Long Lost Brother

by Don Kafrissen

  Chapter 26

  The night was thick, dark with no moon showing. Petar headed for the hills, the way they'd come in.

  Martin was not very talkative, and Petar preferred it that way. Martin's farewell had been quite emotional. He suspected that he would never see his mother again.

  Petar thought about his parents, both of them killed during the war by an Italian bomber. He had a sister who'd married young and moved south, near the border with Albania, to a town called Pec. He had visited there once and recalled that Pec sat in a valley. At the time, he had been more interested in a girl in Dubrovnik, and his sister was secondary. He laughed to himself remembering the plump little girl, whose name escaped him. Her father owned an Italian gelato store on the old square. The gelato ̶ that was the best part about her. Now that the war was over, perhaps he'd go south and look for her. Bah, she was probably fat as a house from eating all that gelato, and married to some mean old man and raising three whiny children. No, best he start over, maybe meet one of his sister's friends.

  He was not paying much attention until Martin poked him and hissed, "Someone is coming up behind us. Do not stop."

  Petar nodded and lit a cigarette, letting it dangle from his mouth.

  Near him, Martin tensed as the lights came alongside. It was the Gaz, the small vehicle with the same two Russian soldiers that had stopped them before. Martin didn't know this, but, recognizing them, Petar put out a hand. "Easy, we know them. Let Ivan speak to them."

  He slowed and stopped by the side of the dirt road, shutting the motor off. Ivan had already hopped down when Petar opened his door. Ivan was holding out a pack of the Turkish cigarettes. "Good morning, my friends," he said in Russian. "What brings you out on such a dark night?" The soldiers had left their small vehicle idling with the headlights burning.

  The Russian sergeant was leaning against the front fender and lighting his own cigarette. "Hello, farmers. Isn't it a little late for you to be on this road?"

  "Yes," agreed Ivan. "Travel at night, plow during the day." Ivan crossed his arms across his chest, and slapped his arms, indicating cold. "Besides, my brother drives and my friends and I sleep in the back."

  The young soldier asked, "Do you still have any of that wonderful dried fruit? I would like some, please."

  Ivan shrugged, "Alas, no, we traded it for some fish, you know, for fertilizer." He walked to the rear of the truck and the young soldier followed. "Would you like some?"

  He gestured to Yuri, who stood on the rear deck, "Here, young brother, give this man some of our fish."

  When Yuri took the lid off one of the barrels, the odor of rotting fish was overpowering and it was everything Yuri could do not to vomit on the soldier below him.

  The soldier staggered back holding his nose, "No, no. Nyet! Put the lid on, please!"

  The sergeant pulled out his pistol, "What is it, Corporal? What do they have? Are they hiding something?" he motioned the men against the side of the old truck. He was clearly agitated.

  "No, sergeant," the corporal said, staggering back against Isaac. "It is just the smell from the rear of the lorry. It is rotting fish." He turned and shoved Isaac aside. "You smell almost as bad as the fish."

  Isaac just shrugged. Yuri hopped down and stood with Ivan, Petar and Isaac. Martin was still in the cab, pretending sleep. The Russian sergeant walked to the truck cab and shook Martin's shoulder. Martin looked bleary-eyed at him and mumbled something.

  The soldier opened the door and shouted, "поторапливайтесь! (Move!)" Tugging Martin by the sleeve, he stood him with the other men by the truck. The two soldiers conferred in whispers, the older sergeant gesturing with his weapon.

  Ivan frowned and muttered to the others, "He's deciding whether he should let us go or take us back to the town. Something has made him suspicious of us." He looked at Petar, "Any ideas?"

  Before Petar could respond, Isaac grasped his stomach and fell to his knees, gasping and groaning. Yuri bent to help him, but the sergeant yelled something and motioned him to step back.

  "What is wrong with him?" asked the soldier, looking at the others frantically.

  Ivan stepped up to the soldiers and said, "It is probably just something foul he ate. Come, come, friends, let us just take him home. I'm sure he will be fine."

  The sergeant shook his head and said in a bastardized German, "No, I think you must come with us. Something is not right. Load your friends in the back of your lorry. I will follow behind you."

  Ivan continued, "Is this necessary? We are all friends here. It is late. Would your officers appreciate you bringing some farmers with a load of smelly fish into the barracks?"

  Before the suspicious sergeant could reply, Martin pulled the large pistol out from under his loose shirt and shot him twice in the chest. The corporal tried to bring his weapon up, but Martin stepped to the side and shot him also. There was a surprised look on the young man's face, as well as on Isaac's and the others. The corporal fumbled at his sub-machine gun but slipped to his knees and fell over backwards. There was stunned silence for a moment.

  Ivan was the first to react, "What the hell did you do that for, Martin?"

  Martin just stood looking down at the two men he'd just killed, the pistol hanging by his side. Slowly he looked up, his face blank. "I hate those Russians almost as much as I hate the Nazis. I am not going back or anywhere he wanted us to go."

  Petar just shook his head in disgust. "Ivan, drive their vehicle off the road and into the trees. We need to hide it. Yuri, Isaac, load their bodies into the rear. If we are lucky, they will not be missed until morning, and by then we will be far away."

  They stood still looking at the two bodies until Petar yelled, "Move it!"

  They jumped and started doing what Petar ordered. The night was still dark, though a sliver of moon was just climbing over the horizon. When the two soldiers had been loaded into the jeep, Ivan climbed in and drove it down the road until he found an opening large enough for the vehicle to fit through. Before he sent them into the forest, he and Martin moved the bodies into the front seats. The motor was just gurgling when Ivan jammed it in gear and the vehicle lurched forward, crashing through some scrub and over the lip of a ravine. He broke off a leafy branch and, backing out onto the road, swept it back and forth, erasing all tracks. Back at the lorry, Petar was sweeping away all trace of footprints and blood as he ordered Isaac to look for shell casings and then throw them deep into the brush. In no more than five minutes, they were all back aboard the lorry and speeding southwest on the way to the Austrian border and out of the Russian-occupied territory.

  In the back of the lorry, Isaac, Yuri and, now, Martin sat with their backs against the back of the cab. Yuri leaned close to Isaac and whispered, "Where did you and Martin go last night?"

  Isaac was uncomfortable and answered, "To visit an old friend. It doesn't involve you."

  "Martin said you killed a man. Who was he?"

  Isaac jerked his head up. "Martin said that?"

  "Who was he, Isaac?"

  Isaac sighed, "Do you remember the SS officer when we were working on the road at Auschwitz?"

  Yuri nodded in the dark.

  Isaac continued, "I thought I recognized him. He had been a police officer in my hometown. He was the man who shot my papa and grandpapa. So I paid him a visit."

  "Why did he come back home? Did he not know that someone, someday would come looking for him?"

  Isaac just shook his head. "He probably thought he was safe, and the Russians need hard, local men to police their new citizens. Beside, he was only a low level officer."

  "Ya, he probably thought no one would remember that part of him." Yuri was weighing all this in his mind. If he had been an SS officer at Auschwitz, he would run as fast and as far as he could. Yet this man had returned home and resumed the same job he had before the war. What made a man think that he could, if not actually commit atrocities, then at least aid in them and return as if nothing had happened? "Why
didn't you allow me to accompany you?" he asked quietly. "You had promised."

  Isaac had been sitting with his forearms on knees, head bowed, braced against the jouncing of the lorry on the rough roads. Now he raised his head. "This was personal, Yuri."

  Yuri just sat still, but finally said, "This war was personal to me also. Remember that, Isaac. We are either a team or we are not."

  "You are right. From now on, it will be you and me, and Abraham, if he still wishes."

  They motored on through the night, Ivan searching for the road through the dense forest that would take them back into Austria. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The most difficult problem was obtaining fuel for the lorry.

  As the sun rose, they knew they were in American-controlled Austria. The rutted road led them to the farm where they'd left their lorry in the shed behind the ancient farmhouse.

  Ivan jumped down and opened the doors. Yes, it was still there. It only took a short time for them to transfer the stinking barrels to their lorry, siphon the balance of the fuel and load their personal belongings into the lorry.

  Before they departed, Isaac said, "I have to go to Vienna to meet this man Levintall, to give him my drawings and tell of the bad men I met."

  "No," said Ivan gripping his shoulder with an iron grip, "you have to complete the mission you were assigned. When you are finished, you will be free to do as you wish. You understand that, don't you?"

  Reluctantly, Isaac agreed. "I will return. May we come back with the boat after the weapons are safe in Palestine?"

  Petar considered, "No, my friend. The war is over. Now, we just want to make our land livable once again, create jobs, businesses. I will help my leader, Josip Tito. You must find your own way after this."

  "I understand. Now let us go into the postal office and get our money back from the old woman and then head home."

  Though she was reluctant, the woman shoved some crumpled bills across the table to him. "I never thought I would see you again, boy. You have more grit in you than I thought."

  "Thank you, Mein Frau. Your lorry is in the shed. It runs well, and we left some fuel in the old thing."

  "Danke. Did you get your parents out of Russian Germany?" she asked innocently. She knew that was not why they wanted the old lorry.

  Isaac smiled at the twinkle in her eyes. "Yes, of course." Isaac looked down at the notes he'd been unconsciously flattening and slowly shoved them across the counter to her. "Here, I think you need these more than I do."

  She grinned toothlessly at him, and the bills disappeared.

  Outside, Yuri asked why he'd given her the money. Isaac replied, "They are Reichmarks and are probably worthless now. If we need more, the Irgun will provide."

  They were all exhausted, so Petar decided to stop in the town of Oberndorf, just north of Salzburg. They found an inn that wasn't damaged and took two rooms after parking the truck in the courtyard in the rear. Petar cautioned the innkeeper that they had just acquired several barrels of rotting fish to be used for fertilizer. "They are all covered so the smell should not be too bad. Would you please wake us before supper tonight? You do have a supper available, don't you?"

  The innkeeper, a short, thin man with most of his hair gone, smiled reluctantly and assured them that he would have something for them to eat.

  They trudged up the narrow stairs and found their rooms. At the end of the hallway was a bathroom with a high bathtub. "Oh, Mein Gott, a bath," exclaimed Petar. "Go away. I am first."

  "Second," shouted Isaac.

  Yuri and Ivan looked at each other. Yuri gestured with a hand out, "You may go next, Ivan."

  Ivan bowed from the waist, "Thank you, my friend, I will insure that the tub is clean when I am finished."

  "And I will be last," sighed Martin. "Ah, I will be able to soak as long as I wish."

  Inside, there was a thick cake of yellow soap, several towels on a chair and a rough sponge. One by one, the men scrubbed the grime from their bodies, each leaving a thick ring of dirt around the inside of the porcelain tub. Ivan made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning the ring, but only smeared the dirt.

  By the time Martin locked the door, most of the hot water was gone. He quickly washed and came back to the room. The two beds were already in use and a pillow and blanket lay on the floor.

  Chapter 27

  Early in the morning, Ivan kicked the others awake. "Up, We still have a long way to go. Isaac, do you drive?"

  He shrugged, wiping sleep from his eyes, "Some. My father used to let me sit on his lap once in a while."

  Ivan nodded, "Good enough. Time you learned."

  They ate and loaded their gear. Petar took care of the innkeeper, paying him with American money. Ivan backed the lorry out of the courtyard and drove out of town. Isaac was in the front seat watching everything he did. When they were in the country, Ivan pulled over and switched places with Isaac. "Just do as I did. It will come to you."

  With several jerks, stalls and gear grinding, Isaac managed to get the large lorry moving down the highway. Ivan was a good teacher, never getting ruffled and always giving instructions before they were needed. By the time they came to the next town, St. Michael, Isaac had settled down. They practiced shifting down in these hills to slow their descent, then up to pick up speed. Two hours later they crossed the border back into Yugoslavia at Vellach. There was a small kiosk at the border but the lone man on duty just waved the military-style lorry through.

  Ivan gave a sigh of relief. "Let us take the coastal road south, yes? There is a nice breeze and the day is warm. Besides, I love the smell of the sea." Ivan pointed toward the southwest, and they passed just east of Trieste. The freshly erected road sign pointed toward Rijeka, and Ivan nodded. "Wake me when we get there, my chauffeur." He rolled his jacket up, stuffed it behind his head and promptly fell asleep.

  Isaac drove the big lorry down out of the mountains and onto the flat stretch of road leading to Rijeka. When they came to the town, Isaac shoved Ivan, who looked up and just motioned him to continue south. The seaside road was wide and firmly packed. There was a fair bit of traffic, and he fell in behind a procession of farm lorries and military vehicles. Up ahead was a roadblock with military men milling about, searching vehicles and asking for papers.

  Again Isaac woke Ivan. When he'd rubbed his eyes clear and saw what was ahead, he knocked loudly on the rear of the cab. Petar and Yuri's faces appeared. Ivan just gestured for them to look. Petar smiled and stood beside Yuri and Martin, leaning on the top of the cab.

  When it was their turn, a soldier, an officer, yelled something to Petar, smiling. Petar hollered back an insult and they both laughed. After handing down a paper, Petar hopped down and stood several minutes talking and slapping the man on the back. He was as tall as Petar, had a thin moustache and receding chin. His cloth cap was cockily tilted to one side, and he wore a pistol in a well-worn flapless holster. Petar offered him a cigarette and they stood smoking and talking. Meanwhile, the traffic backed up and, in a few minutes, Horns started blaring. With a further backslap, Petar wedged himself into the cab beside Ivan.

  "What was that about?" asked Ivan wiggling his shoulders to make room.

  Petar chuckled, "Do you remember that crazy fool, Jovan? The one who jumped on the Nazi tank and threw a grenade into it just north of Dubrovnik?"

  Ivan grinned and nodded, "Yes. Was that him?"

  Petar laughed and clapped his hands, "Yes, they made him a captain in the new army. He said he was practicing to see what a captain could do!"

  "Imagine that." He turned to Isaac and said, "That fool, a captain. They ought to make Petar and me generals."

  After stopping at a small military base for fuel, they were on the road once again, this time with Petar driving. Isaac sat in the rear with Martin and Yuri. They talked as best they could over the growl of the diesel engine. "Will we get the weapons back to Palestine the same way we got out?" asked Yuri.

  "Probably," answered Isaac, "though I do not think we
will be detouring to Cyprus for an aeroplane ride. I think we will go straight to the beach off Tel Aviv. If I was planning the landing, it would be in the night."

  Yuri nodded, "It will take two, maybe three days to get to Palestine." Martin just sat listening.

  Finally, he asked, "Palestine is in British hands now, is it not?"

  Isaac said, "Yes. Why?"

  "Well, won't they have patrol boats out to intercept anyone trying to land?"

  "Yes. So? I'm sure Zvi will have planned our landing with no problems."

  Martin snorted, "Man plans, God laughs."

  Isaac hoped that wouldn't be true. He was tired even though he'd slept, and he spent most of his time trying to figure out a way to contact that man, Seymour Levintall, the man who helped the Allies with information on the Nazis. He could do that also. He knew some names and could draw very accurate pictures of the men and women who had tortured and killed prisoners.

  "Martin, do you know anyone in Vienna?" he asked.

  Martin shook his head, "Nein. I have never been there. Why?"

  "I would like to contact that man who was in Auschwitz who is helping at the trials of the war criminals."

  "Just write a letter to the War Crimes Tribunal. Someone there may be able to forward it."

  "War Crimes Tribunal? In Nuremberg?"

  "Of course. What have you got to lose?" To Martin, this seemed simple.

  Isaac nodded to himself. "I think we first have to get these weapons to the Irgun. Let us concentrate on that."

  Later that day, they rolled into Split, drove along the waterfront and stopped at Petar's house. Ursula came running out when she heard the lorry stop. First she hugged Petar, then Ivan and Isaac. She looked up at Martin and said, "And who is this strapping lad?"

  "Hello, Miss. I am Martin. They brought me back from Freiberg. That is in Germany. It is now under Russian control so my mama thought it best if I left."