Upfall

The soldier with the Bren gun swung the weapon toward Shapira.

The Israeli lieutenant held out his hands, his Tavor slung behind him.

"We were not informed about you either" said Shapira confidently, and affecting a fake British accent. "But jolly good to see you anyway."

Mofaz, Ilan and Feldhandler cautiously walked into the Russians’ view behind Shapira. Rafi remained hidden in weeds by the side of the road. The two groups of heavily armed soldiers eyed each other. "Who of you is in charge?" demanded Samsonov.

"I am" said Shapira, before Yatom could respond. Shapira gave the sayeret leader a quick wink. "Colonel Jones at your service“ continued Shapira. "Like my man here said, we need petrol and some other supplies. We are allies old boy. If you help us I'll see that you get plenty more Bren guns and much else besides." Yatom looked at Shapira and let the charade continue.

Samsonov, for his part, seemed not to like Shapira's impromptu performance. His twisted his face into a scowl and shifted his body toward the Israeli lieutenant. Samsonov looked monstrous as the mottled light from the houses fell across his massive frame. "You are in occupied Soviet territory, Colonel Jones" said Samsonov very slowly, crushing each English syllable under his thick accent. Shapira had the impression of a bear slowly stalking its prey in the forest, crunching brabbles along the way. "Nothing here is easy to come by. I don't have petrol or anything else to give you for free comrade."

"Then at least put us up for a few hours in one of your houses, Marshal" said Shapira. "My men need rest. Perhaps we could discuss a fair exchange in the morning."

Samsonov stood remarkably still, more like a predator than a friend. "You are behind the attacks on the German camps?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"I know what happens in my territory. What is your unit?"

"His Majesty's Parachute Brigade" said Shapira, not missing a beat. "I am pleased to meet you." Shapira extended his hand to the Russian."

Samsonov stepped forward and took Shapira's hand. The two men gripped each other tightly.

"Very well, Colonel Jones" said Samsonov. "How many men do you have?"

"A platoon" answered Shapira. "That house should do nicely" he said pointing at the smaller of the two well lit buildings.

Samsonov thought for a moment, then clapped his hands. A soldier immediately ran up to him. They spoke in rapid Russian. The soldier followed by several others trotted over to the house and started shouting excitedly. As the Israelis watched half a dozen other sloppy looking Russians stumbled out of the house followed by an equal number of half-dressed women. The smaller house was clearly a brothel. Marshal Samsonov seemed to have made a pleasant base for himself in the middle of a nasty war.

"Come" said Samsonov. "The house is yours for the night. You'll find it quite comfortable I think, and if you wish, the ladies can stay - but you will have to pay."

"Thank you Marshal, but you may have the ladies stay elsewhere" said Shapira.

"As you wish. Put your vehicles there" said Samsonov, pointing at the yard between the two houses. "I'll put out a guard so you can rest, and we will talk further in the morning, yes?"

"We are grateful indeed" said Shapira sincerely. "May I ask one more thing before we go?" Samsonov nodded curtly, his expression suspicious.

"How is it that you speak such excellent English?"

Samsonov paused, his gaze baleful. "My father was a merchant—a middleman you would say. In the years just after the revolution I traveled with him to England—several times. He did much trade there."

"I see" said Shapira. The Israeli was ready to take his leave when the Russian started speaking again.

"He traded prosperously even after the revolution, and I with him, until Comrade Stalin reproached him—for the good of the motherland." Samsonov's lips curled into a smile, but his eyes remained fixed on Shapira, as if the two parts of his face were disconnected. Shapira stared back at Samsonov uneasily, wanting to end the discussion. Samsonov waited some more seconds, his eyes straying from Shapira to the commandos arrayed along the road.

Finally, the Russian clicked his heels, nodded curtly, and stalked away toward the larger house. His men followed him furtively, like rats in a pack thought Shapira.

The Israelis parked the trucks as Samsonov instructed and carefully unloaded the wounded who took three of the six available beds. Fliegel's men plus Norit and Hannah followed and quickly claimed the other three beds—the women took two, while the Bears piled around the remaining cot, agreeing to take turns. The Israeli commandos resigned themselves to another night on the ground—but least with a roof over their heads.