She nodded and agreed, "And right she was. Are you going to stay here with us?"
"No, Miss, I think I will go to Palestine with Isaac and Yuri. Thank you, though."
Last was Yuri, and Ursula gave him a rather longer hug than any of the others. It was more tender, too. "Welcome back, my friend," she whispered against his neck.
All Yuri could do was grin and kiss just below her ear. Sighing softly, she released him.
Straightening herself she said, "Now, come inside and tell me all about your adventures." She looked at Petar and pointed. "Are you going to leave that vehicle out in front?"
He sighed and muttered, "Just like Mama, always ordering me about." As he left, he called over his shoulder, "I will put it out back in the garage, all right?"
She made a face and stuck out her tongue at him. Yuri grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her inside.
When they were seated at the table and coffee placed in front of them, Isaac asked, "So what do we do now, Petar? Will the same boat take us back to Palestine?"
"I do not know, my friend. I will contact my friends in the government and see what they have arranged." He lit one of the fragrant Turkish cigarettes and divulged, "I don't think anyone expected us to get this far."
Ivan laughed and pounded the table, "Hah! We fooled them, eh? Whoever 'they' are.”
He lit his cigarette from Petar's. "I think we are finished with these two, excuse me, these three."
"Yes, I think someone else will come for you in the morning." He reached into his pocket and handed the keys to Isaac. "It's all yours now, Isaac, Yuri, Martin. I wish you good luck with the weapons and making a new country. We will be making one here from the disparate tribes ̶ the Serbs, Croats, Kosovars, Bosnians, and all the others." Again Ivan slapped the table, "You fellows only have Arabs to argue with. Yes, you have our best wishes for a satisfactorily outcome."
They finished their coffee and Ivan and Petar shook hands with the three and left.
Ursula stood to clean the table. Yuri stood with her and smiled, "Will you allow me to help you?"
Ursula batted her eyes and smiled, "Of course. I would like the help."
Isaac and Martin looked at each other and groaned. "I think we will go upstairs to sleep. Come up when you are ready, Yuri. Goodnight Ursula." Isaac concealed a smirk behind his hand as he and Martin trod up the stairs.
Yuri carried the cups and saucers into the small kitchen and set them on the counter. As he turned, Ursula threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately, pinning his back against the sink edge. Yuri, though just a youth, and unpracticed in love play, wrapped his arms around the sturdy woman and kissed her back just as passionately. "Are you tired from your trip?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes, yes, I must get to bed as quickly as possible," he answered still clutching her.
She broke free and tugged him into her bedroom, which adjoined the kitchen. Ursula was a wise and patient woman but her need for Yuri overrode all caution. She tore at his clothes, pulling his still-buttoned shirt over his head and followed it with his undershirt.
Yuri reached tentatively for her breast and cupped it with his hand. "I have never done this before. You will have to show me what to do," he admitted.
She pulled her top over her head and quickly reached behind her and unbuckled her bra, letting it slip from her shoulders. "Don't worry, you're doing fine."
They stood eyeing each other for a minute. She took his hand and placed it on her naked breast. He felt its firm weight and gently squeezed it. She closed her eyes and sighed, covering his hand. "It's been so long."
Then Ursula stepped forward and cupped his face in her hands. Their noses were touching and she said, "Tonight you will become a man. Never mind that Bar Mitzvah nonsense."
It took just a moment to unbutton her skirt and slide the zipper down. The material pooled around her feet. The white cotton panties followed.
Yuri looked in wonder. This beautiful creature stood nude in the nearly faded twilight before him, all smooth flesh and shadows. He had never seen a woman nude before, except in the courtyard in Auschwitz where they all were ordered to disrobe. He was lucky and became a worker, but most of the women, children and old people had been led away to die.
Ursula loosened her light auburn hair and let it fall over one shoulder, nearly covering her breast. He thought he'd never seen a lovelier vision in his young life. He quickly dropped his trousers and then his undershorts.
They came together and kissed each other hungrily. Yuri forced her back onto the bed and they rolled over and over kissing, licking, and sucking. For an unpracticed youth, Yuri comported himself with, if not skill, then extreme ardor. As for Ursula, the slim young man more than satisfied her. She gave him breathless instruction, and he followed those guidelines with eagerness.
At last they lay beside each other, clasping hands, allowing the sweat to dry on their skin as the cool sea breeze crept through the half opened window and settled gently on the exhausted lovers.
Chapter 28
The next morning after breakfast, two men came for Isaac, Martin, and Yuri. They retrieved the truck and drove down to the waterfront. Before they left, Yuri kissed Ursula long and hard. "I'll be back," he promised.
She just nodded, tears in her eyes. She knew she would probably never see him again.
At the pier, they loaded the barrels onto Teo’s thirty-meter flat-backed fishing boat, its great sweeping masts draped with nets. They threw their personal gear aboard and jumped onto the deck. Isaac introduced Martin to Teo, the captain.
The captain shook his head, "No names." He gestured toward the doorway, "Put your gear on any of the empty bunks." He was curt and never smiled.
They ate two meals a day, worked from dawn until dark and barely spoke to the other men except to get directions for their duties. The deckhands were different from the ones on the trip out, but the captain refused to explain why. As they got close to the eastern end of the Mediterranean, the captain called Isaac into the wheelhouse. "The radio. Call your friends."
Isaac looked bewildered. He'd never used a radio like this. The captain left the wheel to one of the mates and settled himself into a swivel chair secured to the deck. Isaac stood beside him. "I, I don't know who to call or how," he stammered.
The captain showed him a scrap of paper. On it were three numbers, a decimal and another number, and the name Zvi. He switched on the radio and, while it was warming up, said, "You must be quick. The British will be listening."
Isaac nodded and asked, "What do we need to know?"
The captain scribbled on a piece of paper, "Coordinates where we are to land and when."
"Should I tell him to have many men and a lorry?"
The captain chuckled. "If he doesn't know that, he doesn't deserve the guns." He continued, "If we are intercepted, I will have the men drop the casks over the side. If we are caught with guns, the British will kill us, understand?"
Isaac nodded. The captain dialed the frequency into the radio. The dials glowed pale yellow in the dimness of the cabin. As the captain handed Isaac the microphone, he again said, "Quickly, and no names."
He pushed the button on the side of the microphone and said, "This is me. Are you there?" He didn't know what else to say.
There was an answer almost immediately, "Ya, write this down." He proceeded to give Isaac a series of numbers and finished with, "Next at two. Got that?"
"Yes," replied Isaac thumbing the button again.
There was silence for a few seconds and the voice asked, "How many?"
Isaac knew what he wanted. "Almost three hundred plus three of us."
"Good. Out."
Isaac put the microphone down and looked at the captain. His eyes were hidden beneath a pair of bushy black eyebrows and a dark cap. He unrolled a chart and measured the distance with a pair of dividers. Isaac leaned over his shoulder and asked, "What do the numbers mean, sir?"
The captain pointed to the chart and exp
lained about longitude and latitude, then showed him how he stepped off little steps with a divider. The last leg landed on the shoreline about fifty kilometers south of Tel Aviv. "Your friends have done well. See, the sea is deep almost to the shore. We will get in close, unload and be off before the British are aware of our presence. Go to bed. We fish tomorrow and land tomorrow night." He sat back and shoved his hat onto the back of his head. "I think we will clear the foul fish out of the barrels tomorrow." He looked at Isaac with a twinkle in his eye. "You are giving my ship a bad reputation."
The next day, they set the nets, and Isaac, Martin and Yuri were detailed to scoop the rotten fish from the barrels. The captain had told them to do only one barrel at a time. As they finished one, they topped it off with undersized fresh fish. They were sweating profusely, their shirts off when the captain shouted, "Vessel approaching!" They had been speaking in German. Now he switched to Serbian. They had been flying the Serbian flag, but now one of the mates switched it to a Greek flag.
The captain exchanged caps with a tall mate, and came down on deck. He rubbed some of the fish on his shirt and trousers. Looking about, he gestured to the three, "It is a British frigate. My mate speaks some Greek. Let us hope that the British captain does not."
The frigate slowly came within hailing distance of the fishing boat. All work stopped as the captain of the frigate shouted, "I say, what is your home port?"
The men looked at each other and shrugged. The mate shouted, "Kalimera, Capitain. Kriti (Crete) is home."
"Awfully far from home, aren't you?" he shouted, frowning.
This time the mate shrugged, hands upheld, not understanding. "Fish here, many." He pointed vaguely at the water.
"What do you have in those casks?" The captain pointed at the rows of barrels.
Isaac removed the top from one and held up a double handful of fish. He grinned and gestured to give some to the frigate. One of Teo’s men said something in Serbian and another laughed.
Martin tensed and Isaac whispered, "No shooting. If they want to come aboard, there isn't anything we can do."
A few minutes later, a small inflatable boat powered around the stern of the frigate, four men aboard, all with weapons. It bumped against the port side of the fishing boat, and one of the fishing crew caught a line that was thrown aboard and tied it to a cleat. Two of the men climbed aboard while the other two stood in the bobbing boat, rifles at the ready.
"I am going to inspect your vessel," the petty officer said. He had a double fouled anchor on his upper sleeve, while the other man had a single fouled anchor on his blue uniform. The petty officer gestured for the men to open one of the barrels.
Isaac chose to open the last of the barrels with the rotten fish aboard. As the lid came off, he grinned crazily and rolled his eyes. The British seaman staggered back holding his nose and waving a hand in front of him.
The frigate captain called, "What is it, Jackson?"
"Ah, God, it must be bait, sir!" He turned and ran for the side of the fishing boat and threw up.
Isaac and Martin chuckled behind their hands. The fishing boat captain muttered so only Isaac could hear, "It serves them right. We are in international waters."
"That's quite enough, Petty Officer Reilly. Look below, then come back aboard," the captain said in his bullhorn.
After a quick look below, the petty officer returned to the deck shaking his head. "Nothing, sir."
The frigate captain considered them, noting the six fishermen aboard. Beside him an enlisted man took pictures of them. They all waved and made faces at the frigate, hoping they would just consider them crazy Greek fishermen.
The petty officer and seaman boarded the inflatable and motored off.
"Good luck fishing," the captain shouted and let the frigate drift away before engaging this propellers and heading east. They watched the smoke until it disappeared over the horizon.
The captain retrieved his hat and called the men together. "We must be quick tonight. I think we will not be so lucky as today. The sooner these cursed guns are off my ship, the better." He opened one of the hatches and ordered the men to clean the fish from the barrels and put them below with the ice and the other fish. He turned to Isaac and barked, "When you remove the guns tonight, I must have the barrels back in case that same ship stops us again tomorrow."
Isaac nodded. The barrels smelled, and he didn't think the Irgun wanted them either.
Later, as a soft breeze blew, the captain checked the chart and motored at full speed toward the coordinates he'd been given. As they got close to shore, a light blinked twice. That was the signal and the captain ordered a mate to return it.
Slowly he reversed the ship and backed it toward the shore. The tide was high and just turning so the waves were small, just ripples. Isaac could see the phosphorescence in the barely cresting wavelets. The stars were big and bright, and the moon was just starting to crest the horizon. Altogether a beautiful night, too beautiful to be engaged in transferring weapons used to kill people. He sighed. Would wars never end? One war over and another about to begin.
Zvi and a dozen men waded out to the stern of the ship. One of the mates opened a gate at the rear and helped two of the men aboard. Zvi gripped Isaac's hand and said, "Well done, lad, well done." Yuri and the taller Martin stood together behind Isaac.
"You remember Yuri? And this is Martin. He is, um, immigrating."
"Good, good, we need all the men we can get. The Arabs have begun attacking our settlements, and we have been raiding the British posts."
The captain shouted from the bridge, "Enough talk! Get those weapons off. Remember what I told you!"
Isaac quickly told Zvi about the barrels, and he nodded. "You men, take the barrels to the lorry and empty them and bring the empty barrels back. Quickly now."
All hands fell to, rolling the barrels off the stern into the water. When they reached shore, they emptied them onto a canvas tarpaulin. Four men carried the tarpaulin to a large covered lorry parked on the beach. As they did, the next barrel was emptied onto a similar tarpaulin and four more men repeated the task. This was repeated until all the barrels were emptied. As the last one was hauled aboard, the captain waved and engaged the idling engines. In a few minutes he was out of sight, no lights showing.
The men piled into the rear of the lorry, pulling the tarpaulins over the precious cargo of guns and magazines. Isaac rode up front with Zvi.
"Did you have any problems?" asked Zvi.
Isaac was silent a minute, watching out the window at the beautiful Mediterranean. "Nothing we couldn't handle." They were speaking Yiddish.
"You are now in the land of Israel, my young friend. We must speak Hebrew, the language of Abraham, Isaac, Moses and the rest of our ancestors."
Isaac snickered, "I thought Moses spoke Egyptian."
Zvi laughed, then scowled. "He probably did, but he should have spoken Hebrew."
"Do you have ammunition?" asked Isaac. "We brought none, just the guns and magazines."
“No, I hope we won’t be needing any. Let’s get going. You ride with me, the rest in back with the weapons.” It was clear that Zvi was used to giving orders and the men obeyed him without question.
Zvi drove slowly by the fence of a British military barracks and pointed with his chin, "The British have plenty. The MP40 and the Stens use the same ammo. We have stolen many thousands of rounds. As I said, we have been busy since you left." He eyed Isaac and asked, "Have you heard of the Saison? The Hunting Season?"
Isaac shook his head no. "What is that?"
"The Lehi, an organization like ours, has been carrying out assassinations against British officers and administrators. We support them, though the British have been rounding up suspected members of both of our organizations and sending them to ̶ are you ready for this ̶ detention camps, in British Africa! And the Haganah and Palmach have been helping the British!" He spewed forth an obscenity-laced rant against the British occupiers.
Isaac was
dumbfounded. He didn't know there were so many swear words in the Hebrew language. "So what are we doing now?" The last thing he wanted was to go back to a concentration camp, even one run by the British, who invented them during the Crimean War.
Zvi shrugged and said offhandedly, "Oh, now we just blow up pipelines, rail lines, bridges, police stations, telephone lines, you know, hard targets."
"You mentioned the Lehi. Are there others like ours?"
Zvi nodded, "Oh, yes, let me see, there is the Palmach, Haganah, probably more I haven't heard of. That is, when they aren’t feeding information to the British. The shmucks.”
"Why don't we unite? Wouldn't we be stronger?"
"There is talk of that. The civilian government of ours, the Yishuv, hopes to negotiate an end of this with the British, but secretly they are suggesting a Jewish Resistance Movement to incorporate all groups."
“Maybe someday,” Isaac replied.
Chapter 29
Zvi squinted into the lights of another lorry approaching from the other direction. It looked like a British patrol vehicle, a small, four-wheel drive vehicle with a machine gun mounted over the windscreen and manned by a soldier standing in the rear. The driver flashed his headlights, ordering them to stop.
Zvi slowed and stopped alongside. "Yes sir?" he inquired in heavily accented English.
An officer stood in the passenger seat and asked, "What are you doing along this road at this hour?" He was young and wore his cap rakishly cocked. His weapon was a Webley revolver in a flap holster at his side.
How could they let a young fool like this out this late with only one shooter and a driver? thought Isaac.
"We have come from the dock in Tel Aviv. My brother fishes and had a good catch, so he came back early," replied Zvi casually.
"I must have a look in the rear of your lorry, if you don't mind."
"But I do mind," said Zvi easily.
The officer frowned. Who was this fisherman to talk to him like that? "Then I must ask you to dismount from your vehicle while one of my men searches it. Be a good lad and hop down now." He slowly unsnapped his holster.
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