guided into it's own form of Nazism; one that would, over time, strengthen into and iron determination to join the thousand year Reich. It was because of his vision and foresight they arrived armed not only with fire and steel but also with genealogies; blood would be their bond. Once they set about restoring the land rights of those expropriated by the race traitors of the north, the old traditions would take root and rise again, like a plant returned to its native soil.

Of course there had been some bumps in the road, some difficulties along the way. The defeat of the south during the civil war seemed to have broken the spirit of many of the important families and over the intervening years decadence had been allowed to settle in, in some cases all traces of aristocratic dignity had been lost. Many of those blessed with a sudden return to power and wealth were completely unprepared for their windfall; they seemed more focused on seeking revenge for harm done to their honor over the course of the last eighty years than on managing the wealth that had been entrusted to them. They stumbled about like a chicken's with their heads cut off, bottle of bourbon in one hand whip in the other, lashing out indiscriminately.

When he called them to task for their lack of discipline their faces turned from purple to crimson in their rage, "These are my niggers and I'll do what I want to them!" Von Schemmel would quickly revert to his army training and dress the owner down as only SS officer could. He tried to guide them as they took up the reigns again, sharing the new scientific forms of control developed by the SS. Still they tended to revert to the tried and true customs of slave punishment.

As Regional Administrator he had inspected each plantation in the area numerous times and had seen where the vulgar nature of the landlord expressed itself in carelessness and disrepair. This was why he so appreciated visiting Wilke's plantation. He was the only owner who retained all the qualities he expected from a man of good breeding. His family had managed to maintain and rebuild it's wealth after the Civil War and he had been raised to run the family farm. Perhaps more importantly he had been brought up to be a true Southern gentleman of the highest caste. He had read the great philosophers and understood why a ruling class was best and the natural state of government for humanity.

Von Schimmel could see the effects of the man's breeding whenever he visited. It made itself manifest in the disposition of all the slaves around him. Even now as he drove up the long road to the main house the black's, male and female, flashed their brilliant smiles as they waved, teeth bright and stark white against their dark faces. Of course the hands who worked on the house or gardened, the less physically demanding jobs, were lighter skinned. Out further in the field were the truly dark, unmixed Negroes. This was one of the practices he had been working to correct over the course of his tenure, the unmitigated race mixing he observed. It was fine to use the blacks for sexual gratification but Von Schemmel insisted that those women be sterilized. He believed that otherwise there would always be a tendency for Aryans to start to subconsciously sympathize with their kin. He knew blood was the true motor of history, despite what that vulgar materialist thought. He was concerned that Aryan blood would create a sense of empowerment among those blacks of mixed heritage. He was convinced that race mixing never leant itself to the foundation of an empire.

Out in the fields the slaves labored in rhythmic unison amongst the dark orderly furrows of earth. He felt all was as it should be and order was being restored to the world, a world that had gone mad for a time. Jewish concepts of relativity had deprived every even nature herself of her brilliance and freshness. Now all things were being restored to health, cleansed by the conquering Aryan solar race, the only race with the purity of understanding and will to do what must be done.

A joy rose up in him as he rested his forearm on the door of the Mercedes. He was happy there were some Americans who could be allies in this great project. Yes, the southerners were Aryan's and thus Nazi's at heart. With patience and time they would come around completely and this new piece of the empire would settle into it's proper place.

As he relaxed more deeply into this seat he realized he had been tense, for weeks, perhaps months. He had allowed some form of fear to take hold of him. Yes he had been afraid, concerned that perhaps things weren't going as well as they should be. In that moment he let it go and in so doing felt simple and young again. He looked at the beautiful craftsmanship of his car. "To do things right and do them well, what a pleasure." He was glad that they still imported all the cars for the officer corps from home. While the Americans rushed to buy the German designs coming out of Detroit he preferred this higher level of beauty and craftsmanship.

Although there on "official" business Von Schimmel was genuinely pleased to be visiting this plantation. It was the most successful in the entire nation, producing well above quota. Jaspar was the most gracious host he had met, the epitome of Southern hospitality. A bit of a renaissance man,he was constantly at work devising improvements to his property. Von Schimmel thought of him along the lines of Jefferson, who he had been enamored of as a boy. Not only was he constantly reading on agriculture and working to improve yields and maintain the health of the soil, he also had a deep interest in the arts and design and was always changing some aspect of the house.

Rounding the final curve "Berry Hill" came into view all at once, the white columns of it's facade and it's neo-classical form surrounded here by more meticulously tended gardens. The bougainvilleas were in full bloom and there were red, while and yellow roses as well "You see Willhelm" he thought to himself, "that is how time goes by when contemplating victory. Today we will enjoy ourselves and dedicate ourselves to the pleasures of life." The Fuhrer always believed in rewards for the victorious. After the taking of Paris, Hitler had insisted the officer corps celebrate and they had indeed. had a wonderful time indulging in the bounty of food, art, and women. The French had been very accommodating and had adapted quickly to the new regime. Today he would let down his guard and enjoy the rewards he deserved.

Around the front of the house there was a great bustle of activity as his car pulled up. An elderly black man in servants uniform, black pants white jacket, white shirt, and black tie took the stairs two at a time, hurrying towards the front double doors open wide. He rushed past two serving women as they made their way out from inside the house two carrying trays, one with a large glass pitcher of lemonade, the other with tea. He noted that the old man was barefoot and his pants were cut high above the ankle. He made a mental note to ask Jaspar about that later., it did not seem in keeping with proper etiquette. Curious?

Jaspar stepped through the door just the Mercedes pulled up to the front steps, an amused broad smile on his face. He waved enthusiastically to Wilhelm who was touched by the friendly, unstudied gesture, but unsure how to respond. He was still not used to America's expressive style and felt he never would be. He nodded his head sternly but allowed himself a brief. genuine smile. The man had a way about him, he was one of those people who brightened up a room and made the day feel better, more full of promise. Jaspar made his way down the steps, tall, lithe, loose limbed, energetic. His clothing reminded Von Schimmel of a matador's costume he had seen in Spain, flamboyant in a way quite contrary to his austere Prussian tastes. Upon consideration it was not so different really from the military dress that his grandfather or great grandfather wore, with their countless shimmering useless buttons and elongated helmets with tall plumes. It was true that very until very recently the military men in Germany let themselves be taken in by certain feminine, Jewish characteristics, a theatricality that he felt was unbecoming. Jaspar wore his bright blue cutaway with a naturalness and ease that made it all the more striking. Von Schimmel stepped out of the car as one of the servants opened the door for him. Jaspar stepped forward and shook his hand vigorously.

"So good to see you Wilhelm."

Von Schimmel bowed forward formally. "Likewise."

"Please forgive my garish attire. I went for an early morning ride and like to greet the day with a splash of color. It is summer is it not. I forgot myself and only had time to change my shoes. His attitude at every moment seemed to be one of amusement, a shifting cheer. It was a stance towards the world that was quite difficult for Von Schimmel to put his finger on. Jaspar was charming, tremendously charming, but he could not tell what exactly he was amused about. Von Schimmel could not put his finger on the source of his Jaspar's attitude and he did not like it. He preferred to have a firm grasp of the personality of those he ruled over. In this case his concerns were dissipated by Jaspar's bright smile and friendly demeanor. An image came to Von Schimmel's mind, a memory of what it was like to be a small child, heading through the open door into the back yard, the sun was shining and the glass was green, and his mother was watching from a distance.

"We have made some wonderful improvements I must show you, but first you stretch your legs a bit and we can enjoy some refreshments on the veranda"

"I trust you had a good ride?"

"Yes Wilhelm. Excellent, very invigorating. There is no mood a good canter can not dispel."

### Chapter 3

Mike thought to himself "This town is not what it used to be." They were lying on their stomachs on the cold damp ground where the tree line met the back yard. The Mayor's house was a mile at most from any of one of their houses but they had hiked eight miles through the woods to avoid being seen. Stacey took everything deadly serious now and had them wear corsets and tie pieces of wood to different parts of their bodies so they were forced to change the way they moved, they added padding underneath their clothes to change the shapes of their bodies, and each had on a mask.. With curfew and all it was hard to imagine who would see them but there were at least eight people who lived in the neighborhood who had seen him almost every dy of his life and could spot him from a mile off. He could recognize most of them at a distance just by how they ran their finger's through their hair or stepped off the sidewalk. "There is nothing more difficult than trying to go unrecognized amongst your neighbors. ?"

Stacy had gone from being a buddy to constantly correcting them and showing them what they were doing wrong. Somehow he had made contact with the resistance or they had made contact with him; he wouldn't talk about it much. He hadn't even asked them if they wanted to join, he just drafted them. "This is the way it is" he had said. For a second they weren't sure if he was being serious, but only for a second, Stacey wasn't really a guy to joke that way. Everyone knew he was a fair guy, a serious guy. He had tried to join up at the start of the war but they wouldn't take him, what with his mom and all his sisters depending on him. Mike had always known that something like this would happen, things couldn't go on the way they were forever.

During their second debrief for the action Stacey's he had told them that above everything else they had to hide their identities. He drilled it into them, "Once we get moving we can not talk." To do that they had to follow plans and timetables exactly; plus they had to learn a bunch of military sign language. Mike had struggled with it. They were all out of their element but Stacey was not fucking around, He said that if they were in danger of being found out, and somebody spoke or worst, used a name he would kill them. At first he and Joe and Slim and Rick had half smirked and looked at each other, like "What's this guy talking about?" but they realized he wan't kidding and the room became heavy and tense. "We aren't friends anymore. Understand? You are a soldier now. I'm your commanding officer and if you disobey order's, those are all grounds for punishmen. And right now we don't have any jails so we don't have many options for types of punishment." Mike couldn't have been more relieved when Marge knocked on the garage door and poked her head in to ask if anybody wanted a ham sandwich. They were all sitting on lawn chairs in a half circle looking out on the driveway, the garage door was open and it was a balmy Summer Georgia night; they each had a beer in their hands and they all looked up at her with shocked confused looks. "Ham sandwiched boys. You've heard of ham sandwiches, right?"

"Yes, ma'am". He felt guilty that they were hiding things from her, so he turned awkwardly away and realized that he was going to start lying a lot more. Stacey was easy as day, "That sounds great honey. Can you give us maybe half an hour. We'll come in the house. That way the boy's can visit some with the kids." She smiled and closed the door. Stacey came right back to it, "These aren't nice things to talk about but this is how it is now. We have only a couple of things on our side and one of them is that we know each other and we trust each other but that's our weakness too. We've got habits, we let things slide. We argue. That's all over now, see. You think you can just go back to your regular life because your at home, but you can't. I have orders and so do you. There's no army without discipline. This isn't our home anymore anyway, it belongs to them until we take it back. "It'll all be different after we do this mission. After this we'll all be different. Alright, let's go over it again."

### Chapter 4

Arendt walked into the room followed by the two men in their late twenties who functioned as her assistants and body guards. Each was tall and fit, wore a gray suit, white shirt and back tie. She set down the bundle of manila folders on the conference table which filled the center of the room. She wore her standard gray skirt with matching grey blazer and white shirt. One of her assistants behind her placed her leather satchel bag on the table next to her papers. She acknowledged him with a nod and proceeded to open the bag, pull out a took out a stack of stapled sheets of paper. She handed them to the other man accompanying her, "John, would you mind?" He walked around the table and placed one in front of each of the men four men sitting at the far end none of whom had yet spoken or acknowledged.

After handing out the papers he stepped over to the side table in far corner and poured two cups from the pitcher of water set next to the pot of coffee and brought them back over to where Arendt was setting up. He placed them down on the table within hands reach of her, removed her bag and joined the other man on the chairs against the wall behind Arendt. She finished organizing the materials in front of her, thumbing through some of her notes and nudging the papers and folders with her finger tips in to neat piles. Finally she took a sip from one of the cups then leaned forward bracing herself with her two fists on the table surface and spoke. "Gentlemen." She said and nodded at each of the seated men.

The largest of the four stood up. "Welcome madame chairman. I hope your accommodations were adequate."

"My title is General."

"Excuse me, general."

"Yes. they were adequate thank you. Shall we begin?"She liked that the Mormon Command had the ability to stage the meeting in a hotel rather than one of their churches, it spoke to their operational capabilities. They didn't really have public churches since they had been declared illegal but she knew that they had modified other buildings to transform them into one of their temples or ceremonial halls.

"General Arendt, would you like to have a seat?" He gestured towards the chairs surrounding the table. arm outstretched, fingers together.

"I will stand, thank you. You, sit." her gesture was more natural, direct and commanding than his. The elder looked quickly at his compatriots who remained impassive, then reached back to the armrest of his chair and lowered himself with the shaky motion of age.

"The material you have in front of you follows my presentation and includes intelligence reports we have gathered for your general knowledge and as a gesture of goodwill. We have placed those in the appendixes at the end,. This is information we feel you will find interesting and helpful. Please guard them jealously, I'm' sure you are aware that obtaining this information involves great risk and and sacrifice on the part of patriots and if it were to fall into the wrong hands could put their lives at risk."

The men all nodded in assent and started to take to thumb through the sheets. "Take a few moments to look through them and then I will continue."After they had finished skimmed through the papers the same man spoke. "Very impressive."

"As you all know in order to protect American citizens who would have been targeted because of their religion, ethnicity, profession or past political affiliation the US government destroyed and instructed citizens to destroy all personal identification and local public registries. As you each are also aware the Nazi's are attempting to undermine any possibility of reconstructing American political and cultural institutions and by systematically capturing and or destroying all bureaucratic documentation.

Although their initial focus was on state and national records their focus has spread to Colleges and Universities libraries and destroying archives and records, they are seeking to make it impossible not only to reestablish the authority of government but also to make it impossible for future generations to reconstruct history through historical record. This destruction includes all previous deeds of ownership .

We assume that there are many hiding places where certain collections of books and historical documents are being kept but we also know that overall losses have been staggering. The Nazi's have also used the information they have gathered to begin making registries and data bases of citizens which has in turn lead to arrest of Jews, political leaders, and former radicals."

"We are aware of all these issues General."

"Please do not interrupt me. Those regions and towns that remained remained loyal to their fellow citizens by providing shelter or aid have been the victims of retaliation by the enemy. Entire towns have been massacred. Places such as Dickson Tennessee 7,000 souls killed. 12,000 in Warren Pennsylvania, 9,000 souls from Price City Utah, Millard County."

"Yes we are well aware of the events in Price. What purpose does this listing out of the butchers bill serve."

"At this point we estimate that a quarter of the United States population has been killed or enslaved by the enemy. We have been in ongoing discussions regard strategic integration of our forces."

"And we have respectfully declined. We respect your organization's contribution to the fight against the invading forces."

"As do we your brave states sacrifices and contributions to that same cause. I have not come here to today to discuss your ongoing and willful disregard for the military chain of command."

The Elders voice began to rise. "May I remind you general Arendt that the Mormon Elders were specifically charged by the War Department and the federal government to administer and manage the homeland armament reserve and act as a de-facto homeland strategic defense force in the event of invasion."

"I am well aware of it as you rarely miss an opportunity to remind me, at which time I consistently bring to your attention that all remaining elements of Military command and operational capabilities have already been integrated into the resistance army"

The elder rose to his feet "A resistance army that murders Americans in cold blood on the street!"

Arendt slammed her fist on the table "They are not Americans, they are traitor."

### Chapter 5

Leskov looked over his contraption. The machine had started simply enough; magnets at ascending and descending widths along the flywheel as a solid steel ball rotated inside of it. But then he remembered the admonition contained in the papers, "Leave the binary mode. Challenge your thinking towards the mulch-directional, the multi-planar. Forces don't act in one direction, only things have directions and those directions are a defined by forces." Of course at that point is was a metaphor, an intuition, a poesies rather than a thesis.

Luckily he was no longer constrained by the usual expectations and limitations of academic science. There were no papers to be published, no grants to be written, no tenure to be achieved., in fact his laboratory more closely resembled the lair of a mad scientist than the bright clear halls of the laboratories of his past. "We are the wild opposing force; we are the daemon of science. Your thinking is getting to dramatic. Well perhaps that's from the sleep deprivation or maybe the stimulants. He laughed to himself." He realized that he had grasped onto the wrong image in his mind, what he had meant to think, what he had been mentally groping for, was the alchemist not the mad scientist. A forge, bellows, hand blown glass. alembic, mercury, nigredo, cinnabar, calcination

It was true that his thinking had become wilder as the years rolled by and his results continually challenged his knowledge and expectations. That was what linked him to the alchemist, he looked for matter to confirm or deny, be linked to, to spring from, his own changes of feeling and mind. In this war of science he was fighting from a place of reason and intuition. He was not naïve; he knew that reality was not a fairy tale, but neither is it a machine, or impersonal.

What the Nazi's wanted above all else was simplicity, easy answers, not need for thought. "It's the blood! It's the blood that has all the answers." He imagined Hitler in one of his maniacal fugue states, his fists clenched up by his face, the hair starting to fall over the eye. "Why didn't he have it trimmed so it didn't fall forward like that" he wondered? "He must have liked it that way. He must have liked the gesture of pulling his hair back to the side." Leskov shook his head as he moved towards his invention, "That people were so moved by such an idiot, a person with such obvious ticks and neurosis." He saw Hitler's gesture as that of a vain insecure girl always checking her makeup in the mirror, looking to see if her facade is in place, secure. The hair was something for him to hide behind and then reveal himself, like a child playing hide and seek by covering his face with his own hands and then and then showing it to the world. "You see! I disappeared and now I have returned." And to see the joy in his mother's face. Hitler must have loved that moment when the hair fell over his eye and for a moment he disappeared from the world and then with a gesture magically reappeared, to see them there, the adoring crowd, his substitute for whatever it was he lacked.

Thank god he was dead. Leskov felt that it provided them an opening. Sure, the German's had a strong government and administrative class and still clearly had a strategic and a tactical advantage. Really they had the advantage on all levels. It had already been a eight years since Hitler's stroke and if anything it seemed that they were stronger, more entrenched.

Miguel was the only one who had any real appreciation for it. He would visit when he needed a break from his own work. Together they would sit and smoke and follow it's hypnotic dance. When he had had enough he would pat Leskov on the shoulders and say, "At some other time you would be a world famous artist."

"But I am not an artist, I am an artist, I am a scientist."

"Argue you all you want. To me you are an artist." he would flash his winning handsome smile "you need to take a break and get out of your head for a while so that you can get some fresh ideas."

Miguel would always say to him, "De-abstract yourself. We must get you sex." English was the lingua franca there in the cave, but since very few of them were native speakers all sorts of inventive uses of words and phrases had proliferated. He knew there was something a little odd about it but it made things funny, all the gaffs, and if there was one thing they were in sore need of was humor. Everybody had been overworked for years on end. "Yes please, by all means get me sex but don't tell how to do my work. You do your research, I will do mine."

"I can lead you like a horse to the water but I can't make you eat the shell."

"Miguel, when you speak English you are like a Dada oracle. So very Dada."

"Don't compare me to those decadent miscreants."

"Don't be a fascist Miguel. Don't attack what you don't understand."

"I am not a fascist, I am a catholic and I understand them just fine. Just because you put two things side by side does not mean they connect."

"They aren't saying they are connected, they are showing us that we connect them. Even saying they are not connected is a kind of connection."

"No! There are true laws of meaning. That is just adding chaos to Gods plan. It is a lie that sounds true because it is clever. If you put fire next to gasoline it matters. Things have an order."

"To me it is clear that must be like Dada scientist in order to try new, unthought of combinations. We are trying to make the leap of poetry to invention."

"I don't know how you can believe in that nonsense when what you are creating there, whatever it is, is about harmony and beauty. To engage with the real world you have to move past chaos and humor into order. Into the abstract, the realm of pure ideas and that is closer to god.'

"That is all pagan thought you know. Aristotle was not Christian. The church fathers drank it up like you Argentines drink wine with a meal."

"Don't talk about the church and I won't talk about your rabbi's." Thus ended their conversations and he would each return to the isolation of their work

Other researchers would come in, stare at it and shake their heads in judgement, but once he set it in motion they couldn't leave. They would stay and watch, transfixed like bystanders in before a traffic accident. They saw that he had somehow managed to suspend three nested counter rotating orbs of brass and steel within each exclusively through the use of magnets. That alone was a massive achievement; before the war it would have been enough to secure his career and perhaps even have made him wealthy, but those days were long gone.

The orbs were open in parts, the negative spaces forming designs that looked more like an ancient scripts and glyphs, Assyrian or Han Chinese, than the concatenation of platonic solid one might expect of a modern machine. Then there were the bars, heavy cylinders of solid metal that had made Leskov strong over the years from simply having to lift them on his shoulder and climb them up the ladders in order to insert into the spring loaded release pods placed at strange angles to the central mechanism.

He would climb up, a short, wiry, improbable strongman- a circus performer from the old world performing an absurd trick. Some of his co-worker offered suggestions to eliminate this step but Leskov stubbornly refused. It was the only form of exercise he had, and over time it had improved both his strength and his balance. He had developed a pride in his ability and he liked to imagine that he was on a submarine or battleship carrying massive projectiles to a cannon. For a moment he felt like a real soldier which satisfied him deeply. He knew he was not the heroic type but wished he were.

He would start the motor of types in motion, almost comically, by reaching into the through the orbs, finding the solid marble sized piece of platinum, grabbing it with his thumb and middle finger, and snapping his finger to set it spinning; then he would step back. This was his time for reflection and his only sense of triumph. He would sit of the metal step ladder, roll a cigarette, light it, and watch the process unfold. Little by little the motion that small ball would start to effect, move, the inner orb and then next, each outer one in turn.

Once the four inch thick outer orb reached a certain speed the first cylinder was released from it's central position above. Miraculously it would drop unimpeded through the three orbs, timed perfectly to avoid all solidity and move through empty space. The only recognizable natural movement it made, as it fell, miraculously unhindered through the middle. The platinum ball bearing was then knocked out from the center creating a noticeable shudder through the whole machine. Achieving the necessary stability the in the design so that removing the ball did not tear the whole thing apart had taken three long frustrating years.

Smaller "sticks" as Leskov called them were positioned in those mechanical spring loaded arms which resembled some modern lamp design, or a mechanical woodpeckers beak poised to knock at the gyroscope. They would release from their improbable angles threading their way through shifting complex combinations of openings in the orb. The sticks had bizarre shapes to them that could have been sculptures from the same alien culture that created the openings carvings in the orb. They rotated and counter rotated as they moved from one end to another, making it's way through in mathematically complex angles and motions. More bizarrely as each one was added the sticks would begin to move through at a slower pace, or stop, or shoot through opening so quickly the movement couldn't be followed. The orbs themselves would then begin to counter rotate, shudder, and stop all recognizable pattern. Of course there was the question of what pulled the central rod back up through to nest in its launch mechanism?

"Those lateral sticks, how do they even make it into the core? Shouldn't they fall in a curve?" his colleagues would demand angrily. They always got angry the first time, o one likes feeling the fool. Leskov would take a deep pull from his cigarette and answer, "It's been accounted for in the design." This would usually send them off in a huff. It was a small victory allowed himself, a little bit of gloating. Eventually they would return and he would explain a bit more about the principles.

They would argue that the shapes were too complex and would, say that the solution should be simpler to which Leskov would answer something along the line, "these are simplest six dimensional forms I could find." Many believe it was some kind of trick that was being played on them. Eventually he would reveal the flaw which would always set their minds at ease. He was always amused and a slight bit disheartened by the predictability of their responses at that point, how the failings of others set out own minds at ease. "You are right" he would say, "it is not a motor yet. The bowl you see, the concave electromagnets that create the necessary field to suspend it. It requires more energy than it produces." He was convinced that there was a zero sum energy gain occurring, but the overall energy demands of the base were still making it energy negative.

That's was where it stood, after eleven years he had the world's most complex mechanical sculpture. It was like having a beautiful women who didn't actually love you. So he would smoke and stare and ponder, ponder, ponder.

### Chapter 6

All Adam could do was keep moving. He had no strength left and could barely stand. He didn't know if anything was broken, his limbs felt like lead and the weight of his own body, which perhaps he had never really felt before made him sway and stumble with each step. He had been grateful that it was autumn and there were leaves everywhere until he fell onto a large jagged rock hidden in the carpet of of oranges and reds and was knocked unconscious. Since then he had been dealing with the salty sting of blood flowing from his torn scalp down into his left eye. His head throbbed with heavy pressure and waves of nausea swept over him. He had vomited twice since then. "Well, I'd rather die from a concussion than be captured by those bastards."

He encoutered impenetrable brambles that went on for what seemed to for miles, forcing him to backtrack, go around, move contrary to where he had wanted. Nature determined everything. He did what he could."Why can't us city boys ever learn the names of plants or trees?" He felt that knowing the names of the trees and bushes, the birds and squirrels would somehow make a difference, that he would be treated more kindly, like less of a stranger, if he knew the names for things, like a tourist who has taken the trouble to learn a few phrases in a foreign land. "Of course these aren't the names trees have for themselves. What would they care. I would need to think tree-ese. I'm not thinking straight."

He had continued stumbling, scrambling, climbing, crawling his his way up and down the hills without any sense of where he was going. He did his best to move West, to just create distance, not because he had a goal or destination, other than avoiding capture. His solace was that at least in this terrain, the enemy's vehicles couldn't help them. The canopy of branches kept him hidden from the sky, although he hadn't heard any planes. He understood the guerrilla fighter better than he ever had before. Rough terrain was the great equalizer. "The land is the only one who always cares for us, lends a hand, the sun always stands apart, distant."

At night the inchoate shapes of the branches against the black sky became indistinguishable from the memories that overtook him. In the darkness-the shapes and shadows out of the corner of his eye engaged the power of memory, of returning fire, shooting out at the road below him. The soldiers jumping out of the transports trucks, the heavy gun on the back of the jeep at the end of the convoy turning in their direction. His burst of fire had been a two second, thoughtless act of revenge and rage. The five or six flashes from the muzzle had momentarily illuminated the scene around him and he saw the mangle of flesh and bone that had been two of the men under his command.

He chose not to turn and look, not to fix his gaze on it. Even in the chaos of combat he knew that those few images out of the corner of his eyes would stay with him, he knew that had to choose how much of the carnage he let himself examine. When he was younger he thought that confronting the carnage of war would help him to grasp the reality of death and he thought that he could desensitize himself, eliminate the fear by exposure, but he had been wrong. "The rebbe says that the body returns to the elements." He didn't believe that this was what he meant, the solid body returned to liquid, revealed as water, how what was whole and a person could simply fall apart and crumble in sections. He felt a twinge of shame looking away. "Without a witness would their sacrifice even exist? Who would remember them? If they didn't win this war then they would be lost to humanity, nothing". It was no wonder that the Greeks and Romans were always seeking glory and victory. He felt happy that he was Jew. God would remember him, and he would remember God.

He had stopped firing as as he saw the soldier on the back of the jeep turn his cannon towards him. "Idiot!" he thought, "You gave away your position. Shit." He took off running, grabbed Abe by the shoulder where he was crouched behind a tree. They could hear bullets landing in the dirt around them. He smacked Abe on the back of the head "Cease fire you moron. Retreat." Adam looked up at him terrified and young, at that moment a child. Adam didn't pause or think anymore, he just pulled, leaned back with all his weight to dislodge Adam from his position, the boy was frozen, locked up and they had to keep moving.

He was scared too, all he wanted to do was take off running by himself but he knew he couldn't leave them behind, he needed everyone with him. He kept scanning around him, tugging Adam who was starting to respond, saw Josh over to the right. "Come on!" he yelled. Josh looked up at him and smiled, happy to see the guy in charge. It was loud but they still had enough distance from the road to hear each other over the gun fire. Adam waved him over to them and Josh started towards them. "This is a good soldier" he thought. "Maybe we will be able to get out of this. It's so difficult to get them moving once they freeze up." Back in Italy he had had to kick soldiers in the ass to get them going. They didn't like that, "Sometimes it's the only way to get . . ." after four steps Josh collapsed straight down, just fell and stopped moving. Adam's stomach sank. He had wanted to get them all out.

He turned and started up the hill. "Holy shit, this is slow. We are going to be massacred." Destroy infrastructure, kill some Nazi's, escape, kill some more Nazi's, that had been the plan, but this was looking no good. Gil appeared out of nowhere and rushed past him . Adam reached out to stop him but he flew by. In retrospect Gil had been doing the right thing, why had he even tried to slow him down? "I think I just wanted us all to be together. Maybe that's why he had tried to stop him." Gil disappeared up ahead. Abe became suddenly heavy, stopped moving under his hand. He let go, that was all, and kept moving. He ran pausing every few moments to see if he could find Gil or Avi but he saw no one. Then he heard a big explosion and saw on the road that one of their mortar's misfired, in turn setting off one of the ammo trucks. The massive explosion sent nearby soldiers flying into the air like scraps of paper and candy wrappers in the wind. The gunfire stopped.

### Chapter 7

Stacy gestured to move towards the house. That was a signal Mike felt confident he could remember, pointing, otherwise he was terrified he would forget everything they had practiced. At the edge of the woods the forest turned into thick newly cut grass. They could have walked across it in ten seconds but there was the light to the back porch was on, so he had each of them go separately, crawling on their bellies, keeping to the shadows as best they could, pausing regularly and moving forward just as they had discussed.

Being this methodical, took a kind of patience and concentration Mike wasn't used to. As the minutes went by the effort to stay quiet made him quiet inside, something he had only experienced a couple of times before while on long fishing trips. He ended up so relaxed he fell asleep: for a moment and the light of the porch became the light from his dad old Model T and it was coming up the driveway on his way home from work. He was in trouble and he was going to be punished, bad. He suddenly realized his father might kill him. Stacey touched him on his shoulder and that brought him back. He looked up at him and realized that Stacey didn't know that he had fallen asleep, he was disoriented though and it took him a moment to remember where he was. Stacey was signaling for him to go, and that's when the fear really kicked in and his bowels sunk.

He was grateful to have those three minutes as he crossed the yard to collect himself. The grass was wet and he was soaked but the time he made it to the basement steps. The other guys were waiting, They gave him a minimal nod and each returned to staring at nothing. Slim was keeping an eye out on the street. The house was in the middle of a wide curve in the road, from where they were they could see about a quarter of a mile out, which meant the opposite was true too. The street lights were bright which was unusual as the town and it's roads, bridges, street lights had been going to shit for the last thirteen years. They Nazi's kept the lights by the mayor's house in good repair though. Sometimes collaborator's were treated like kings, given wild rewards and extreme protection, other times they were ignored. They didn't know what exactly they would find on the other side of the basement door. It was possible they had guards staying with them.

Stacey arrived and moved quietly down the steps squeezing past him to the door. It was reinforced with heavy bolts on the hinges. Stacey turned him around by the shoulder and started to pull the tools out of the backpack he was carrying. It was all pretty simple, a heavy rubber mallet, three different sized chisels, a crowbar, old rags, a bag of cotton, strips of inner tube. Everyone gathered around Stacy and the top hinge. Stacey shoved some cotton between the thinnest chisel and the hinge. Slim, Rick and Mike held the old clothes and rags around the base of the chisel. They all know that this was the most dangerous moment.

Stacey started with some soft taps to test it out. As long as they kept everything wrapped tightly in cotton they were good and he was able to start hitting hard. "That guys so fucking smart" Mike thought to himself, "I would have just started pounding away." Stacey was really going at it and it made about as much sound as someone at a diner carelessly tapping his tapping his knuckles on the counter top, but every once in awhile the chisel would hit the cement backing in a way that took the sound up. Then they would pause for a long while. It wasn't loud but the night was so quiet. It's easy to forget how quiet the night is, and then they had to shove the crowbar under the hinges and tear them free from the bolts, half inchers set four inches deep into a eight inch slab of cement, they had to tear the hinge from that.

Now he had to stop guarding so that he could support Stacey as he to put his foot against the wall and pulled back on the crowbar with all his weight and strength. Slim had one had hand holding the muffling to the hinge and the other stabilizing Stacey's foot against the wall while wrapping fabric around it to cut down on the noise. He could feel the effort of Stacey rhythmic heavy pull. Stacy was the strongest guy he knew by far. His hands were big like dictionaries and rough like burlap when you shook them. He fell back suddenly as the hinge gave way.

"Just do your fucking job" he thought to himself. He did everything he could to stop Stacey from falling over and to keep himself from making noise. He was able to pull it off but the moment after he congratulated himself in his mind he heard the clang of the hinge hitting the ground. They all looked back and forth at each other with the question, the fear, all over them. Stacey motioned firmly with his hand palm down and went into a crouch. They all followed him down and waited.

### Chapter 8

"You see Wilhelm, the negro type, the African, comes from a different habitat, a different milieu. They are not only inherently different and inferior to us, they are also out of their element. This you already know, but the more we understand it, the more we are able to use that understanding them the more we will be able to get the most out of them. What I seek here is not progress but stability."

"Yes of course, I understand this. What does this have to do with bare feet."

"All of the institutions of slavery, prior to it's renaissance, under the leadership of the Nazi party, was based on a single, primary fear. The fear, no, the terror, that they would rise up."

"But they did not. Except for one or two meaningless rebellions."

"Yes, they did not. But the fear in the white man remained. My question is how do we change the conditions so that we do not need to feel fear, so that we can truly enjoy our bounty. Fear lessens a man, especially when he denies it. Others whisper about it's symptoms after the dinner party, a bad stomach, headaches or worst yet, they handle it by becoming highly religious and proselytizing. We need a vigorous people. You understand of course."

"Of course."

With your help the use of force and threat and punishment has become much more efficient and effective, for which we are very grateful. I am looking to the other side. My nation was born under principles of freedom and this naive belief that freedom is an innate urge in everyone, to express their . . ." He made wave like motion from his chest, "well, some who knows what. I never really understood. But of course that is not the actual case. Freedom and it's practice are a special case, a unique condition born into a few, an elite if you will. For the rest it is nothing they know or desire, it has nothing to do with them. They desire regularity, conformity, the known. They might like the sound of the word, like a jingle on the radio but it means nothing. But there is one thing that unites the elite and everyone else."

"And what is that?" Wilhelm felt extremely tense. He did not like the know the direction this was taking and once again did not like it.

"Each want to fulfill their nature. And this is what I was getting at. The African race, they are primitive. They do not want to rise out of the natural world and assert their will, they wish to live with the and express themselves as a part of it. By finding ways to give that nature expression we relieve the pressure that caused the fear of their rebelling. We make the mistake of putting our own urges onto them -They want to be free, they want to take over. They want nothing of the sort. That is our nature, the white man's nature, to conquer to rebel, to bridle under any sensed affront. We must not allow ourselves to be seduced unknowingly by egalitarian Christian thinking. They are not like us. Hence barefoot. It allows them to feel in touch with the earth, the land. That is their nature. They need to sing as well. Have you seen the slave quarters before, have I shown them to you?"

"I don't believe you have."

They are set low so that they are not visible from the road or the house. I imagine with your responsibilities you have seen many others though."

"Too many. So many details to take in and administer. I don't care how you house your slaves but don't make it a public health hazard. Don't create conditions for disease that can spread to us. I find it exhausting."

"I find it fascinating in this sense. Have you paid attention to the lay out of slave quarters?"

"I can't say I have given it much though."

"Neither had most of us southerners but when I was at college I found out that others had. The way slave quarters are laid out and positioned is in accordance with traditional West African villages."

"That is interesting. Also a bit disturbing"

"One can only imagine that in the early days the slave owners gave the slaves time to set up their own quarters, probably out of a kind of laziness or lack of concern, then over time this became the norm."

"It sounds reasonable enough, what you find interesting about it I have no idea."

"My dear Wilhelm. You tire of my story. I apologize. We can change the subject."

"No, no. The bare feet, get to that."

"Yes, as I said connection to the earth, to nature. Our job is rule them and extract the most possible labor from them with the least risk to ourselves. I am looking for small ways where I can allow them to express their natures so that they feel at peace. We are all subject to some authority and we all have some burden of work. They know that. They are not smart but they are wily. I look not for concessions, not what do they want that I can give, but what can I give that they do not even know they want."

"And they want bare feet."

"Yes they do. Almost no tribes in Africa use any kind of shoes."

"So you study their ways."

"Know your enemy."

"Ah yes, use your superior intellect. But isn't there the risk that you go native. Start to take on their ways?"

"That may be a risk for some but I ask you Wilhelm, honestly, do you think that I have taken on their ways?"

"I will look more carefully now."

"Is there any other plantation that works produces as much as mine? That gives as much tribute?"

"No, none. That is why my visits can be spent in pleasantries."

"Yes, I do enjoy your visits. You have a curious mind which is a quality I find far too rare."

"Yes but one more comment on your methods. But how is it that you American's say it. Ah yes what about the injunction, "Spare the rod, spoil the child?"

"My dear Wilhelm, I assure we do not spare the rod. I think we have spent too long speaking about work. Let's change the topic and the venue.

There is something a little adolescent about this transition. Unsophisticated. Forced.

It is much too beautiful a night to be cramped up in doors."

"Yes I agree. I feel that today my animal spirits are high."

"Well why don't I have them saddle up a couple of horses and we can ride out to the pleasure house."

"Ja."

### Chapter 9

What a strange series of events had lead him there? He was such a young scientist when he had been recruited from Budapest to the United States for an assistant professorship at Wayne State University. At the time he had never even heard of Michigan but was fully aware of Detroit and it's automobile industry. If he had had any sense what the winters were like there he might have reconsidered.

When the war had broke out and he was drafted before he even had a chance to figure out how to enlist. One day there was a knock on his door in University housing and the next he was working in a laboratory in Utah. It was an isolated location but he was amazed by the majesty of the nature around him. Pine and Cypress spotted the mountains sparking memories of the dark forests of his country. The land here was more barren but breathtaking and fresh. He could take heart there. From the moment he arrived he felt that there was an openness in that land which filled him.

Back home things, life, the mind, everything was set in place, like the porcelain figurines in his mothers curio cabinets. The openness he experienced had freed him tremendously in his work. He had space to think and felt that he was making some real progress in his understanding. That was his focus at the time, revisiting basic concepts and examining them again from new angles, making sure the assumptions he had been taught were valid, then putting them back together in new ways, just to see what happened. Some combinations held their place easily, others seemed to resist while others held out, mysterious and defiant.

The accommodations were sparse but despite being housed in soldiers barracks, as scientists and officers, he and his one roommate, a fellow engineer, were allowed civilian furniture they picked up in the small nearby towns on their days off

Moving from a University to a military base he was initially convinced that his days of free thought would be over but he couldn't have been more incorrect. This was an environment without academic politics. The officer's who ran the operation treated them with an attitude it took him a while to parse out. On the one hand they expressed a kind of respect or deference. All the officers called him "doc" which he enjoyed. They didn't tell them how to do their jobs and when he requested equipment or supplies they would just say, "We'll get on it." One of his colleagues who had been an engineer in the military had let him know that this was an uncommon experience, most scientists and engineers had to beg for what they needed and worked with an uncooperative antagonistic chain of command.

"What are these bookworms doing in my army!" Evan's would imitate his former commanders thick southern drawl in the evenings when they would drink too much whisky sitting on the porch they had decorated with a couple of rocking chairs and potted plants in mortar casings they had found behind one of the buildings in heap. That other aspect of the way they were treated that had taken him longer to figure out. They were treated as children or pets. This didn't really frustrate him particularly because he understood it. He was the furthest thing from a soldier and a foreigner on top of that, plus, had always been a bit of strange fish even back home. But there was one last element that had only made itself apparent one day when he had been working in the laboratory. He was having tremendous trouble getting consistent results with an experiment that he had been able to complete fairly easily before. He had his hands on the edge of the work bench, his head nodded down and his eyes furrowed as he leaned forward putting pressure into his palms trying to concentrate. "What am I doing differently" when he had that feeling everyone knows, that someone is watching you. He turned around and saw Captain Pike staring at him intently through the window in the door. He didn't turn away either when Leskov caught his eye, but continued to gaze at him. Leskov became unnerved and himself. It came to him all at once. They were studying him, they were the researchers and he was the subject, there was more than going on than he was aware of. For the next year and a half he tried to figure out what but to no avail. He never had much luck in understanding people or their motivations.

### Chapter 10

"Our operational capabilities are vast and kept in check until the time where they can be deployed effectively and without risking regional thermonuclear attack. But as I was saying a moment ago, we are not here today to revist this concern, once again, but rather to seek new common ground on an issue of long term and strategic concern."

"Finally we get to it." one of the elders who had remained taciturn spoke up

"Hannahh, I realize you were a professor, but please get down to it."

"Gentleman allow me to use an American colloquialism. Hold your horses. The resistance has been successful because of the clarity of it's platform. We propose simply to defeat the enemy and return the country to the exact same structure as prior to invasion, with no changes in legal or territorial structure. Thus we all cooperate exclusively in the name of the Republic and without self interest. Along and completely concomitant to that is a commitment to total war until and up to that time. And now I come to my proposal."

"One of the key concerns with re-establishing our democratic institutions is to re-establish the documentary basis of that system. The population must be formally reinstated into the democratic process of citizenship, with proper identifying formality."

"This seems a formality."

"I assure you it is not. The great danger we face will be challenge to the authority of the new government. Continuity has been broken. That continuity is not just a product of conquest, but a focused attempt to create a permanent break in institutional and cultural memory. That is where your church can be of help. Of course this is not only a question of the living. It is the question of the dead. We must be able to name them. We will need to be able to speak their names"

"Well if there is any way we can help we will."

"We need to secure you archive of the name of American citizens along with their ancestry."

"When the time comes, I am sure we will be able to assist. Don't you think gentlemen?" He looked around and all the men nodded their heads.

"We need to have access them now to ensure their integrity."

"I assure they are quite safe."

"I am afraid that won't do. We need to have access to the documents first to make sure they are in fact safe and then also to create copies. We will at least need your microfilm copies." The room went silent.

"You do have microfilm copies?" Again there was a long pause.

"Are you saying you haven't made copies of the only existing census?

"This is a church matter we are not at liberty to discuss. We are continuing to offer salvation to the dead through baptism."

"Are you telling me that you are not copying these documents? Are you mad?"

"Hannahh."

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

One of the elder's rose to leave, "I don't have to sit here and take this from a woman."

"I am the General of Resistance army and you will stay where you are seated." her guards stood up behind her. "You know that the entire population has no official standing as citizen's?"

"People know if they are citizen's. They know if they are born here."

"People are only citizen's if the state tells them so. Do you want a return to a Democratic Republic."

"We will never go back to the way it was. I am not naive."

"At this moment you are only naive. I am not speaking of a time machine where everybody goes back and we all huddle around the radio and listen to cheery songs as we did before the war years ago. I am talking about a democratic system of government? Are you secretly hoping for some kind of independent state? Some Mormon republic?"

"We put our trust in god on these issues."

"Let us make this crystal clear. There will never be a independent Mormon state of any kind. What there will be is freedom of religion. If you persist in this plan then you will become . . ."

"There is no plan."

"If you persist in this fantasy you will be a traitor. Make no mistake. If any group tries to carve out their individual ideologies or strongholds they will destroy our chances of victory, we will splinter into a thousand pieces. It is a fact. You didn't rise to where you are without knowing the importance of unity. And know this I respect your organization and the character and discipline of your people. The nation requires your help. But there can be no negotiating now. And there will be no negotiating immediately after. We won't redraw any states borders based on who collaborated and who didn't. We will not draft new laws to privilege this or that group. There will be an amnesty for soldiers and otherwise there will be three branches of government, 48 states and due process and freedom of religion. We need an administrative foundation for the re-establishment of the government. No state functions without it. You Mormon's above all others understand the importance of a name. Just as the name of each person is inscribed on the holy scrolls in heaven each person's name is inscribed onto the fabric of the nation through their name. Without it a part of them doesn't exist."

"Miss, why do you bring up scrolls in heaven if you do not believe."

"I believe that the Nazi's are trying to erase us all from memory."

"God remembers everything. You won't be lost in oblivion."

"God has no preferences damn you. Don't you know that. The highest god includes everything, even the damn Nazi's."

"We are not Jews we see things differently. You think of god in conceptual, intellectual and abstract terms, ours is alive and offers real life relationship"

"Don't presume to know what I believe. Life changes people"

"So what is it are you a believer, or not? You can't have it both ways"

"I have given up taking a position on any the existence of god until we restore the nation? There is a time for theological discussion and there is a time to defend the walls of the city."

"We won't give you the documents."

"Will you allow me a team of twenty people to copy them onto microfilm. Think on your answer. Old stubborn people like you and I have destroyed entire generation before based on foolish pride"

"Yes. Ten people."

"It will take them years."

"Good things are worth waiting for."

"Fifteen people."

"Twelve."

"Done."

They were all silent. The tension in the room settled but no one knew what to say. The elder spoke first

"A good number to settle on. Like the apostles. Cup of tea?"

"Do you have any whiskey?"

"I'm afraid not General. This is a dry county."

"Yes, a cup of tea would be lovely elder. How are the grandchildren?'

"Wonderful. It's one of the benefits of having a lot of kids and keeping them close to home.

### Chapter 11

He hadn't heard anything other the birds and animals for three days. No cars in the distance, no gunshots or flares at night. For the first two days he had focused on distance. He went up mountains, chose difficult terrain, anything that might be discourage his pursuers."You can't go up forever you know" he heard Rebbe's teasing voice. This was true. The ground had stopped it's deep incline and was now a soft rolling landscape. It was restful, he was on a stroll in the woods.

"No stroll, keep moving." He picked up his stumbling pace. The first traces of light were starting to appear and he was beginning to be able to make out individual leaves on the round below. He had kept track of the day and the Sabbath would start at sunset. He knew that he would have to find a place to hide out soon, a place to rest. Crickets and other bugs were starting to wake, cry out here and there. He loved hearing and watching the day start. In this world all things rest. He remembered the Rebbe's admonition, "You have no idea how much I have to pray to protect you each time you kill."

"I thought that in a just cause, defending our people . . ."

"Nonsense. Don't be stupid. You indulge in hatred and anger so of course you incur sin. I know you have good intentions, but if all our young men go off to die, who will be left to live? To have children and be father's."

"We can't raise children as Jew's in this world. They will be hunted down like dear. Even knowing they are Jewish will put them at risk."

"We have done it for thousands of years. We can do it a again"

"Pardon me rebbe but you are completely meshuggeneh. To live without manhood, hiding who you are, is no life at all."

"A Jewish life. A life of prayer and good deeds is the only life for a man."

"For Jewish men?"

"Rebbe's voice. "For any man! We are not chosen because we are better or separate. We are blessed to be chosen, but it is a responsibility towards all of creation."

"Forgive me rebbe but it's hard for me to believe in any blessing right now, in being Jewish."

"You are young and stupid so I forgive you these words." The rebbe laughed, shook his head and slapped him on the back. Adam smiled back. For a man of prayer and peace he was a man's man. He did everything with total authority, without vanity, and he exuded vitality. Adam felt better after spending time with him.

"You need to kill another to be righteous? You think prayer is a waste of time? Those who are trying to kill you, you go to them for comfort, because you let them give meaning to your life. "Make me feel important, make me feel wanted, other people will want me, make me a hero because I kill you. Then you are in their debt. Bound up like master and slave, but who is the master? You avoid yourself and you avoid G-d."

"There is a world that is trying to destroy all of us. You too."

"Don't worry about me. I'm quite alright."

"Rebbe, let's not fight. The warriors and the priests. We never see things the same way, right?"

"This is true. I like it when you speak with wisdom"

"I'm not a thinking man like you. I see the enemy and I fight him. That's all. But I am still a Jew. You will pray for me?"

"Always."

"Pray for me hard. Like a soldier."

"In eighteen years you will return to me to come and pray with me and you will see how we pray and the kind of battle we are really fighting. For now, go out into the world. You will see , you will see."

"Ok rebbe. Whatever you say."

"You keep the sabbath?"

"When I can."

"It's important to rest. All living things need to rest."

As he stumbled up a mild embankment kicking dry red and orange leaves up into the air his heart stopped. A couple of hundred yards ahead and to his right was a road. On the other side of the road was a gas station and general store. Behind the store was a wide river with a small dock, five brightly colored canoes resting on it. "They must rent them out." He took a few steps forward. Over to his left was a two story country home. The backyard of the house faced him, it looked well cared for. The paint was slightly chipped but the windows were clean. There was no back yard per-se, just some posts for the clothes lines, otherwise the land went straight up into the hills. He saw a basket left out by the drying line.

He had to decide quickly, people were probably already up and about. One of the canoes would help him to make real distance, but since they rent them they must have a place to drop them off down the road which meant it was very likely the river bordered the road and that there were towns along the way, and that he would be visible out in the open. The Nazi's were probably stepping up patrol's all through the area. "Who the fuck could rent canoes now? Go on vacation? Relax? What the fuck? Why are humans so like animals. Always only just surviving. Why is the traitor so reliably present? In the mean time people rent canoes, paying for distraction."

With the Nazi's there was always vicious retaliation. The towns in the area were in for a terrible shake up. How bad it would be depended on how much they had been collaborating. Some of the areas more loyal to the Nazi's might be spared from the worst kind of reprisals, women raped, men taken out into the square and shot.

If he wanted any real chance of making it out alive he would need help but was it worth it to go to the house and ask for help? Knocking on the door could be the end of him. He was willing to die for the cause but it was hard for him to think of risking his life on such a mundane gesture; hi might be confused for a bible salesman or hobo. Like any real soldier he hoped to die in battle and take some of the enemy with him. He stared at the back door as the light of day began to rise and the first birds started to call out.

"Make up your mind Adam country people get up early." He didn't know what to do and thought of the rebbe "Set your mind at ease. To God each morning is the first morning of creation. We get worn out by our own folly, our eyes become tired and can't see it any more, but in G-d's eyes everything is new, fresh. Each morning like a newborn child." He listened to the sounds around him, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the air was crisp and clean. For a moment his heart was calm.

When he opened them again a woman was at the back door staring at him. They both looked at each other in the most plain, early morning way. Her eyes were curious but he saw no fear. She wore a brown wool hunting jacket and pants. She had dignity and purpose, there was nothing sluggish or insecure about her.

He was shocked to feel his whole chest lighten. He was so happy to see her, without thinking he raised his hand in greeting. She lifted her fingers in response, very non committal,l and seemed to be doing a quick calculus. He realized he most must look like hell, dirty and bloody. He saw her take a deep breath and sighed in a slightly exasperated way. "Is she annoyed with me?" Then she waved him over, with urgency. He knew she had figured it all out. Just like that. "This is a smart cookie." He whispered to himself as he limped forward towards the house, towards the door, towards her.

### Chapter 12

They had been driving through the night. John stared from the driver's seat out onto the seemingly endless blacktop, waves of indignation sweeping over him as he passed German/English road signs one after the other. They were trying to make America into a bilingual country, teaching German to every kid in school. He shook his head in disbelief, "Speed limits in kilometers, for gods sake, are they trying to annoy us into submission?"

He had been preparing to lead this mission for the last year of his life; now that the time had come, he was numb and wondered why. "Maybe there's a limit on how much anxiety a body gets and I used mine up". He had had plenty of time to consider the dangers involved. Death or injury didn't really concern him. Capture did. It meant torture, unspeakable torture. He knew that he would give up information eventually, compromise others, everyone did . He also knew that it would be the end of his life. He was deeply bothered by the idea of contributing to the capture and of compromising the resistance in any way He had his cyanide filled tooth and was confident that he would use it if need be, but there was always the chance he might be knocked unconscious or captured in his sleep. The SS had been catching on to their suicide trick for a while now and were actively working to stop agents from using them; drugging their food to knock them out or grabbing them from behind and shoving towels into their mouths. One of his friends, Eric, had almost been caught leaving a drug store but had managed to break loose and run out onto the street in front of a bus. It would be terrible but as much as he was scared of it, it didn't keep him awake at night. All he could do is try everything in his power not to be captured.

It was the fear of failure that haunted him, startled him out of sleep in the middle of the night, sweating, fists clenched, sharp pains in his stomach. He been chewing antacids constantly for the last six months, doubling over in pain as soon as people stepped out of the room. He suffered from constant diarrhea and was vomiting blood. Then there were the headaches as well, always just above his right eye, a cold ice pic shoved right in the socket and twisted around. He had been keeping his symptoms a secret and had come to believe he was dying of cancer. He would just work through the illness and accomplish as much as possible along the way.

It had taken him a long time to realize what the source of his fear was; he was terrified of failing her. This made him feel worst still, as he felt that seen within the context of the struggle they were engaged in it was a petty, selfish concern. Had had never met a woman like Arendt. She commanded complete respect and loyalty from everyone around her, over time he had come to believe that her leadership was the only chance they had at defeating the enemy. She was brilliant and tireless. It had never occurred to him that he would feel this way about about a woman, such awe and respect. The way she had risen to power, convincing the Communist and Socialist parties to officially disband and renounce class warfare, formed the Jewish resistance, make contact with, then work with the remnants of military command as part of their strategic analysis team. Once in contact with the top generals she had impressed them with the depth of her knowledge of military history and tactics. She had convinced them one by one of the necessity for tactics and strategy of total war. She leveraged her command of the Jewish forces to prove her points and demonstrate her principle. She gathered more useful intelligence than they though possible under present conditions. They had even turned to using her catch phrase amongst themselves. "For now there is only war."

Hannahh had of course been the first one to notice his decline. "You don't look well." She had said and walked across the room towards him, her hands behind her back, leaning in for a closer look. "You have been losing weight."

"It's nothing."

"We need you healthy. We can't afford to have you at risk. It would take me far to long to train someone else and much longer for me to trust them."

"The men in the field don't have doctors, why should I?"

"It is a mistake to think that way. You always hear that soldiers only respect a man that leads from the front but that is nonsense. The soldiers need to know that their officers are not cowards but that is as far as it goes. Soldiers respect officers who are brave and who look after them, but they never expect them to eat with them or share the same quarters. It's one of the burden's of command, privilege. High command always has to try and keep their leaders out of harm."

"Isn't everyone's life equal?"

"In G-d's eyes yes. During war time no, not general's."

"You are the General, not me."

"That's right. I am a general and I order you to go see the doctor. Don't be stubborn John. He is an excellent physician and he has some wonderful vitamin injections. I don't know what he puts in them. They put pep in your step." She lifted pressed up on her toes and smiled at him.

"I'm scared to General. I don't think it's good, I'm pretty sure that I'm dying." He was leaning forwards in his chair, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. He looked up at her and let her see how scared he was. She had paused for a thoughtful second. "It's not the illness that you are afraid of. It's the pressure, the weight of responsibility."

"How do you do it? You never see you falter."

"John, when people put their trust in you they actually give you a bit of themselves. It's a gift that helps you keep going. It's people such as yourself who give and give without recognition who have it harder. And you don't look closely enough, of course I am much better at hiding my feelings, than you. That comes from a lifetime in academia." she laughed.

"I was just an student when I started in all this. I hadn't even finished engineering school."

"They interrupted us all."

"So inconvenient."

She smiled, "Yes, extremely so. I can't even buy my preferred brand of cigarettes anymore, I am forced to smoke this shit." They both laughed. "So you will go see the doctor tomorrow?" He nodded and she patted him on the shoulder. "I have given you a great burden, I know this. Someday you will see the wisdom in my choice."

"I think you are crazy to trust me with this."

"Nobody asked your opinion."

In the end had gone to the doctor. They had found nothing wrong physically, which had not been the relief he had hoped for, if anything he felt worst. Dying had been a comforting thought, it gave him a sense of finality, an end point. Thinking about it had calmed him down and provided solace. Knowing that he was not sick just made him feel weak for feeling so weak.

On the other hand the injection had worked wonders. He loved the clarity of mind and energy he had gotten from them and had gone back so often the doctor had scolded him, "It is very easy to become dependent on these. I'm giving you five more of these and they have to last you a month. We can't have you turning into a junky." He had been taken aback, Arendt had lead him to believe they were vitamins.

He looked forward at the horizon as dawn started to break over the hills and illuminate that rocks and scrub brush of the open landscape. He took a deep breath for first time in months..The stars were quickly being erased from the sky and shades of pink and azure were pushing the day up from the horizon. "Rosy fingered dawn" he thought to himself as he remembered first year classics at Stanford. "If only I had realized how good I had it back then."

Arendt had told him, "That's the other problem with being part of command, the lack of direct action. Action cleanses, it's cathartic, release, and we rarely get it. Soldier die and mourn. We fret" Perhaps that was why she had chosen him to run this thing, as an act of mercy, to allow him some relief. Maybe it was even an act of love, to help lift his burden, giving him the release of entering the field.

### Chapter 13

He cut an incongruous figure standing in jacket and tie at the far end of the landing strip; a tall, remarkably barrel chested black man, hands behind his back, feet spread wide. The landscape of that part of Mexico was arid and the vegetation sparse; saguaro, tumble weeds, interspersed with small and large dusty brown rocks stretching out miles into the distance where the land rose up to become the Sonoran Mountain range. Along those same mountains, almost 800 miles north was his home country.

It had been an incredibly difficult trek but far more people made it than they had expected. "We are resilient, we suprise ourselves in overcoming adversity. Yes, that is a good thought. Those are the kinds of thought you want to have. The next generation has already being born out here. If we don't take action they will think of this as their home."

As he stared at the expanse he thought, "How the hell would I describe this place to anyone?" He had never been a desert person, always preferring to live near the ocean. "Maybe the lighter color there would be two month old baby shit brown." He laughed to himself but the image immediately brought his son to mind, a dark, twitching smiling baby. He would change his diaper and marvel that he had been able to love even his shit. Then he remembered his own sternness towards the boy, how hard and irritated he often felt around him, his sense of uncontrollable irritation and aggravation he felt in his presence. He couldn't help himself from constantly berating him and lashing out. His wife would point it out to him often, and chastise him for it. He could tell how upset it made the child, how much the boy wanted to please him. The taste went bitter in his mouth, regret and disappointment in himself.

"Now he is either dead or a slave. A slave! What an outrage!" He hadn't spoken to him for a year when the invasion happened. The boy had been in California, and to this day it was nearly impossible to get any word from that land. His sorrow quickly shifted into rage and indignation. He would try to find his son and hold him again, but if he couldn't he would try and save other men's sons, help them find their way back to each other. "May all families be reunited lord." He prayed in his mind. "I pray so often now for a non believer."

"Well that's one thing we will have to correct with time. We will have to create a solemn language for us atheist. We can't address ourselves too our hopes for the future the same way we write a newspaper or call a friend." So many traditions and institutions he had often wished to eliminate, he now found that he wanted them back. "I wanted us to leave them behind like old tools that are abandoned when better ones emerge. I didn't want the enemy to take them from us."

As much as he had always considered the American military a bastion of racism he had felt warm pride for them when they allowed black soldiers to return home with their weapons and had opened up military arsenals and cache to them, in fact he always wondered where the order came from. Many of his comrades had shared stories of rushing to the distribution centers and having white men look at them purposefully and give them extra ammunition. "Here, take more." They had had in fact taken a lot, as much as they could carry, often choosing it over of food, carrying it over mountain ranges. They conserved every bullet they could and still did, kept dry and ready in caves, hidden in caches spread out over hundreds of miles. It had allowed them the space they needed in order to stave off immediate annihilation and start building lives for themselves.

Looking back again at the rugged landscape they had crossed he knew they would not have been able to make it without the help of the Chiricahua. During the depression he had been struck by the poverty and the conditions of both blacks and whites he had me; but when he had gone to the reservation he had been truly shocked. He felt that as a black man in America he had insight, a direct line to the suffering of other oppressed people's. While in a sense that was true, he realized quickly that somehow, perhaps due to the movies he had seen, or his focus on the struggles of his own people he had never really grasped what had happened to the native peoples. To him it was the poorest most oppressed place he had ever seen.

They had been extremely kind and welcoming to him although he could tell that many of the people were suspicious of a black man being treated as dignitary. It seemed to him that the people were as tough as the landscape, not so different from where he now stood so many years later., hard, stark, open, clean. They clothes they had on, long skirts for the women, old jackets and dress pants for most of the men, were ill fitting and seemed to be an affront to their natural shape. The shacks of corrugated steel, held together it seemed with chicken wire and newspaper, the old trucks and abandoned trash that littered the space all, looked as if it had fallen from an apocalyptic sky or risen up from hell to torment and degrade them.

When he looked out onto the crowd gathered in the only decent building left by the Bureau of Indian Affairs he thought that he would speak and try to share his ideas on the commonalities of their struggles but realized that most of his audience spoke no English at all. Instead he sang in his melodic cavernous baritone and he filled the hall with the sounds of the sorrow they knew so well and also with music of redemption and hope.

He saw the older ones nod at each other and some of the women break into smiles. The poorest of the poor, these people knew what was real and by the time his performance was done there was a good feeling in the air and the surroundings looked cleansed and fine. People gathered round and smiled at him and touched him. Rattles and drums started to appear. Outside they set up an enormous bonfire and sang their powerful piercing songs into the night.

He had stayed with the son of the Chief, a man in his forties who had been raised by nuns and had seen the world and even attended classes at University of Nebraska, he had never finished because his father had asked him to return and help him and he did what he had to do for his people. Robeson let him know that he was part Delaware himself. They had spoken far into the night and agreed that their struggles might not be same but that they were entirely connected. From then on they had remained friends and had corresponded for a number of years. He had learned about their history as some of the most rugged and fierce native american warriors, feared by other tribes. He had turned to them immediately when the need for escape had become clear.

To his back were the Sonoran mountains where they had all made their home for eight years now., a semi nomadic people, officially unwelcome by the Mexican authorities, demonized as a constant threat to their national security. Upon their arrival Robeson had immediately focused on establishing military discipline and a policy of strategic alliances. Always their color worked against them. It was as if racism were a tectonic pressure constantly trying to close up the mine shaft they had carved out to the rock with immense struggle and sacrifice. He was steadfast and over time had cemented good relations with the local tribes. He had met with both the political and military leadership and learned that despite their inflammatory rhetoric and sabre rattling they were completely cognizant of their vulnerability and saw the refugees in their country as powerful allies against a common enemy.

Now at last they were establishing both supply lines and production capabilities. It was nowhere near what they needed but it was a start, a good start. It had taken two years to coordinate this meeting and although it was naive to expect momentous events from first meeting he was surprisingly hopeful, a feeling he had grown unaccustomed to. Part of his optimism probably came from the fact that he had had the opportunity to meet Arendt before the invasion and had been impressed by both her work and her demeanor. He had never met a person with such a strong intellectual and theoretical background who was so practical and grounded in her thinking and her person. She didn't expect more from people than they could offer and therefore one could sense that she didn't take the world to task, her thoughts and feelings were completely her own. She could also joke and smile, in fact when they met at a fundraiser she almost immediately told a joke, "An immigrant Jew finally gets an audience to see Mr. Rosthchild personally, whereupon he asks him for alms. Impatiently Rothschild asks, "If that's all you wanted, couldn't you have seen my secretary?" To which the immigrant replies, "You may be very competent in your field, but don't tell me how to run my business." her delivery had been impeccable. That he thought was the most auspicious start he could ask for in friendship.

### Chapter 14

It was 1942 and the outcome of the war was uncertain. Before being moved to this isolated spot he had been in contact with former friends from his college days back home in Serbia who had also made their way to the American Midwest.. When he first heard the stories he wasn't sure whether to believe them or not. He first learned what had happened back home from a fellow expat at a small party he had attended while visiting friends in Chicago. The man's name was Andrej and he had family in Perusic. He knew the names of classmates he used play soccer with at the Gymnasium. For some reason his legs went weak when he heard that the boy who had made fun of him all through school had been shot in the town square. The reality of it all hit him directly and all at once, his face had gone white and they had to bring a chair over.

Andrej kept explaining to the others who had left their plates of Pljskavica and glasses of brandy Slivovitz to huddle around them in concern. "He told me his name was Leskov. I had no idea he was a Jew." The others patted the man on the shoulder as the hostess of the party kneeled next to Leskov cooling him off with her fan, it had been a hot muggy summer day and she called for water. They had all been drinking a bit too much. "I think his father had immigrated from around Minsk but his mother was Serb, both Jewish of course. The father's family took a Russian name, I think for business reason. Liscowitz originally I think."

From that day forward his only was concerned was to help his adoptive country win the war as quickly as possible and it was because of that he had set up a meeting with the colonel. When he entered the office he was greeted the usual attitude forbearance and complete lack of respect.

The colonel "Have a seat doc."

"Thank you."

"What can I do you for." The colonel was in his fifties, tall, thin, angular, steel blue eyes, skin leathery , hair completely grey. From the way he handled himself Leskov knew that he came from a family of position. Despite a certain naivete, this was one area where his sensitivities were head and shoulders above his American colleagues. They seemed to be blind, oblivious to class differences that to him were as clear as his hand in front of his face."Is there anything you need for your work."

"No, you have all been remarkably obliging."

"Well then doctor, please get to it. I am very busy." He was shuffling through papers, giving Leskov only a sliver of his attention. "I know what is going on here."

That grabbed the colonel's attention. He set his papers down, leaned back in his chair and interlaced his his fingers. "We have asked you here to continue your research on behalf of the United States military. That is what is going on here."

"Come now colonel. You can treat me like a civilian to be humored but please don't treat me as a child."

"What exactly do you think is going on?"

"You are evaluating me. For what purpose I don't know. But for some purpose."

"I have no idea what you are referring to."

"Of course. Colonel, all of my family, cousins, childhood friends, everyone is most likely dead."

"Is this about your family? You should hold out hope. We will win this war."

"Colonel, my people are being slaughtered as we speak. Please, make your decision. Whatever use the military may have for me as a scientist let me begin it in earnest or release me. I would prefer to join as an enlisted man than spend my time here in useless comfort."

The colonel just stared at him, examining Leskov's face.

"Yes there it is. The probing stare. I am a scientist, I know when I am the subject of the experiment. I am aware that you cannot acknowledge whatever it is that you cannot acknowledge. I'm afraid I must respectfully insist. Let us get on with it, one way or another.

"Good day doc."

Leskov rose up, paused and gave a slight bow. He was satisfied that he had made his point.

Two days later, the colonel arrived in a Jeep at his barracks. Leskov had walked out of the front door to see who had arrived. He put on his glasses and lifted his suspenders over his shoulders, his hair disheveled and his shirt unbuttoned. "What is it with you scientist's? Your mother's never teach you how to dress?"

"How can I help you colonel?"

"Gather your things. All of them, we are leaving. You have ten minutes. Whatever you haven't shoved in your rucksack isn't coming with you." He nodded and turned back to his room. There was no time even to write a note saying goodbye. Thirteen minutes later they left through the front gate and turned in the direction of Hwy 50.

The colonel said nothing during the hours that followed. After spending most of the day on the highway they left the main road and started a bumpy ride on dirt roads till past nightfall. He had no idea where he was and at one point it occurred to him that perhaps he had pushed too far, that he was going to be executed for it. Eventually they passed a gate with a lonely guard. They rounded a corner and continue into the deep black of the road.

The night sky was crystal clear, low and cold overhead. Leskov was shivering, clutching his bag fiercely against him struggling for a bit of warmth. The colonel had only the uniform he had left the base with yet showed no signs of discomfort. "What is it with these military types? Is he actually not cold. It's impossible. Is it a lie that is believed over time?" They took a sharp right off the road advancing a few meters up a rise. The colonel pointed. Perhaps forty meters ahead up a moderate embankment was the entrance to an old mine shaft. He looked over to the colonel who looked straight ahead and maintained the silence he had been keeping for almost ten hours. Leskov had chosen not to be cowed so after his first attempt at conversation had been rebuffed had kept his own company throughout the trip.

He stepped out of the vehicle and started up the incline. He had stopped wanting to show any form of weakness to the colonel and was angry at himself when he slipped twice on his way up. He was sick of the sense of superiority and condescension he felt from the man. He had always felt that honesty was the road to knowledge and to hide ones foibles was a lack of character but he had suddenly and all at once realized that in this world it was only seen as weakness and he was no longer willing to be treated that way. Once he had made it to the mouth of the mine shaft with it's wide timbers marking the entrance he saw the jeep immediately back up and leave in the direction it had come.

He thought that he would be thrown into almost complete darkness. It was a new moon and there was only the light of the stars in the sky, but once his eyes had a brief minute to adjust he saw that there was a small glow light emanating from the shaft. As he started to make his way in he found that it was in fact lighted. He did not like enclosed spaces and realized that he was starting to breath hard and fast. He heard footsteps coming towards him and two MP's appeared walking in unison.

"Come with us sir."

The further in they went the more open and finished the cave became. They passed a number of side shafts and he realized that he would probably not be able to find his way out on his own. After almost 15 minutes of walking they brought him to a small room. Inside he found a table with two chairs and a single light bulb. He was finally able to put his bag down, no one had offered to help him with it and he had been struggling under it's weight as he had packed far too many books. "Please take a seat and wait here." The guards left.

He was in there for almost five hours before the door opened. The man who walked in was old, perhaps in his mid eighties, hunched over and using a cane, something he had yet to see an officer do. He had learned very little of military ways but he had been instructed in protocol by rank, what different stripes meant and the minimum level of decorum required. As a scientist he was given a little extra leeway but there was a limit. This was the highest ranking person he had met, by far, and he snapped to attention

"At ease." The unknown Admiral spoke with calm,authority.

Leskov walked to the other side of the table ceding the closer chair to the general. They both sat down.

"Well I'm sure you have many questions but I am not going to be able to answer them all now. Colonel Stone tells me you saw through our ruse de guerre are wanted to get on with it."

"Yes sir."

"Well, your timing was excellent. We are up against it. I don't know how much longer we have and we need to get you up to speed. If you hadn't have made a move we might have gone with somebody else."

"Somebody else for what sir?"

"First take a shower and get a little shut eye. We want you sharp."

The general rose from his chair and turned to the door but paused and turned around before leaving.

As he made his way out of the door the two soldiers came in with a folding cot and couple of blankets. They set it up quickly and efficiently and were gone. He realized his days with amenities were over for a while as he lay down exhausted. The wall behind him was rock face and the bare light bulb hanging from a wire could not be turned off but he was too tired to really care. "What a depressing room." He thought as he fell into the oblivion of sleep like the remains of a body weighed down and committed to the deep.

He woke up being shaken. "Get him up now."

A pair of hands were lifting him up out of bed. "Hurry it up now." The voice belonged to the Admiral. At first he couldn't even remember where he was, sleep had temporarily erased the contents of the last day but opening his eyes he saw the old man standing a few feet in front of him feet spread wide hands clasped behind his back. His uniform was ill fitting but it was as if the air of authority surrounding him had been amplified, filled up the whole room, and pressed up against him. "Get him all the way up."

"Yes I am up, I am up. Please hand me my glasses, I left them on the table." The general made slight gesture of assent to one of the soldiers who let go of the elbow he had been using to prop him up. As he put his glasses on Leskov took his other elbow from the second soldier hand and stood up tall. Everything was coming into focus. He had never been an early riser and he was a bit embarrassed by how deeply he had been lost in sleep. He could see there was a general state of chaos. Through the open door men were running back and forth and heard anxious shouting in the distance.

"Well doctor. The shit has hit the fan. We had hoped to take some time to introduce you to the task at hand but there is no time now, really for any of us."

"What has happened?"

"Follow me please."

The Admiral turned and moved much more quickly than he had thought possible down the halls as men hurried past them in both directions in a state of total panic and frantic activity. Leskov was getting more concerned with each moment that passed. The two military police continued to flank him one on each side which he found quite strange. He had no idea what threat he could possibly pose and their size and attention made even more nervous.

Eventually they came to a passage blocked by a large metal wall and door similar to what he imagined in a submarine. One of the MP's went over and with a good deal of effort turned the round handle on the hatch. He realized it actually was a modified submarine door as he made his way through quickly examining the mechanism as he passed. It seemed to him to function as tooth gear attached to metal bars, simple and elegant.

On the other side of the was the largest space he had been in yet. They had walked through some very large tunnels that had clearly been designed to transport large vehicles but this space looked as though it were a natural formation as large and as tall as the cathedral in Belgrade. Perhaps a hundred yards ahead was an old man sat on a chair, hands intertwined in his lap rocking slightly back and forth. Next to him was a disordered stack of wooden crates and filing cabinets, as tall and wide as a car. The general moved in a straight line towards him.The man seemed familiar. As they approached he did not shift in his chair or change the rhythm of his rocking; did not seem to react to their presence at all. He wore a gray suit in the style Leskov was familiar with from his youth.

"Professor, I present you Nikola Tesla."

Leskov looked over at the general, mouth agape, in disbelief. "You jest?"

"Not at all."

Leskov turned to the old man. "Gospoda Tesla. It is an honor." Tesla looked up at him blankly.

"He doesn't respond. We don't think he is completely gone because when we give him pen and a notebook he immediately starts to jot down equations and ideas but he either refuses or is unable to to communicate with people."

"I see."

"He does occasionally mumble about pigeons."

"Many old men like to feed pigeons. It is a kind of companionship I suppose."

They were silent for a moment. "These are his papers. We were hoping that with time, your being Serbian, a scientist and an engineer, you might be able to review these papers and get him to speak and ultimately, bring his research to completion. In particular his ideas on weaponry."

"This is an excellent idea." Leskov's heart was pounding. He could only imagine what it might be like to have access to the greatest mind in the world, what he might be able to learn. That alone would be a worthwhile legacy, to study and organize his papers, let alone continue his research.

"That is not longer possible."

"Oh general, why not? I can see no better use of our resources."

"Well professor, a few hours ago the Washington D.C. was attacked by a nuclear weapon."

"What?"

"Yes. The capitol no longer exists. We expect a major invasion force to land soon, how long exactly we have no idea."

"What will the military do? Who is in charge?"

"That is exactly what we are trying to figure out. It depends in large part on how many bombs they might have. We won't sacrifice the entire country."

"Surrender?"

"I don't know. What I do know is that this is the start of a long fight. I won't be around to help the way I would like. But I will be going to join the ruckus. In the meantime these gentleman" The general nodded to the two guards, "will be your escorts."

"Escorts to where?"

"For now let's just say that some contingency plans have been made. Today I wish that we had done more, much more. On the other hand, militarily it is rarely in you interest to put any planning into defeat."

That word echoed in his mind.

"They will be accompanying you to the airstrip and ensure that you and these papers you have been entrusted with make it your destination."

"Please general, can you tell me where I am going?"

"I suppose that secret doesn't matter much now. You are headed to Argentina."

"Argentina?"

"Yes outside Buenos Aires. I hear the beef there is outstanding. Of course you will be very busy. No rest for you from here forward. You may not hold a rifle but you are a soldier now on a long long march. Give it your all. We are depending on you. We probably won't see each other again. It will be up to you to make something of all this. It's a long shot but it's worth a try."

Leskov had never been around a man like this, a true leader. He knew that he would spend the rest of his life trying to fulfill those orders.

"I have to leave now." General turned and towards the door walking by himself ,incredibly alone and proud as the soldiers immediately began grabbing boxes and crates and moving them towards the door.

### Chapter 15

He kept them there for a half an hour, crouched down waiting to be sure that no one heard them and that if they did that they had fallen beack to sleep, which felt like an eternity to Mike as his thighs and calves cramped. Once they started moving progress was quick. They were able to skip taking off the bottom hinge by pulling the top of the door out and squeezing their way through into the basement. The porch light had eliminated most of their night vision so they waited again to make sense of the heavy darkness of the basement. After a couple of minutes they were able to start to start the outline of a maze of boxes, furniture, scrap wood, kids toys, and garden tools."What a mess." thought Mike. He almost said it out loud, he wanted too just talk and break the tension. "Well, I'd bet my last dollar that I have psychic powers and everybody else is having the the same thought. Can't stand a guy who keeps a fucking messy basement or garage for that matter."

He heard the sound of rustling and a hand fumbling through a backpack then the flashlight came on, Stacey had dampend the beam by holding a piece of oilcloth over it. It didn't give off much light but they were able to see hand signals again. They put a hand on each others shoulders and made their way through the obstacle course until they were at the foot of the stairs. Stacey held his palm out and they stopped. He spread out his fingers looked at each of them and started to lower his fingers counting down. Mikes heart began to pound ferociously and sweat immediately started to pour from his under arms. Each of them had a specific task. The had gone over it countless times and practiced as much as conditions would permit.

As soon as Stacey last finger went down tucking into a fist everything changed. From extreme caution and silence reality shifted to a massive charge of energy. Just the sound of the four of them climbing the stairs sounded like the roar of a crowd, like it would wake up the whole neighborhood. Over the long night his mind had wandering back and forth from present to past to future, now it was focused completely in the moment and heard his own breathing loud and clear and could see the entire space around him shift around him with every step he took, then they were in the house.

He looked over to the left and saw the front door and the living room for a moment. They rounded the basement door turning to the right. Ahead, just past the steps to the second floor, were two doors at the end of the hall. Slim, who had been just behind Stacey, detached himself from the group. It was his job to keep the kid in his room and he stood tall imitating every guard he had ever seen in a movie.

"Jesus lord help me be able to do this." Stacey was already heading up the stairs, shifting into high gear, taking the steps two at a time. Rick was right behind him. Mike dipped a little and put spring into his foot to catch up with them. Stacey slipped at the top of the stairs, he recovered quickly but that put the three of them right on top of each other as they rounded the the top flight of stairs.

Stacey grabbed the round finial on top of the post where the last step met the railing to pull and pivot himself around. Mike craned his neck to see past them. He saw the mayor walking through the bedroom doorway out into the hall, he had been looking down at his hands tying his robe; as his head came up Mike was able to make out the succession of expressions that washed over his face. There was only the slightest trace of confusion which quickly shifted through deepening levels of comprehension, loss, and despair. He did try to turn back into the room to warn her. Stacey was on him before he was even able to turn all the way around, punching him right in the solar plexus hard. Mike heard the breath rush with a distinct gushing sound he remembered well from his days on the high school football team.

Rick had been a wrestler in high school; he took the mayor's legs out from under him, dropping him right down onto the floor. Stacey stumbled and fell on top of them both giving Mike the space he needed. He rushed forward reaching his arms out, using the door jamb as a support to jump over his friends and push off, so that he was able to pivot and shift in mid air in such a way that he was already moving right for the bed when he landed. It was his job to neutralize the wife. He had seen her around town. She wasn't a small woman; just about as tall as him and pretty thick, she also had maybe a hundred pounds on him. He knew she was capable of making a ruckus, he had seen her around town in different stores being indignant and complaining loudly. If she started to do make noise it was his job to silence her and he was terrified of what he might do, or not do, if that happened. He didn't known whether he would be able to hurt a woman on purpose like that She was sitting up in bed in her nightshirt wide eyed with terror.

He had heard her a moment earlier asking in a confused voice what was going on, now she opened her mouth to yell and he dove. He landed on top of her, one hand over her mouth. With the force of his jump his head inadvertently, slammed into his own hand snapping her head forcefully back onto the headboard. He hadn't intended it but was grateful it happened. She was disoriented, hurt and scared, which made her docile. She started to whimper. He reached back with one hand and grabbed the thick strip of cloth he had saved in his back pocket as he pushed her head back and down with the hand he had over his mouth, forearm leaning hard against her jaw. She wasn't struggling, at least not yet. He put the gag in her mouth and tied it behind her head, reached back and grabbed the rope from his other pocket, turned her onto her stomach straddling her with his legs and tied her arms behind her back.

Stacey had made him practice tying techniques to the point of exhaustion. It had annoyed him to no end but now he couldn't be more grateful as his hands moved efficiently and without thought. That was that, in a moment he was done. He pulled her up, holding her with one hand by the arms tied behind her the other one grabbing her hair, opened up the double doors of the closet directly behind them and shoved her down on the ground into it. He pointed his index finger at her signaling for her to stay there. Once he closed the door he pinned it shut with chair wedged under the handle like he had seen in the movies.

A wave of relief rushed over him. "I did it. Thank god." There was a moment of pause. How strange. He was still there, in the house, everything was still happening. He took a deep breath. He was trembling, shaking, elated and disgusted with himself. He had seen the terror in her eyes. She was frozen like a deer in the headlights. She had no idea what was going to happen. He locked her in a closet. What was about to come was probably worst than she imagined. Out in the hall that they had the Mayor under control, hands tied behind his back as well, and were lifting him up off the ground, moving him into the bathroom through the door on the other side of the hall. Mike moved forward to join them. Rick went going in first this time, guiding the mayor in his purple robe with with white polka dots through door, Stacey followed and turned on the light.

That light changed everything. It was like they snapped from a dream world back into reality. They were the people they had been their whole lives. The bathroom was big but with the four of them in there it was cramped. Rick had the mayor kneel in the big claw foot tub and then stepped in as well and stood behind him. The kneeling man looked back at and fort at them, eyes and head darting, terrified. Before he had been the mayor he had owned one of the bigger hardware stores in town, a plain, boring, self important numbskull. Stacey got down on one knee as he took off his backpack and set it in front of him. He pulled out large bowie knife, a small hacksaw, and a folded up piece of paper. He stood up and unfolded the piece of paper, then, after hours of silence he spoke.

### Chapter 16

With the heater broken, the pre-dawn hours had brought with it a deep chill; his feet were numb on the pedals and his hands ached on the steering wheel. He lifted the collar of his jacket and pulled it closer to his neck for warmth. Zach's was curled up in ball next to him. Zach wasn't his real name, no one knew each others real names. John's had given them each new one, his brothers names, so they would be easier to remember. He wondered where his brother's might be now?

The Mormon soldier sat ramrod straight in the rear seat directly behind him. They were lucky to have him. The Mormon's had more battle hardened fighters than any other resistance groups. After Salt Lake City was nuked they made their way up to the borderlands between the US and Canada where they became a semi nomadic warrior tribe. During the Summer months they would split up into small family bands and hide deep in the northern wilderness. When winter came the men would gather for their yearly raids, extracting revenge for the loss of their homeland.

In response to their raids the SS dispatched guerrilla teams to penetrate the mountain terrain. They set about targeting small family bands, torturing and killing women and children, taking special pains to keep captured soldiers near their families encampments, forcing friends and family to listen to their howl's of pain and pleas for mercy as they slowly died.

It was their plight in the face of these vicious attacks with that had allowed Arendt to make inroads with them. The Mormon's realized they needed more training in order to stop the men who were hunting their families. She provided it, sending special forces men, intelligence officers, unusual terrain experts, giving them the skills they needed to fight back.

Out in the deepest wilderness of North America a deadly game of cat and mouse developed. The elite teams of German's and Mormon soldiers stalked and hunted each other. Each side created nicknames for their opponents and those names became known throughout the country. "Snow Dog", "Sauerkraut", "Trapdoor", "Canary", "Troll", "Two shots".

Despite the lack of of free press everyone knew about their exploits and paid special attention when winter came and the attacks began in earnest. Small children, housewives, German officers, factory workers all had specific men they rooted for and followed. People traded information on them; their favorite weapons, height, what they wore. It was a harrowing past time, full of exultation and pathos, as the soldiers they cared about so deeply won or lost, rose or fell, through death. The effects of a major victory or defeat could be felt on the Streets of New Orleans, Chicago or Boston.

The Mormon's never indulged in the torture the Nazi's seemed to take so much glee in perpetrating. They made their statements through acts of outrageous daring. It was their own way to get under their enemies skin and build moral back home. SS men had woken up in one of their fire-less encampments with a Book of Mormon under their heads as a pillow or with one of their comrades heads hugged in close to their own chests for warmth. Only John knew that that was where the Goy had been come from, where he had been trained and hardened.

John had voiced concerns to Arendt about them. She was unphased "They are folk heroes, the strangest ones I have ever heard of, but folk heroes nonetheless. We are just lucky that the the Mormon's thinking is so provincial and religiously strange. If not the whole resistance could have come together around them. Who knows, we might have ended up with some bizarre theocracy."

Possible place for the battle of Salt Lake

"Many people are secretly practicing Mormonism around the country. Do you think we have anything to worry about?"

"No, no, no. Don't worry about that. That is a detail, a minor one. People want to belong to the winning team. All we need to do is give them a military victory that belongs to them, speaks to them, so that they don't have to convert to Mormonism or any religion for that matter to join the army. That's why we need them with us, why we need to ally with them, for their aura of victory."

The other men, all trusted men from the Jewish resistance, had gone after him right away the night before.

"So what's it like having looks like that, the square jaw and all?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I bet you ten to one you can throw a football. Right Jimmy?"

"Looks like a football player to me."

"In fact I bet you were a quarterback."

"How'd you know that?"

"You have that look. You obviously know how to fight, I can see that by how you carry yourself."

"And all the cheerleaders wanted to hang out with you. What's it like being that guy?"

"It's good. What can I say. "

"Honest. I like that. You and I are going to be friends. One thing I can't stand is a guy who can't a give a straight answer."

The Mormon said, "When you grow up you leave behind childish things."

"Your wife back at home?"

"I would prefer not to talk about my wife."

"You shy?"

"You fellows sure like to talk."

All the guys start laughing.

"Brother, you're in the wrong group not to talk. Here, cigarette."

"Don't smoke."

"Course not. What a goy."

"What's a goy?" They all laughed again.

"You are my friend. You are."

Jimmy spoke up "They would have his picture in the dictionary under goy"

"Is it a bad thing?"

"Not in your case. I think you're alright"

"Guess I can rest easy now. Knowing that you guys think I'm alright"

"Guess you can."

Mike started in again."So I heard you guys lost your temple."

"Yes." He became very serious at that moment and sat up straighter.

"We lost our temple first, I'm sure you know that."

"I'm not very familiar with Judaism."

"I suppose they didn't teach it much in your schools."

"A little bit. We read bits of the old testament. I suppose I wasn't paying attention."

"Let's be honest. Your temple, you are just copying our temple."

"I don't know that much about other religions but I'm pretty sure Jews didn't invent temple's."

"This is true, this is true. I think that we did invent being really serious about rebuilding it."

"Well, if you Jews are serious about rebuilding your temple I suppose that is one thing we have in common."

Mike piped in, "Ha. This is funny. You should convert to Judaism."

"Mike, I'm not converting to anything and to be perfectly honest with you I have never seen much benefit in talking about religion. You have your beliefs and I have mine."

"Ok, fair enough."

"I am curious what's a goy."

"In simple terms it's a non jew. You are actually one of the most goy people in the entire world. Over this immense globe, teaming with human beings I would put you in the top one hundred goys" the guys nodded their heads, except John who was holding back waiting to see if he needed to cut the conversation short or let it ride and see if they were bonding.

"Sounds like it's a yes no thing. How can somebody be a bigger goy than somebody else?"

"No, no. It's definitely on a scale. It's not just a yes or no thing."

"Are any jews goyish then?"

"No, I don't think so, though some try to be. Jews can definitely act goyish, but I would say they are faking."

"Then what makes me more goy than any other goy."

"That is a good question but extremely goyish one."

"The question was goyish?"

"Yes. Needing to ask the question puts you way over on one side. What is a goy? That is an extremely goyish question."

"So goy can be an noun and adjective?"

"Oh definitely. In New York everyone knows what a goy is and that's because everyone in a bit jewish."

"Give me some examples."

"Well catsup is Goyish and mustard is Jewish." All the gys nodded in agreement

"What else."

"Well some obvious ones. New York is Jewish and California is goyish."

Jimmy jumped in "The Lone Ranger is goyish, but the Shadow is Jewish."

"So bad things are goyish?"

"No, not all goyish things are bad, for example ice cream."

Everyone but The Goy laughed. Zach said, "Ice cream is very goyish."

"But within ice cream, vanilla is goyish and chocolate is Jewish."

"That's pretty complicated. I'm a vanilla guy." said The Goy.

"You see, I already knew that, the same way I knew you played football."

"And what are the Nazi's?"

"The Nazi's are evil. Killing Nazi's, I thinking killing Nazi's is Jewish."

"Well, being as I'm out to kill as many Nazi's as I can, I guess that makes me a little bit Jewish."

"It really does goy. It really does."

### Chapter 17

Von Schimmel settled into the settee with a satisfied sigh, "This fine bourbon and cigar is complemented so well by candle light. It really has a remarkable effect."

"Thank you Willhelm. I must confess that it is completely by design. I seek a total experience. From a purely rational point of view one might think that lighting has nothing to do with how something will taste, but I believe each our our senses interact with one another through the mind. I find that candle light mixed with an old noble bourbon in a way that electrical light can never match."

"I agree completely. Bourbon is one of the many peculiarities of the American south I have come to enjoy."

"You never drank it in the fatherland. They must have imported some bourbon?"

"Remember, before the Fuhrer times were very difficult. We couldn't afford anything imported. I was very much a beer kind of boy back then. Even now I miss the tastes and smells from the brew house's. But I have been here too long. If I left now I would miss this taste as well."

"Yes, these are the burdens of travel. Travel changes you inside, then you never truly return home."

"You have created quite a home for yourself." He lifted and spread his arms to the side and looked around.

The room was an eclectic mix. The walls were covered in maroon and gold fabric with a fleur des lis design in homage to his grandfather on his father's side, who was from Louisiana. There were ornate family heirlooms spread throughout. Conspicuous was, an enormous ebony curio cabinet inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl depicting greek themes, Diana's dogs Melampus, Pamphagous, Theron, tearing at Actaeon. A capodimonte chandelier of colorful porcelain flowers and leaves, yellow lilies, purple irises, quite joyful and high spirited hung from the center of the ceiling. These old southern touches were strangely and effectively paired with late art deco early and early modernist design, especially in the fixtures, wall sconces, and boat like settees like the one Jaspar was reclined on.

"Is that an Eileen Grey"."

This comment made Jaspar sit up in his chair "Very good eye eye Willhelm. Excellent. "

"I was in Paris during the occupation and was introduced to some of the artistic types."

"I had no idea you were informed on such matters. I picked it up at an extremely fair price when they auctioned off the Smithsonian collection. I don't think anyone even knew what it was. Some prescient collector probably donated it in the 30's."

"These ottomans are quite remarkable." He picked one off the floor in order to examine it more closely. "I am not familiar with it's design. Heavy too. Very substantial"

"Yes. More of what I was discussing earlier. It is made by one of my nigger carpenters along with a leather smith. You see I saw some african furniture in one of the books in my library and was taken by it. I modified the design to include modern Aryan forms of refinement. I feel that together they are able to attain a higher level of craftsmanship."

"I tell you Jaspar, I think you walk a dangerous line. The next thing you know, you will be walking barefoot"

"I certainly don't mean to offend."

Von Schimmel waved the comment away "No offense at all. With the primitive types it is very easy to become enamored of their, what, elan vital? And be pulled into their world. This can create the seed of unrecognized sympathies."

Jaspar leaned forward. "I see what you are saying Wilhelm and I respect your position. I want you to know that the purpose behind this is one hundred percent racial control and superiority. When you look at this room do you see nigger sensibilities?"

"No, I do not."

"Do you know what a nigger sees in this room? He sees that stool. He sees himself, his entire race represented, because one of his kind made it. He puffs up with pride. "Did you see where master put the stool I made?" Word spreads through all the hundreds, no thousands of slaves. They feel a bit of ownership, but who conceived of and designed the chair."

"You did."

"That's right. This makes them a bit more docile, a bit more manageable. The white man's mind, the niggers hands. That way my hands can stay free for the proper pursuits of a gentleman." They touched glasses to toast.

"Yes, tell me. What are the pursuits of the southern gentlemen?"

"Wilhelm, I'm sure you already know them well. Traveling the highways and byways of state. You know more of the southern gentry than I ever will. Most of us stay close to home."

"I am not interested in what the rabble think. I want to hear what you consider the occupations of a gentleman."

"My opinion? The activities? Horseback riding and breeding, I don't think I have ever shown you the stables before. I know the Germans have a great tradition with your steeds. You dance with them."

"Yes, the Spanish school."

"The school is Spanish? I was not aware of that?"

"My dear Jaspar you misunderstand. It is the most famous school of equitation in the world. Austro-Hungarian actually. The horses are from Spain originally. Hence the Spanish school. Majestic white steeds. Quite impressive. I have always had a fear of the beasts myself."

"Quite understandable. They are enormous and unpredictable. In truth we are a bit unrefined in the South, compared to our Austrian counterparts and are very taken with sport and gambling. So we love to race our horse, we have whole season in town, you will need to attend one day soon. Hence the second pursuit of a gentleman, hunting and shooting." The last occupation of the Southern gentlemen is common men everywhere, and exactly what we are here for this evening." He picked up a small bell on the stand next to him and rung it. The side door opened and a the girls walked in one after the other, five in total.

"Jaspar, this must be the most civilized of all your customs. A pleasure house. Truly the victorious must enjoy their spoils." Jaspar locked eyes with the woman at the front of the group. He motioned with his eyes to her and lifted three fingers subtly from the arm of his chair, she stepped off to the side and directed the next three girls over to the Nazi. The tallest girl, an impressive 6' 4", siddled up beside Von Schimmel's chair, lifted her leg high and slid herself behind him. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and began to slowly unbutton his jacket, then the top buttons of his shirt. She slid one hand beneath his undershirt onto his chest while caressing his cheek with the back of her other hand. Her arms were long and delicate, her legs extraordinarily long. The two other girls were short and full figured, their large breasts bulging out of their french lingerie, extremely dark skinned. They kneeled, one at each of his feet, ran their hands under his pant legs as they started to unlace and remove his shoes. They rubed themselves against his legs, push their hands up his inner thighs and onto his stomach.

The other two girls made their way over to Jaspar, the smaller sat on his lap as the taller walked behind the settee and kneeled upright behind him, placing a hand, perhaps possessively on his shoulder. She too was tall, around 5'11. She wore a black guepiere with red embroidery, her long legs were narrow firm, her stomach flat, smooth and hard like marble, her breast half revealed, not overly large, set wide and low on her chest. Her face was not beautiful but strong and angular; sharp, high, wide pointed cheekbones, her cheeks sunken, her jaw started wide then angling sharply down to form her narrow pointed chin. Her lips full and thick, forehead high, hair pulled back tightly, some ringlets fell over her long neck a wide shoulders with practiced carelessness.

Wilhelm eyed her up and down."Yes. She is excellent." He grabbed one of the girls at his feet by the hair and harshly pulled her head up then backhanded her full force across the face. She fell over to the side but rose up quickly without hesitation. "Yes, good nigger. Kiss my hand now. You see in the corner , you see?" He slapped her again but this time with less force. She nodded. "That riding crop. You know what a riding crop is?" She nodded again. "You crawl over there and bring it to me. Carry it in your mouth and don't dare drop it." He lifted the second girls face up by the chin and slapped her as well. The girl sitting behind him kissed his neck. He looked over at Jaspar "There is something about their blackness that raises up an anger in me. I'm sure you understand"

Jaspar nodded with a tilt to his head and a mild grin. Always accommodating and understanding.

"Yes I feel the spirits rising up in me again. It has been a very stressful time for me. So much work to do. More production. So many mouths to feed in Europe. You are protected because you produce, but there will be more demands. And your fellow plantation owners, a group of idiots. I sometimes think their stupidity, their inefficiency is a form of resistance, and I am sure some of them are collaborators, but what fools. The hell they will unleash on themselves if they do not get in step with German efficiency and discipline and obedience. It is enough to put any man's nerves on edge. That is why I so appreciate my visits here. You get everything done that is required but you are able to give it a feeling of ease." The girl had made it back with the crop.

"I think perhaps it is time to take our leave and allow you to enjoy yourself." Jaspar started to stand along with the two girls.

"I have seen you with this one before." Von Schimmel said this pointing at the woman behind Jaspar.

"Yes, as you know, in the south we are deeply conservative, traditional in our ways."

"You don't have a personal attachment to the "nigger" as you say."

"Attachment no. Something akin to having a favorite hunting dog or a condiment you prefer?"

"If you are not attached I am sure you won't mind if I take your dog for a walk."

"I know you enjoy the very dark girls, so we found you the darkest."

"Yes, they are excellent." He took the crop from the girls mouth and struck her hard on the ass. "Ha! Yes, she is just what the doctor ordered, but variety is the spice of life"

"That it is indeed."

"There is something about that girl, something wild that needs disciplining."

"Just don't keep her too long I have plans. Also, my only request, please, no marks or bruises, it just isn't my preference."

"Of course. I won't keep her long. Just an aperitif, so to speak."

### Chapter 18

She ushered him quickly into the kitchen and sat him at the table. "How long have you been out there?"

"Three days."

"Have you eaten anything?" He shook his head.

"We don't have a lot of time. I want to get at least one warm meal in you though. You like eggs?" He nodded his head. She was already moving efficiently through the kitchen, opening cupboard doors, disappearing into the larder. "People will be up and about any minute now. The road was humming all night with trucks, patrols. You got lucky, they've been passing by every half hour or so. We can't let anyone see anything out of the ordinary. Egg's, bacon and and some ham then."

"No bacon or ham please ma'am." she paused, but only for a second "Corned beef hash then. I'm pretty sure I have a can in here."

"That would be great. Is anyone else in the house? "

"Nobody else here since my father went off to defend the state capital in 44."

"No delivery men or workers coming through?"

"Do you want breakfast or not?"

"Not if it costs me my life, ma'am."

"Well, you haven't had one of my breakfasts yet." She was already grating potatoes and putting an apron on as she worked. "So where you from?"

He looked up at her surprised by the question. A moment before she had seemed eminently level headed, very in charge, but in an instant he was questioning his decision to be there, hungry and tired as he was. She had her back to him, "Sorry, I don't know why I asked that. Just habit I suppose."

What had coiled up in him relaxed and he started to slump in the chair feeling the weight of exhaustion wash over him. They were silent for a while as she cooked and prepared the table in front of him. She had already placed a large jug of milk in front of him and poured him a glass. "Go ahead, drink up. You must be starving. This will be up in a second. Also, take off your shoes, we can't have footprints in on the floor"

He was so tired and bruised it was difficult for him to reach down to untie his boots, there was blood in them sticking his sock to his foot, he didn't even know where it had come from. She came over quickly and knelt down to help him. She didn't flinch at all as she untied the laces and found pieces of what was certainly hair, blood and bone.

By the time she had taken them off his voice was weak and sad as he said, "Thank you." He didn't like accepting kindness but she made it very easy, and that was what made him sad. She nodded and went quickly to the sink to wash her hands and return to the skillet. "Just a couple of seconds more and it would have burned and you would have been out of luck. Those extra couple of seconds will make it perfect, crispy." She was talking to fill the space of the silence in the room, she could feel him. She was talking to spare him the loss of pride of being seen.

He remembered the rebbe saying, "One day you will let a woman love you and you will have a family and children and all those things you think that you will never have. I will be happy then and will play with your children." He started to choke up but she spoke again over the loud sizzle of the food. "The hash browns will be good and crunchy. Nothing worse than soggy hash browns. Can't have that."

She set the plate in front of him, piled high with scrambled eggs, corned beef hash, hash browns, toast and a large lump of butter. "Eat up." She stood over him, hands on her hips, elbows spread wide. He felt incredibly happy even though he knew he shouldn't be. He was trapped, cornered, lost; far from any safe house. His friends were still dead and his chances of getting out of there were next to nothing yet he felt fantastic as the heat of the steam rose up off the food and hit him in the face. The peach pit he had felt in his throat a moment before dissipated.

He took his fork and mixed all of it together, the hash, eggs and browns; that was how he always ate breakfast. She was now moving as fast as she could cleaning up.

"She's getting rid of every trace of me as she goes. Which is good if she's planning on hiding me. Maybe she's a collaborator who likes to kill resistance fighter but believes in giving them one last meal. That's what you do with a condemned prisoner right?" He smiled to himself and shrugged his shoulder. "Well nothing I can do about it now anyway."

She stopped cleaning for a moment and came back with a bottle of catsup. "Sorry forgot this." He looked up at her and smiled. He loved catsup with his breakfast. His mother back in the day used to shake her head when he would pour it on the food she would make. "You must be adopted I swear. You eat like a goy. Ruining the food I made."

"Not like a goy momma. Like an American" he would answer "plus its kosher."

"Kosher smosher." She would wipe her hands on her apron and watch him eating proudly. For all her complaining she always put the bottle on the table but only after he had started eating, begrudgingly.

Light was starting to pour into the room and he could feel the day really starting to kick in. The birds were getting loud and he was certain he had heard a car starting in the distance. He leaned over the food and got serious about eating. She felt it too and picked up speed, drying the pans, putting all the food back where it came from, She poured out what was left in pitcher of milk into the glass and rinsed it out. As he finished and started to rise she grabbed the plate out from in front of him. His time was up. She was no longer calm or hospitable, she was anxious and rushed.

She tossed the plate in the sink. "Damn it. I'll have to come back for it. He liked that she didn't want to even leave a plate for anyone to see, it meant she knew how to take things seriously. For some reason he had never understood some people were incapable of taking anything seriously even when their own life depended on it.

"We are going through that door into the hall and then through the first door on the left, down the steps into the basement. That hall connects to the living room, the windows give out straight onto the street so I'll walk normal but you crouch down as low as you can." this was good, very good. She had an operational mind. He would need to try and recruit her. "I can just crawl over if that is better."

"Not the way your clothes are." He hadn't thought about that. He must have looked like a disgusting animal. "Just stay low." He nodded. He touched his face with his hand. "Oh, I started a beard. I wonder what I look like." He realized he was worried what he looked like because he wanted her to like him, "What are you, a teenage boy?"

When he first saw combat what surprised him most was his mind, how it would not stay on track or focus on what mattered. Mortar shell's would be exploding around him, he would be sure he was about to die, pissing himself, and then he would wonder what brand of soap the Army bought that he would be using later to wash his drawers. Then her would start remembering the boxes for the different brands of detergent back home and which ones he liked best; then he wondered who designed those boxes and how a person came to be a designer of detergent boxes. "I wonder how it pays?" He would start making plans of where he might go to study, and he would completely forget where he was for a moment.

She moved through the door and he followed crouched low. He was able to get a glimpse of the living room as he moved towards the basement door. It was everything he imagined a middle class country home to be. Well crafted furniture, doilies everywhere, framed embroideries on the wall with what he imagined were bible verses, knick knacks and China in a large glass hutch. He saw himself sitting in the large wing-back chair in the corner smoking a pipe. It was more like a vision than a fantasy. He saw himself there plain as day. "I'm so tired I'm hallucinating."

They made their way down the old creaky steps into the basement and walked into a root cellar lined with simple rough hewn shelves filled with glass jars of pickled vegetables and canned foods. She walked to the back wall of shelves and reached behind the left side groping for something and pulled back shelf open easily like a door on a hinge.

Behind the shelving was three feet deep space; on the right side there were perhaps ten rifles and five machine guns leaning against the wall, stacks of ammunition propping them up and another seven pistols scattered willy nilly on the floor. She lifted a hatch on the ground hooking it up to latch on the wall revealing a set of stairs She started down and he followed.

"My father built this when he felt the war wasn't going well." She had grabbed a flashlight from somewhere and was shining it down below. "He was an engineer. You have enough room to stand and take two or three steps. You see how the ground is all mattress?" He nodded. "You can lift the whole thing up like a Murphy bed that way you can stand on some solid ground. It's all organized from right to left. This wall is all cabinets with supplies but you will only use the far cabinets, these closest to us have supplies for survival after you get out, you, know if there is chaos outside and you need to rebuild society." He nodded his head. "What you have in the other two cupboards there is food and water, canned stuff and C rations, chocolate, not bad at all. Eat what you need. The left side here with the low bench is for elimination. These two closest to us are for trash. Do everything you can to eat all the food from any of the rations you open. The last thing you will want is food rotting in here, especially not tuna or sardines. Dad loved tuna and sardines. The bench there lifts up to a double commode. It's double so that the one closest to us is for solids and the one furthest is for liquid. It's important you remember that. He designed them differently. In the one for solid, after you do your business grab some sawdust from here and throw it on top. When these are closed you can use this area to sit. Last, you can't see it from here but when you lie down, you see that space there between the back walls and this cupboard?"

"Yes."

"When you are lying down if you look into there you will be able to see a little dot of light when it's daytime. He rigged a system of mirrors. That tiny bit of light will make it so that you can see shapes in here during the day. Otherwise if you cover it it gets pitch black. Also, you have to stay quiet . It's isolated but it isn't sound proof, he designed it so that there is ventilation. Air get in and that means sound gets out. No talking to yourself or singing. "

"I'm not crazy."

"After a couple of days alone in the dark anyone can want to talk. That light down there will help you keep track of how many days have gone by. No matter what you hear happening above stay in here for a full five days. I won't be back down during that time. Wait until the fifth night to come out if I haven't come to get you. If that happens suggest you grab one of those guns and some ammo, that's what I would do. If I'm not around no tellin what you find. Probably some German officer living with his family. Do some exercise as soon as you can if not you'll start to get weak. It happens quickly. Good luck. I'm going now."

"Wait. Thank you. Why are you doing this?"

"That's a strange question."

"You are risking your life."

"We're all just waiting for the real fight to start. We're waiting for our chance to help."

"What's your name?"

"In five days, maybe we share names then." She gave a slight smile.

"Thanks for breakfast."

"Your welcome. Get some rest." She turned and walked up the steps closing the doors behind her.

### Chapter 19

"How long have I been out here waiting; two, three hours?" Robeson shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun with his both hands, his sight wasn't what it used to be. He had been squinting, scanning the horizon obsessively from the moment their agreed upon hour had passed. "Don't be anxious Paul. When have you had this kind of time to yourself? Two years perhaps?" He worked all day, every day, slept four hours at most. Each morning he woke with a jolt, a rush of memory, a onslaught of tasks and responsibilities.

"This is what I lack, time for reflexion. I should think of something worthwhile instead of worry" He clasped his hands behind his back and returned to pacing. "We are free for now, but vulnerable". It was a question that had been haunting him for years. Should they split up or stay together? Although he knew that by keeping them in one place he was risking total annihilation. But where could they run to or hide? Wasn't that the very nature of blackness, to be both invisible and revealed? Defeat meant annihilation or slavery. It was all so desperate.

He always returned to the same point, a single thought tha reaffirmed his choice. "They always worked to defeat us by seperating us. Pitting us against one another. No, from here on out we stick together, as much as we can." He often wondered if they would have been able to accomplish the things they had without the terrible events that had brought them there. It was a terrible question because he already knew the answer. Of course not. Though one was reticent to ascribe a single positive note to the result of the enemies actions he couldn't help but feel an immense sense of pride in the changes they had made. When they arrived the majority of people were illiterate. Now, eight years later, 99% of adults could read.

Maybe it was hubris and but he was convinced he led the best army world had ever seen. From the beginning the women had demanded to become soldiers, now everyone was taught all aspects of military craft, from drill to strategy to battlefield command. He was so confident he would have put his people up against the Spartans without hesitation. They practiced hand to hand combat incessantly. The funny thing about it was that it made them happy. His mind drifted back to his day performing Shakespeare in England, "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother." It sounded trite and hackneyed until you were in it, right in the middle of it.

His reverie was broken by a distant hum in the dessert silence. The sound became more distinct and he was able to make out the plane approaching in the distance. Five minutes later the single engine plane set down gently onto the earth. He remembered how bright Arendt had been, and he wondered whether he would be her equal. Well, he wasn't her equal, she was in charge. He just hope he would make a good showing. There was so much at stake. She looked the same only older perhaps. A very sensible blazer and skirt, glasses with thick black rims.

He wasn't expecting her to step out of the pilots side."Hannah, I had no idea you could fly."

"Old Jewish ladies aren't supposed to fly?"

"How did you find the time to learn?"

"It's a hobby. A childhood dream. I found the time, what can I tell you."

"I'm sorry. I started out with trivialities. It is so good to see you."

"Wonderful to see you as well. Paul, this is my assistant ________"

"Pleased to meet you young man."

"The pleasure is all mine Mr. Robeson." They shook hands.

"My parents saw you perform Othello in London. They would just go on and on about it."

"Well, not all of the critics were so gracious in their appraisal."

"What do critics know?"

"More than artists like to admit."

"Paul, he has some important papers and our things. Could someone help him?" Robeson lifted his hand up and his voice boomed out like a foghorn. "Oliver!" Hannah and _____ shared a meaningful glance, both impressed by the power of the voice, it had physically jolted both of them. One of the young men who had been waiting at a distance ran over.

"Yes Mr. Robeson?"

"Oliver would you please help this young man with his papers and supplies." The two men started to unload the airplane as Arendt and Robeson walked away, both with arms folded behind their backs. They walked in silence for a bit. Arendt spoke first. "This is the proper posture for dignitaries, correct? Hands behind the back."

"I will tell the photographers to only snap pictures when we are both posed thus,"

She looked around. "Barren but beautiful. I like it here. I like the air. Where are we headed Paul?

"Oh, the encampment is a few miles up this path. We've prepared some refreshments."

"I hate to be a bother but I should let you know that I am perhaps good for two miles." She said this as she patten her jacket pockets and found her cigarettes, pulled one out and lit it.

"Really? Hannahh, you shouldn't smoke. You have to take better care of yourself."

"Thank you for the reminder Robert. You can join the chorus. For god sake, this is why I never wanted to join any movement, or take any kind political role. You lose all sense of privacy. Everything is up for discussion. That young man over there never let's up. He won't let me enjoy these things even for a second"

"I aplologize. I didn't mean to pontificate."

Hannahh shook her hand in the air. "No, no, I apologize. It's not you, its everyone else. I appreciate your concern. I get irritable, it was a long flight. Of course you are right. An old woman doesn't like to realize how bad it is. I used to walk for hours in Paris. It helped me think. I would get back home and write. Think and write."

"You aren't that old, Hannahh."

"I know. I use it as an excuse. I need to exercise more, but I spend weeks on end in hiding, never leaving a room. I should do some calisthenics but it just strikes me as banal. I always liked to walk."

Robeson waved over one of his men who were trailing a hundred feet behind them to provide privacy. The tall youth ran over. "Yes Paul."

"Michael, go on up ahead. Have folks bring the refreshments this way and set up the chairs and tables about a half mile up ahead."

Michael nodded, "Half a mile?" Robeson turned to Arendt. "You can make it half a mile right?"

She nodded. "Yes, half a mile of course. I'm not crippled for gods sake just out of shape and a bit old.". "Have them rig up some sort of palanquin, and bring a good group of men to help. We are going to need to help our guest make it to camp. The trip has been taxing."

"Yes Paul. Right away."

"This is very embarrassing Paul. I going to be like some ridiculous white woman on safari in Africa being carried by the 'blacks'. This is not what I had in mind at all. I had hoped that being out here, away from the United States, your group wouldn't have to participate in that kind of theater of servility."

"Nonsense. You are our guest and the terrain is uneven. It might look like that to outside eyes, but that would only be appearances, this is more like family. In any case. Let's not worry about it. It is very good to see you Hannahh." He turned and took both her hands in his, smiled broadly and began to laugh. "It is wonderful to you as well Paul." She leaned in and kissed each other on both cheeks.

"I miss European sensibilities. It was in my travels to Europe where I first felt what it was like to be treated as just a person, not as a black man."

"Paris?"

"Yes of course."

"The equality of man, Rousseau."

"Yes."

"What was it Epicurious said about friendship?"

"I have no idea. Something very smart I am sure."

""Of all things which wisdom provides to make us happy, much the greatest is the possession of friendship.' That is what he said."

"Yes that is it." Robeson hooked his arm into hers to give her support as she walked.

"Walking next to you is like being next to a giant, I feel very small."

"That's how I feel on a mental level with you, small."

"Pfah, nonsense. You are brilliant, and an artist. What I would give to have a creative bone in my body."

"You are creative at war Hannahh."

"Thinking and writing as I said, that was the only life I was made for."

"Now you are a general."

"A general without battles."

"The first real battle is close. How long until we launch do you think?"

"Within three months, I would say. If all goes relatively as planned."

### Chapter 20

Leskov knew that he was failing and it was making him suicidal. Thirteen years of constant work had passed, he was no longer a young man and nothing of practical use had come from any of his work. This was was war science and the aim was to gain advantage and defeat the enemy. Things reached a crisis point for him after a year and a half without progress. He had tried everything that occurred to him, streamlined every aspect of the design, but nothing he did made a difference.

There was no world to return to, no life for him, no end to the war. His family was back home were certainly all dead. He would often drift off into fantasies of success, imagining what a breakthrough would mean for him and the cause,which would only aggravate his sense of hopelessness when the reverie ended. He had been a scientist long enough to know that his sense of despair was entirely justified. You can't do real science expecting breakthroughs. It's an ongoing labor that usually results the simple realization that your premise was incorrect.

At this point it was almost certain that his work would bear no fruit. The only sane step would be to abandon it all together. Every fiber of his being fought against that option, which was why he was estranged from his colleagues, they had abandoned all attempts to shake him out of his senseless conviction. As distraught as he was. he harbored an irrational feeling of certainty that there was a solution. despite all evidence to the contrary.

They were scientists on a knowledge suicide mission, sent into territories that had already been declared barren, uninhabitable, no supply lines, no support troops, no recognizable landscape to navigate with, not even the familiar constellations in the sky. They had said it to him so clearly, "There is no way we are going to be able to compete with them now in the traditional research and development area, they have the luxury of resources and numbers. What we are doing here gents is going for a hail Mary. You need to take the most outlandish ideas on the fringes of and treat them like they are real, then try and make weapons out of them."

It was so strange he could hardly believe it. Now so many years later and what could he say for himself. Nothing. So he met with Miguel in a cafe. "I have reached a dead end."

"The steam engine?" Leskov laughed.

"Yes, the steam engine. The one you have teased me about for years. It turns out you were right. All my work has been for nothing."

"Yes, the work is always for nothing, a failure, until it is a success."

"No success Miguel. Just failure. I can bear it in my own life, but not here. This is all I have to offer and now I realize that it is nothing."

Miguel snuffed out his cigarette and leaned forward intently trying to grab Leskov's gaze as Leskov stared out the window looking lost and forlorn "Leskov, when I make fun of your machine, you know it is to laugh, nothing more, I do that with everyone, especially my brothers."

"My brother's are all dead."

"You don't know that. We don't know what's happening over there in Europe."

"No, actually I do know. The Colonel told me, what, three years ago."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I am your brother now. You and I will be brothers."

"That's kind, very kind. They are all gone now. Everyone I knew or cared about before the war."

"What I am going to say you, probably don't want to hear, but there are only two fates for human beings, they die and leave their loved ones or their loved ones die and abandon them leaving them to die alone. There are no good outcomes. You have been confronted with this truth. Now the question is how you respond."

"You are right of course but I have no response. There is nothing in me."

"There must be something. You are here, we are talking."

"This is a hollow gesture. It is nothing. Hearing you I realize I just wanted to say goodbye to someone."

"This is real what you are saying?" Miguel lit another cigarette.

"Yes I suppose it is."

"Well I suppose it is a big steaming pile of shit, mierda. We are at war. If you are planning on dying you need to take some of the enemy with you."

"I am not that kind of soldier. I can't take a person's life directly."

"Isn't that what you are trying to do with your work."

"Yes it is. But I couldn't do it myself. See I eat meat but I can't kill a bug. Somebody else needs to kill it for me. You see, I am a coward."

"I don't think it's that simple. Not wanting to kill is probably the best thing about us as people's."

"I am a coward."

"That is the worst part of us."

"What?"

"That despair makes us cruel and stupid without our being able to see it."

"I should go." Leskov started to get up.

"No, sit. I said the wrong thing, I know. Give me a second, a moment." They both sat in silence. Even the sounds of the cafe around them seemed muffled. Miguel leaned his chair back and balanced on its back legs like a schoolboy, his arms crossed, tips of his fingers tapping on his chin in concentration. "I believe that you are serious about what you are saying. But if you are thinking of going through with it I believe there is something you should do before. If you are willing to end it there is a purpose you can serve for the cause, and who knows, it might change your mind.

A few hours later he was deep in a section of the cave he had never visited before, they had blindfolded him before guiding him there. Once he had arrived he had been introduced to the head researcher who had introduced himself as the controller. He had said, "I will be the controller." The man must have been and extremely important researcher, clearly an officer as well.

Leskov was was aware that he was inordinately prideful about his machine but immediately impressed by what they had created. Three stories tall, from below it looked like scaffolding holding a large pot with a concave bottom raised up off the ground by massive hydraulic pistons attached at different heights around the circumference. The scaffolding rose above that into the dark height of the cave where there was a complex set of motors, pulley and levers. Thick black electrical cables wound about and connected all the parts.

They had him climb up a ladder into it through a hole in it's base. Looking around him he had never seen such a perfect concave mirror before. The area they had to stand on was only perhaps a meter and a half in diameter. Miguel and the controller climbed up with him.

"Is this one single mirror."

"No, but we were able to develop some new techniques to polish and fill the seams. It is the smoothest mirror the world has ever seen."

"It is remarkable."

"Thank you. We couldn't ask for a better location to work in."

They were very comfortable leather shorts, shirt and moccasins as he had made his way through the series of walls and curtains to the section he was in now at the end of one of the veins of the mine. They had on different leather outfits, a bit less loose fitting. All this to reduce dust.

"It's extremely comfortable." Leskov touched the sleeve of the shirt which was remarkably smooth and pliant, almost silk like but of course more substantial.

"Best leather in the world. We have to improvise. I'm sure you understand."

The facility had an extensive team of glass blowers, carpenters, blacksmiths, metallurgist's, tailors, mechanics, fabricator's, all on call at moments notice to help them figure out ways to create the tools or the instrumentation they required."Where would we be without our craftsmen?"

"Nowhere. Plus, they make fantastic furniture." It was true, they did.

"Lower please" the controller called up into the darkness. The whole space was lit in such a way that the edges and the heights were shrouded in darkness; the overall effect was mysterious. The mirrored interior started to curve inward at around the high of Leskov's shoulders, sloping in and together, forming the shape of a sphere cut off about three quarters of the way up.

A complex leather harness descended from the darkness of the scaffolding above. Leskov thought to himself, "I hope we win so that all of this can be preserved as some kind of museum, otherwise no one will ever believe it existed."

The harness was attached first around his waist into reinforced bindings and metal grommets, which was to be expected if you were to lift someone up into the air, but surprisingly also above the elbow, above and below the knee, and fine, thin, woven leather ropes connecting to his ring and index finger and the corresponding toes on his feet. These were put on last and made him surprisingly anxious. "Are you going to string me up from my toes?"

"At times. Don't worry, you're body won't be hurt."

"My body won't be hurt." He mumbled back to himself under his breath. "What is that supposed to mean?" Obviously that there was some other part of himself that might be vulnerable. "What are you going to do to me?"

The controller turned to Miguel. "I thought you said he was a willing subject?"

"He is a willing subject."

"I was just asking a question" pleaded Leskov.

"No more questions. These are the conditions of the experiment. Minimum knowledge."

Miguel walked up to Leskov and whispered into his ear, "It seems that you are suddenly concerned about yourself again."

"Please!" The controller was obviously irritated with the chit chat but didn't look at them as he worked quickly to arrange the ropes on the floor around Leskov. "What are you, children in a classroom, that I have to tell you not to whisper secrets to each other. Miguel leave. Go, go."

Miguel patted Leskov on his shoulder "Good luck friend."

"I will see you later" Leskov shouted after Miguel, a hint of desperation and an attempt to reassure himself as his friend, his only friend descended the ladder and disappeared below. The controller was adjusting the straps around his body. It all fit remarkably snugly. "What are you going to do to me?"

"As I said. The less you understand the better for the experiment. We are looking to learn from you and for you to learn for us"

"Haven't you done this before?"

"Only partially, in bits and pieces Never according to the full parameters of the design."

"I don't know if this is a good idea. You are making me very nervous."

"That's not me that's you making yourself nervous. Don't be concerned though. Whatever you are now. You will be different later."

"I suppose that is good."

"We will see."

"Miguel," Leskov shouted into the darkness "your friend is not very comforting."

"Say it to mommy." yelled back Miguel. That made him laugh. His spirits lifted and he started to rise lifted from above. "Like an angel to heaven. What a strange thought."

### Chapter 21

They took turns driving, taking the back roads, stopping only to eat and stretch, each man lost in his own thoughts as they watched the country go by. Everywhere they went things were falling apart. The roads had become and endless slalom of potholes, people packed into cars like sardines or hung on precariously to the side of trucks. To John it was clear that the drop in trade trade and commerce caused by travel restrictions was taking a huge toll. He could see the change in people's as they reverted to local economies. The ramshackle sidewalk bazaars reminded him of the the trips he had made to a small town out of Compostella semester during his semester abroad, the mixture of poverty and pride. He could even see the beginnings of regional changes of dress.

What annoyed him the most were the cars. He wondered who's bright idea it had been in the Propagandaministerium to replace American muscle with German precision. It must have been remarkably expensive but it had had a tremendous psychological effect. The whole country looked and felt different because of it. It was an effective way of attacking national pride and building cache with the people, of trying to bribe them. That has always been the problem with bribery, it works too well. Who doesn't want t a new car? "German engineering built in Detroit." There were giant billboards all along the highways and in small towns too. Three strapping, tall, blond, muscular men- an engineer wearing a lab coat and holding a clipboard, a German soldier and a worker in overalls standing proudly around their creation. John hated the implication that they could build a better car.

If he were in charge that would be the first thing they would do, take back the factories and start building American muscle. He liked to imagine liberation day, walking to town square with a sledgehammer slung over his shoulder, joining other people along the way with their crowbars and baseball bats, coming together in a orgy of destruction, tearing those goddam volkswagen to pieces. He would buy the first new car that came off the line. He saw himself cruising around town, with his girl under his arm, not a care in the world. He had decided that if he ever made it to the end alive he would stop giving a shit about a single thing.

As they stopped in towns along the way to eat or get gas the open, commercial friendliness he had grown up with, the "Welcome! Come on in! What can I get you?" was gone. He disliked the hardness that was taking over people's faces; apathy, distrust, spite. He suspected self hatred played a big part, everyone felt compromised. Businesses were forced to fly the red white and blue swastika next to the Stars and Stripes. People made compromises in order to survive or get ahead so they were on guard all of the time, fearful of the secret police and of the resistance too.

He hated that in many ways, that they were contributing to the general atmosphere of suspicion, but for now there was no choice. They couldn't allow people to settle into complacency, they needed to know that there were consequences, that collaborating had its price."If we don't make some real progress fast there is going to be a bedrock of hatred out here. It will become like those mountain areas in the middle east where feuds go on for centuries and towns are at war with the ones next to them."

Nebraska, of course, was the exception. All through the State everyone they met was polite and helpful. "No one could convince those people not to be friendly."As they walked back to the car after eating burgers at a diner Zach asked "What makes those motherfuckers so chipper? Didn't they get the memo? We've been invaded."

Jimmy would have non of it."Those are nice people. Remember, nice people? Leave em be. That's just how they're raised. A bear could be chewing off their leg and and would still be nice and polite. I'll bet you the my Colt 45 Nebraska is big in the resistance."

"These fucking goys, I will never for the life of me understand them." He slammed the door behind him as he took his seat in the car.

### Chapter 22

Mabel leaned over the vanity to examine her eye more closely in the mirror. It was already beginning to swell and she could tell that the bruise would be large. There was a light knocking on the door and Jaspar came in.

"He's gone, finally" he saw her reflexion in the mirror "What did that bastard do to you? Damn his eyes."

"Goddamn it Jaspar, the eye doesn't matter. It's the taste in my mouth." She spit in the trash can beneath her.

He hurried over to her side, knelt down and gently moved her face over to the side with his finger tips on ther chin "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"How can you stand to spend so much time with that goddamn motherfucker."

"You ordered me to."

"You seem to enjoy yourself?"

"Darling, I'm an actor, that's why I am here."

"What did you compare me too? Your favorite hunting dog or a condiment."

"You know I don't mean any of that. How can I build trust and gain his friendship if I seem disgusted or disinterested, anything but genuine?"

"You can't. But you just seem too fucking good at it. I think he wants to fuck you." Mabel returned to examining her eye in the mirror.

"That is not very nice. What you are like is my favorite element, air. I can't live with out you."

She smiled little, "That was corny."

"It's true."

"What is it like? Having most men and women you know meet want to take you to bed."

"You exaggerate."

"No I don't. Answer the question."

"Flattering, confusing, obnoxious. If they only knew what a boring lover I am they would run for the hills." He beamed his wide smile at her reflection in the mirror.

"Screaming." she added.

"Yes, screaming tearing at their hair. Your the only who can put up with me. The only one who ever stuck around"

"With looks like yours why would I care how boring you are?"

He sat down next to each on the divan, took her hand in his and raised it to his cheek.

"How could I ever marry a woman with such a mean streak?"

"I would say you were attracted to my superior intellect." she smiled.

"That I was." he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. His mind flashed to Greenwich Village where they met in the early 40's before the occupation. He had left business school to studying acting but failed to mention his choice to his wealthy parents back in Virginia, who thought he was still at Cornell and continued to deposit money in his account. After paying for his classes he squandered the rest buying drinks and meals for his poor artist friends and throwing parties at his flat.

She was the only black female law student at Cornell. Her father was a lawyer, her mother a schoolteacher. Each came from august black creole families but had long since left the world of polite society and dedicated themselves to social justice. Her father had been a Marxist since his college days and Mabel grew up in an activist home where meetings were held nightly and debates raged on for hours.

He had no idea people like her even existed, highly educated, cultured and extremely radically. They were introduced by a mutual friend at a party. She had immediately taken the offensive. "So you are the bourgeois hanger on Isaac told me about, the one who tries to buy his friends."

He had managed to keep his composure and was surprised that he had been able to muster any kind of response. Still, inside, he had been tremendously put back, at a loss, called out, afraid really. His heart was pounding and his hands sweaty.

"You're very pretty." She had said and then walked away. He had followed her around the rest of the night pathetically and without shame. So it had gone, the same basic pattern played out countless times. She bested him and he always followed her. He often wondered if she really loved him, the curse of self doubt shared all those gifted with transcendent beauty and charm . She was stronger than him in every way. Now she reported directly to Arendt and was in command of the most important operation military operation inside US territory in the countries history. He knew that although he was crucial to the operation he was expendable but she was not. He believed in the cause but what he did was for her. Loving her had made his life more simple and terrifying than he could ever have imagined.

She stood and walked back over to the mirror to stare at her eye again. "You hesitated Jaspar. When he asked for me, you hesitated."

"Do you blame me?"

"Yes. If you weren't crucial for the operation I would have you removed immediately, court martialed. I might have had you killed. We can't waver like that, allow our personal reactions to jeopardize what we are doing."

"I can't believe you are actually talking to me like this."

"Do you think he is stupid?"

"No."

"Do you think your charm has some sort of blinding effect on him where he loses the ability to be suspicious or think?"

"I just assume that he operates from self interest and we fulfill his needs, his desire."

"He isn't a capitalist. He's a Nazi. His allegiance is to his country. He is always on the lookout for traitors. You know what he did to the Smith plantation."

"Yes."

"I chose to be in that room. I need to know exactly what is going on, get a read on him."

He came up behind her as she removed her pearl earrings "Must you be so harsh."

"It's fucking disgusting watching you talk to him, so arrogant. It seems to come naturally to you."

She turned to look at him. "We shouldn't let this get between us. It's a small victory for them." They stared at each other silent for a long while and then she broke the spell by leaning in and kissing him gently on the lips. "You are right. Really you are. You know me. I'm just an angry bitch. I hate them so fucking much. It bleeds out into everything."

"I love how much you hate them." They kissed deeply and he thought to himself, "If this isn't the strangest gift? Amongst all the insanity of the secret war they fought, and all the sacrifice involved, it makes my own ridiculous, unimportant life burn so brightly". He knew he didn't deserve it and his happiness burdened him with guilt. Who would he have been without this cause? Would he ever have given himself to anything so fully, allowed himself to go so deeply into anything as he was into this kiss, this whole life? He had never been a strong person. Now he thought himself immoral and selfish to benefit from so much chaos and suffering. "Well, if you are ever captured, you will pay your pound of flesh. Maybe you won't feel so selfish then."

The door opened, Doris, the woman Von Schimmel had slapped across the face, looking in tentatively. They separated and waved her in. "Couple of horny motherfuckers" She moved towards them unsteady, propping herself on the side table by the door. "Shit, Doris, what did . . ." Jaspar caught himself, "are you alright?"

"That is one sick motherfucker."

"Did he spill anything?" Mabel's voice was hard and demanding.

"For god's sake Mabel, give the woman a moment. Here come in and have a seat."

"That's nice of you but a seat is the last thing I need right now." She broke into a half smile.

"I suppose not." he looked down and away embarrassed by his mistake.

"Did he spit up any info?" Mabel pressed.

She shook her head.

"He wouldn't stop talking about how much he liked the stool you designed, kept talking about furniture. We were able to get his ID and also his medals, do a pretty decent materiological study. Photos from all angles. Isaac wanted to keep the Order of the German Cross Dauschitz.". That could come in particularly handy.

"Gold Class?"

"Silver."

"He's such a goddamn administrator. I was hoping for something more impressive."

"He does have Gold party Badge."

"Really, what number?"

"58,000."

"Excellent. That will get us places."

Jaspar jumped in "He'll notice that gone. Might arouse his suspicion."

Mabel was shocked, "You kept it?"

"Isaac only wanted it for a couple of hours more. They'll send a car out and deliver it to him as soon as they are done. He wants to drill into it to see how it's constructed and the metal and also see if it's the same paint they use on it is the same as the second tier metals."

"He's a good man Isaac; and thorough too."

"No, that's too long."Jaspar started to pace, "We must get it to him right away. He's been wearing it for what 18 years. He isn't going to misplace something like that."

"You typed up your report?"

"I put together the notes, so I didn't forget anything but I haven't typed it up."

"Type it up first. We need to be sure we don't miss anything that might be important. Then go get some rest."

Jaspar nodded at her as she left. They were silent for a moment then he spoke.

"Should we tell Elijah that the Nazi appreciated his footstools?"

### Chapter 23

"Peter Dilger. You have been found guilty of collaborating with the enemy by a wartime tribunal and have been sentenced to death. May god have mercy on your would" Now he could really see Peter there with his robe untied and open in the front. His chest covered in grey hair, the grey and black hair on his mostly bald head. He had a dignified handsome face, wrinkled, starting to sag but still full of life. His eyes were swimming, dark and liquid when he looked up at Stacey. "It's just all shit and I chose to survive. I wanted to see my son grow up."

"Well you should have known better Peter. It's our country" Stacey nodded to Rick who drew his bowie knife from its sheath as Peter Dilger looked straight ahead. Rick cut deep into his throat and blood poured out. There was a gurgling sound as Dilger tried to take his last desperate breaths. Rick pushed the man's head forward and the noises stopped. He held him down as he jerked and struggled a bit in vain, but Peter wasn't going anywhere, then it was over. It all happened fast.

Rick stepped out of the tub, grabbed a hand towel from the rack, and wiped his blade. He tossed the bloody towel in the tub, then Stacey moved forward with the saw. He shifted it into his left hand and placed the teeth against the back of the dead man's neck and started the back and forth motion. Mike smelled the ocean and a sour taste filled his mouth, the room lurched like a ship swaying in a swell. It felt to him like his body was submerged suddenly in the flu, in sickness. His went weak all at once. He tried to steady himself inside but the thought swept into his mind, "I'm not a good man any more." and he wanted to die.

Mike squeezed himself past Stacey as his body clenched all through him in one spasmed and he vomited onto the dead man's legs. He looked down and saw his bile mixing in with the blood that was pouring down and he wretched again. When that wave, finished he straightened himself a bit and turned to look at Stacey hoping for something; censure? Kindness? An order? He didn't know. Stacey wasn't even looking towards him, his face was grim and terribly clenched covered in thick oily sweat, his lips puckered in. It was taking everything he had in him to continue with the task.

Mike spun around to turn away from the scene, to gather himself and see if what they had done had affected anything, he expected the world to be physically different, changed in form or substance. Rick was looking down and away, clearly trying not to loose it himself as sweat leaked through his mask. Mike wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Those are strong guys, I wonder how they are holding it back after I let it go" and then to the right he saw a flicker of a movement, down low by the door, to the right. There he was standing in the doorway looking right at him, a little boy in his pajamas, a light blue onesie with some drawings of some animals on it, farm animals, a horse and cow and sheep. The child stared at him and then looked around wide eyed.

### Chapter 24

Once she walked up the steps and closed the trapdoor behind her the darkness settled on him he fell deep down into it, sank, suspended without time. He was almost comatose at first, too tired to even shift his body, exhaustion made all his limbs heavy as lead, connected. Pain and exhaustion merged into a strange ecstasy. In half oblivion aches, cramps, sharp or throbbing pain shoved him in and out of the deepest sleep he had ever known.

Like the first drops of rain on a lake, in his penumbral state he could see the ripples emanating from singularities of pain intersect, forming diagrams, that like constellations shining in the black sky, took form and came to life. Image rose out of vague designs into sharp visions, and then he was no longer observing, he was in them, otherworldly territories, real places, forgotten lands he had visited before, between lives. He felt that he was advancing forward towards something

He was always returning from a desert or from battle after a long absence, was always scarred and in need. In the unfolding of each dream there was the feeling of a doorway. When he crossed the threshold he was home and she was there waiting for him, for her it was the most natural thing, to be there always waiting. She was life day to day, and thus, they had found each other again, though it couldn't really be be a finding as the day always comes to us. They met again in the place of sense and meaning without fact.

He was plunged into feeling beauty. He thought that the land of pain would consist only of nightmares, he never would have believed that at the center of pain there radiated pure undifferentiated sensation. That was his return to life, his body was his life and it felt good.

Joints, limbs, bones, sinews translated into a a broken landscape of war, a succession of images and places; ravaged countrysides, bombed out cities; rubble, deep craters in plowed fields, barbed wire over rivers, a primitive map of damage and decomposition. Those parts that were torn from each other began reforming, a turning over of the soil, reconnecting through underground lava flows, vegetable roots enveloping like hands, grasping rocks, breaking them apart, mineral strata deep down sliding against each other, regaining movement, going back to their proper extension and reach. On the surface of the , beings reunited, friends waved to each other across distances, dogs returned to abandoned homes curled up on familiar blankets in the ruins, letters arrived through mail slots from lost relatives.

The rebbe spoke to him, his kind face and gestures, memories. He had told him that each limb in his body, each part and function had a letter of the Hebrew alphabet in it but that the letter was not what he thought. The letter was a number and a form, an emanation, an essence of G-d and man should find a way to feel them, and know them, so they could be brought back into harmony. A man didn't have to know how to bring them into balance, they would do that on their own when they spoke to each other. They were waiting, just as we all are, to return to each other, just as he, the rabbi had been waiting for him so they could know each other again and return to balance.

He had no idea how long he shifted and settled in through his delirium. "I must have really conked my head back there." His thoughts were a thin layer of gleaming substance over a transforming living body of luscious unending imagery. For an unknown time, days? he existed with barely a mind, only a constant unfolding and reforming, the expressing of a deeper land. Then recognizable things, memories of blood and bone, of his comrades flying apart would rise up unbidden and invade his travels through the dreamscape of his body, but more and more so it was her face. Her face interrupting other images and thoughts, taking over his mind.

"What is this uncapturable presence in the face of another person? An intensity that dissolves everything, a total truth without knowing"

"Gestures are part of the face." He remembered how she had taken a moment to observe him when he had first sat down at the kitchen table. Her fingers slipped into the small front pockets of her jacket, she leaned back to evaluate, consider, take him in. She was confident, relaxed, poised. He could remember everything about that moment, but was it really memory? It came unsummoned. Is that what love is? Uncontrollable, involuntary remembrance? He kept seeing reliving the moment when she walked out of the back door and saw him for the first time. His heart would start pounding and he would feel a rush of something from his solar plexus up and it would made him want to squirm around. "You are just lonely and stuck in a dark room with nothing to do. Get it together man."

He was able to rest in the thought of her. Turn and find comfort in how his body lay under the sheets in a way he hadn't felt since childhood. "What a handsome face" it would fill up his minds eye completely. "I wonder if she will be offended by my calling her face handsome?" There was something a bit masculine about it, her cheekbones were high and angular. He thought her body would bony and sharp when they made love, all elbows and hip bones. He could tell that she was athletic too: strong, agile graceful; nothing like his jewish body; wiry, paunchy, hairy, discombobulated, passionate, dense. She was not a woman who cared about things like looks, he felt confident about that. That first time they looked at each other he felt like it was a reintroduction, a return. Was he crazy? Had fatigue and turned him into a chump?

Slowly, thinking of her, his wits came back to him. He luxuriated in the time and the darkness. His only regret was that he didn't have any cigarettes. He just wanted to smoke and think about the girl. He couldn't help himself. He really liked how the she dressed. It was modest but not prudish. She had style. She looked healthy, vibrant, dignified, and she could cook. Man he missed being cooked for. He had been a bachelor for too long.

He thought about the living room. "I really liked that chair in the corner of the living room. "I'll just sit there in the evenings and smoke my pipe and read. I wonder if she reads?" Then a thousand scenes of their life together, each more hackneyed and cliche'd than the last. He made love to her in his mind a thousand times, sometimes in the most tender ways, other times like one of the whore's he had been with in Brooklyn back in the day. He imagined taking her to the rabbi to talk through conversion or watching her dress for a night out on the town, although there would be no nights out on the town in this life. And what would the rabbi say? He would be furious that he would bring this goy of a girl to him. Maybe he was giving him short shrift. He had heard that the new way was going to be conversion and procreation, to have as many Jewish kids as possible. He wondered if she would be up for a whole brood, eight, nine kids. "I don't think so." He would lie back and take a drag off of his imaginary cigarette.

He could handle pain and isolation but he didn't know if he could handle irrational hope. Even if it had been real, even if she felt the same thing as he did, it would still be impossible. There was no life for love now. Everything was for the future, for the next generation, or maybe for the one after that. This was the conversation he would have with himself, then he would fantasize some more, or maybe eat a little, doze off again. His head still throbbed but he began to lift the bed up to stretch and bring some mobility back into his joints. He did some light exercise.

Once he started to move again his mind shifted focus. Was she ok? He couldn't hear anything up there. Had a nosy neighbor seen him go into he house? Would the Nazi's be randomly killing people in the area? They was always some kind of retaliation after an attak. He wanted to protect her but she was protecting him. He remembered the guns he had seen piled in the corner he began to visualize loading each one so that he could do it quickly and efficiently when the time came.

He paced back and forth wringing his hands. He would take a step and turn, a step and turn, that's all he had room for in that cramped space. All he wanted to do was leave that room and go see how she was. "You will do nothing of the sort. What are you verklempt? You are a soldier. What you are going to do is stay in here until it's safe for you to leave. Then you will go and fight. Kill some more Nazi's that's what you will do. Good? Yes, good. Allright then keep it together. There is an occupation happening here, they are trying to destroy the entire jewish race. A tiny but of human kindness and you lose all sense of proportion. You need to start thinking about how you are going to get out of here. How the hell is you going to get out of this area?"

"Maybe in a few months." He would need help and he had no idea if there was any organized resistance in the area. The girl had acted like she knew what she was doing. He would need to make contacts, gather some intelligence. That's what he should be doing anyway. That was one of the five operational principles they were working from. "Make contact, integrate forces, stabilize lines of communication, maintain operational compartmentalization, establish chain of command." Hell, he didn't even know where he was, how could he figure out where he should go?"

"I should stay in the area. That's what I should do. Stay in the area and organize a force up here." It was perfect, the terrain was perfect. Maybe she knew people? He felt that he was behaving like a reptile. His group were dead, slaughtered, and he was feeling puppy love and excited to develop a new base. He was feeling his energy come back and was looking forward to seeing the light, the fresh air, seeing her again. He didn't know how he would be able to restrain himself. He was getting a hard on constantly thinking about her and he felt guilty to be feeling any pleasure at all. It had seemed to him for years that pleasure had been abolished from the world until there was a return to some kind of decency, but here it was rising up in him.

"Joy brings the desire for peace and that's why we can't allow people to feel safe and settled. If we let joy arise again then people will fall asleep, a sleep that last a thousand years. I like a girl and I worry that joy is sweeping the nation. Joy always leads to compromise. The worker lets the boss treat him like shit because he wants to protect the joy of his home." He had never understood that way of living. It seemed to him that if men wanted to take any real stand for justice they had to be willing to live without comfort. If he could just take a vacation, let the war rest for a year or two, so that he could have a couple of kids, then come back.

### Chapter 25

Leskov had become a puppet on a string as they moved and contorted his body into virtually any position and shape they wanted. At times he he felt himself an acrobat doing somersaults in mid air, (something he had wanted to do since seeing a circus in Minsk as a boy.) an emperor on a throne or an eagle soaring forward through the sky (even though of course there was no forward). He was stretched out, pulled to the extreme of his bodies tolerance, the smaller ropes attached to his fingers and toes creating subtle variation in tensions that caused his spine to pop, crack, and adjusted in ways that he had never experienced before.

The space above him was brightly illuminated with the pink and blue hues of sunrise. He drifted like a swimmer in a lake floating on his back, staring up at the sky. After a time the lights shifted from diffuse pastel shades of dawn to bright focused light blue of a summer dessert. Turned over to a prone position he was lowered into the most complex geometrical pattern he had ever seen, his body's image bizarrely repeated in endless shifting reflexions. All this led him to think that that what he had been told was a nearly perfectly smooth mirrored surface below was actually made up of smaller articulated mirrors. Despite his studies in optics he simply had no idea how it worked. Then there was the question of how they were able to turn him from supine to prone while attached to cables? He reasoned they would have to have a mechanism where the ropes could pass over and under each other without tangling. He started to work out some possible solutions but realized it was too complex a problem to try to figure out with he constant stimulus.

Elements were added and subtracted. At times he was in total darkness and silence, at others he swirled in a beautiful chaos of color and pattern. Cool and warm air flowed at him from different directions. At one point real images of the world, roads, mountains, cities, their own cave, were projected then layered on top of the abstract ones. The strata of activity never stopped and at one point they had him running suspended in the air, "Now they are just playing with me. This is not science, it is entertainment, it is a joke. Does it really matter what would be wrong with a joke like this, would it be any different from the joke of god?" He started to laugh and was unable to stop for a long while.

His sense of time began to warp and bend. He knew that this particular disorientation was by design; there were the cyclical alterations from the colors of a sunrise to a plummeting into night darkness, twinkling stars all around, his body in a side posture his arm tucked under his head as a pillow ("how are they able to position me this way?"). But the regularity of the counterpoint of dawn and sunset, night and day, was methodically subverted and diffused into a chaos of disorder. He knew that he slept deeply but had no idea for how long. How had he ever had a sense of time?

He became unsure whether the images appearing around him were being mechanically projected or were arising directly from his mind. They looked like slides passing through a projector but he had spent countless hours preparing slides and transparencies assisting his thesis supervisor, what he was seeing now was completely different.

His body became more and more comfortable, his limbs warm, thick, fluid, connected and solid, alive, Stranger still he had begun to feel phantom limbs. Four arms instead of two, or that his right and left leg a had switched sides, or more bizarrely still, that he had one right leg and two left legs facing opposite directions. Any attempt to return to a stable familiar image of his body was thwarted by the multiple reflexions on the mirrored surface. When he attempted to close his eyes and ignore the images his body would be moved, disrupting his attempt to re-establish ordinary parameters.

Then, he started to splinter. "Is my mind, myself, really this fragile? " It wasn't just his limbs, his core, his mind, started to come apart. Eyes, ears, nose mouth, taste, sight, they weren't anywhere in particular, nothing had a location. He would be allowed calm to regroup and then be plunged into another round of manipulation. This repeated and his sense of disorientation grew. He experienced himself as a presence and knew that what he had always felt so certain of, himself and the "real world", were all constructed, held together in his mind, and mind was only a word for what he really was.

"What am I really, if I am holding everything together? Where did all of this come from?" He had wanted to leave the world for such a long time. But there was nowhere else to be, no escape. He wanted to feel the ground again, be back in his small room, on his cot, covered in heavy blankets so that he could just disappear. He felt sorrow, sadness, flush through him, his body spasmed and shook as he started to sob.

Memories rose up from deep inside, not as pictures in front of him, he was in them, moving through entire chains of events in a moment. He was a child again, at his mothers breast, sucking and swallowing. When he swallowed, there were no chunks or sections, it was one flowing wave of sensation and warmth down his whole body and he could feel the milk settle in his stomach with a soft glow. She sang to him and rocked his body. It was ecstasy.

Then a horrible static, a dark interference, jagged edged force hit. The black lightning bolt, edges of brilliant purple and sickly olive green separated him from her, interrupted the glorious flow of liquid. He choked and spit up in response. She moved him from her breast and now he was resting on her shoulder and she was patting his back, too hard, too fast. He wailed, shrieked in indignant rage, pushed away from her. She was all wrong now. He could tell that she was scared and he did not like it. She tried to pull him in close, to get back to where they were a moment ago, but the barrier was still there between them and he didn't know how to bridge it. Then he was scared too. He felt a force behind him, a heat, hard, immensely big, and indifferent to him.

Rough hands grab him under the armpits and lift him into the air, feet dangling. He knew that he was taking him to be alone. He was lifted higher up into the air, the air- his body was being shaken by the cables, brought out of the scene for a moment, he was stretched out flat like a sheet of glass, stable and still for a long while, without images or thoughts, not asleep yet not awake. The tension pulling him outward was eased, the space around him went pitch black.

He was a older now, on the floor in the living room. His mother sat in her armchair knitting. He was on the lovely old rug, it's geometric pattern, yellow arrow points, oblique repeating hollow rectangles of teal; soft, pleasing to the eye, slightly itchy on his legs, but not too bad. They were by the fireplace. the air, the floor, everything was already warmed, settled.

He held a toy, a painted wooden horse with wheels on the bottom, a roan. They had been to a parade. He had seen the horses and shrieked glee. She had bounced him up and down on her hip. Soldiers had marched by with their buttons shining but it had been the horses that made him happy. He didn't know how long after his mother had appeared with this toy and he had been walking around with it for days now, sleeping with it by his side. Again there was a sound, a static, a pounding interrupting rhythm. Fear and anger. It was getting closer. Then there was shouting, and heavy steps approaching the front door.

His mother had stopped knitting, she clenched the needles in her fists and started to rise. The knob of the door was moving and then he heard the keys jingling and swearing. She let the knitting drop and moved to pick him up. The door swung open and his father lurched in almost falling. Dark pants, white shirt, black vest half buttoned, and of course the thick wide black mustache peppered in white, he liked to touch it, it was both rough and soft. Now he took a step forward, an incoherent rage, his body tilting knocking over a small table, a vase smashed. His mother's voice scolded, "Victor, not the furniture."

"Yes," he thought "it is bad to break the furniture."

"This is my furniture! My house!"

"Oh, it's his." He hadn't known that. "If it's his why is she telling him what to do with it?"

"That's my son. You are turning him into a girl."

He didn't believe that was right. He did not think he was turning into a girl. How would that happen?

"Put him down now." His father's right hand gathered into a fist. He felt her change underneath his hands, go soft. Support fell away as he slid from her onto the floor. "Go your room right now." She said.

"I want my horsy."

"See, he doesn't listen. He doesn't mind."

She froze as his father approached. Without thinking he ran a few quick steps away his mother, leaving her behind. The long arm flashed up and the back of his father's hand careened off her face, she crumbled to the floor.

He screamed and his father turned and glared at him, and with his booming voice, "To your room." He felt his own strength leave him, he didn''t want to leave but he was scared. A warm trickle started to flow down his leg. "If only I could kill him he thought." The maid,appeared out of nowhere and whisked him away. He sat on her lap in her room while she covered his ears.

Then a series of images extending out in front of him into space, like the endless succession frames. In them he saw each and every instance, all the violence and anger, the attacks, but now he wasn't in them. He saw himself, the boy, retreat back into his room leaving his mother behind, into his books and ideas, away from this overwhelming force, back away from the world, from life, thankful to find refuge. Then he grew and went off to school but the fear remained with him all the time. "I am always afraid. Every moment of everyday. Afraid of him." His mind went silent, truly silent for the first time he could remember.

He flashed awake, as if he had been in a dream without knowing it, "I never left my room, really." Then again but, stronger still. As succession of appearances, of snapping to attention. Violent anger rose up from all parts of his body, locking up, pulling together in rage and strength, the strength that had pushed back, back, back. He started to kick. He tried to calm himself but it caught him, like a seizure. The feeling was in his gut, a snake, strong, fluid, sinuous, muscular. All the feeling of his bodily life concentrating in it's smooth total movement, without hesitation or fear, winding it's way up, through the murky swamp of his stomach up towards his diaphragm, where it pressed itself against a barrier there, growing in size and power as it's head opened a path.

He was still spasming and screaming as this unrushed unstoppable force rose up, made it's way up his throat. It opened him from the bottom of his stomach through the middle of him, up into his head. He felt a well of . . . what? He saw and felt a stagnant . . . stagnant . . . what? Himself? He didn't feel it pass through his throat, a cauldron of swamp water in his stomach lit up and a line of green light like a design drawn by the burning ember at the end of a stick waved in the night air drew up to his right eye, curving down into his right nasal passage into his throat, simple and real. It shot out of him, the vomit, the bile, the accumulation, up the the cleared space without effort, in a spasm of release, a purifying stream, cleansed in an instant without thought or effort.

"Thank G-d he thought. Thank G-d" as he took a fresh deep breath. His fractured self, memory and identity gave way to a clarity, a refocusing on a more basic presence. He was breathing, he was present, that was all he knew. He didn't need to know anything else. What a relief. He started to laugh at the humour of it all. All of his effort and machinations surrounding such a simple core. He laughed and rested as his body was taken through an abbreviated meandering recapitulations of the shapes and positions it had been given up to that point.

He felt himself being to be lowered. Miguel and the controller were there, holding him and repositioning his body. Miguel wiped his face clean with a warm towel. He was still suspended from the cables at chest height. He looked over at Miguel's ridiculously handsome face. "You are so handsome."

"You are so smart." Miguel answered.

"I am very smart."

"Rapido compadre. He's coming back a little too quickly I think." He was speaking to the controller who appeared out of the darkness pushing something akin to a dentists chair on wheels.

"No, it's all right. I need to speak to him."

Leskov was looking back and forth at them both with the wild eyed gaze of a newborn or a madman. He wasn't particularly impressed by the controllers attitude. "You are too serious."

"Yes, yes, my friend you are right. My main weakness, too serious by a half." The controller patted him on the shoulder as he positioned the chair directly beneath him and shouted into the darkness above "You can lower him." He settled into the chair and the controller's face appeared hovering above him. "Don't hold it against me. I mean well and I am juggling many things in my mind right now. Miguel, would you grab me that stool?"

Miguel disappeared for a moment and came out of the dark a stool on wheels, gave it a firm but gentle shove gliding it easily over to the controller who sat down next to Leskov, still staring wide eyed, a beatific grin on his face.

"How are you doing?" the controller asked him this as he took his pulse.

"That was amazing. I feel so much better."

"Do you remember your name?"

"My name?" Leskov was immediately struck by how silly names are. He knew he knew his name but it seemed a terrible imposition to need to try and remember it.

"Leskov."

"Yes Leskov. My friend it isn't over. I know when you volunteered you were in a desperate place and I am sure you now feel much better but I'm afraid it isn't over, I need to take you further."

"There is more?"

"You will be like an astronaut. The first man to go this far."

"Where will I go?"

"You will the first so you will have to tell me."

"Ok."

"You agree?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. This will be slightly uncomfortable for a while. Just know that we aren't trying to hurt you. Yes?"

"Fine, fine. Just get on with it. I am getting bored."

"Ha!"

"Miguel, bring over the carts." Miguel brough to carts, one carried simple medical supplies, gauze, a tourniquet, forceps, the other held a helmet, the size of a large curled up dog. It was complex, made of what looked like iron, polished steel, glass and gold. It had multiple layers of depth and reminded him a bit of his own machine. Miguel hooked is up to more cables hanging from above. The controller swabbed his inner the inner crook of his elbow with iodine. Leskov looked at him for a moment and then turned back to the helmet. It reminded him of mechanical armillary sphere from the early Renaissance he had seen in his youth.

"Hook it up the the pneumatic hose and turn it on for a moment before you lift it."

"I thought you had already checked everything?"

"I have. No harm checking it one last time." Miguel reached up, grabbed the hose above his head, pulled it down and connected it into the back of the helmet. Layer inside began to shift and rotate in smooth even motions. Marble sized spheres of crystal or brass rolled through it along tracks, like roller coaster cars.

Leskov turned back to the controller, "Bravo. It is excellent" the controller smiled and nodded to Miguel.

"Lift it!" The cord went taught and the helmet rose. Miguel guided it back behind Leskov's field of vision. He could feel it lock into place place above him, not touching his head but casting a shadow, surrounding him and narrowing his field of view, a massive presence above.

The controller stuck his head in front of him so that he was visible. "I need to ask you your permission to continue. Can we continue?"

"Yes."

"It will be much easier if you trust me. You are going to feel a sting in your arm. We are going to giving you an injection and an intravenous drip."

Leskov nodded. The controller touched his hand and then moved off away from his line of vision. Nothing happened for a few seconds and then he felt the rubber tourniquet tightening around his upper arm, fingers gentle prodding for a vein, then a slight sting. Leskov was not afraid of needles but in this case he did feel the metal entering him as a foreign body, a metallic entity invading him. He could almost taste it, like having a bullet, or ball bearing in his mouth. He realized that this how children probably experience such a thing. "How terrifying for them. Sad"

As the chemicals entered him it reminded him of the place where the river meets the ocean, separate but blending, delineated but dissolving into each other. This was a strong river and it pushed itself up against him. He felt the effect as he warmed and loosened, his stomach and his legs going limp. They turned the lights off and he was plunged into total darkness. The sensation of relaxation expanded and rushed up his chest. It felt as if it were surrounding him from a distance, an indeterminate presence of darkness moving in towards his head. He could hear the low rumble of the helmet and it's moving parts. He was afraid that it would engulf him completely and that he would lose consciousness. The pitch of the machine rose higher in his ears.

### Chapter 26

"I must tell you, I never thought it would be possible."

"What?"

"Well first to take over all of the surrounding area so that every single person and family was an active part of the operation."

"It is one of the benefits of the destruction of all identification records. That made it much easier to replace families. I would say the risk has been far greater to your people. You are putting up your best and your brightest? How many people have you sent up?"

"In the last six months 500. Total 2,600. I still don't understand where you are putting everyone. It seems impossible."

"It's amazing to me that they are willing to return to slave territory. I admire their bravery."

"Well Hannahh, this needs to work and there is no way it can work without complete discipline and loyalty. They understand that. And the rewards will be great."

"I should tell you Paul that Mabel is running this operation with an iron fist."

"How so?"

"She has executed twenty two soldiers."

"Twenty two! That seems outrageous. How can we afford to lose that many of our best people? What possible reasons could she have?"

"Failure to follow orders, insubordination, drunkenness, rape. From what I understand a soldier expressed displeasure at following an order from a black woman within earshot of her and she executed him on the spot. She did it herself. If people question her orders or do anything that might jeopardize the operation she has only one punishment."

"Can we permit this? Should she be relieved of command?"

"Absolutely not. We will need to stay aware of how things develop. She will become an extremely powerful figure if she leads this mission successfully. Her methods are barbaric but she has been invaluable. No we won't be removing her, if anything it is more likely that she will be promoted."

"Twenty two executions strikes me as the possible makings of a despot."

"In other conditions I would agree."

"Lately I feel as though we have gone back in time to the wars of antiquity. Wars without laws."

"Yes, well. I suppose the veneer of civilization has been ripped away. It is a terrible price we pay."

"Well Hannahh, I believe your army is out there, ready to form. We just have to give them a chance to come together. To gather"

"Paul, on a different note. How is the work in Africa going?"

"It is going well. Better than we could have expected but there is still a great deal to do."

How often are you getting information back?"

"Once every three to six months."

Hannahh stopped to turn and look at him, "That long? That is too long. It is like living in the 17th century."

"It certainly is. One of the reasons I said that it is going well is that our sailor have become expert, top notch. Still it is tremendously risky. I hate tell you how many ships we have lost, how many men, especially at the start. There are the Nazi patrols but of course the ocean is so large, then again when we loose ships we have no idea what happened, if it was storm or capture. Capture is unlikely. All of the ships are rigged with explosives and the men are committed to death before capture."

"Can we really trust any man to choose death?"

"No of course not. I think it's very simple. They know how they would be treated at the hands of of the Nazi's."

"What I can say is that it seems that we are under the radar. We have received no intelligence that they know anything"

"Do the Nazi's simply have no idea what we are doing or if they just don't consider it a threat."

"From what we can gather they have been leaving Africa alone. At first they went on slaving raids along the coast. People moved inland and they stopped. I think that they have plenty of slave labor in Europe and don't need to bring any black people over, fear of contaminating race purity."

"I believe they find us unaesthetic."

"Paul, that is our great strategic advantage."

"What their racism?"

"Yes, their stupidity. Their inability to see value in things that aren't like them. We must continue to build strength in all the areas they neglect. That is what I am saying. They miss almost all of life which leaves us so much room. Such a large territory."

"Once we were able to learn where to land on the West African Coast and find out what areas were amenable to at least talking to us we started to make progress."

"What a tremendously difficult task. First to make contact with these tribes."

"Nations."

"Are they functioning as nations?"

"The groups we are focusing on, yes."

"Who would have thought that colonialism as we knew it would end this way? Just abandoned."

"Hannahh I never imagined any of this. I had hoped for a workers revolution."

"Yes solidarity amongst the working people. I think we have something new. Empire slavery and capitalism all rolled into one. My hope is that with the intellectual work that was done we can avoid a thousand year Reich. We have a basis from which to devise a strategy. We understand the forces at play and we can attack at the weakest link."

"Are you quoting Lenin?"

"Pfah. Lenin plagiarized it."

"It as amazing task you have given your young men. Can they recognize the import. I feel that when we triumph they will be remembered in the future similarly to the greatest people in history. Alexanders army, Marco Polo."

"Hannahh it is such a unique task, so intellectually confusing. They are like pirates, they resemble European explorers discovering uncharted people's, missionaries seeking converts, revolutionaries organizing unions, educator's, soldiers, and of course orphans returning home."

"They must be remarkable men."

"They are becoming remarkable through their work. That is one of the things that gives me the most hope, they surpass us. They are men and women of action and intellect. They go out there into jungles and dessert and have to convince people who sadly have often come to see white people as the source of wisdom. Then they do whatever they have to improvise, cajole, educate and sometimes kill. Most of them request to return. It is heart warming because returning from Afica they return more whole from the motherland. They understand themselves better."

"Do you think we can raise an army."

"We will need to bring more to the table but yes, I believe so."

"Where do you build the ships? Wait, never mind. I don't need to know. But I am curious about them."

"Yes, we have some Nantucket men and Maine craftsmen as well."

"I still am sadly a bit weak I my regional culture of the American."

"Think Moby Dick, although I believe that starts in Boston. In any case true, artisan's.

"How did you find them?"

"Your people found them for us. It's funny Hannahh., skilled labor always lack discipline because they can't be replaced. They were so difficult to begin with. They didn't want to show us anything and we were completely dependent on them. Usually they only give up their tricks to apprentices after year of treating them like hell, if ever."

"How did you deal with it."

"Well first of all, of course they understood that this was a different situation but they were very set in their ways."

"They like their breaks."

"Very much so."

"So what did it?"

"Whiskey. We just started getting them drunk, brought some of of our musicians over."

"Who's idea was that?"

"Their own, "Don't you have any fucking music around here." Robeson shouted out in thick Nantucket brogue. One thing led to another and one of them fell in love with one of our ladies, got married, had a baby. They aren't really men to take orders or rush, but we put some of our brightest to work with them and they have now taken up the bulk of the work and are at it non stop, working twelve or fourteen hour shifts. The old timers are still there to tell them everything that they are doing wrong. What the old timers don't realize is that all of those men are engineers. It's a joy to see them scolding the young men for their incompetence. When they see something being done poorly they go off rails shouting and swearing, they shove the boy aside to show them how it's done. And when they put their hands on their tools, too watch them work is just amazing."

"I have often thought that craftsmanship was one of the main reason's why there were so few popular revolts during the so called dark ages. The peasants had to deal with the constant dangers of injury, disease and death, but otherwise they were left alone to grow and make things."

"Yes, I think industrial productions takes that away from people at least as much as it gives..The sailors took me on that cruise . The craftsmanship of the deck was fantastic."

"Men have a way of getting much more worked up over things like a wood floor." Robeson broke out into a deep laugh. "Yes we do. And women have a real ability to let us know how silly they find it."

"Not silly. Perhaps a little exaggerated." He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Of course as our engineers have been developing our light industrial capacities we plan to start building metal ships. It will be a great improvement in safety but it will also be a sad day. It is very difficult to get the kind of wood we need for the ribs and main masts. At least at was during the first phase. What we did was moved a large part of our production to Africa where it is easier for us to get our hands on the wood we need. Sadly we will want to shut production. Hannahh, I honestly had no idea what a rich life it was, the sailor's life. Maybe I missed my calling"

"Yes it reminds one of, what? A simpler time?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps the lack of time. When you are out there propelled by the wind it is easier to see the world as fresh as on the first day of creation. It braces one with hope."

"You keep speaking of hope."

"Perhaps it is an insecurity, since I mention it too often. I often feel that we are all going through the motions. Working without it."

"Well you know what Kafka said about hope."

"I don't recall."

"He said there is infinite hope, but not for us."

"That about sums it up."

"When do you expect to have metal ships running?"

"We are stalled out. We need some expertise we don't have. A metallurgist and especially an naval shipbuilding engineer. We want to be sure about the kind of reinforcement we need for the guns. We have tried to figure it out ourselves but the numbers we are coming up with make no sense, each gun would need its own ship."

"When do they arrive?" Robeson shrugged.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"A year."

"A year? That is unacceptable! What the hell is going on? Why didn't you let me know sooner?"

"I try not to burden you with details. I want to make sure that when there is something truly crucial I have your ear."

"Nonsense. I need to know the details as well. From now on you will get word to me right away."

"Hannahh, each communication is a risk."

"Our encryption is working quite well. Is that really why you hesitated?"

"I assumed they didn't have any military engineers willing to live amongst Negro's."

"This racism. It is like a ghost that haunts us constantly."

"Well Hannahh. I put two requests in and it has been over a year."

"I understand. You must communicate directly with me. I will make it clear to my people that I deal deal with your requests. I will sort it all out. Soldiers have to follow orders. Don't worry yourself about that anymore. I assure you I will handle your requests. Damn it Paul. I hope you are wrong about the why, if not I will have to take drastic measures."

"You know Hannahh, you can't force people to open their minds."

"No, but you can punish incompetence."

"I always preferred the anarchist military."

"In Spain?"

"Yes, I met many of them and they told me stories."

"They elected their officers."

"Yes."

"They were destroyed Paul."

"They were betrayed by the communists. They had no reason to expect that."

"Betrayed and destroyed. Sadly at this point we can't allow even the slightest idealism. In any case the last thing we can afford is to have racism get in the way of our work. If they had any idea how much our plan depends on your people."

"They don't know?"

"Almost no one. Most have some bits and pieces of the story. I keep it all split up. If this leaks to the enemy, it would set us back, who knows. Permanently."

"Since it's such a delicate time. We can put the ships on the back burner right now. Who knows. Our people may came up with a better solution without their help."

"Well in any case and our lines of communications are improving constantly so inform me from here on out."

"It used to take three months minimum for a response, minimum."

"Yes, I used to think of the Incan highway and the runners going back and forth."

"We are making headway then?"

"Yes Paul, there is progress. It is hard to feel or notice, well with the country transformed as it, is but we are most definitely making progress and we will be discussing how this excellent work you have been doing has been contributing. The people you have sent up the plantation are extraordinary."

"Have you been getting word from Mabel? I knew her parents. I feel extraordinarily responsible for her."

"She would not like to hear that. She is a Colonel now. I will definitely make her a general soon. She is in charge of the entire operation. She is not a child."

"I know."

"Don't be sentimental now Paul. We can't afford sentimentality. I love how much education work you are doing."

"I thought I would take advantage of this crisis to push it through."

"Yes it is only in times of great disquiet that radical changes can be made."

"Everybody is worked to the bone, what with all the studying and training and farming and weaving that has to be done. It's the right kind of exhaustion though. Hardship has a way of drawing people together. Slavery was constant hardship but the slave master learned how to set brother against brother, sister against sister. We are trying to break through all of that. Consciousness raising"

"I can see it Paul. Your men look wide awake."

"That is why we must survive. Why we have to win. So that all of this can have it's place."

"I would love to speak with some of the students."

"We will arrange that. Most of them are very familiar with your writings. We use them."

"They are interested in theology?"

"They are interested in you. I'll be honest, sometimes I struggle understanding your concepts. I'm speaking of your preoccupation writing of course. Your more recent work is crystal clear."

"That is because it is propaganda Paul."

"The smartest propaganda I have ever read. In any case our students appreciate your work a great deal and will be thrilled to meet with you. Of course they question your discussion of the Greeks. They are looking to African sources and non slave based culture."

"This is good. Hopefully it will make for a lively discussion."

"I think most of them miss the University environment. Having the luxury to focus on reading and thinking without so many outside pressures."

"I know the feeling. We should set up a seminar. Three days. After we finish our business. Gather a group of students and we will dive into something really dense."

"Can you spare the time Hannahh?"

"Damn it we will make the time! I need it. There is nothing better than a class full of committed students"

" If you say so. We will do it."

### Chapter 27

John was at the wheel again. The local roads had proven too slow with their countless potholes, reduction to one lane and detours caused by unpassable bridges so they had been forced to take a state highway for a while. They were making good time, almost alone in the predawn hours.

The Goy spoke first, "Nazi's up ahead. 500 meters."

"I see them." John started to reduce his speed. "Check point guys. Wake up."Jimmy and Zach stirred in the back.

Two jeeps straddled the road along with an armored truck mounted a with large caliber on it's back facing their direction.

The Goy spoke again, "Three men on the ground, one officer, three, no, two in the armored car." There were jeeps parked on each side of the highway headlights on to illuminate that section of road.

As they approached one of the soldiers directed them over to the left side, he wore a ankle length jacket to protect against the night chill and a black rounded helmet on his head. The officer approached the driver side window hands behind his back. As soon as they stopped all three surrounded the car and pointed their flashlights inside. Zach and Jimmy pretended they were being woken up by the beam directed at their faces, and sat up. Zach rubbed his eyes."Where are we?"

John answered, "State border."

The officer approached the driver side window and tapped on the glass. He wore two silver pips and two silver stripes on the collar patch; senior enlisted rank for a non commissioned SS officer. John rolled down the glass.

The officer spoke, "Heil Hitler. Heil Schummer". None of them had on the red and blue stripes, german born.

"Heil Hitler, Heil Schummer. Guten morgen offizier. Ein wenig kühl an diesem Morgen würden Sie nicht sagen?" John spoke German with a strong midwest accent but his pronunciation was crisp and correct.

"English will be fine." Answered the officer, "Yes, quite cold. What has you out at such an early hour?"

"Just trying to make good time. We are miners. I'm an engineer, Mike here is a mechanic, works on the big machinery. We are just on our way to a new assignment"

"Papers please."

"Of course." John reached into his jacket pocket. Their papers were all impeccable forgeries, typed on German typewriters on SS letterhead with authentic stamps. Still his heart was pounding and he was inhaling and exhaling in an even rhythm through his nose trying to keep himself from shaking praying his voice wouldn't splinter and crack the way it did when he was a teenager and he asked his first woman out.

The officer stepped aside for a moment to examine the papers. On the other side of the car one of the soldiers tapped on the rear passenger window and gestured Zach to roll down the glass. He leaned in through the open window stinking of booze. A bear of a man, in his fifties, unshaven, his face was puffy and wide, his eyes cold and indifferent.

He started to poke, prod, and grab; pulled Zach's cigarettes out from his inside jacket pocket and took them for himself, pulled him forward by the back of his head to get at his back, pulled his shirt out from his pant, shoved his fingers under his waistband deep towards his ass then shoved him back again. Hands into his front pocket groping around his inner thigh, jabbing his fingers into his balls, he took the cash, reached in again to get the coins. "Shouldn't you at least by me a drink or something?" The soldier punched him under the ribs as he pulled his torso out from the car. Zack felt like he had been kicked by a Mule as he doubled forward. The impact of the blow forced the air from his lungs and an involuntary moan escaped his mouth. The officer craned his head at the noise and in time to see the soldier shove Zack back with a palm to the face in a final gesture.

"He stared back down at the documents examining them more closely now. Which mine is this?"

"Breckenridge Mine out in Pennsylvania. Their moving us all out there from Colorado."

"What mineral are you mining for."

"In Colorado?"

"No, Pennsylvania."

"Nickel."

"What type of processing do you do?"

John got very scared, "What kind of processing?" he thought, "Who the hell is this guy?"

"We use mond."

"A little old fashioned, yes?"

"You are an mining engineer as well? Not many people know about processing?"

"No, I am not an engineer. I will need to see work papers."

"Is there anything wrong officer?"

"Work papers." He held out his palm and looked away into the dark roadside.

"They're in glove box. Can you grab them Jimmy"

Jimmy reached for the latch and the officer snapped. "Halt! Halt!"

John froze and his heart rose up into his throat. The shrieks pierced his ears, it's high pitched anxiety forced his shoulders up in protective spasm. It was the sound of a man unhinged, an electrical wire suddenly exposed shooting off sparks. Now a metallic taste filled his mouth and the weakness of fear flushed over him. "Fuck, so much work. Years, gone. They all want to be like him." An image of Hitler's shouting at endless crowds came to him. "They want to be like him. Now what? I will have let her down."

John rolled his tongue over his teeth feeling for the cap with the cyanide filling. He would have to be quick, as long as they didn't get him the others would have no information to give.John had no idea what he had done wrong. The officer face had immediately gone bright red from the force of his screams and his luger was out..

"Out of the car now, all of you, slowly!" the soldiers outside were confused but they stepped back and raised their machine guns.

"We're miners. I told you." John's hands were raised above his head and he was flinching as the officer pointed his pistol right at his head.

The Goy spoke up in a loud very friendly voice as he raised his hands and gently waved them to just show they were there, in the open. "Yes sir. We are getting out of the car see." The Goy slowly opened his door and kept speaking in a gentle friendly voice, "Yep we are sorry to bother you this early in the morning. I'm going to step out now very slowly." As he stepped out he kept his hands in the air and shoved the door closed with his hip. Everyone was watching him and no one else moved. The officer still held the gun at John's head.

"My friends a little annoying. I'm not sure why, he's just always been that way. I'm gonna grab my papers now, real easy." John reached into the pocket of his trouser for his ID, as he pulled it out it fell to the ground. "Well darn it." As he bent over, one hand still held up facing out in a gesture of surrender, the other reaching down for the I.D.

The officer's eyes eyes darted back and forth between John and the Goy crouched down, with a sense of natural timing that made it almost impossible to follow he took a quick skip step forward in the millisecond gap when the Nazi's eyes looked away, grabbed the officer behind the ankles pulling his feet out from under him, dropping him down and out of sight like a fishing float disappearing under the surface.

John saw The Goy fall silently with his knee crushing the officers windpipe and grab the Luger out of his hand. He also had enough presence of mind not to turn and watch as he circled to the rear of the car The soldiers craned their heads over the hood confused, not sure what was happening. In those few moment of hesitation the Goy shot them both from ground level, the barrel of his gun barely protruding from behind the rear passenger side tire.

The moment the shots rang out Mike and Zach burst out of the car running, guns in hand fanning out to opposite sides of the armored truck. The soldier perched atop the truck pulled back on the cocking mechanism as the second lifted his submachine gun. The MG08 opened up on the car, muzzle flashing. Inside John froze: fabric, metal, shard of glass, sprung up around him. He knew that he should move but his body would not respond. Mike and Zach shot as they ran attempting to divert fire from the car and create a moments pause as the gunner was forced to choose his target, their bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the thick armor shell.

John had no idea if he had been hit, perhaps he was already dead. Urine poured down his leg as his bowels went loose. He saw the head of the soldier firing the Sturmgewehr 44 splash liquid red as Zach approached from the left. The Goy sprinted out from behind the car running full speed towards the truck. The machine gun started to swivel towards him but he had covered the necessary ground in an instant. In one leap he jumped onto the carriage out of its line of fire. With his next jump he was over the top hatch straight back and out of sight. The machine gun went silent for a moment and a second later the grenade flew up and out of the top as it exploded. They didn't know if it had managed to kill the man inside. After another pause, Jimmy scrambled up on the right side to the top and without looking, reached into the opening and emptied his clip down through the porthole. Finally, everything went silent.

The Goy reappeared from behind the armored truck moving at an easy jog right towards the car. He opened up the driver side door and looked at him. "You're alive?"

"You sound surprised."

"Heck yeah I'm surprised. The car you're in was opened up on by a 50 caliber machine gun. Are you hit?"

"I don't think so. I shit myself."

"That's alright. Everybody shits themselves in their first real fire fight." The Goy was lifting up John's clothes, leaning him forward as he spoke, checking for wounds in such a matter of fact way that is set John's mind at ease despite his embarrassment."Well, 'I'll be darned You really aren't hit. You are one lucky son of a gun." the Goy leaned back and took a second to think, "We need to get out of here fast." John saw Zach and Jimmy make their way over to the car. They no longer looked like the joking boys of a few hours earlier, they were men, warriors, it was as if light was emanating from them, all their flaws erased.

Jimmy nodded at the Goy, "He alive."

"Yep, he made it. Zach, John here shit himself. Help him get cleaned up real quick. We need to clear this area double time. Jimmy you and I need to get these bodies into the truck there. I'll push it from behind with the jeep over there while you steer. We put them behind that rise up about 500 yards to the right" He looked back at Zach and John. "You guys move fast we may have no time. I'm getting into the officers clothes. If anyone shows up put you hands on your heads and act like prisoners. It's our job to get this man wherever he's headed and it just got a heck of a lot harder."

Once they had hidden the bodies and the vehicles The Goy had taken them load into the jeep. He found the maps for the area and they covered as much ground as possible for two hours, then in a move that surprised him, they turned off the main highway heading over dirt roads deep into the country and eventually out into open terrain. They went as far as the terrain allowed, unpacked their gear and sent the jeep into a deep ravine. From there, he lead them off into the wilderness.

He drove them hard as they hiked into trail-less territory. He showed them the town they were headed for, a hundred and fifty miles northeast. He kept them warm with fires, fed them with trapped animals, built their shelters, kept them alive and healthy in an area where they would have perished in on their own. John and the Goy decided they needed to lay low for a couple of weeks. Time was of the essence but survival came first. There would be heightened security in the whole area but the Goy hoped that his plan would throw the German's off their trail.

After a week of pleasant camping by a stream, eating trout and sleeping by a campfire under the open sky he moved them to within eight hours of the town. There he set them up in a new camp and disappeared into the night. He returned the next evening, appearing as if by magic, sitting next to them by the campfire. "How you fella's doing?" They had nearly died of fright. It was as if he had appeared out of nowhere "We'll move out tomorrow at sundown. That way we will hit town after midnight. I've found a car no one should miss for a couple of days. That should get us back on the road."

### Chapter 28

It was at the end of the fourth day that it happened. He could hear them shouting, knocking things over. Feet stomping up and down stairs. After having been living in a state of almost perfect silence the sound was incredibly jarring. Each noise hit his body and made him jerk and shake. He knew everything about the men by the sounds they make. Against the back drop of days of silence meditating on love and kindness those movements were stark int hteir aggresion, vicious. He wanted to kill them, wipe them from the earth. He had to kneel down, pull at his own hair, slowly pond his head on the mattress, to keep his screams inside.

What were they doing to her? All he wanted to do was sneak up the to the cache of guns, load up and see how many of them he could kill, maybe all of them. It was a confined space and you never know. A straight charge without hesitation can be be a shocking thing to the enemy if you have the element of surprise. But then they would just kill her straight away. He knew it.

He waiting long into the silence. As a soldier he had gone without food and comfort for days on end; endured lack of sleep and shelter, sick, shitting himself with dysentery, endless marches. He had always found ways to keep himself going, created games to trick himself into continuing for another step or another day. When time would drag on interminably and stretch out as a kind of unending anxiety he would say to himself, "This is your fountain of youth. You have managed to make a minute stretch into a year. Philosopher's and monks should envy you." He would chuckle to himself then, but now, nothing helped him withstand the movement of one moment to the next, of not knowing what had happened to her. He didn't know her name.

He broke his promise to wait five days and made his way through each room of the house crouched down low, to stay out of the line of sight of any window a 45 held softly in his hands. When he had been fighting through Italy in 43 he had picked up the habit of taking corners low to the ground. This always seemed to catch the enemy off guard and give him that extra second. He also found that the more relaxed he was, the less jerky and aggressive his movements, the longer it took them to figure out what they were seeing. He had gotten so good at that he had been able to confuse some Italians and just walk around the corner and smiling, they didn't know what was happening. He started to feel like he could affect other people's minds. After a time he always volunteered to go in first when they were involved in any city fighting. He got tired of seeing his friends killed or injured doing it and no one wanted to imitate him because he thought it was an undignified way to fight, loose limbed and relaxed. That was one of things that got him taken off the field and put into the special training programs.

He was more nervous now than he had ever been in those days back in France. "It's so different when they attack you at home." As he walked out of the basement door leading from the steps into the ground floor hall he saw that the order and cleanliness of the house had been blown over with a thick layer of chaos and violence. A storm or wild animal, something that didn't belong there had come through. End tables, couch, pillows, grandfather clock, were all knocked over, strewn on their sides. Porcelain figurines of border collies and commemorative plates to the veterans of the civil war lay shattered in pieces on the floor. His body shook and he felt a personal devastation, a loss. He had grown attached to this very home during his last few days of fantasy. It had an order and austerity that was so foreign and attractive to him. Strangely, the armchair he had so admired sat undisturbed in the corner.

He found her in the last bedroom on the second floor naked lying on the wood floor, her body covered in drying blood, one leg ankle tied to one of the feet of the bed, another the oak dresser on the wall spreading her legs wide. She had a deep cut across each cheeks and her face bruised and swollen. He imagined for a moment it must have been what the priests had felt when they saw the holy altars of the temple desecrated by roman soldiers. To see the most beautiful thing treated like nothing. He turned his eyes away as a he knew he had no business staring at her. He pulled the quilt off the bed and draped it over her then cut her legs free. He reverted to his training and started to examine her body part by part. There were six deep stab wound on her back and one below her belly button that was still oozing blood, which meant she was alive. He sighed with relief even though he had no idea whether she would survive. There was a lot of blood on the ground and he had to take care not to slip on it.

He leaned in to hear if she was breathing.

"The women in my family made that quit for my grandma 80 years ago. Now it's all bloody."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I'm glad you are here. I was hoping you would come up. I didn't want to die alone."

"You aren't going to die. You're too strong to die."

"Don't be silly. You can't be too strong to die. We are all die. I'm just sad about the quilt."

"You'll have lots of daughters and you all can make a new quilts."

"God I hope I ain't pregnant from those bastards."

He carefully lifted her onto the bed. She moaned and her body was weak and heavy like a wet towel.

"What's your name." she asked.

"Adam."

"Of course. Handsome Adam." She must be delirious he thought to himself.

"What about you. What is your name?"

"You won't believe me now if I tell you."

"You don't strike me as a liar. What is it?"

"Eve silly, my name is Eve."

She took his hand and squeezed it as he arranged the quilt around her. Her head fell over to the side and her grip weakened. "Shit." He said and very softly she whispered, "Don't swear. It's not nice."

"Yes of course. I am going to get some water to wash you off. I'll be right back."

"Don't go yet. I don't want to die alone."

"I need to clean your wounds."

"I'll be right back. You'll be alright, I promise." Her grip loosened.

"Goddamn" he thought. "She better not fucking die." He scramble down the stairs and searched frantically for a wash basin and linens. He wanted to boil some water but had no idea how to do that without drawing attention to the house. Everything was exactly where he would expect it to be, linens stacked meticulously in the closet, white as snow, basin under the sink in the kitchen. He was glad to see that the sun was going down. He would leave the lights off and let his eyes adjust which would allow him to move around the house without being worried about being spotted. He had no idea if there was any activity on the road of any people milling about. He knew that if he couldn't see them they couldn't see him. It was exhausting having to pay such close attention to each movement and he was starting to loose focus. He needed to get back up to her.

As the sun went down outside he sat next to the bed. Her breathing was low and even. It felt it was a good sign, but he wasn't sure. Once it was dark he went into the other rooms and brought in extra blankets as the night chill was starting to seep in. He wrapped her first in the quilt and then wrapped each of her limbs. For the next two hours he methodically would unwrap and expose a small part of her skin, wipe her with a damp towel, cleaning off any blood or dirt, any trace of the rape, and quickly cover her back. Sometimes she would bring her shoulders up in a shiver. At times she slept and even snored a little. When he was done, he sat in the dark, a sliver of moon shining just enough light to see the bare surface of things and their shape. It was getting colder and he wrapped himself up in a thick wool blanket. He felt content, glad to have this time to watch over and care for her. Strangely, it was the happiest he had ever been, happy to do be doing something for her, as opposed to just for the war, the cause and he had the luxury to keep watch over something he wanted to protect, someone. It was all very strange and different to him.

When he had started to fade she spoke in a clear voice. "Come lie next to me for a bit. I'm cold.. He carefully lay down next to her. "Come in closer."

"I shouldn't fall asleep. I don't know what is going to happen in the morning."

"Move me down into the cellar in the morning."

"Ok."

"Talk to me so that you don't fall asleep."

"What should I talk about?"

"Tell me about where you are from?"

"I'm from New York."

"I'm too tired to keep asking questions. Just tell me."

"I'm grew up in the Lower East Side. It was a pretty tough area but as long as I stayed around my block it was pretty safe, being a Jewish neighborhood. By the time I was twelve though I was already making my way all around the city. I had a couple of buddies, Shlomo and Isaac we would sneak onto the train and go check out the city. The truth is that we were little thieves. We had different cons we would . . ." He kept talking. Sometimes she would start snoring and he would stop, but then somehow she knew what was going on and she would whisper, "Don't stop. Keep going." So he would. He was amazed by all the details that came to mind. The small events. The kind of candy bars he like to steal and exactly what their wrappers looked like. The subway stops. The names of the gangsters and whores on the block. Ice Pick Willie, Dopey Benny, Greasy Thumbs Guduk. What is was like on Saturday afternoon before shabbos everyone rushing around trying to get things ready. How friendly everyone acted Saturday early afternoon walking around with their families. She seemed to be listening the whole time though he had no idea how she could do it, when he he would would forget what he was talking about she would bring him back to where he was, "You were running away from the shop owner on 5th Avenue" or "You were on your way back from the butcher" so he could pick up where he had left off.

He was sure he had fallen asleep a few times but it had been an easy drifting in and out, a mild and pleasant bobbing up and down on a mild sea. Through it all they stayed connected in a steady back and forth, the conversation uninterrupted as they rose and fell together. Adam felt perfectly happy and at peace. His worrying about her, whether she was warm, even whether she would live, all of that concern was a part of his contentedness ,because there was nothing else he wanted to be with, no other concern he wished to have. He touched her hair gently, gathered and adjusted the blankets around her.

He felt dawn approaching at their backs, there were subtle shifts of light and he heard the first animals stirring outside. "It's about to get light. We need to move you to where I can take care of you out of sight."

"We can't stay here? This is nice."

"This is very nice but no. I'll need to get some food in you soon."

"Did you eat all the rations down stairs?"

"No, but I want to get something warm into you. But we can't use the stove."

"There's some can's in the cupboard by the kitchen."

"Ok, I'm going to have to move you now."

He slid off the bed and walked around it to her side. The floorboards creaked loudly beneath him. "Shh. You'll wake the devil."

"I can't help it. I'm barely moving."

"You sound like a bull in a china shop."

"I know." They laughed. As he walked around he felt his foot come up sticky from the blood on the floor. "I need to clean that up. The room was emerging around him from the deep shadows of the night; the nightstand with a book on it, a small framed picture above the bed, an oval braided rug at the foot of the bed he kicked aside. He gathered the blankets around her again, gently rolling her side to side wrapping her up like a bundle or like a swathed child. Then slid his hands, then his forearms under her and rolled her towards and against him as he lifted her up in one movement. She was not light and the blankets made his grip less firm than he would have liked. He had to make it through the door, down the stairs to the bottom floor and then down the rickety basement stairs, back through the dark, then into the hiding space. Did he leave the door open to the basement? If he didn't how was he going to open it? "God damn it Adam. You better not drop this girl. She'll never think you're a real man if you do."

The door to the hallway was narrow as was the stairway, more than he had expected. "Just don't hit her head is all. Focus on that." So he moved her, squeezed her gently through the doorway, turned left and began his way down the steps when he realized he was walking in his socks. He had taken his boots off the day before when he had made his way out of the hiding space in order to make less noise, had actually been barefoot, but had put the socks he had shoved in his pocket back on because of the cold. "That's funny that I remembered to bring my socks with me? I guess I expected to survive and I do hate it when my feet are cold. Maybe if I were less of a baby I wouldn't be risking dropping her down a flight of stairs."

The steps were old, smooth and slick from decades of use. He moved slowly and methodically down, each one, his arms already starting to fatigue and lose a bit of grip. He wanted to just rush down and hope it turned out well but he knew he couldn't. By the time he made it down the stairs his arms were burning. He was in luck though. He had left the door to the basement open. He moved more quickly now. There was enough light now that he felt that it would be possible for people to see shadows moving in the house and he didn't want that.

This time he was a bit more careless and did hit her foot against the door as he maneuvered her to make his way through.

"Ow, be careful."

"Sorry, sorry." He took a side step through the door and this time made his way down quickly. His arms were starting to lose strength and he knew he had to speed up. Luck was with him and he was able to make his way through the dark basement. He set her on her feet for a moment so the she could lean back into his arms and he was able to lower down onto the mattress he had spent the last few days on.

"I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"I need to do a few things upstairs."

"Be careful, don't let anyone see you."

"I will."

"Thank you."

"He turned."

He now moved as fast as he could back up to the bedroom where he used more of the linens and water to wipe up the dried blood from the floor. There was no way to get it truly clean but he managed to wipe down most of it. He then found the can's of food from the cupboard and gathered some water in a pitcher. He gave one last look around and headed back down. When he made it to the crawl space she was fast asleep. He managed to fit himself on top of the storage bench and faded into blackness.

When he came back down the steps he said, "I have some water" but quickly went silent as he saw her silent sob. "Oh no." He put everything down and carefully squeezed in next to her and put a hand lightly on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry." He said to her and she began to sob and wail and he touched her hair very softly.He woke with a start.

"Evie!" He heard someone shouting loudly. It was a woman's voice. He knew had known that their time alone wouldn't last long but he had hoped it would. Now it might all be over. There was no one they could trust. Eve stirred and moaned. The grace period of anesthesia that nature provides had worn off and he knew that all the wounds; stabs. bruises, and of course the effect of the rape were kicking. Every part of her would be it pain and even the slightest movement would hurt. He had heard similar moans and worse ones. Moans that came from bones, livers and missing limbs.

"Eve, Eve where are you?"

"What? Who." Eve spoke.

"Evie!!!" The voice was a bit more distant but louder.

She spoke to Adam "Turn on a light."

"There's a light?"

"Yes, by the front of the cabinet."

"I wish I had known."

"Well you know now. Adam started to stand up to reach out for the light. As soon as he turned on t she moaned again and shielded her eyes. For a moment he saw the massive swelling, the bluish, yellow bruising of her right eye swollen almost shut, the whites of her eye almost non existent, filled with blood.

"Damn, I hope she doesn't loose the eye, I also hope those wounds don't infect." he thought.

"Evie!" Whoever it was was in the basement stairs. He had left the hidden entrance open so that she would more air. "What an idiot. Were you fucking crazy? You let yourself get sloppy."

Right then she rushed in, rifle in hand. She wore a long blue skirt and blue long sleeved shirt. She raised her rifle and pointed it at him "Evie!?" He had his pistol held low and back on his hip as he pushed his hand out in a stopping motion. He had taught himself to shoot from this awkward position through hours of practice. Since no one else held a gun that way it didn't register in other people's minds as a danger. He already had the women locked in. She wouldn't notice his gun and he could kill her at any moment.

"Don't shoot." He said. Eve moaned.

"Evie, are you ok." She raised her rifle again now aiming at the flashlight, squinting her eyes, drawing a bead on him.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Eve, tell her to lower her rifle."

"Bonnie please."

"Dammit Evie. Who is this guy. I saw the blood on the floor upstairs. You, get away from her, for shame."

He didn't move. This was obviously a very bossy woman.

"Didn't you hear what I said? Evie, look up at me. She raised her head a bit.

"Oh my god Evie." Bonnie lay her rifle on the floor and brought her hands to her face.

"What did they do to?"

"Bonnie, enough already. You are giving me a headache."

"I'm sorry, honey."

She started step down into the hiding space, made for one but now suddenly cramped with three people in it.

"These boys. Will help get you out of here. They know these hills better than anyone. They have been harassing the Nazi patrol."

"So you men are part of the resistance?"

They nodded. The smaller of the two men spit.

"You've heard of the resistance army?"

They nodded again. "Consider yourselves both drafted and now under orders."

"Who's orders?"

"Mine."

"I didn't join no army. Can't no man say I did."

"You're a United States citizen aren't you?"

"A free citizen."

"If you are a citizen and not a collaborator, and you're fighting the enemy then you are part of the Army. And there's no Army without discipline."

"We're come here to help a neighbor out and you and you think you can boss us around."

"I'm a Captain and you two are privates. Simple as that. There's a war going on and we are going to push the krauts right back where they came from. Do you think a few backwoods, ignorant mountain sheep fuckers like you are going to make that happen? No. It's going to take an Army. We have an Army, you're drafted. Get it through your skull quick. Not following orders is treason."

"And what you going to do about it, you fucking jew" He slowly pointed the barrel of his rifle at Adam's face. Adam stared at him for second, then fast and easy stepped to the side of the barrel, slapped the man open handed in the mouth, took the rifle from him his hands and stepped back with it pointed right at his head. Adam paused a moment looked at the other men who hadn't moved at all. "Take that gun from his holster. He ordered" The tall thin man reached over and pulled the revolver from the young man's belt.

"You gonna do what that man tells you instead of helping me?"

"You best think about what you're saying now boy. We got a war to fight. I always knew this day would come. Plus you'd be dead right now if it weren't for that guy saving your life."

"What are you talking about?

He motioned with his head over to the right where Eve stood with her rifle held high pointed right at his head.

"Miss Eve is a straight shot. Her Pa taught her good. I saw her shoot at the county fair one time time when she was what?"

"I was 11."

"That's right. She wasn't but eleven years old. Beat all the grown men there. Everybody was tickled since she was cute as a button."

"If I let this sack of shit live will he tow the line or is going to run off like some traitor dog and suck the Fuhrer's cock."

"He ain't no traitor, just a young fool."

"What do you say shit head? You ready to be a man and join the Army or you gonna spend the rest of your life a godless countryless little shit."

He still had his hands raised. He shrugged his shoulders. "I'll join."

"Add a sir to that?"

"I'll join Sir."

"Shut the fuck up. I didn't want to waste ammo on a sack of shit like you. Your on mess until further notice."

"What does that mean?"

"That means you're doing the cooking. You're going to have to earn those guns back."

"Damn it, I ain't been without a gun since I ain't walked around without a gun since I was 12 years old.

"Eve, can I speak to you for a second?" She nodded as she lowered her rifle and nestled it into the crook of her elbow, letting the barrel hang down into the comfortable position all experienced hunters around those parts used. They walked a few yards away from the men who had already turned discretely away, and turned to look at each other.

"Well Eve, it may sound a little crazy and I'll understand if you you say no, because it makes no sense but I love you and was hoping you would marry me?" He looked at her, for a second but couldn't hold her her gaze for long and had look down at his feet kicking at the dirt. She sunk her head down and forward a bit to duck under the barrier he had created to look him in the eye. "Is that a question?"

"Yes it is Evie." He looked at her now. "Will you marry me?"

She moved closer and kissed him lightly on the lips, took a slight step back and nodded her head in assent. Adam let out a sigh. "Well that's good. I don't have a ring or anything." Eve looked at him a little dumbfounded that he was focusing on such trivialities. "Also I don't think I mentioned it but I'm Jewish."

"Yes I know. What will the neighbor's think?" She pulled a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Well it's pretty important to me so we will probably need to talk some more about that at some point."

"Ok. We can talk about it."

"Look I have a guerrilla army I need to get organized in these parts, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You go ahead and do that now."

He turned to go, but then hesitated and turned back around, "Eve, don't forget me please. Keep me in your thoughts."

He leaned in and they kissed and he held her close and she grasped at him by the her brothers jacket which was two sizes too large for him but incredibly warm and pulled him in closer still.

"Take care. I was so glad to see that you knew how to handle Jed, that's the only kind of language these boys understand. Don't let them get too drunk. That's always when the trouble starts."

### Chapter 29

"When they arrive in Africa, how do they make inroads? How do they impress."

"First through patience. Each are given as much medical training as we can provide. We send them in with guns but also with all the antibiotics we can gather, often at our own expense. That can help to establish relations of trust with the leaders. Sometimes that means helping them kill enemies, whatever it takes. Then they start to educate them on the reality of what is going on. It can be difficult many of them are not aware of basic things."

"Like what?"

"That the earth is round, how to read a clock, things along those lines. One thing we found surpising is that even in many of the most isolated areas they knew that there had been a massive power shift amongst the white man. The collapse of colonial rule caused massive power shift in there areas, everyone is dealing with it. We simply explain that without taking sides now they condemn themselves to eventual slavery. It helps that we are black."

"Of course."

"We are still foreigners but it helps. We also make promises. So many promises. Almost none that we can deliver on. We are also bringing many of them here and taking our children there. It is a kind of ransom. Of course the reality is that they will be safer there at least in the meantime. This is not a new colonialism. We are making new bonds. We hope to be seed of a new Pan-Africanism."

"I support you in that completely. First though we need soldiers, there will be war, total war."

"I believe you do. I don't see how to pull theses pieces together. I still worry that the different threads will pull apart."

"Do you think, if we win that many of your group will not want to return to the U.S.?

"They want to see their families again but I really can't say. If we were assured there would be changes to legal system. Some restitution for slavery."

"The nation will owe you the most extreme debt of gratitude but we will make no changes beforehand. All that will have to be settled in the political realm."

"I don't think they would go back to Jim Crow. If they did they would want to take their guns."

"It will be a different world then. Probably unrecognizable to us. I wish I could promise more Paul but it is impossible."

During their conversation a group of men and women gathered ahead, flowing in from the nearby settlement carrying long wooden poles, rugs, chairs, plates, glasses, tables, crea3ting an oasis.

"Is that sail cloth?"

"Yes. It has become an obsession with them. Sailors are some of the most self sufficient people on the planet. You would be amazed by how much supplies they are able to take with them and what they can do with what they have."

"I am already impressed." They had laid long posts of equal length spread out like a fan. The ends were raised up on post covered in white sail cloth, all of it tied together in incomprehensible elegant ways. As they arrived into the shade two folding chairs were set up to one side. They laid a lovely carpet with African motifs on the ground in front of them and set a small table between them. "Can we offer you something to drink Hannahh?"

"What do you have Paul?"

"Most everything, in the liquor department."

"Do you have ice?" Paul looked up at the young man who was attending them. He nodded attentively. "Yes we do."

"I'll have a whiskey on the rocks then."

"May I recommend the lime whiskey sour. The limes are fresh off the tree."

"Perfect. Whiskey sour then. This is so civilized Paul. I really do appreciate it. I recently had to spend time with our Mormon allies. I could never abide tee-teetotalers."

"Yes, but the battle of Salt Lake. No one can take that from them."

"No. I suspect that they will become the biggest Christian sect after victory. Everybody loves a war hero. It was like visiting a Carmelite monastery though."

"Bread and water?"

"They are just like the Calvinist in Norway. They think that being severe and having a beard is religious."

The drinks arrived served on a tray and they were silent for a while. The men and women were setting up a table and benches for a meal with table cloth, full settings and a lavish floral centerpiece surrounded by fruit. There was a cool soft breeze flowing and all care had seemed to have vanished from the world. They sipped their drinks and settled into the pleasantness of midday. Arendt remembered that it was Sunday and thought of the meals she would share with her family as a young teenager in back patio of her home in Linden with her parents

"Hannahh, having you here. There is something I hesitate to broach with you I have brought it up before."

"Must we discuss this Paul? I don't quite see the point. I find it dispiriting."

"I fear I must. I feel history and humanity demand it of me. This concern must be spoken, that we ensure that in fighting them, we do not become them."

"You need not carry this burden for history, Paul. History can bear it quite well on it's own."

"Please allow me my hyperbole Hannahh I am after all an actor. But more importantly, I joke in an attempt to lighten what I am otherwise deadly serious about. When you sanction this practice of executing collaborator's, you break the rule of law, but more importantly you put the humanity and ethics of our own people at risk. This lack of due process, it's completely un-american and I think it's just plain wrong."

"I know that Paul. It's simply what we must do now in order to have any chance to restore any semblance of America. Conditions demand it"

"You speak about it as if there were no other choice but of course there is. You could focus all your energy on attacking the enemy and use that to win the hearts and minds of the nation."

"Paul, we have their hearts and minds. There are of course the opportunists, people who seek their own advantage and those who are genuinely allied with the Nazi ideology. Otherwise the population is rightly terrified. None of us know for certain if we resist if they engage in all out warfare if they won't drop those damned atomic bombs. Einstein, damn him and his theories. We see how relative things actually are."

"Relatively gone to hell."

"We have the people on our side. The sabotage is crucial. We need to isolate ,physically isolate communities as much as possible, create opportunities for groups to meet and plan. We need space where retaliation can be carried out and traitor's executed."

"What we are doing here is wrong. We are creating a rule of terror as bad if not worst than our enemy."

"Whenever possible we carry out a trial."

"Hannahh, I'm a lawyer. That is no trial."

"We need to show people that the resistance is taking action. There were always plenty of racists hiding behind the banners of God and country but now no one can use those excuses they have been removed"

"No Hannahh, you overestimate people."

"Funny, no one has ever accused me of that before."

"Collaborator's are not just racists and opportunists. The majority of people out there live without ideology. They just want to survive. They are neither evil or good, you pointed that out to me, they are simply thoughtless, trying to survive. By implementing this practice what you are doing is setting neighbor against neighbor. Opportunist will start to use this lawlessness to settle scores, drawing those who otherwise would never have become involved. You know this. You've read Hobbes. It's why we have equality before the law."

"We are in the process of establishing military chain of command wherever possible. There will be military tribunals but civil law is gone until we reclaim the land and the state.

"Paranoid unbalanced people will have a power they should never be given."

"Paul, I think you misunderstand my position. I don't think that collaborator's are either all evil or all opportunists. I see them as a power block in this struggle. The Nazi's know that they can't simply occupy the United States. They need to create a completely new system in which people have a new history and identity. They have an advantage in that they are willing to offer privilege that only a slave state can do. We have to interrupt that process. It is happening far to quickly in the South. We need to nurture our territories of support. This is how we are doing it."

"Hannahh, this is a bad idea. War crimes, atrocities will be committed and if we ever win and re-establish our institutions people will be held responsible and those who were killed and attacked will demand justice before the law, and worst of all they will be right."

"That will absolutely not happen. A am making a bet Paul. My bet is first on the simplest platform a return to government and law exactly as it stood before invasion, no exceptions. In the meantime, black flag. Total war, no exceptions. Plus Paul, where would you find a jury that would find our soldiers guilty."

"I am not speaking simply in legalistic terms. I am speaking morally, ethically, we can not revert to such a basic barbarism. It is exactly that kind of barbarism that is at the core of regimes lack these. They are internally weak. It is our job to attack those weaknesses. Hannahh, wasn't Greece your area of study?"

"Yes."

"What about the values of Athenian democracy. The participation of the people. You have decided this unilaterally."

"Not really Paul. We discussed this at the central council. Both the military and the political boards agreed. In fact the president agreed."

"The President?"

"Oh I never had a chance to tell you about that we were able to find the President."

"What are you talking about? I thought the bomb took them all out."

"I turned out that the Secretary of Agriculture survived. He was visiting his mistress in Vermont on the 25th."

"Did he know he was acting President?"

"He did. He took an interesting course of action. He made his way to a military base in Maine and was able to get in to speak to the Captain. It was a small base and most of the men had left either to try and join larger units or go to their families. He explained to them that he was the president and that it was their job to keep him alive."

"Was he a coward?"

"No. He was not a brave man or a leader, but he knew he could lend legitimacy to the resistance when the time came, so he retreated into Canada with the help of those Soldiers."

"How many."

"From what I gathered about thirty. They went deep into the wilderness. After a few years he started to send men back into the country to see what kind of resistance was starting."

"How did he finally reach you."

"Through the Vermont militia."

"Of course, they must have formed right away."

"Yes true patriots. Live Free or Die?"

"That's New Hampshire. What's Vermont then?"

The man who had brought them some queso fresco and crackers spoke up "Freedom and Unity"

Arendt laughed, "Well that is simply ridiculous. Freedom is the embracing of disunity. "

"So we made contact and brought him back to the country."

"Was it difficult to get him to come out."

"I sent one of our generals out. We explained it as simply reintegrating forces. He was amenable to it all."

"Is he acting as President?"

"Only in so much as the Queen of England was acting as queen. He does sit on the council and vote. He is a very unassuming man. The way he sees it he was not elected the six years of his term are long past. He understands what is at stake.

"Really?"

"Yes. In fact he brought up Greece and Athens."

"What did he say."

"He said that for a time we must become Sparta."

"One cannot become Sparta for a time. These are two different ways of seeing the world."

"We are not going to actually become Sparta. Wear robes or anything of the sort. I was speaking metaphorically."

"So was Hannahh, so was I."

"We should discuss some of the final details of the plantation operation. Troop movement, timing, all of it."

"After lunch Hannah."

"Of course. After lunch."

### Chapter 30

As darkness encircled him his anxiety reached a peak and he was certain that he would be lost in oblivion, the sounds from the helmet faded down to the faintest hum. He was wide awake but elsewhere. For a moment he thought that they had turned the light back on except that he felt himself rising surrounded by the most exquisite color aqua blue he had ever seen. He also realized that he had no body and could see in all directions simultaneously.

He floated in the pure azure field for a time, after which the edges began to change towards an apple green. The constant single tone separated into harmonic notes. In response the colors began to interpenetrate creating diffuse geometric designs. White now appeared as the field of color began to take the form of a sphere and blackness added itself from the edges. A sudden thrill of acceleration seized him as he was lifted up like a feather grabbed by the wind and he realized that he was looking down at Earth, rising up from the blue atmosphere into space. The colors and sounds he had felt as pure ethereal beauty were in fact the earth. Now the stars came into focus and a bracing silence came over him, the silence of a mountain peak at night amplified, lifted into living space.

He felt strong and calm as he rose above his previous home, filled with awe and beatific gratitude for the beauty of the earth. Still, he was glad to be away, free from all of that entanglement and complexity. He felt no need or desire to return and turned his attention up towards the heavens and the music he had been hearing, a deep, pure, satisfying rumble above. He knew it was the sound of the machinery of heaven, the celestial spheres rubbing and grinding up against each other. The emptiness of space was paradoxically filled with the most satisfying presence of order; it was not a single, empty, abstract sadness, as his education had lead him to believe; rather, structures of pure consciousness, delight of movement, stillness and purpose.

He continued to rise steadily and with ease until he reached a barrier. He had felt nothing solid for a while now and it struck him as strange and unique. "It is and actual sphere?" He could see it spread, curving in off to the sides. With his vision extending in all directions, it surrounded the whole planet. "Am I stuck here? Well that would be unpleasant. There must be a way through? Knock, knock?" It just struck him as the right thing to say. He wasn't going to get too worked up yet.

In response to this thought a new unfamiliar harmony arose from over to the right. Moving towards him, imbedded in the sphere barrier, was a circle; a geometric visual delight, a round multicolored shifting kaliedescope. It stopped directly in front of him and began interacting with him. He knew himself then to be a star within a circle and he let his own pattern interact with the portal. It's constantly shifting shape and surface was made up of fine lines, electric filaments of flame blue tones; bright oranges, reds, yellows, purples, white, and lime greens.

"The Aristotelian or the gnostic's heavenly sphere's, separating us from the divine? Maybe it's just true. I would never have believed it" The filaments organized themselves through the thickness of the barrier until they hit it's back surface. From the center, an opening formed that grew, as substance was displaced and pushed aside, it reformed, shaping itself into new highly structured, self organizing crystalline machine. This substance knew only order, as it cracked and shifted it never took on any organic natural forms, only geometric ones, like engineering schematics, until it opened to his size and shape and he passed through. A bit of apprehension formed in him as he advanced forward. "I have been taking this rather lightly. I have no idea where I am going."

"My G-d, what is this?" He was on the other side now. To his left and to his right he saw, at a distance, what, he couldn't tell? Demons, insects, robot's, attacking the surface of the sphere? Made up of dull sickly filaments of light, similar yet of a completely different nature than the portal. Olive green, brown, dull yellow, but also organic and real, teeming inside and out with parasites, smaller creatures crawling in and out of the larger entities. Others were completely inorganic and looked machines operated by robots, all trying to hook into the surface of the sphere. They would gather and dig, puncture, tear, as the sphere constantly responded, defended adapted. At times they were successful, would concentrate tepid force, push through the shield and drop a sack of their essence down towards the lovely globe of home, landing on the surface, staining it's beauty. He saw all of this and understood it in a moment, "This was the real." The earth was under attack from cosmic parasites of some kind."What can be done? It's hopeless. Look at them. They are constantly making it through."

He felt the pull and a call from above. It was a pure force drawing him away from the desperate scene. At first he couldn't make out what it was. He was blocked, it was working on him, taking away his fear, the darkness, a plug, blocking his vision, drawing it out of him like a toxic puss. The area above him that had been unconsciously opaque opened. It was had always been there but out of view. As the dullness in his awareness was taken from him, healed, a marvelous tower was revealed, penetrating up into the heavens, white and gold, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

He approached slowly, like a balloon pushed along by a gentle wind: details became visible. It's surface was intricately carved, arcades framed in spiral columns, moldings, openings like windows some hexagonal others oval shaped. It all reminded him of the many cathedrals he had seen but far more austere, the exterior was clean and smooth never having been touched by wind or dust. He was nearing it's base, a sprawling series of concentric circles elevated one from the other, the levels connected by stairs. Each level a garden rising from a masonry base of raw white stone. A few men in robes could be seen walking through the foliage or sitting, eyes closed in recesses or on benches.

On a terraced courtyard stood a circle of twelve rabbi's davening, praying with a focus and passion so intense it emanated out from their circle as a visible pulse, that when it hit reached him, flooded him with a sense of awe and dignity and joy. He had never for a moment in his life understood or believed in prayer but here was experiencing the truth of it and was overcome with admiration for them, they were noble and manly.

The sound of their voices along with their emanation met visibly in the center, interacting to form Hebrew letters of white and golden light. Those letters rose, imprinting themselves onto a spectral scroll, that moved, rotated, tilted, at blinding speed, adjusting to find the perfect home for each one to land. It collected and was fed by those letters, fed, but without hunger. All of it the, the priests, the letters, the scroll were, held, cradled in an etheric multicolored shimmering form that reminded him of the most beautifully decorated torah he had seen as a boy, with it's crown, mantle, breastplate, yad and eitz chaim. The prayers and images went up, all of it upwards. "I wonder where it goes?"

All of them turned for a moment and looked at him. "Did they hear my thought?" One of the men stepped back arranging his robes, turned towards Leskov, smiled and waved. Another priest who had been sitting at a distance calmly filled the empty space. Leskov felt unsure,, "Is he waving at me." He was reminded of the embarrassment of being in a crowd and waving back to someone by mistake. The priest walk forward. "Seems like it will take him awhile to get here. Why are all my thoughts so common in such an extraordinary place"

The priest patting the air in a gesture of, "hold your horses" and floated up off the ground towards him, then, instantaneously, his large face with its long white beard with a few scraps of black hair still in them, was directly in front of him, almost touching. The priest was enormous, like a giant, two or three times larger that Leskov, but he felt no fear or intimidation. . The vibrant older man stared at him with a benevolent humorous twinkle in his eye. Leskov felt better than ever before, he was suddenly in a fantastic mood.

"We are all small when we are children but become big as we grow up, right?" Leskov heard the words directly in his mind. "You are not done. You too will continue to grow." Leskov liked that thought very much and felt like a child who aspired to be big like his father in the most innocent real way. The rabbi took him gently by the arm and yes he had an arm again, and a body. They were walking on one of the paths of the temple arm in arm. "We are glad you were able to make it to see us but you understand very little of way of things up here, you smarty pants need to learn your way around before you start getting involved." Now it seemed more like they were talking and Leskov felt more comfortable having a body.

"Yes, you are more comfortable up here. I know you are having a difficult time down there, but I want you to know that you are a good boy and you are doing important things. We are all working together though."

The rabbi pointed off into space. In the extreme distance, but still, crystal clear, as if there were a magnifying glass in front of it (his vision was perfect here) he saw the Nazi war temple. A fortress, a castle, a mountain; beautiful, aweful, sharp, bellicose in every way. An Asgard dotted with sacrificial fires, animal sacrifices taking place on altars, weapons emerging from forges and being cooled in blood, giant men covered in raw animal pelts beating war drums, winged horses dragging massive spiked iron balls behind whipped mercilessly by demonic vikings. Purple and white rays of of light emanated from their home, cutting and scanning through the astral realms but somehow completely unable to see the temple or the rabbi's or their bright light penetrating up into the sky. The priest gestured towards them, "they take themselves very seriously." and smiled.

He pointed in another cardinal direction and there he saw a white leather teepee on a grass plain by a stream covered on it's lower edges with graceful geometric designs and dancing animals that actually moves. White smoke drifted out from the opening up top and he was able to smell cedar and hear the songs of prayer emanating out light in all directions. A warrior stood guarding the door. An old woman covered in a blanket emerged smoking a pipe with a thin long stem. She paused in silence and looked calmly around, then looked at Leskov and the rabbi and lifted her hand in greeting.

"Say hello. Don't forget your manners." Leskov waved. She smiled and waved back, then turned to warrior next to him and whispered something to him while pointing at Leskov. The two of them broke into laughter. "Are they making fun of me?"

"Oh yes, most definitely. That means they like you."

"Oh."

"And of course you have so many flaws to make fun of."

"That is a fact."

"We do our work up here." He was able to see the entire planet surrounded by its crystalline sphere as well as these beacons of light, 12 of them, organized on it's surface in some kind of geometrical pattern, pulsing waves of love in all directions but mainly down to the planet.

"It is very good you came to visit but tell the other boy not to bring many others here. The smallest actions here have big effects and it can take us such a long time to set things right again when people are careless. That's why you are down there, so that you can muck around without breaking anything. It's horrible when it get's crowded up here and it took us such a long time to get any sort of elbow room to get some room to work." He pointed up and Leskov saw a mass of teeming demonic figures on the outside of a kind of protective bubble trying to get into the temple.

"You are here for a reason." They were back on the grounds of the temple walking in the garden. Leskov felt something new to him, a sense of real knowledge and protection. He felt that as long as he was with the rabbi he would be alright. He was led towards the actual temple and he felt himself embarrassed and concerned, if he walked into it he might see something that was so awesome it could tear him apart. In addition he felt that he wasn't dressed right, which was an odd thought. He was wearing common clothes, his body that is. It was sin that he was ashamed of, not original sin, but just the sin of being so immature, carrying too much useless sorrow around with him. He felt that he could move forward. The priest beckoned him from a passage up a head. Despite his concerns he didn't feel it was in him to disappoint the priest or not do what he asked of him. That man was his teacher and felt he had known him as a friend and guide from before this life or even memory itself.

They entered a high walled chamber. He knew that approaching the limit. Deeper inside, what was there was more than a person could withstand. Despite the walls being rough hewn rock, the entire space seemed vaguely immaterial, like a dream forcibly held together, kept in place. A mighty presence of intelligence pushed against everything, created a palpable pressure, his own consciousness and being were filled with an intuition of ultimate knowledge. It welled up inside of him but could never quite enter his mind as a thought.

The priest stood off to the side against a wall, hands folded, eyes closed, brow furrowed in deep concentration, his lips moving but no sound was coming out. It fact there was no sound at all, complete clear silence everywhere, even his thoughts. More awake than he had ever been his mind was ceasing to function, he could not remember anything.

In the center of the room was a large stone altar. On it was a small wood fire burning brightly. Two shafts of light poured in from opening high in the wall behind him. It was to so arid, so clean, so absolute. He stared at it intently, a transparent shape was forming, a nearly invisible object, a crystalline machine, elegant and perfect, but he could not make out the details of its workings as it was revealed only in parts and only for moments. Its movements fascinated him and all his sense concern left him, disappeared and were replaced by the familiar feeling of curiosity. Just as always, he simply wanted to figure out how it worked so he approached it. A

As he moved in closer certain details came into focus and would slip away in the fluctuations of the light His entire being became a concentration on this most elaborate puzzle. He lost all awareness of his surroundings. It was just his mind, being pulled in, struggling to follow the logic as it constantly recede from him in a frustration of understanding. Just him and this incomprehensible absolute machine. Then no self any more, just the attempt to understand. Then no attempt to understand, just attention. Then no attention, just the Aleph on the altar. Nothing . . . nothing . . . nothing . . . and he knew. He knew what was wrong with his machine and how to correct it. It was right in front of his eyes, simple as putting sugar into his tea or his key into the lock and turning.

Instantly they were back in the temple garden. The priest stern and present, without any words. Leskov was also completely silent inside and absolutely sober. He looked around again marveling at where he was. The circle of priests continued to pray, the stars above held in place within a celestial order, the parasitic beings attacking his home, earth, in the distance. It was all beyond belief.

Without warning he felt himself being pulled, falling back, which he found very strange, disconcerting, he had no interest in leaving, so he righted himself by willing it, but the feeling returned. Leskov asked "What is this?" The rabbi shrugged his shoulder as if to say. "We have no control. What can I tell you?" Then grabbed Leskov firmly by the shoulder, he was stable again. The Rabbi looked at him and pointed his index finger, this time as if to say, "One last thing." Above his finger a small golden Hebrew letter appeared hovering in the air. "I should have paid attention in my Hebrew classes. I wonder what it means?" He placed the golden letter in Leskov's shirt pocket, smiled, and patted it. Warmth spread into his chest and he breathed a sigh of relief. The priest released his shoulder and he was pulled back and down, a man in free fall, sleepy.

### Chapter 31

When they hit the southern states there was a change in tone. Main streets were freshly painted and there was an air of triumphalism, a new obscene form of patriotism. These states flew the confederate flag alongside the Swastika. They seemed obsessed with flags, they hung from every light on every street, off of building and water towers. Each town had city slaves they kept in the center square to provide free shoe shines. Of course that meant they had to have armed police there as well to insure that the slave didn't kill anyone as had been common earlier on in the occupation. They knew reality was not as clean as it was being presented here. The resistance had made a point of sullying public landmarks with the severed heads of collaborators. It was barbaric they knew, but it got the point across. As efficient as they had become at cordoning off and removing all traces of travel restrictions had re established local communities, people stayed where they were and word traveled with the old world speed of gossip.

There were more checkpoints and people were more suspicious of outsiders. John guided his through out of the center of town into a working class suburb. They pulled into the driveway of a simple two story home with a well kept yard. The others stayed in the car while John went to the front door. From the back seat Jimmy was able to see a small boy open the door and his father appear behind him. After a brief exchange the door closed. John walked back to the car, opened the door and sat back down in the passenger seat. A moment later the garage door opened, they pulled in and the door closed behind them.

The man they assumed to be the owner of the home shook each of their hands. He was a commanding figure, tall and his hands were rough from labor and hard like steel. "We'll have some food out for you in a minute and some sweet tea."

"Are we safe having pulled up in broad daylight like that? We've come too far to get sloppy."

"Everyone in a five block radius are resistance people. We map it all out like we are instructed, sending it up the channels to central command. All are active sympathizers. Some are willing to take action. All of them can be trusted to keep quiet."

"This will be an important point for those of us who make our way back this way. We need to be confident that we can trust people here to fight if it comes to that."

"You'll meet the fighters in an hour or two."

"You all completed your first action a few months ago right?"

"Yes, the Mayor. He was from this town, right here I grew up with him. "

"Hard to believe people would stoop so low."

"I know. He knew he had it coming. Took it like a man though."

There was a couch in the garage and they took turns sitting there or laying down in the back seat of the _________. It had been an exhausting trip. They ate their turkey sandwiches and drank sweet tea. After night fell the other men showed up. Once they were all there John spoke to them about what was needed. That if necessary they would have to be able to hide and care for up to fifty people. They discussed how well communication lines had been established with the Appalachian resistance. The whole area had become a beehive of activity. Slim spoke up, "Word is some Colonel got trapped up there, organized the different bands and is whipping up a firestorm."

"That's very good. Taking it to them. So if we end up back here that's where we will head."

"Nazi's are all over the area. More every day. It'll be a bear getting through."

"We'll deal with that when the time comes." After that they worked out the detail. Arrival routes through the city. Which houses people could head to. Where they would hide and how they would be fed. Once the meeting was done Mike walked over to John.

"Sir, can I speak to you for a second?"

"Sure."

"Look. I want to join up. Go with you. Since we did our thing, you know, with the Mayor, I can't stay here. I just can't look people in the face. I feel like everyone knows. I'm afraid I going to blow it."

John saw how anxious the man was, his hands dug deep into his pockets, shoulders up by his ears. "I'm not a coward. I want to fight but I just can't do it from here."

"We can't take you now. If we come back this way you can join us then. Just know, that may not happen. You have to serve where you are."

### Chapter 32

What John found strangest about the situation was to be in a situation that was the state of maximum quiet possible in as the very apex of action was happening.

John found it curious that he was in such a quiet and peaceful place and while being the hub of so much raw action. Few people ever actually do anything in their lives, have a day that is life or death. We all walk out everyday into a crap-shoot, is this our day? The one where a car hits us or bank safe falls on our head. Is this the day crime and violence strike us or the day where our bodies give out, malfunction, stop. But it is the very same, everydaysness, the lack of intention that makes it normal. Who goes out into the world of danger and taunts it. It is rare, very rare. Even a murdered doesn't murder every day. Now that he was at the very center of the action of the day, a day that might actually be marked in history, he was both at the very center and the farthest distance of all the participants. He was "away". It's not what his father had in mind when he would look up from his paper on a pleasant Sunday morning and say, "Let's get away." This was the burden of leadership Arendt kept telling him about. "It's all foreplay and no fucking. What could be more exhausting."

Their arrival had been extremely tense. He had expected something like a heroes welcome but had been sorely disappointed. Part of it had been his fault for not recognizing her as the commanding officer when she entered the room. In all actuality it didn't even occur to him that is was her, even though she walked in with her rank right there on her shoulder. He thought it was some kind of joke so he had stood there continuing the conversation he had been having with the Goy as they both worked on finishing their second plate of food of the night. He regretted it now on many levels. Really he just felt like a nitwit. Besides his team there were four black soldiers, all dressed as plantation slaves, but in the comfort and safety of those walls acting like the equals they were.

As soon as she walked in they had stopped talking to each other and to Jimmy and stood at attention. He had looked over and seen her enter and had assumed they were pulling his leg. Why they would be pulling his leg he had no idea. She stood there glaring at him.

"You are fucking late soldier." were her first words to him. Now he felt even worse because he was there to take control of the operation. He had no idea how to handle it. He realized by looking at her soldiers that they considered this a very serious moment.

"I'm sorry. We were held up."

"What kind of a fucking excuse is that. We were held up. We run the risk of losing everything, years of preparation and you were held up."

"I wasn't giving an excuse."

"You will need to do better than that."

John felt himself getting very irritated. He wasn't used to being dressed down in public. He was suddenly very happy that he had never been a soldier. He put down his plate and wipe his hands of his pants.

"Shall we discuss this in private."

"We can discuss this in the privacy of a cell if you don't change your attitude and start explaining yourself."

He had still been leaning back, half sitting on the secretary, but now he put his plate down and stood on his feet. With that shift he saw plantation soldiers change their posture. It seemed like everything was spiraling out of control when a second ago he had been eating a delicious food now it looked like there might be a fight..

"You need to salute a superior officer when they enter a room."

Well, had had about enough at that point, "Look."

"Did you just say look?"

"Yes, I just said look?"

"You are misunderstand the situation".

"You and I need to discuss this in private."

"Soldiers . . ."

Was this crazy woman going to arrest him? He understood that he had been rude but he couldn't believe what was happening. Plus he was concerned that in a few seconds the Goy was going to kill all the soldiers in the room and then they would really be in a pickle.

At that moment Jaspar walked entered in a silk maroon bathrobe, rubbing his eyes. Mabel was hidden from his view behind the door and he turned to see John standing there. His eyes lit up. "Doc? Doc, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Legs." John was amazed to see him and happy he had had the presence of mind to use his old nickname.. Jaspar came over and hugged him. "Man o man it's good to see you old boy. Doc, what in tarnation are you doing here?" Jaspar grabbed Johns shoulder arms outstretched, staring at him in disbelief, laughed, turned to hug him from the side and saw Mabel standing behind him.

"Oh Mabel, you're here. Sorry I didn't see you there. Can you believe this? I haven't seen Doc since before the war. Doc, this is my wife Mabel, Mabel Doc."

John walked up to Mabel with his hand outstretched. "It's a pleasure and an honor ma'am."

She paused only for a moment. "Very nice to meet you as well."

"We need to celebrate. This is amazing. I would ask you what you are doing here but under the circumstances it might be a little indelicate. I'll grab a bottle of the good stuff and we can all sit around and catch up." Jaspar grabbed John's shoulder one last time before leaving the room. The spell of tension was gone. The Goy picked up his plate and started eating again. John stood next to Mabel, turned to her and asked, "So how did you and Legs meet?"

"Would you gentlemen excuse us for a moment."

Once they had a few moments to themselves John was relieved that once he showed her his order, a tiny peice of microfilm he had on the inside of the back casing of his watch, she accepted the situation well. She would be leading the attack in the field, he would be commanding officer, coordinating forces from the communications center.

"You run a very tight ship so, to speak."

"Well, we couldn't afford a single leak. This is no Utopia we are in right now."

"No, absolutely not."

Over the next 48 hours John was briefed on all aspects of the preparations. He was deeply impressed by what he saw. The entrance to the mine, abandoned over a century ago was hidden at the rear of a functioning cotton mill built exclusively for that purpose. Over 1,500 people rotated in and out in three day shifts allowing them to hide more than half of their forces and amass the troops needed for the operation.

For training purposes the staging areas were built to scale, equipment was functional and built in house when possible, made from wood or cardboard if not. He watched watched Mabel run her troops through drills, stopwatch in hand. She had secondary teams disrupt in random ways each time so that they were always prepared to adapt and improvise. He was convinced that they would be able to do their jobs despite never having had the chance to work in real conditions.

The workshops ran night and day in the timeless interior of the cavern. The armory had adapted the design of their pistols, making them remarkably thin, shaped in such a way they they fit together in an intricate geometric design reminiscent of Escher for ease of transport. Tailors and seamstresses prepared uniforms for all the soldiers, both regular army and Nazi with exacting detail. He was very happy that they would be dressed as regular army according to rank, he felt it was crucial to establish continuity and legitimacy. At the lowest depths were the shooting ranges. Soldiers each spent at least an hour a day there working on speed and accuracy. He wondered if they were wasting munitions but the armory engineer explained that they simply re-smelted the bullets and cast them again.

He was very disturbed when he saw the sleeping area. The plywood under which they slept in four hour shifts was only six inches high. They couldn't even turn their heads, they had to keep them to one side. "How can they stand it without suffocating or going crazy?" He asked.

"Just like anything else, we did it in stages. First they slept normally with the wood as far above them as they need, you see how the bracing has notching in it, they are adjustable. Then we lowered it down over a period of months, built their tolerance. We also worked on breathing techniques, flexibility."

"How long of a drive is it?"

"Four hours."

"Holy shit."I can't help but be reminded of the slave ships. Everyone crammed in so tightly, stacked on top of each other."

"You aren't the only one. Well, it's the ending that gives meaning to the story."

### Chapter 33

Now, with only half an hour left before the assault the silence was eerie. No hum of sewing machines, no printing presses with their click and clack churning out counterfeit currency, no drills being run, no engines humming being checked one last time. The only sounds came from the communication station he was seated in front of and the faraway generator that gave them power.

The twelve soldiers left behind to guard him and his eventual escape were a quarter of a mile away near the mouth of the cave. His team was safe for the duration of the assault. If they were discovered they would retreat, draw as many Nazi's in as possible in before detonating the explosives laid all through the tunnels and caverns. Those would go off one way or the other. They weren't going to give the Nazi's a chance to examine at what they had done there, unless they wanted to dig it all out and sift through the debris, in which case they were welcome to. Clean up crews had made sure nothing of real importance was left.

Behind him, on the large wooden conference table, were the models of the main buildings and surrounding streets open at the top to provide a view into the layout of the interior; toy trucks and soldiers to stand in for the transport vehicles and men. The table a had wonderful heft and was constructed through intricate joinery. He felt that in the face of impossible odds these patriots had been living the humans were meant to, as if every moment mattered, putting all of their attention into details. Even the radio he was sitting in front of him had intricate elegant, modern brass work trim.

His team were spread out at their stations, already placing and moving pins on large maps posted on the the sides of the control room. Travel routes, of Baltimore, the coastal plantations, routes from the towns to the coast, all the territories and geographies that were in play. The chalkboards surrounding the table were already filled with grids and tables, prepared to to track and document all phases. They had files on each of their combatants (coded of course) and would do their best to track losses of life. Arendt insisted that they keep the names, the stories of the people involved, to invoke memory.

The convoy had rolled out from the newly opened exit tunnel exactly four hours earlier. The main team had been making steady unhindered progress. John sat next to their communications expert a lovely young women in her late twenties intently scanning the channels. The relay chain of ham radios hidden in attics and basements that kept was fragile. The weight of responsibility and the tense tedium of waiting had lead him to think obsessively of sex. He fantasized non stop of pulling her off to the side and fucking her. "I guess your mind wants to do anything but be here. It's just the stress man."

### Chapter 34

"Wait, stop!" He shouted. Miguel and the controller were standing next to him pouring buckets of freezing water over him. "What are you idiots doing." He lifted his arms trying to shield his face from the flow of ice cold water.

The controller nodded to Miguel "Two more." Miguel shrugged. "Vale."

"No stop!"

"It took too long to bring him back. I want him all the way here." The controller pinched his arm hard. They each poured a large full bucket of ice cold water over his head.

Leskov felt himself fully awake and angry. "I will beat you both down if you do not stop this instant!"

"This is good." the controller smiled.

"I like it when you are angry. Some passion" Miguel lifted his fist up and shook it with a serious intensity and then a charming smile.

"Grab the blankets, quickly" the controller commanded Miguel.

"What, I'm your slave, you can't grab them yourself." There was a large stack of thick ponchos being warmed above a wood stove. They each grabbed an arm full, brought them over and started to cover him in them, first draping them over his shoulders and head, and then wrapping them firmly around his waist and arms. It felt wonderfully relaxing. "Quick, bring over the table." Miguel rolled the small metal desk with pen and paper over to Leskov.

"Write down everything you can remember. Start with what will help us in the cause. Leave the personal things for later. It seems like it will all stay clear but the detail start to fade. There is water and some fruit if you need to eat, but don't allow yourself to get distracted. We will leave you alone."

Later that evening they sat passing mate around, sipping from a silver bombilla. This was the one part of Argentine way of life that had entered him deeply, shoved it's way into his heart and displaced a bit of the old country. He drank the bitter tea night and day whenever they had a supply.

"The work they are doing up there. Is it real?"

"We know it's real in a sense. First of all I don't know what you saw up there." Leskov opened his mouth to speak. "I really don't care. Whatever it is it would sound crazy to me. It seems to be one of the rules. No matter what you experience at that level, the more real it is to you, the more it will seem crazy to other people. I don't know why we aren't able to speak about it on this level, here on earth, but we can't. We needed to confirm if it was real so we have been sent pairs and groups of three, people who had never met, never did meet, we just gave them a simple task and told them to meet up with their partners in the ethers. They reported the exact same things the same thing down to minute details."

"So it's consistent, it seemed like it was all, everthing that was happening up there was directed down here towards us.?"

"We seem to be the main show in town. I kind of makes sense, this is where things happen.

"Does what happens up there effects things down here"

"It does, but not in any clear cut or obvious ways. It expresses itself in mood and coincidence. Life starts to line up differently. The only guarantee is that it never takes the expected or desired form. You can't plan for the effects at all. Even if up there you do something that you think will clearly make things better it can become become a nightmare. Then, in a moment everything turns around for the best."

"So how does it affect things?

"Luck."

"What?"

"It changes your luck."

"What are you talking about?"

"We have measured it. But now with you we have something different, something real, something we can touch."

"I have so much work to do. You can't even imagine. It may change the tide. We will see"

### Chapter 35

Mike pulled the canvas flap aside and poked his head out of the back of the moving truck to get a better view, he had never seen a major port before. The layers reminded him of the layers of a wedding cake; the scaffolding of the cranes alongside the water, the tangle of tracks and wires, silos like covered bridges above trains themselves carrying cannons, tanks, trucks. Everything a skeleton without skin, unfinished, geometrical, exposed. The ships towered alongside on the water, he had no idea how tall they were, six, ten stories?.

They hit a bump in the road and he had to grasp onto his cap, a panzer officer hat with a bright red dot in the center to keep it from flying off. "That red dot is like a fucking bullseye on my forehead. Who the hell designed these things? As soon as the actions starts I'm tossing it."

A hand grabbed him firmly by the shoulder pulling him back in. Jimmy leaned over and tied off the straps to keep the flaps closed and shook his head "Would you fucking sit still." The men sitting on the other side of the truck on the benches looked for a moment. He sat next to the only three other white men in the truck, the others were light skinned negroes, everyone dressed in full Nazi uniforms. Under their feet, sixty other soldiers, two layers deep waited like mummies. Something about the half light filering through the seams and under the sides made the powder on their faces look particularly artificial.The makeup was meant to get them a few extra seconds, thirty feet closer to their positions before being recognized. They looked strange, all of them, with their made up faces, as if they were actors or people at a halloween party.

"I should be more frightened than I am" he thought "I'm glad we're bringing this too them. This isn't a bad way to go if it comes to it. Maybe I'm a good soldier?" The thought made him happy, he felt his chest flush and his emotion wash over him. He had never been particulary good at anything, no great athlete or student, not the best employee. Usually he was right in the middle, average. "Maybe that helps you be a good soldier, not thinking too much of yourself, knowing your place? I hope I make it out, but if not, fuck it."

He didn't know much about what he would be doing Jimmy would take the lead. There were two other men on the team. One was a tall, massive and blond, the other short, skinny with a little but of a pot belly, maybe 5'8. They had been introduced to him as Tom and Jerry, Jerry being the taller of the two. Jimmy had given Mike him the name Dumbo. "I like to make it easy to remember." he had said laughing, slapping his on the chest with the back of his hand. Jimmy would take the lead, Tom behind him to the left, Jerry to the right, Mike would bring up the rear, a diamond shape. He was to act naturally and keep his mouth shut; Mike thought that maybe this was a theme, his being told not to speak.

He bent forward for a moment propping his elbows on his knees and looked around at the others, a silly grin on his face. The other men were deep in thought, some leaned back with their eyes closed, other's stared down at their feet, but one man noticed his gaze. They looked at each and Mike smiled widely. At first the other man's face pulled in and hardened. Mike was undeterred in hs friendiness. He nodded at the other man who seemed to understand and broke into a slight smile, looked away, looked back and looked away again.

The truck slowed and everyone sat up straight. They had reached the entry to the Navy yard. Being too far back in the caravan they weren't able to hear anything so they waited anxiously in the half light wondering if at any moment bullets might shower down on them. One soldier across from him tapped his foot incesantly until the sound became loud as a dum and the man next to him elbowed him to stop. They settled back into silence.

Ten minute later they were moving again. People looked at each other and nodded. Jimmy pointed at his gun. Everyone was doing a last minute check. Mike pulled his luger from its holster and cocked it back, checking the chamber. Between the four men on his team they had four sidearms and one machine gun, otherwise they had to work with what they had, improvise and steal.

They came to a stop and waited for a few seconds to make sure they had arrived. Jimmy stood up first and motioned for him and the other two men to follow. Those who stayed nodded and lifted their hands in farewell.

They stepped out into a bright brisk fall day. Jimmy lifted his arms above his head and stretched out. Tom and Jerry stepped to the side and lit a cigarrette. They were just a bunch of soldiers getting some fresh air after a long drive.

Mike turned slowly around in a circle to get a better look. It was a vaste place. All twenty trucks in the convoy parked close together took up a tiny corner of the loading area which must have been the size of ten football fields They were only a hundred yards from the main battleship. The other ships in the fleet were docked further behind, almost a mile down, fifteen in all, cruisers, submarine busters. Two stood raised in dry dock far off in the distance and three more were moored in the a few hundred yards off in the water.

A few men were slowly starting to get out of their truck and mill about, some holding clip boards in their hands, other's stepping to the back of their trucks to release the latches and pull back the flaps revealing a facade of fake crates, hiding men and larger caliber guns. Everyone moved at an easy pace. The whole yard looked like it was running at half speed, it was the weekend and more then half the fleet had been given shore leave for the Thanksgiving holiday.

"How can everyone act so calm?" His hands were damp and his heart pounded in his chest so that he could feel the blood shoving through him throbbing in his temples and under his arms. His legs felt like thick heavy rubber, slow to respond, his mouth was so dry he doubted he would be able to say a word, as if it were packed in thick cotton. He meandered in a small circle to distract himself, terrified that his bowels would finally go loose. He would have given anything to just go to the bathroom.

Everyone else looked at ease, he was sure some of them must be as scared as he was but they didn't show it. They had been preparing for months while he had been brought on board only a couple of days ago. "It's what I get for opening my big mouth. I said I wanted to get out of town. Well I'm fucking out of town now."

When he had first made his request John had looked at him as if he were a kid asking for a pony. He had come hat in hand but he realized that in the resistance no one really gave a rats ass what you want. John's had stared at him with a look of mild astonishment, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. By his attitude Mike had assumed that nothing would come of it which was why he was caught off guard when he was called into the garage right before they were about to leave. It turned out he had gotten word they could use a couple of more white faces.

They had prepared a space for him in the trunk of the car, not even the whole thing; half of it was filled with supplies. Theyre was a canteen and a couple of peanut butter and jelly sanwiched in there, which was nice, but still. He looked at the other men incredulously but they were already talkinga mongst themselves. He was about to speak but thought better of itand started to climb in but one of the men stopped him. "Whoa there Nelly, we've got twenty minutes before we go. Anxious to get nice and cozy?" The guy smiles and patted him on the shoulder. Tall guy, blond real handsome. "Hey, you want some coffee? Here, have some coffee."

A pair of Nazi soldiers were walking down the gangway from the ship to the wharf. They approached the first truck and everyone saluted. The resistance men gestured over to the back of the truck inviting the sailors to take a look. A few men gathered behind them and in a second they were lifted up and dissappeared into the vehicle. He was able to see one of the Nazi's staring back down in confusion as he was being hoisted into the dark interior. It was like watching a fly get snapped up by the long tongue of a frog. "Things can die like that, all of a sudden. One second they're there, the next, gone." He turned around again, scanning the yard to see if anyone had noticed anything but he saw no change anywhere, no alarm sounded. They were past the point of no return.

Small groups splintered off every couple of minutes heading towards different targets. Others were still milling about, sitting on the hoods or bumpers of the trucks chatting. everything following a timeline he was unaware of.

Jimmy walked over to them and nodded. "Time to go guys." He pointed at Mike, "You, just follow our lead and don't interact with anyone. If they talk to you just look at the sky or at your feet. When the action starts we're keeping the gangway clear, that's all. Do what I tell you." Mike nodded his head. Jimmy turned and they started towards the main battleship and Mike followed behind taking up the rear.

He had no idea acting natural could be so difficult, fear made his body feel not his own, his elbows and legs seemed to shoot out at strange angles, jumbled. He felt as if he were a loadspeaker or radio tower transmitting a message. "I am a fuck up. I will magically ruin this. We are about to attack you" Nothing happened though. They started up the steep long gangaway that ran paralell to the ship, 50 ft to the top where it met the entry midway up the hull .

They were half way up when two soldiers appeared from the entrance and down the ramp owards them. They met the pair with only a quarter of the distance left to go. One of the Nazi's wore a lot of brass, Jimmy stopped and saluted, "Heil Hitler, Heil Schummer." Mike joined in with the other's. The officer seemed distracted and returned immediatelyto his conversation. As he passed by he turned for a moment and looked at Mike who turned his head and stared up into the sky. The officer stopped walking.

"Soldat?"

Mike froze, "GodammitI knew I was going to fuck this up somehow" he stared down at his feet and said nothing. The officer stepped in closer to him. "Schau mich an wenn ich zu ihnen sprechen!" Mike looked up for a second, Jimmy joined moved towards them attempting to break the tension. "I'm sorry colonel what did this noncompoop do now?" The colonel turned and looked at Jimmy for a second then spoke the lieutnant in a quiet tone.

"The colonel did not invite you to speak, This is between two German soldiers." Mike realized then that they hadn't given him the red and blue stripes, the colonel thought he was German.

"Is this how you act in an officers presence? Like a nervous school girl? Das ist wie sie in einem offiziere gegenwart handlen. Wei ein nervoser schulerin.?" Now the officer's face was almost touching his. Jimmy took another step closer and the second German soldier stepped in front of him and put his hand on his chest to stop him. " I apologize mein herren. He is not very bright up in the head. He is always getting in trouble." The colonel didn't even turn, but simply raised his hand to silence him and spoke to Mike again in a loud and demanding tone. "Speak when an officer addresses you. Sprechen wenn sie adressen und offizier."

Jimmy moved forward again and this time was shoved back with both hands. Mike was barely able to see Jimmy's hand when it came up in a flash and hit the soldier in the Adam's apple crushing his windpipe. The lieutenant grasped at his neck as he fell. The Colonel saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. Jimmy moved towards him but the lieutenant grabbed his leg from the ground causing him to stumble. Jimmy grabbed on to the Colonels uniform for support pushing him back into Mike who was pressed against the side rails. In that fraction of a seconds pause the colonel cried out "Hilf . . . "He wasn't even able to finish the entire word before Jimmy had unsheathed his knife and cut deep across the mans neck. Blood spurted from the wound onto Mike's face and into his eyes.

"Get that guy over the side."Jimmy called out the order while still pushing the cColonel back with a stiff arm. Tom And Jerry grabbed the Lieutenant by the legs and dragged him off the port side of the gangway where he fell onto the cement thirty feet below with barely a sound. Jimmy sheathed his knife and grabbed the colonel, one hand on his collar, the other at his belt and shoved and lifted him over the rail. "Get out of the fucking way." he barked at Mike. Mike ducked and found himself half crawling trying to get out of the way.

Jimmy had lifted the Colonel so that he was sitting on the top rail grabbing, kicking and pawing at Jimmy as blood poured from his neck. He was having difficulty getting him over as the colonel braced himself on the side of the ship only four feet behind. Mike grabbed the Colonel's shoulder pulling him to the side which allowed Jimmy to lift his flailing legs over the rail. The Colonel dropped for a moment then stopped. He was wedged between the ship and the gangway, head down, legs spread to stop his fall. Jimmy grabbed kicked at them through the rail to unwedge him with no luck but quickly stopped. "Fuck it. Let's move, quick."

Jimmy took the lead and Tom and Jerry followed close behind. It took Mike a moment to break himself away from awkward position they had left the dying Nazi in. Right then three new soldiers appeared at the ships enterance drawn by the noise. They turned and saw the Colonels upturned legs, less active now but still struggling and then Mikes face covered in blood. His team went right at them and both groups of men came together immediately fighting for the enterance. Jimmy turned and shouted to Mike. "Get the others up here."

Mike leaned over the railing and started shouting and waving his hands. The men below responded quickly moving to their truck, slamming their fist on the side. The trucks were starting to open up like fish tackle boxes, different levels seperating, for the moment it was hard to make out exactly what was happening as the soldiers rose up out of their hiding places.

Mike turned back. In the few intervening seconds he saw Nazi's, lying dead or dying on the ground. Jerry was stabbing into the tangle of men as his team pushed back against a few newcomers. Then Mike noticed a lone sailor on his his knees struggling with one of the latches that connected the gangway to the ship, he had already managed to loosen the connector furtherst away and a space was forming between the two with men occaionally lossing their footing falling into it. If he managed to work the last bolt loose they would be able to push the entire gangway back into the air and that would be the end of the plan., it would be virtually imossible to take the main battleship. Who knew if they would even be able to get the other ships through the harbor past it's massive guns.

The gangway ran parrallel to the ship but had a five foot ramp that jutted out at a ninety degree angle which connected to the ship. The fight was happening on the ramp and mass of bodies blocked the three or four feet that seperated him from the sailor who's face was crimson struggling to pull the bolt free from the eyelets that held everything together. Mike tried shoving his way past the other's towards him but all the fighting soldiers were locked together like a slab of frozen meat.

The bolt was begining to give way and the sailors expression was changing from one of desperation to that of satisfaction as it started to lift out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the first black soldiers starting up the ramp dressed in their olive green fatigue and his mind became very still and his thoughts crystal clear, so quick that time seemed to stop and he knew exactly what he needed to do. He stepped up onto the flimsy top rail of the gangway and jumped out into the intervening space. It was an awkward jump, only a few feet, but the sailor was low across from him and obscured to some extent by chains which helped secure the gangway to the ship, and the arms and legs of soldiers fallen around him.

Mike floated in the air for only a moment as he reached out to grab the sailors sleeve. His fingers jambed painfully into one of the rail missing their mark and he started to fall but managed to used his wrist as a lever to hold onto the lower railing for a moment and slow his decent. His skin tore from the effort the momentum of his jump swung his legs out under him out into the open space under the ramp which whipped his head and torso back. In his last moment before plunging backward into free fall he managed to reach with his left hand and grab the sailors pant leg.

It was enough of a grip to stop his fall, his legs swung back out and his other hand reached up and grabbed the sailor behind the heel. He had both hands around the foot now and with the full weight of his hanging body beneath him he gave a hard tug. He felt a deep satisfaction as the sailor's foot gave way and fell with him a good two feet, as it dropped he pulled himeself up a reached up and grabbed onto the waist of the man pants which gave him a firm grip. He pulled himself up further, grabbed onto the back of sailors jacket collar. The sailor tried resisting but his head was pulled down and forward through the railing along with one of his legs. Mike started to swing his legs underneath like a gymnast on the rings gaining momentum and two swing later everything came free.

He kept hold of the sailor but the waist as they fell. He saw the ship, the scaffolding, the sky and the clouds; he turned his head and saw soldiers pouring in from the dock onto the gangway, he felt his arms and legs paddling free in the air, he wondered if they would land in the water or on the dock as they fell.

He hit first, hard on his back and his breath was knocked out of him, then the sailor landed on him as they plunged into the ice cold water. He still had a firm grasp on the waistband and used it to pull himself up towards the surface. He propelled himself through the liquid feeling it's soft pressure on his face as he kicked him selfupward and broke throught the suface gasping hard for breath. He heard shots, muffled by distance and saw the ramp covered in men making their way into the ship. Then he was pulled down under.

The sailor had turned the tables, climbing up Mike's body, pulling himself up from below, grabbing Mike's shirt and then stepping into the cleft between his thigh and waist to kick off and up. Mike wrapped both arms around the sailors waist and clasped his hands together in front of the man's bell, a move he had practiced a thousand times on the mat in the wrestiing mat. He relaxed. "This will be quick." he thought to himself.

He lifted his legs up as he pulled down to wrap his legs around the sailors hips. Once he had intertwind his legs and start to squeeze he hugged the man in close, reached his right around his neck and slipped the other under the his armpit and back over the same shoulder, grabbed the wrist of his other hand. Mike was locked in now. He relaxed again for a second to let everything settle in and cinch up then he really started to pull back and squeeze. The sailor was wrapped up tight. He struggled grabbed at Mike's arm around his neck and reached back hoping to poke an eye or grab some hair, but Mike had his head tucked firmly down agains the mans back; as they sunk slowly down the last spasms hit. Mike thought towards the man, towards God. "I'm sorry buddy. This is just how it had to go. I'm sorry."

When the man sailor stopped struggling he let go lightly and made his way up to the surface. There was a lot of movement on the wharf, he heard gunfire but wasn't able to see much from here he was. He swam a few yards over grabbed onto one of the pilings, waited for the rise of the water to lift him up and grabbed one of the pier's lateral beams, hoisted himself up. From there was able to pull himself over the side, back up to ground level.

As he came over the side he saw the rush of troops all dressed in Army uniforms moving back up and down the pier. He felt proud, seeing the Army again, to know that they had a country. One of the soldiers rushing by noticed him and turned. Mike smiled and waved. The soldier raised his rifle. Mike saw the flash from the muzzle but never heard the shot.

### Chapter 36

Arendt stood alone on the prow of the battleship looking out onto the vaste, dark blue ocean. A light spray from the choppy sea below rose hitting her face bringing with it its briny smell. The mass of grey painted metal gave way gently below her feet. To starboard the gulf coast shoreline was a hazy line almost dissipated in the liquid air. She took a deep breath and allowed herself a slight smile. She couldn't tell whether it was her fear of hubris, developed through endless reading of the greeks, or plain superstition that kept her elation in check. She knew that she didn't want to tempt the fates, or god, or history, or any power that might take issue with expressions of vanity or pride on her part. "One battle doesn't win a war, no matter how daring." Still the whole operation had been a staggering success. After years of marshaling their forces, maneuvering for survival,l they were ready to bring the war to them, take the initiative. She was confident history would would mark it as the beginning, the moment when the resistance became the army, when the nation re-engaged the enemy.

There had even been a touch of luck, most of their sailors had been on shore leave. Those left behind fought for a short while but were quickly overrun by a force that appeared as if out of nowhere and advanced relentlessly, without fear, rifles held high, moving in teams of three to specified positions, making quick work of any resistance along the way. The pragmatists amongst them jumped overboard to escape capture. Once they secured a ship each soldier manned their stations, a highly trained skeleton crew putting all of their skills to the test, rushing to cast off as quickly as possessive.

Once released from land they unleashed the fleets artillery on the naval base itself. The munitions warehouse went up in a massive fireball seen for hundreds of miles. The twelve ships under their control accounted for less than five percent of the German Navy but after sinking the ships they couldn't man they had taken half of the Pacific fleet from them. They had some time, some breathing room.

Otherwise they had spent their last two days on the Gulf Coast working furiously, loading and unloading troops and civilians, almost 10,000 refugees in all, men, women, and children, freed person's, whole towns of resistance fighters. Each had made their way to the rendezvous points along the Atlantic coast where they had been scooped up and brought on board. Now with the addition of the sailors brought in from Mexico their fleet was well manned. A third of the freed men and women had chosen to stay on board and were being trained as sailors, woken up at dawn, shouted at and corrected mercilessly throughout the day. She felt bad that they had almost no time to celebrate their liberation but it was their choice. There has never been a victorious army in the world that had coddled its new recruits. She wished she could have been there though, to see it, more so she wished they had the equipment and resources to film it for posterity.

Nazi trucks pulling up plantation roads, black soldiers in green infantry fatigues streaming out of the back, taking over. Freed men and women ran in from distant fields as word spread like wildfire and embraced their liberators, their brethren, tears streaming down their faces. Each was greeted with with warmth and a gun or a rifle and directions of where to go and what to do next. All the owner families were executed on the spot as were the staff. Some were spared when this or that former slave interceded on their behalf, explained quickly why they should be allowed to live. All this in a matter of minutes.

Rows of cars and trucks pulled in from the towns that had provided support and cover for the operation. Everyone packed in together, laughing, smiling, shaking hands, embracing. And finally the caravan out to the ocean, waving the stars and stripes hanging out of open windows, singing the national anthem, honking their horns non stop along the road, people rushing out of their homes staring wide eyed at the spectacle. They had encountered patrols along the way, lost people, but the enemy was quickly overwhelmed, everyone wanted nothing more than to go straight at them with no fear for life and limb.

She looked back in the direction of land and thought of all the changes and disruptions that about to be visited on the utopia of warriors. Nothing is more disruptive to the highly disciplined ranks of a military society than the arrival of civilians with their chaotic opinions, their needs and desires and personal concerns. There would be the added pressure of racial tensions as soldiers integrated into a unified chain of command. Their homogeneous isolation was now ended, as was their autonomy. They were now firmly back in the regular army, under orders, at least she hoped so. It is what they had discussed in excruciating detail. She and Robeson had quickly promoted a large proportion of their soldiers to ensure they had firm ground to stand on, protection from possible marginalization. "Paul will have his hands full. I don't envy him at all."

Her arrival at the head of their ragtag transport fleet of fishing boats and skiffs had been greeted by a seventeen gun salute (she had been awarded the rank of Admiral by central command). The sideboys ushered her up under the boatswains watchful eye with all appropriate ruffles and flourishes. She had been greeted by the officer of the watch after making her way through the two rows of sailors, salutes held all the way through. She had relieved Mabel of her brief command with proper ceremony, "I relieve you Maam" and "I stand relieved". She had wanted to make sure the career admirals she brought with her to take over the day to day administration of the fleet knew she had no intention of breaking Naval tradition or reforming the military. This was no revolution, just war.

She noticed Mabel approaching from a distance. She stopped ten feet away and saluted.

"You requested me Admiral."

"Yes. Please act normal. Call me Hannahh. I can't keep up these military appearances twenty four hours a day."

"As you wish."

"Cigarette?"

"Yes please. Jaspar gives me nothing but grief about it. Tells me it is unbecoming."

They both had to work to shield the flame of the lighter from the wind with their hands. Finally they both stood back and smoked.

Mabel spoke first "Well that was more trouble than I expected."

"Yes, indeed. I'm sure the sailors are laughing at it. Their must be some simple way to light a cigarette in the wind we are unaware of."

"I suppose so. Everyone is an expert in some bullshit."

"Just so. Congratulations again Mable. It was quite a success."

"Thank you General. It's a good start I hope."

"There are some things we need to discuss."

"Of course."

"You executed twenty one of your own people in the last year."

"That's correct General. I believe I sent you reports on each of those."

"Yes, read the reports. They would stand up well in court yet the offenses seemed minor."

"You put me in charge of the mission."

"I did, under Mr. Robeson's counsel."

"The expectation would be for you to be promoted after a victory like this but I am unsure."

"I chose to take my casualties before the battle. Any mistake could have meant our doom, the loss of some of our best soldiers. It was a risk I was willing to do whatever was necessary to prevent that. People are naturally sloppy, loose. Especially what a woman is in charge, a black woman at that."

"We are already treading on dangerous territory ethically when we deal with collaborator's. We must hold to higher standards amongst ourselves. We can't allow our desire for power to seep into the organization."

"I'm sorry if you feel morally ambiguous as to your own policy. I however am quite clear. Those of us who stand for the liberation of working people around the world will do whatever it takes."

"The ambiguity is important, crucial even. I think you could do with a heavy dose of it Mabal."

"Yes General, a heavy dose of ambiguity it is." Mabel held Arendt's silent stare defiantly

"The Mormon operative, he was supposed to be here."

"He left in the middle of the fight."

"You were under orders to bring him here to me."

"As I said"

"You sent him on a side mission, an execution."

"Yes General I did."

"Those were not your order's."

"No General."

"As a proponent of revolutionary discipline it seems you favor convenience."

"There was a Nazi who needed to be killed. The Goy was the man for the job."

"The Goy?"

"The Mormon soldier, that's what they called him."

"How absurd, who comes up with such things?. In any case discipline is disciple. Unless you feel you answer to some other chain of command."

"No Maam."

"You are far too comfortable deciding who deserves to die."

"Judge me all you want. This one needed to go."

"If you kill a our soldier's without consulting with your second officer or if I feel that you have crossed the line in any way I will stripped of your command and have you prosecuted for war crimes and insubordination. Understood?"

Mabel nodded. Arendt was pacing back and forth in front of her arms clasped behind her back. "And where is John

"He chose to lead and coordinate from the plantation. There was no way for him to make it back to us in time. His plan was to join our forces in Appalachia. Perhaps you have heard, one of the men from your or Jewish front has made remarkable progress in organizing up there."

"We will need to stop addressing ourselves to these splinter groups, in particular the religious ones.. From now on we are simply the United States Armed Forces."

"I wouldn't be concerned about this group. They are fully on board, they made contact with us requesting orders."

"To continue harassing the enemy until further notice."

"Good."

"We will have to try to get him back. I need him here with me, but it will have to wait. We have a great deal of ocean to cover."

"Where are we headed?"

"Argentina"

"Argentina? What the hell for?"

"It seems there has been a breakthrough down there of some kind. We will need to see for ourselves. I am told it might change everything."

