Mila 18 - Leon Uris [196]
Both men froze at the same instant, trying to hear something that alerted a sixth sense beyond their normal waves of hearing. A few seconds later the alarm bell erupted in a series of dashes.
“I’ll never get used to that goddamned bell,” Chris said.
Wolf Brandel came in carrying a large suitcase. He looked at the chessboard. “Who played black?” he asked. Chris jerked his thumb at Andrei. Wolf grimaced and went “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Got a cigarette?” Chris asked.
“Don’t smoke.”
“Hell.”
“Hey, Andrei. Three Kar 98’s came in with seventy rounds of ammo. Pretty good. We got a line on four Mauser 9-mm.’s day after tomorrow.”
“Good work,” Andrei said. “At this rate we’ll have weapons for half our force in another few weeks. How is Rachael?”
“Fine.”
“What do you have in the suitcase?”
“I want to get some matzo-ball grenades to take back to my bunker. We tested one yesterday. Blam! Nuts and bolts everywhere. I want to talk to Schlosberg about designing a real big matzo ball.” Wolf held his hands out to indicate a four-foot diameter. “Something like a land mine we can detonate with a hot spark. Something packed with a couple thousand nuts and bolts.”
“Good idea,” Andrei said.
Wolf put the suitcase on the table. “Take a look.”
Andrei opened the lid, not knowing what to expect. He unfolded a blanket. An automatic weapon and five clips of ammunition burst into view.
“My God,” Andrei said, not believing what his eyes saw, “my God! A Schmeisser machine pistol. My God!” Andrei licked his lips; his hands trembled to pick up the weapon but feared it would disappear like a mirage. “Where on earth did you get it, Wolf?”
“German tank sergeant, lost a leg on the eastern front. Sold it for only four thousand zlotys.”
“My God!”
“Go on, Andrei, pick it up.”
Andrei lifted the weapon out of the suitcase. He patted it with a gentleness reserved only for Gabriela. He slipped the bolt, sighted in, cradled it against his hip, clicked the trigger.
“It’s yours,” Wolf said.
“Mine?”
“A gift from the Brushmaker’s command.”
“I couldn’t accept it.”
“We had a meeting and a vote. We decided in a democratic manner it would be most effective in your hands. Of course most of the voters were Bathyrans.”
Andrei was seized with emotion. “I love it so much there is only one name for her. Gaby! Perhaps Gaby will fire a shot heard around the world! Wolf, I love you!”
The alarm bell sounded again. Simon Eden came in.
“Got a smoke?” Chris asked.
“Only German ersatz, but they’re yours.”
Chris retreated to the cot, caressing the pack of cigarettes with the same affection Andrei had shown for the Schmeisser.
“Look!” Andrei said, showing Simon the machine pistol.
“Yes, I know,” Simon said. “As commander of Joint Forces, I was given the nominal courtesy of being allowed to cast my vote with the Bathyrans for its disposition.”
It was immediately clear to Andrei that Simon’s dark eyes were trying to shield trouble.
“What’s on your mind, Simon? You’re a worse faker than I am.”
“Funk arrived in Warsaw last night.”
It had been long expected. Everyone knew it would come and what Funk’s arrival meant. Final liquidation. Yet the silence was long and frightened.
“Alfred Funk,” Chris said at last. “The harbinger of spring. The messenger of peace and light.”
Andrei patted his Schmeisser. “Gaby, dear girl, you arrived just in time.”
The tall, angular commander looked doubtfully from Wolf to Andrei to Chris, then exploded his message. “I am making a change in strategy,” he said. “I am pulling our companies out of their exposed positions, breaking them up and putting them into bunkers.”
“Why?” Andrei demanded. “To have them wait in the ground like shivering dogs to be hunted down and butchered bunker by bunker?”
Simon shook his head in defeat. “I have reappraised our strength. We cannot make a street fight.”
“What? Wasn’t it Simon Eden who came to me a year ago oozing Zionist purity from every pore, saying, ‘Don’t fight now, Andrei. Wait! Make your shots heard!