Rachel came in and found her and picked up the letter and scanned it. She held Hannah as she held the ring to her chest and she cried.

Two Days Ago

Tom disembarked from the British Airways DC-4 in Rome. He was supposed to catch a connecting flight from Rome to London, but bad weather had delayed the landing and he had missed the connection. As he cleared customs with his single bag, he walked over to the Trans World Airlines counter. The red-hatted attendant behind the counter smiled at him as he approached.

"Bon giorno, signore, come posso aiutarlo?"

"Parlez vouz francais, si vous plait?"

"Le prochain avion part dans la mitie et l’heur apprecient votare vol monsieur," she handed him a ticket and he handed over the cash.

He walked down the concourse toward the TWA terminals. The gate was not crowded, and he sat down at a table in the concourse café. He pulled a few sheets of paper from his bag. The stationary had been pilfered from his squadron HQ in the waning days of the war, and seeing the old logo and his name at the top brought a smile to Tom’s face. He pulled out a pen, and began to write.

December 7, 1947

Hannah was standing guard at the Jewish Agency, Ben walked up to her. "I believe," he said, grinning, "that this is for you."

The envelope was postmarked Rome, and addressed in Tom’s neat, block handwriting.

Hannah Levi

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, taking the letter, and putting it in her pocket.

"You’re welcome," he paused for a moment, settling himself on the retaining wall next to where she stood guard. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine."

"How are your roommate and her boyfriend doing?"

"They’re doing well."

"That’s good."

"So Tom’s in Rome?"

"Probably in America by now. He was scheduled to make a stop in Rome on the way. We got a telegram that he was changing his flight arrangements due to a missed connection, so we suspect he’s in New Jersey by now. He should be reporting in almost anytime. I’ll let you know what we’ve heard."

"I’d appreciate that, thank you."

There was a silence as Ben watched Hannah scan the crowded streets outside the Jewish Agency. He took the opportunity to look her over and realize just how lucky Tom was.

"Oh!" Hannah exclaimed, reaching into her pocket. "Tom wanted you to have this, he mailed it to me." She handed over the small box.

He opened it and smiled. "I wondered what had happened to this," he took the ring out of the box and slid it onto his finger. "Still fits," he said, sounding surprised. "I would have thought it would be too big, considering how much weight I lost. I’ve gained most of it back, I guess."

"They look nice," Hannah commented, reaching her hand up to touch her hand to the ring which rested against her skin under her shirt.

"It was one of Tom’s more practical drunken ideas. At the time, he was pissed at some officer or another who was flashing around his Sandhurst ring as some kind of sign he was God’s gift to the world. So we all went out and had some poor Italian jeweler make us all rings. He was more than happy to, considering the amount of hard currency Tom was waving around to make it happen." Hannah grinned.

"He’s free with his money."

"He’s one of those people who has so much of it he doesn’t know what to do with it. Although, that’s probably not true now, since I don’t think he’s held a steady job since the war ended."

"True," Hannah said, "How old is he exactly?"

"Well let’s see," Ben grew thoughtful, "He was 22 when the war broke out, so he’s what now? Its 1947, war broke out in ‘39…I guess that makes him 30,"

"He talks older than that, but he looks that young, so long as he doesn’t open his mouth."

"War will do that to you. I’m only 26."

"You’re only a year older than me!" she was astonished. She had put Ben around 30 himself.

"Some things you see, and experience, well, its not something you like to talk about, but war has a way of taking away your youth, both in your features, and in your mannerisms. And I look pretty good for a camp survivor." He tried to be light, but he was failing miserably.

"I’m sorry, I was rude."

"Its alright," Ben sighed. "I’m still getting used to it. I don’t remember much of it to begin with, and I don’t want to remember the rest. It’s all a blur. I remember watching Tom circle his plane, and then I took off into the woods. I remember getting caught, and after that, it’s all just a blur."

"I can’t even imagine."

"In a way, I’m glad you can’t. I got through it by promising myself that I would fight to prevent it from ever happening again. That no one, no Jew, no Gentile would ever have to suffer what we all suffered in those camps. I don’t even want anyone to conceive of the evil that it was." He shuddered. He sighed and got up off the retaining wall. "Well, I have work to do. How long are you here?"

"Till evening," she replied.

"I’ll send someone out to tell you if we hear from Tom."

"Thanks."

"No problem." He hobbled off toward the building. She was a nice girl, Ben told himself. Easy to talk to, no wonder Tom had fallen for her. Tom has all the luck when it comes to women, he thought, only slightly bitter.

Tom stepped away from the Western Union counter, after sending off his telegram to the Jewish Agency. He’d never been to New York before, but he was prepared for the organized chaos that was Idlewild Airport. He walked out to the cab port and hailed a cab. He got in.

"Where to Mac?"

Tom studied the slip of paper in his hands. "The Rockefeller building, please."

"Ah, a Brit, eh?"

"I’m from Palestine, actually."

"Oh really? One of those colonial officers huh? Come to yell at the United Nations? I tell you, you Limeys really ought to get your act together. My buddy, Joe, he works over in the Bronx, he gives money to those Zionists. Every extra penny. I say to him, Hey Joe, why don’t you just save up that money and go over there, and he says to me, Buddy, I wouldn’t be any good over there. My money pays for somebody who can actually make a difference over there."

"How old is he?"

"Joe? 75. He fought in World War I in the AEF. The trenches. He took a Hun bullet in the leg."

"Noble man."

"You fight in the last war there Mac?"

"I was a pilot."
"Didja shoot down a lot of those Nazi bastards?"

"A few."

"So what brings you the States?"

"Business."

The cab driver swerved, and shouted out the window, "Yeah, well, same to you buddy!"

It had been a long time since Tom had been genuinely terrified for his life. As the cab driver swerved back and forth across the highways of New York, Tom felt the bitter taste of fear rising in his throat. Idly he wondered how he had managed to get through a war, sign on to another one, and come to America, supposedly a peaceful place, only to have visions of dying in a fiery automobile crash. He tried to brace himself against the seat to keep from being tossed about, but it didn’t seem to help much. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the cab driver pulled up at their destination.

"Here you go Mac."

Tom carefully counted out the bills he handed the driver, and remembered to tip him. Almost as soon as he handed over the cash the cab driver was gone, careening off in search of another fare.

Tom carefully studied the address in his hands and gazed upward at the towering building. He walked in and spotted a receptionist.

"Can I help you?" she asked him as he approached the desk.

"Yes, I’m looking for the offices of Rothchild and Young?"

"30^th floor, elevators are around the corner to the left."

"Thank you."

He stepped tentatively into the elevator. He’d never been in one before. He’d been to a hotel in Cairo that had one, but it had been broken at the time.

"Which floor sir?" a uniformed attendant asked.

"30^th please," he replied, stepping all the way in. The doors slid shut, and with a whisper, he felt the car begin to rise. Tom began to fidget, which he thought was absurd. He was a pilot, who left the ground with nothing beneath him but air currents and scientific principles. Why should he distrust what was undoubtedly a thick metal cable, which was much more concrete? A few nervous moments later, and the doors slid open, and he stepped out into a marble hallway. The directory in front of him told him the office he wanted was to his left, and he began to walk that way. He found the office door, with the name Rothchild and Young, Certified Public Accountants, painted on the frosted glass. He opened the door and went in.

It was a cozy office, small by New York standards, he suspected, but functional, and had an air of affluence.

"May I help you?" the receptionist asked in a nasal voice.

"I’m here to see Mr. Rothchild," he said. She pushed a button on her desk.

"Harry, there’s a Brit here to see you," she said, eyeing Tom.

"I’ll be right there Maggie," he heard on the intercom.

In a moment, Harry Rothchild appeared, a large, rotund man, with a happy face, balding held, and twinkling eyes.

"Hello there," he said to Tom and extending his hand. "I’m Harry Rothchild."

"Mr. Rothchild, I’m Commander Lawson. I was told you were expecting me?"

Rothchild seemed to pause a bit, as if trying to recall something. "Ah yes! Come in, come in, my boy."

Rothchild led the way past a room full of desks with men and some women furiously running adding machines and checking numbers by hand. The small room in the far corner was Rothchild’s office. It had a spectacular view of the city from 30 floors up.

"Commander Lawson, I was expecting you tomorrow."

"I was forced to make a change in plans, and I did not make a stop in England, and instead came direct from Rome."

"Ah, I see. Well no matter. You’ve come to see me about the airplanes then."

"Yes sir."

"I’ve been arranging for them to be purchased, and stored at Lakehurst, New Jersey, at the airport there. I’ve hired a mechanic to go over them, and make sure there in running order. Alex Winters. Great mechanic."

"Excellent."

"You’ll want to be taking one of the Commandos, I’m told."

"Yes, for internal supply use."

"Very well, I’ll telephone ahead and have one prepped. Would you like to go down today and have a look?"

"Very much so, I want to try and familiarize myself with them as quickly as possible. I’ve never flown a transport before."

"Understandable. I’ll arrange to have someone take you down. Getting used to driving on the other side of the road can be dangerous, and not something to be tried in New York."

Tom grimaced, "Can I just, I don’t know, take the train?"

Rothchild grinned widely. "Met the cabbies already? No, I’ll have someone on the staff drive you down. Neil can drive you down. There’s a hotel not far from the airport, you can stay there."

"Thank you sir,"

"Don’t thank me, boy, just get those planes over to where they’ll do the most good. Got it?"

Tom grinned. "You can count on me."

Tom stepped out of the car on the tarmac in front of a large hanger. His eyes scanned around the base. It was quiet now, but he imagined it had been crowded as late as 2 years ago. Off in the distance, he could see a lonely tower, and he remembered, as a teen seeing the pictures of the crumpled airship in the Post. He shivered involuntarily.

He turned. The hangar before him was cavernous. A C-54 poked its nose out of the hanger, as if peering out into the world. He walked in through the huge main doors, the sound of his shoes hitting the concrete echoing eerily throughout the hanger. He followed the sound of hammering, and spotted a mechanic hunched over the engine of one of the several C-46’s parked in the hanger.

"Excuse me?" he called out.

"What?" a muffled voice rang out.

"I’m looking for Alex Winters, do you know where I could find him?" the mechanic straightened, and laughter bubbled up.

"I’m Alex Winters," the mechanic turned, her red hair done up in a tight bun shaking as she laughed. "Who are you?"

"Dear God." Tom stood rooted to the ground. "Alexina?"

She blinked twice hard. "Tom? Tom Lawson."

He licked his suddenly dry lips, and the pocket Torah that rested over his heart suddenly felt like it weighed a ton.

She jumped down from the plane and walked over to him, staring at him as if she expected him to disappear into thin air. "It is you," she said, looking at him more closely. And then she hauled off and hit him.

Looking up at her from the ground, Tom touched his cheek lightly.

"GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I SHOULDN’T USE THE WRENCH THIS TIME!?!" she screamed at him waving the wrench in the air.

Neil, thank God for Neil, the driver chose that moment to appear, skillfully relieving Alex of the large wrench.

"I see you’ve met." He said dryly. Oh, Neil had a wit. Tom thought dazedly. "Commander Lawson is here to take one of these planes back to Palestine," Neil told Alex, looking at her pointedly. Alex began to turn red with embarrassment. Tom got to his feet.

"Its alright Neil. We’re fine. Yes, we’ve met before. I’m afraid we didn’t part on the best of terms.

"Best of terms?" the color in Alex’s cheeks was not embarrassment anymore. "Best of terms you say? I’ll give you bloody best of terms, you…you…"

Tom smiled thinly, from a few yards away. "Alex, you haven’t changed a bit. Irish, through and through."

"Alex, I suggest you get a hold of yourself. Keep in mind your employment here is temporary."

"Sorry sir," she looked at the ground.

Tom suddenly wasn’t sure he liked Neil anymore. He certainly didn’t care for his tone. Who did he think he was to talk to her that way?

"Well, lets have a look at what we’ve got here, shall we Alex? Neil, I’ll think we’ll be alright, I saw the hotel on the way in, it’s not a far walk and I should think you’d have to be getting back to the office."

Neil looked between the two warily. "I do have work to do. You’re sure you’ll be alright Commander?"

"Just fine," Tom said, taking the wrench from him and handing it back to Alex. "You and Mr. Rothchild are providing a great service, and will be remembered," Tom said shaking Neil’s hand.

"Very well. Good luck Commander, God go with you."

Neil turned and left, and they watch him silently as the car pulled away. He turned back toward Alex.

"Alex, it’s been a long time."

"Aye, a bloody long time, since you left me standing on the runway in Sicily," she said, taking a deep breath, and trying not to cry.

"I’m sorry." He waved at the departing car, "I’m sorry I brought him down."

"Oh, he’s alright I guess."

"Why don’t we go find this plane I’m supposed to take, and we can talk?"

"Oh, we’ll talk aright, Mr. Lawson. We’ll talk."

Tom sat in the cockpit of the Commando and let his hands run over the controls. He watched Alex come across the hanger with the ignition plugs, and his memory began to drift back.

Tom wiped the tears away from his eyes again, sniffling, as he put Benny’s ring box into his pocket. He put the pen back in the inkwell and looked over the paper on his desk. He’d managed not to stain this one. He folded it carefully and addressed the envelope, and sealed it. That was all that was left, of a wonderful young man. Tom couldn’t believe he was gone. There was a light rapping on the door.

"Hey lughead!"

"Huh?"

"Where did you go? You were staring off into the distance. I asked you if you wanted to turn the engine over."

"In a minute." She looked strangely at him. "What’s wrong with you?"

"I’m sorry Alexina."

"Don’t start now. I just want you to take this plane and get back out of my life as quickly as possible."

"No, I don’t think so." He turned and looked her in the eye. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t right."

She snorted, but its effect was lost as she was dangerously close to tears. "You think that changes anything? You think that fixes everything? You broke my heart Tom Lawson. You ripped it out and stomped on it. I waited days for anything, a letter, telling me you were drunk, you were sorry. But no. You left me." She was crying again. "I wanted to help you. But you wouldn’t let me."

"I know. I know that now. I know what happened to me. I’ve spent the better part of the last three years or so drinking myself into oblivion over Benny, and you. I never thought I’d get the chance to say I’m sorry to you. And for that I was truly regretful."

"So you’ve said it. Now what?"

"Well, I don’t exactly expect you to forgive me, but I know at least I tried."

"I carried a torch for you Tom Lawson. Every time they brought a plane load of wounded and bodies back from the mainland, I prayed to God that you were still alive. Even if it was just so I could kill you myself."

"I wondered what happened to you, once I realized what I had done to myself, towards the end of the war. And I just didn’t have the guts at the time to try and find you. I figured I’d blew it."

"Well, you were right. And it’s probably a good thing you didn’t, since the RAF was still letting me play with firearms at the time."

"Scary thought. Worse than that wrench."

There was a long pause. "I don’t know as if I’ll ever be able to forgive you, but I’m at least glad you got yourself put back together. I suppose we can at least be amiable with each other." She paused. "How have you been doing? You look better, well, better than when I last saw you."

"You mean better than the empty shell of a man I had become?" Tom smiled slightly. "I had help. I was still in the bottle pretty bad up until about a month ago."

"What happened?"

"On the spur of the moment, I hid a Haganah member from the British police. We talked while I was hiding her. Talking with her about Benny, and the Haganah, and the Jews helped me remember that there was a reason we fought the war in Europe. And there was still a reason to be fighting. Still a cause to be championed. So I cleaned myself up, and joined the Haganah."

She looked over at him. "Tom Lawson, I knew you for almost a year, and we were friends long before we were lovers. You aren’t telling me something."

"I’m engaged. I asked her to marry me." Tom looked at her nervously.

Alex looked stunned. She was taken totally by surprise, and yet not. She felt like she should be angry, but she wasn’t. She and Tom had been over for nearly 3 years. And had never been right for one another in the first place. Surprisingly, she found herself at peace with the revelation, and the more she found out about Tom’s recent activates, the more she felt her anger drain away.

"Good," she said. "Good," she repeated, more firmly. It felt as if weight was being lifted off her shoulders. "I’m glad."

"You are?" he asked, confused. "You aren’t going to hit me again?" Tom looked like he thought he deserved it.

"Tom, I think we both knew before we fell apart that we weren’t going to survive. We had been friends. We became lovers because of the desperate times. I don’t think we should have. You and I are far too much alike to be compatible in that way. I think we both knew that. Your meltdown just accelerated a process that would have happened anyway."

Tom nodded. He’d reached much the same conclusion years ago.

"I think I’ve tried to stay mad at you, mainly because I was mad at myself for letting myself get sucked into a relationship I knew was going to end badly."

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. Lets just let bygones be bygones." She paused. "Lughead."

He laughed. "Right. Now how do you start this flying boxcar?"

Alex popped the ignition plugs into their slots. Tom reached over and flipped up the covers on the switches and flipped them up. The engines began to turn over, belching blue smoke. Tom eased the throttle up, and checked the gages in front of him. It was not that bad, it was just he had to remember to check two different sets of dials. He looked out both windows, and both engines seemed to be idling well. He moved the throttle forward slightly, and the engines responded immediately, and he felt the plane strain against the wheel brakes.

"Good response!" he shouted over the roar at Alexina. She nodded. "They were in good shape when Rothchild bought them, and I’ve tuned them up good."

Tom moved the controls tentatively, and got a feel for how heavy they were. Surprisingly they were responsive.

"Can I take her up?" he asked, reaching for the cabin headset.

"Sure thing, I’ll go grab the chocks. Do you want me to wait on the ground?"

"No, you can come up with me, gives me someone to complain to."

She smirked him. "Right."

She reappeared a moment later, and Tom eased up on the brake, and the plane began to roll gently forward. He turned and taxied out of the hanger. He adjusted his headset, and heard tower chatter on the channel. "NC 4687Y1 to Tower, permission to taxi to runway?"

"NC 4687Y1 this is Tower, permission to taxi to Runway 180, standby for takeoff clearance."

Tom navigated the plane around the tarmac and followed the signs. Shortly, he was looking down the long string of concrete.

"NC 46787Y1 to Tower, permission to take off granted. Happy Landings."

"Roger Tower."

Tom pushed the throttle to the wall, and released the brakes. The Commando rumbled down the runway, and he felt the wheels leave the ground. He hauled back on the stick gently, and the plane rose more steeply.

"Easy there, this isn’t your Spitfire," Alex’s voice came through the cabin intercom, and he looked over at her, and she grinned, pushing her control column back down slightly, lessening the angle of ascent.

"It handles well." Tom leveled off the plan at 5,000 feet, scaled back to cruising speed and turned east, to take the plane out over the ocean. "I want to put it through its paces, hands off." He said. "Pilot’s airplane."

"Roger. Just don’t kill me."

Tom banked to the port sharply, forcing the plane into a sideslip. Alex turned white, and gripped the sides of her seat. Tom wrenched the plane out of the spin, and leveled off, before repeating the maneuver to starboard. Tom grinned, and dove for the waves, skimming the surface of the water. He was actually laughing as the spray dribbled on the windshield.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Alex demanded, looking green.

"Practicing. I haven’t been flying in over 3 years. I may have to wave hop to get into Palestine." He shoved the throttle all the way forward, and the plane jumped, he pointed the nose at the sky once again. He watched the altimeter spiral upwards, through 1,000…2,000…3,000 feet…at 4,500 the engines began to whine, and Tom could see the airspeed indicator dropping dangerously, the plane began to shudder.

"TOM!" Alex shrieked, and at the last moment before they stalled completely, Tom pushed the stick forward and let the plane fall gracefully into a sloping dive, easing back on the throttle.

"Well, its not a Mark 12, but it will do," Tom commented.

"It won’t handle like that fully loaded with an extra 10,000 pounds behind you."

"That’s alright. It still feels good. I’m going to put her down."

There was a silence as he hauled the plane around.

"So what are you going to do with it in Palestine?"

"Haul food to Jerusalem. Haul arms to the Haganah."

She nodded. "What the deal with Neil?" he asked her.

"Oh nothing,"

"You’re lying."

"He’s a bastard."

"That much I could figure out on my own. Why don’t you go work for someone else?"

She laughed, and looked at him. Could he seriously be this stupid? "Tom, you think I could find other work? No one wants to hire a female mechanic. All the men are back from the war, and they get first priority. I couldn’t find work in England, I couldn’t find work in Ireland, and so I came to America. I’m lucky to have this job."

"Come to Palestine. The Haganah’s going to need a ground crew. They’ll be happy to have someone who has actually worked on the types of planes we’re going to be getting."

"Be serious. How am I going to get to Palestine?"

"Easy, I’ll smuggle you in the same way the arms are going to get in. Just pack up your stuff and leave with me tomorrow."

"You can’t be serious."

"I am. That is, unless there’s a reason you want to stay."

Alex bit her lip. There really wasn’t any reason to stay. "I’ll think about it."

"You do that."

"Mr. Rothchild?"

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked the three men in suits that had appeared in his office.

"My name is Frank Rutherford, I’m with the FBI. These gentlemen are with British Intelligence. They’d like to ask you a few questions."

"If I can answer them."

"We’d like to know if you’ve seen this man. He’s a former commander in the Royal Air Force, and we believe that he is involved with illegal activity." The British Intelligence officer held up a picture of the man who had been in his office only just this morning.

"Well, I’m not very good with faces…"

Just then the door opened. "Well, I took Lawson down to Lakehurst and that mechanic, Alex she nearly…" Neil stopped short. Rothchild paled. The two intelligence officers looked at each other.

"Thank you Mr. Rothchild, I believe that’s all." The turned and left.

"Thank you, for your time Mr. Rothchild." The FBI agent followed them.

"I’m sorry," Neil stammered. "I…"

"Never mind. Get on the phone. If he hurries, he can get off before they get there."

The engines were spinning to halt as Tom and Alex climbed out of the plane.

"Oh shit," Alex exclaimed, un-lady like as she sprinted across the hanger to the telephone.

"Hello?" she answered. "What?…Oh NO!…No, he was just familiarizing himself with the controls…yes, I’ll get it turned around…I’m calling the fuel truck as soon as I get off…yes…yes…I’ll tell him." Tom looked at the panicked look in her eye. "No…no…I won’t be here. I quit…I’m going to Palestine to join the Haganah. Well, fuck you too." She slammed the phone down.

"The British are on to you, two intelligence officers were just in Rothchild’s office. I’ll call the fuel truck, you get preflight ready. I’m going to go upstairs and pack my things."

"You’re coming?"

"Well, I’m kind of committed now. That was Neil on the phone, I told him to fuck off."

"I heard, get moving." He told her. He picked up his duffle bag and hauled it over to the plane, securing it behind the pilot’s seat. He pulled out his maps, and studied them carefully. The Commando had an optimal range of about 1500 miles. It made navigation tricky. If only he’d had more time to install interior fuel tanks, which would have boosted the effective range enough to take a more direct route. He laid out the waterproof maps on the deck of the plane, and began to mark the route with a wax pencil, using a ruler to draw his straight lines.

"Sunshine Airlines flight 103 to Tower, requesting permission to take off," Tom said into his microphone with a trace of amusement. The Commando had been painted with the "Sunshine Airlines" logo, as part of Rothchild’s front.

"Sunshine Airlines, you are…" there was a pause. "Stand by."

"Commander Lawson, please turn back from the runway and return to the Hanger."

"Who is this?" Tom demanded.

"This is Howard McConnell of the British Foreign Service. We need to speak with you Commander."

"Tom!" Alexina pointed; a police car was coming down the tarmac toward them.

"Shiiiit…" Tom shoved the throttle forward, and the plane started down the runway.

"Commander, you’re only going to make things harder for yourself. Turn back now."

"Not bloody likely." Tom hauled back on the stick, but the plane stubbornly refused to leave the ground. The police car was careering down the runway at them. The driver must have had a death wish.

"Get out of my way, you blooming idiot," Tom breathed. Just then the plane broke free of the bonds of the earth, and the Police car passed harmlessly underneath them.

"Commander, I insist that you land that plane at once and return to the airport. You’re only making this more difficult."

"You’re only making my life more difficult. Why don’t you go hunt some IRA members or something, I’m harmless."

"The Mandate office in Palestine believes otherwise, Commander."

"Well, bugger the mandate office. Sunshine Airlines 103, over and out."

He turned off the radio and sighed. He looked at Alex. "Did you pack any food?"

December 8, 1947

The First Night of Hanukah

"Do you have any plans for Hanukah?" Ben asked Hannah.

"Not really. I was planning on just spending it with Mordi and Rachel. What are you doing?"

"I was going to spend it with my mother, in Tel Aviv, assuming I can get down the road."

"If not, you’re welcome to spend it with us. Tom said he might make it back in time for the last night."

"Thank you. I heard from him late last night, he was in Newfoundland. He was refueling as quickly as possible and then going to the Azores. Apparently we have a leak, the British are one step behind him. He’ll be safer once he gets to the Azores."

"That’s good."

"I don’t think he had time to write in America, because the telegram from Newfoundland says for me to tell you he loves you, and he misses you."

Hannah grinned, one that threatened to shake water from her eyes. "Thank you."

"He has to stop in Prague, to pick up a consignment of weapons, and then fly here. I don’t know how he plans to get here, and I’m not even sure where he plans to land. But knowing Tom, he’ll get here, come hell or high water."

Hannah nodded, agreeing with his assessment. "He’ll be here." Hannah’s relief arrived. "Have a nice day, Ben. Shalom."

"Shalom, Hannah." Ben, you have to get a hold of yourself. You should NOT be falling for your best friend’s fiancé.

"Tom, wake up."

Tom was in the middle of a very satisfying dream of living in Jerusalem with Hannah for the rest of his life, when he was rudely awakened.

"What?" he asked groggily.

"We’re almost to Lajes."

"Right." Tom sat up from the jump seat behind his pilot’s chair, and began to climb into his usual chair. Alex had been handling the flying. Staying constant on one heading at one speed was pretty self explanatory, and Tom hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since leaving Palestine. The schedule had been shot to hell with the revelation of British intelligence on his trail. He’d napped briefly in Newfoundland while Alex arranged to have the plane refueled, and now again, on the flight to the Azores. He hoped they would get a night’s layover here.

The islands of the Azores rose out of the North Atlantic, rather ingloriously, Tom thought. Almost as an afterthought, they were situated perfectly to facilitate the transfers of short-range aircraft from the North American continent to Europe. The islands were not known for their wildlife, or their natural beauty. Only their functionality, in the early days of civilization as a place to take on fresh water and food, and now, as a place to land and get fuel.

The main airports were controlled by the British and the Americans, but his chart had a small independent field marked on it, and he hoped he could land there without attracting too much attention.

"Lajes Municipal Airport, this Air Morocco flight 150, requesting permission to land, over?"

"Air Morocco, this is Lajes, you are cleared to land." The heavily accented English came back. Tom smiled. Perfect.

Flying around the large expanses of concrete that marked the busy transfer point between Europe and America, Tom navigated the plane between the volcanic peaks that thrust their way up from the ocean floor and created this slice of land in the middle of the North Atlantic.

He spotted the small strip and landed with what Alex judged was considerable skill. He taxied to the tarmac and shut down the engines.

"I’m going to go find out how we can get fuel. You watch the plane. I’ll be back shortly. And then I’m going to find a hotel, and sleep for the next 12 hours."

Alex nodded. "I’ll be here."

As Tom swung out the door and walk across the tarmac, Alex watched him and let her mind wander.

She’d joined the RAF because they had been short of mechanics. She’d grown up fixing engines with her father, a service station owner in Belfast. She’d somehow ended up attached to a pair of rag tag, roguish fighter squadrons, advancing across North Africa as fast as Montgomery would allow.

Tom Lawson had been tall, handsome, and cocky. She had been drawn to him from the moment he jumped down out of the cockpit of his Spitfire and took in her hair, her coveralls, and her sunburned face.

"Well hello there. I see the Royal bloody Air Force is running short of mechanics. A ruddy lot you’ve got mixed up with. She’s running fine. Needs oil thought, and check the air filters."

He started to walk away, and then turned, sensing her not moving. "Do you know how to do that?" he asked, not unkindly.

Alexina remembered not wanting to, but she did anyway, she cried, right there on the tarmac. "No," she replied. "I expected to be servicing lorries, and I’ve only been trained on the Hurricane."

Tom had smiled at her softly. "There, there Miss. No need to cry. I’ll show you. I could probably do it myself if I had to."

He proceeded, for the next hour and a half, to walk her through the ins and outs of the Spitfire’s Rolls Royce engine, showing her everything he had learned in his 3 years of war.

"Think you’ve got it now?"

"Yes, thank you, thank you very much Captain…"

"Lawson," he supplied. "Tom Lawson." He held out his hand. "And you are?"

"Flight Sergeant Winters, sir, Alexina Winters."

"Its nice to meet you Alexina. And please don’t call me sir. You aren’t any older than me, and it makes me feel old. Please just call me Tom."

"Yes, sir…er…Tom." He smiled, and she still remembered thinking that it was brighter than the North African sunshine.

"See you around."

They had become close friends following that, the three of them. Alexina, Tom, and Benny Ben-Judah, Tom’s wingman and close friend. In the years since, Alexina acknowledged that there was a good deal of hero worship on her side of the relationship. They were friends for quite a while, and it wasn’t until after a German night air raid scored a direct hit on the quarters where Alexina would have been sleeping, had she not been playing cards with Tom and Ben that she and Tom became lovers, a sort of desperation kind of lust. Looking back on it, she knew where she had gone wrong. It had been that bottle of Scotch the next night.

"I could be dead right now." She said, her words slurring.

"I know. I should be dead right now." Tom told her, taking a slug of the bottle himself.

"I have so many things I want to do in life." She told him.

"Oh? Like what?" he asked, drunkenly curious.

"I want a man to make love to me all night," she said, giggling from the scotch.

"Oh really? You’ve never had one do that before?" Tom had asked.

"No," she replied. "I’m not really sure I know how it’s done. I’ve only had one night stands, all too fast," she said regretfully.

"I can show you how it’s done." Tom had told her, in his own drunkenness. And that, ladies and gentlemen, had been where it all fell apart.

When she woke up the next morning, she was in his bed, with a pounding headache, and aches in muscles she didn’t know she had. And while it had been beautiful for a while, about 3 months, it ended badly all around. Tom never quite recovered from Benny’s death, and he couldn’t gain back his own sense of immortality. His own confidence shaken, he was probably lucky the war was as close to ending as it was. Shooting down raw recruits just thrown into airplanes was one thing. A pilot of the caliber the squadron had faced and defeated earlier in the war probably would have punched Tom’s card in a hurry.

And after it had ended, Alexina went on with other squadrons, had met and had other men. She had even been engaged briefly, to another mechanic who was found dead on an airfield that had been swallowed by the German counter offensive of December 1945. The airfield had been shelled to pieces by German artillery, and then the tanks of an SS division had roared through, killing everything left alive. After that, Alexina lost her interest in men. The war ended, and she couldn’t find work. Her father, aging and ill, had sold his business and retired with family. She couldn’t go back to County Killarn after seeing the world; the wanderlust was in her blood now. So she drifted to America, where she found work service a gradually growing fleet of transport aircraft for a Jewish man stockpiling them for use in Palestine.

"Hey!" Tom called, shouting up to her in the cockpit.

"What?" she leaned out the window.

"The airport administrator says we can stay parked there. Grab your gear and let’s go. I’ve made arrangements to have it fueled in the morning. They have to go get fuel at the larger airports and have it trucked here."

Alex grabbed her RAF issue duffel bag, and slid the cargo door shut tight as she exited from the plane.

"Do the British know you’re here?"

"I asked the airport guy about British presence. He says its mainly Americans here in the Azores. But I also slipped him a little something extra to help him forget I was here."

"Good plan."

"He says there’s some kind of hostel or boarding house for overnighters not far from here, and its cheap."

"Cheap is good."

"All I want is a hot shower and a flat surface to sleep on. Well, a soft surface would be nice, but not required. And a table. I need a table."

"Why a table?"

"I have a letter to write."

"Oh."

"And I should telegram the Jewish Agency."

"Why?"

"So someone can meet us in Rome and tell us where we’re going to pick up the load of machine guns that will need to be smuggled into Palestine."

"Ah, now I see," Alex replied. Tom nodded. Tom pointed to a multi-lingual sign on the front of a large building with many windows.

"That must be it," he said.

"Looks like an old manor house, converted." Alex commented.

"Yes it does." Tom knocked on the front door. It creaked open slowly, and they were met by a round man with a drooping moustache.

"Yes?" he asked, in heavily accented English, after taking in their appearance.

"We’d like two rooms?" Tom asked. The hostel keeper looked back and forth between Tom and Alex.

"I am very busy this time of year," he said slowly.

Tom blinked. There didn’t seem to be another soul for miles, and all seemed quiet. He put his hand in pocket and pulled out his bankroll and began counting bills.

"But, mabbee I can find space," the hostel owner smiled.

Bankroll slightly lighter than he expected, Tom finally settled down at the table in his room to write to Hannah. He pulled out his stationary and his pen and sighed. It wouldn’t be long now.

…I really miss you, and I send all my love,

Hannah folded the letter back up, and carefully put it back in its envelope and tucked it in the small wooden box she had purchased for the purpose. Rachel came through the door and found her there.

"Another letter from Tom?"

"Yes, he was in the Azores. Three days ago. He should be in Rome or Czechoslovakia by now. He’s probably having a grand time flying again. I can’t wait till he gets back and can tell me about it."

The cell was dark, and dirty. What little light there was filtered in through a grimy window set just at street level, some 3 feet over Tom’s head. The door creaked open.

"Commander Lawson," the Italian police officer spoke in perfect English. "These gentlemen wish to speak with you."

Tom looked up, expecting to see British Intelligence officers. There was a shuffle outside the door, and the click of a stick on the stone floor. Tom did everything in his power to prevent a smile from coming to his face.

"Commander Lawson, we’ve come to transfer you to British custody."

Three Days ago

When Tom and Alex walked back to the airport in the morning, they found the plane had been fueled, and they walked thought the remainder of their pre-flight routine.

The C-46 Commando had been an all purpose transport developed by the Curtis-Wright corporation of the United States. They had primarily seen service in the Pacific Theater, especially in the China-Burma-India area, where they had been put to primary use crossing "the Hump", the long and often dangerous supply route over the Himalayas to unoccupied China. The combination of its high load capacity as well as its service ceiling, made it ideal for such a route. This particular one, Tom noted, probably did not see military service before the end of the war. While it had obviously been built under military contract, given the abundance of olive green paint used in the interior spaces, it was practically factory fresh. It had a new smell to it, one that Tom was accustomed to, having gone through 5 different airplanes in the war. His first, short lived as it was, had been an old Glouscter Gladiator bi-plane that he managed to keep in working condition until the first shipment of the early model Spitfires had arrived in Cairo. From that point, he had flown three different models of Spitfire, and only losing two planes throughout the entire war. The Commando was something new. It was something of a challenge to handle a plane as large as it was. A Spitfire, with its wings detached, would have easily fit in the cargo bay of the Commando.

"Tom?" Alex asked from the co-pilot’s chair.

"What?"

"Look." She was pointing to where a military jeep had pulled up to the airport. Two American soldiers got out, along with two men in civilian clothes.

"I think we’ve worn out our welcome," Tom said, reaching to start the engines. "Perhaps Morocco would be a nice change of pace." The next leg of the journey would take them to Casablanca, for fuel, before continuing on to Rome.

Tom managed to get them off the ground before anyone started asking pointed questions over the radio, and they were soon winging their way across the last stretches of the North Atlantic.

"Its really something," she said, looking at the sparkling water passing beneath them.

"I’ve always preferred the Mediterranean," Tom replied. "Water’s warmer."

"Ah yes, I seem to remember you had some experience in that department."

"I’m losing oil and hydraulic pressure," he spoke calmly into the radio. He had taken a burst from a flak position on Sicily, and had nursed the damaged plane back to Malta. The falling hydraulic pressure had become a concern. The controls were getting sluggish.

Tom threw back his canopy, to facilitate getting out of the airplane, which would sink rapidly. The engine sputtered twice and finally died. Well, at least it got me this far, he thought. Malta was in sight; he wouldn’t be waiting long for a pick up by flying boat or destroyer. He glided toward the water, feeling the spray pepper his face as he drew ever closer. At the last second, he brought the nose up, and the plane splashed into the water, as if in a belly flop. Tom undid his straps and climbed out of the cockpit. He activated his life raft and climbed into it as the plane sank beneath him. He got quite a nice bath in the Mediterranean that day. Ben and Alex wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.

Casablanca was everything Tom expected it to be, meaning he hated it. It was just enough like home to make him extremely homesick, and with too many Arabs. Or whatever they call themselves here, it’s all the same. Having arrived at the airport just after noon, Tom wanted to continue on to Rome the same day. The plane was fueled, the fluids were all checked, and they took off, leaving the dust of Casablanca behind. Tom had made a mental list of all the things that he needed to do to the plane when he finally got it to Palestine. He wanted to mount sand screens on the air intakes, a necessity they could not live without. He wanted to have it painted again, in a desert camouflage, and have insignia put on it. Tom envisioned two blue bars running along the wings on either side, with the blue Star of David between the two, top and bottom and on the tail. He wanted to mount some more tie downs in the cargo hold; he didn’t think there would be enough for the kind of cargos he was going to be carrying. He wanted to put a different cushion on the pilots seat, if possible, he wanted to try and adjust the sensitivity of the controls slightly. He wanted to bolt a framed picture of Hannah to the dashboard, to remind him why he was doing this.

It was a long flight to Rome, he and Alex were tired, and got snippy with each other towards the end of the flight. He was pleased when he finally put the plane down, and taxied to a hanger that had been prearranged with the Haganah staff.

"Wait here, I’ll got check everything out."

Tom swung down out of the plane.

"Commander Lawson?" he looked up. Several members of the Italian police were standing in a semi-circle around the plane.

"Yes?" he asked, praying against hope that this was something routine, and not what it appeared to be.

"Would you please come with us?"

"Am I under arrest?"

"Yes."

Alex saw the police take Tom. She stayed out of sight. "Oh shit," she muttered to herself. When all the police had gone, she rummaged through Tom’s bag. She found the packet of information that Tom had, including the name of his contact at the Jewish Agency. She gave a start when she read the name, eyes widening in disbelief. She looked carefully outside, and when she determined that the coast was clear, she jumped out of the plane and walked slowly to the terminal, so as not to attract attention.

She stepped up to the counter of the Western Union office, and the clerk looked at her.

"Can I help you?" the clerk asked.

"Yes, I need to send an urgent telegram…"

TO: BENJAMIN BEN-JUDAH
C/O THE JEWISH AGENCY

JERUSALEM, PALESTINE

URGENT URGENT URGENT URGENT URGENT

"DAMIT!" Ben swore when he ripped open the telegram and began to read "What the hell? Alexina?" Ben shook his head. That didn’t matter right now. He picked up the phone. "I’m going to need to see the Boss immediately. And have a car readied for me."

Alexina was beginning to get scared. She couldn’t get out of the airport, since she had no valid passport to get through customs, so she was sleeping on the hard floor of the airplane. It was late and she was clutching her monkey wrench tightly in her hands. She heard a motor approaching. As the sound drew neared, she noted it was two motors. They stopped outside.

"Right here Lieutenant." An Italian voice, in accented English. The blood was pounding in her ears. The British had come to impound the plane.

"Thank you. That will be all, we’ll take it from here." The British accent was clipped and cold.

A motor started up and drove away. Silence, stillness, Alexina’s knuckles were white against the wrench.

"Alexina?" a familiar voice called out. She picked up her head.

"Benny?" she called back.

"Its alright, you can come out."

Warily, she stood up and slid open the cargo door, wrench still clutched tight in her hands. In the moonlight stood Benny, leaning on a cane, dressed as British major. She put down the wrench and came out and embraced him.

"I thought you were dead!"

"I’m okay. A little worse for wear, but alive. I got your telegram, and we arranged something as quickly as possible. How did you find Tom?"

Briefly she explained what had taken place in New Jersey, and how she had come to be coming to Palestine. Ben smiled. "We’ll be glad to have you," he told her. "I’m impressed that you took Tom being engaged so well, thought."

"We were never right for one another," she blushed slightly.

"Well, we’ve got to get him sprung before the real British catch up with him. I think I know where he’s being held, and we’re going to spring him first thing in the morning. Here’s the plan," he said, and he filled her in on exactly how it was going to work.

When Tom woke up the next morning, he had a crick in his neck. Sleeping on stones as old as Rome itself would do that, he thought to himself cynically. He was glad that he had carried nothing on his person that would trace him back to the Haganah, except for the tiny pin he wore on his right collar.

The Italian police had been polite, courteous and thrown him promptly in jail. He suspected that the British had put out some kind of warning to be on the look out for him. The Italians had not been forthcoming on the charges levied against him, but had assured him that he would be transferred to British custody the following morning. He tried to figure out how he could escape, but quickly ruled out most possibilities. Even if he could get out of jail, he’d be stuck in Rome, a fugitive, with no friends and no way of getting in touch with anyone. When the door swung open, Tom’s heart caught in his throat, until the "British Officer" came through the door.

"Commander Lawson, we’ve come to transfer you to British custody." Benny said, half smiling at him from his phony’s British major’s uniform.

"About bloody time. I want to know what the hell I’ve done wrong. They eyetalians ‘ere have been somewhat not-forthcoming on this issue."

"Rest assured Commander, we will be discussing your transgressions in depth. Now if you’ll please come with me."

He followed Ben out, past another confederate dressed in British uniform. Ben signed all the paperwork and the Italian cops cuffed Tom, and handed Ben the key.

"There you are sir."

"Good day."

The three were silent until they got outside, and the jeep was pulling away from the police station. The other man unlocked Tom’s handcuffs.

"Alex is prepping the plane, we’ve got to get moving before the real British show up and blow this whole thing."

The jeep was waved thought the airport gates, and soon they pulled up in front of the plane. Ben handed Tom a folder. "That’s all the info you’ll need to get the goods in Prague. Yitzak and I are going to get on the next commercial plane to Tel Aviv, and no one will be the wiser. Now get going." Tom did not waste any time.

"Lets go." He said flipping the switches and starting the engines.

"I found Ben’s name in your bag, so I telegrammed him."

"I’m glad you did. Got me out of a lot of hot water." He said, over the increasing roar of the engines. "Looks like my luck is holding out after all."

Alex grinned at him. "You always were a lucky son of a bitch."

"Czech Air 417 to tower, requesting permission to taxi to the runway."

"Czech Air 417, you are cleared to taxi. You’re queued into the flow, and you can expect take-off clearance within 15 minutes."

"Thank you tower."

Tom taxied the plane down the runway, and unlike in New Jersey, no one said a word as they lifted off into the wild blue yonder.

She hadn’t seen Ben in several days and she was surprised when she got a message telling her he wished to see her. He was sitting at his desk when she walked in.

"Hannah, good to see you, I have good news," he told her waving for her to clean off a chair and sit down.

"Oh?"

"I saw Tom in Rome two days ago."

"How is he?" she asked, excited.

"Better once I saw him. I had to break him out of jail. He’s fine now."

"What happened?"

Ben explained briefly. "We’re isolating the leak now, and unfortunately, it means I don’t think you’ll hear from Tom again before he gets back. Fortunately for him, he picked up an old friend, who alerted me to the fact he was arrested."

"He mentioned someone in his letters. I got the impression he was reluctant to talk about it." Hannah confessed.

"He probably wanted to try and explain better in person. But I will tell you that you have nothing to fear from Alexina," he paused. "I believe she’s moved on, and they are both at peace with their present courses in life."

Hannah nodded. "I believe you. Tom just doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy…"

"No. If Tom’s committed to something, he sticks to it. No if ands or buts. I would never in a million years believe he would ever cheat on you."

Hannah smiled "I don’t really believe he would either." She hesitated. "What happened between them?"

Ben shrugged "Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Whatever it was, it happened after I was shot down. And even if I knew, you deserve to hear it from Tom."

She nodded. "You’re right."

"He should be in Prague. I hope to see him here by the end of the week, maybe a little more."

Hannah grinned. "Thanks."

"I can’t get away from the office for the rest of the week, is there any chance the Hanukkah offer is still open?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied. "Come by tonight. We’ll do it when everyone gets in."

"Thank you." He smiled back at her.

"Your welcome. I should go, I have to…" she gestured vaguely.

"Of course. See you tonight."

"Looking forward to it."

Benjamin Ben Judah had grown up a lot since joining the Royal Air Force on the eve of the Second World War. He was a young man of only 20 when the Haganah had asked its members to join the British war effort. He’d enlisted in the RAF because he wanted to fly, since childhood. It had been a grueling experience, learning on the ancient biplanes the British had at an airbase outside of Cairo. It was there that he had first met Tom Lawson.

"You Ben?" a taller, black haired man had asked him, on the eve of qualifying for flight status.

"Yes, sir," Ben said replied, standing up from his bunk, noticing the Lieutenant’s insignia on the man’s collar.

"I’m Tom, I’m going to be your wingman in the squadron. I thought I should meet you."

"Please to meet you sir."

"Cut the sir crap. I’m only an officer because they needed a native to serve as squadron XO." He groaned, sitting down on the edge of the bunk.

"You’re from the area?"

"Haifa." He replied.

"Tel Aviv."

He grinned. "Its good to have another Palestinian on my wing. At least I know I can trust you not to run on me."

"Sir?" Ben was confused.

"No son of Israel is going to bail on me, of that much I’m certain."

Just like that. Immediate trust. No questions, just acceptance. So unlike other British, who annoyed Ben when he always felt like he had something to prove to them.

He and Tom had become fast friends, through thick and thin.

Alexina had almost changed that equation. They’d picked her up in Tobruk, at the beginning of the long campaign across North Africa. Tom had the prior claim, he supposed, but they were just friends, and remained that way for a long time.

Ben had admired her from afar. She was like a goddess to him. He’d never seen a red haired, freckled woman like Alexina. They had talked and laughed, and played cards. Ben really thought he had a chance with her, even thought she was closer to Tom in age. But it was only 3 years. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get her to notice him as anything but the kid of the group.

And then she and Tom became lovers, in a fit of drunken passion. Tom had known Ben was interested, which hurt Ben. Tom tried to make nice, but it had been awkward for a few days. But Ben had picked himself up and moved on. There was a part of him thought, that always got the impression from Tom that he regretted what had happened.

Seeing Alexina again brought it all back for Ben. Alexina and Hannah were alike in many ways, and Ben felt like a confused teenager again. Not that there was much to be confused about. Hannah was off limits. Period. And Alexina had never liked him that way. And probably never would. Especially not now, Ben sighed and began to massage his useless leg. He got phantom pain occasionally, and while massaging never really helped, it at least gave his hands something to do. Thinking of all the missed opportunities and chances he would never have again, Ben sat in his office staring at the wall, massaging his numb leg, and let the tears slip silently from his eyes.

"Are you sure we’re in the right place?" Alex asked, as Tom taxied the plane to a halt. They had been instructed to land at an old Luftwaffe base outside Prague. There had been no response from a tower crew, but the runway lights were on.

"I hope so." Tom looked around. Shadows surrounded them, and he killed the engines, and they cautions climbed out of their chairs and down to the door. "I wish I had my revolver," Tom said.

"Me too," Alexina whispered behind him. He jumped down from the plane and started walking toward the tower building. Through the gloom, a chillingly familiar form began to take shape. First he saw the nose, and then the squared off canopy. Straining his eyes, the full shape of the plane began to take shape. The eerie shape of the feared German Messerschmitt 109.

"Tom?" Alexina asked warily. He didn’t seem to hear her, as he sucked in a heavy breath and stepped close enough to run his hand over the polished metal of the wing. "You beautiful bastard. What the hell are you doing here?" she heard him whisper.

Suddenly, throught the night, they heard voice. Speaking German. Tom froze to his spot, unable to move.

"Kommander?" one of the voices called.

"Tom," Alex called. He still didn’t move. "TOM!" she shook him.

Tom’s head was spinning. His eyes were closed, and he could see the Messerschmitts behind him, their noses twinkling with the flash of their machine gun fire. The sounds of German voices on the radio, taunting him. He tasted adrenaline on his lips, bitter. He felt like he was shaking. Voices seemed to be calling to him.

"TOM! Snap out of it!" Alexina was scared now. She’s never seen Tom like this. Two men in uniform came running up to the sound of her voice.

"Commander?" the leader asked.

"He’s…I don’t know…hallucinating or something. Don’t speak German." The Czecks looked at each other and shrugged. "Tom!"

Tom felt like he was floating in thick water. He couldn’t seem to move his arms. Faces drifted past his vision, his eyes squeezed tight. He saw Hannahs face. "Hannah!" He called out, and opened his eyes.

Abruptly, his knees gave out and he started to fall, but the two soldiers caught him. He started and Alex could see him shaking his head.

"Tom, are you alright?" she asked him.

"I…I think so…I sort of, I dunno. It was strange."

"You’re tired." She said lamely.

"That’s really not it."

"I know."

"Commander, welcome to Czechoslovakia." Tom was standing on his own now and one of the officers offered him his hand.

"Glad to be here," Tom said, steadying himself now. "What are these hunks of metal doing here?" Tom gestured, and Alexina saw that there were several Me-109s parked on the runway.

"They’ve been purchased by your employers. We seized them from the Germans at the end of the war."

The irony of this was not lost on Tom. "So the first fighters in the air force of the Jewish state are going to be fighters built and used by Nazi Germany?" he was laughing now, and the Czechs were grinning.

"Your colleagues are waiting for you in the main building, Commander."

"Lead the way gentlemen."

"Three days?" Tom was aghast.

"You are very much ahead of schedule."

"Because the British are breathing down my neck."

"Nevertheless Commander, the transactions haven’t been fully approved yet. The weapons will not be ready to ship before the end of the week."

"But I wanted to…" he trailed off. "Never mind. Maybe I’ll get there." He stood up. "Where can I stay?"

"You and your copilot are more than welcome to stay here on base. We have plenty of empty room." The Czech waved over one of his soldiers. He spoke briefly in Czech to the solider and he picked up their bags. "The Sergeant here will show you to your rooms."

"Thank you Captain."

Tom and Alex followed the soilder to the barracks, and they were quickly settled into their rooms. "What are you going to do?" Alex asked Tom as they passed in the hallway toward the mess. "With all the extra time?"

"I’ll probably get the Captain to lend me some soilders to do some work on the plane. Try and kill some time productivly."

"Sounds like a good plan. Anything I can do?"

"I need to mount dust screens on the air intakes, you remember?"

"Yeah. I don’t suppose the Czechs have some spare window screens?"

"Probably. And I want a better cushion on my seat."

Alex grinned. "Well, you probably won’t have to do long distance runs anymore. An hour or two at most back and forth to the kibbutzim, up and down to Tel Aviv. Milk runs."

"Until the Arabs get flak. Maybe I should have some armor plate installed on the floor. Small arms fire won’t hurt the plane, but some lucky stiff could hit a pilot."

"True. Well, get some sleep."

"I will, you too. I’ll see you in the morning."

The next morning, Tom got up and found the Captain doing morning PT with his small contingant of troops.

"Mind if I join you on your run?" he asked, dressed in old RAF fatigues and a t-shirt.

"Not at all Commander."

"Do any of them speak English?"

"Not really, though some do speak French and German."

"That’s helpful, since I speak French."

Several miles later, winded and sore, Tom collapsed on his bunk after his shower.

"Why were you trying to keep up with those youngsters? Pride?"

"I want them to help me, I don’t want them to be snickering behind my back. I thought I was in decent shape."

"You’re 30. They’re like, 18."

"Don’t remind me." He sat up. "Time to get to work."

With a crash, Tom’s wrench fell to the ground. He cursed, and hollered over.

"Hey, could somebody hand that up to me?"

Two Czech soldiers looked up from the tail, where they were applying a dull gray primer to the plane. They looked at him, and Tom sighed in frustration. He pointed. "Wrench." He gestured to himself, "Give to me."

One of the soldiers got the hint and crossed the tarmac and handed the wrench up the ladder to him, where his hands were occupied holding part of the cowling up, but it was still handing by one bolt. He took the wrench and loosened the last bolt, and the cowling came off. He took it down and walked over to the hanger where Alex was cutting old window screens to fashion protection for the air intakes.

They worked in silence for a few moments, Alex seemed to have something on her mind.

"I was glad to see Benny."

Tom grinned. "So was I."

"I didn’t realize he was still alive. I’m glad he surived."

"Me too. I was thrilled to see him."

"How is he doing?"

"Well, he’s doing alright. Seems to have moved up the ranks of the Haganah."

"Why didn’t he come with you to fly this bird home?"

"He can’t."

"Oh, he had to stay behind?"

"No, he physically can’t. Did you see the cane he carried? He’s lost feeling in his leg below the knee. He can’t even drive well anymore. Its not pretty."

Alex was stunned. She hadn’t really noticed. "Is he in any pain?"

"No, I think so, we haven’t really talked about it. If anything, its probably just a dull ache."

"I had no idea."

"He doesn’t like to talk about it. They did some pretty nasty stuff to him at Birkenau."

"I can imagine."

One of the Czech soldiers called to him, in French waving the paint sprayer.

"Un moment," He called back, "You got this under control?"

"Yeah, I’ve got the general idea. I remember how we did it with the Spitfires."

"Okay." He turned back toward the plane. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

Late in the day, Tom lay across the wing, painting a bright blue Star of David on the wing, carefully by hand.

"Tom?" Alex’s voice echoed across the tarmac.

"Up here." He called back, sitting up slightly and waving.

"You still out here?" A moment later, he heard her climbing up the stepladder. "Why don’t you come in and eat?"

"I’ll be in a minute. I want to finish this."

"Are you alright?"

"I’m okay. I miss Hannah. I promised her I’d be home before Hanukah was over."

"Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen."

"Well, I’m not giving up hope. That’s why I want to finish this before the sun goes down." Tom waved. The plane was about half painted in a random pattern of browns and tans. "The tie downs are all set, all that’s needed is to finish the paint. I added some armor plate to the seats in the cockpit, and I got a new cushion. We’ll be ready to fly by tomorrow night."

"You’re optimistic."

"I will be in my fiancé’s arms on the last night of Haunkah."

"That was more than I needed to know."

Tom grinned. "Sorry. Anyway, I’ll be in in a minute."

"Okay. Don’t stay out too late."

"Don’t worry Mom." She laughed.

"Funny guy."

The next morning dawned much the same as the last. Tom went running with the Czechoslovakians, and then they worked on the plane some more. By the end of the day, it was covered in tans and browns, with the insignia of the nascent Haganah Air Force on its wings, tail and fuselage. When Alex came out to find Tom at dinner, he was painting on the nose of the plane.

"Whatcha calling it?"

Tom waved his hand.

"The Hope of Israel."

"Nice name."

"Well, its not a fighter, so I didn’t want to name it something destructive or sinister. A transport plane brings hope."

"Nice idea. Now if we could only get out of here."

"Well, they said three days. Tomorrow should be the day."

A jeep drove across the tarmac, and Tom looked up. The Czech commander was driving his Haganah contact across toward the plane. He called up at him.

"The shipment will arrive tonight, you’ll have your landing clearance by noon tommorow."

Tom looked at Alex. "See, sometimes things work out after all."

The boxes and crates of weapons arrived around midnight, and Tom supervised the loading of the plane until he was satisfied that the soilders were doing right. He pried the lid off one of the crates and inspected the contesnts. It was a crate full of nine millimeter automatic pistols. He pulled one out. It was brand new, still with the makers grease. It was packed with two magazines, in a bag, ready for distribution. He took it out of the bag and held it in his hand. The weight felt odd, different distribution from the revolver he was used to. But he figured it would do.

"Captain, do you have the necessary tools to clean this weapon?" He asked.

"Why yes, Commander, we do."

At two, Alex stuck her head in Tom’s room.

"You should get some sleep," she tsked at him, seeing him sitting at the table, meticulously cleaning the pistol with brushes and rags.

"Almost done."

"Where’s your revolver?" she asked, having seen his ritual many time during the war.

"Hannah has it for safe keeping. I can’t imagine they would have let me through customs with it."

"Probably not."

Tom ramed a magazine home and slid back the bolt, locking a round in the chamber. He checked the safety and made sure it was in place. "All set. I’ll try and get some sleep now."

"Alright, I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow."

The last day of Hanukah dawn bright and clear over Jerusalem. Hannah sighed as she got out of bed and dressed for the day. She had hoped that Tom would make it back for the end of Hanukah, but it didn’t look like it was going to happen. She made her way to the Jewish Agency, where she had been assigned as both a part time guard and a file clerk. Ben was sitting in the lobby when she walked in.

"I’m going to be late tonight, can you wait?" he asked without preamble.

"Sure, its not like we’re in a rush."

"Great. Have a great day." He waved to the solider sitting with him, and they got up and left. Hannah heard a jeep pull away. She shrugged.

Ben arrived in Tel Aviv just about the time the sun was rising in Czeckslovakia. Out of Tel Aviv rolled a convoy of trucks, which drove south into the desert. They traveled old, abandoned roads, before pulling up to the old, decommissioned RAF airbase at ______________. The buildings were still intact, and Ben hoped, all the electrical equipment. The Palmach engineers fanned out into the buildings, while the commandos dispersed to check for hostile Arabs who might have taken residence somewhere on the premises. Everything seemed quiet.

"We’ve found the generator, its still intact."

"Lets fire it up."

There was a rumble from within the hut that contained the generator, and light bulbs began to burn in several buildings, flickering with age and neglect. "Lets try the landing lights." Ben waved up to the control towner, and another engeineer nodded, and flipped some switches. There was a poping sound, as Ben noticed several of the nearest lights burned out, but for the most part, they came on. Ben gave a wry smile.

"Alright, Tom, we’ve got our landing strip. You just get here."

Tom was up at 9 am, and began double-checking the packing of the load. The new tiedowns that he had the Czech soilders weld to the cargo bay worked out well. The load was well secured, and probably would stay that way through the worst of the maneuvers. He sat down in the pilots chair, and placed his new pistol underneath his seat. Touching his chest where his pocket Torah resided, he picked up a clipboard and began going through a meticulous pre-flight check. At 10:30, Alexina joined him in the cockpit, stowing her bag behind her seat.

"Want to do an outside walk around, make sure the tools are all gathered up and secured?" he asked.

"Sure, I’ll check to make sure the screens are buttoned up properly as well."

"Thanks."

Tom checked all the gauges twice, checked the control column sensitivity setting. By the time Alex was back from her walk around, he had checked everything at least twice. He was keyed up and ready to go. But they waited. Like being in the RAF, everything was hurry up and wait. They couldn’t take off without an exit visa. The sun moved across the sky and Tom lounged on the ground, leaning up against the landing gear strut, shaded by the wing. Alex sat with her back to him, leaning on the opposite side of the strut.

"Too bad I don’t have a deck of cards, we could play rummy," Alexina commented, remembering the hours spent killing time under the shade of a Spitfire wing, dealing out hands of rummy to Ben and Tom.

"Well, I would have brought one, except I was never big on solitare. If I’d known I’d meet up with you, I would have," Tom commented. He looked at his watch. It was nearly noon. Much later, and he wouldn’t make it to Palestine before it was too late to get up to Jerusalem. Just then, he heard the rumble of a jeep, and looked up. The Czech commnader was coming across the tarmac toward them. Tom stood up and dusted his pants off.

"Your clearance has come through, you’re free to leave any time."

"Thank you Captain." Tom shook his hand.

"Good luck Commander, God go with you."

"And with you Captain." Tom swung up into the plane. Alexina followed and shut the door. Two Czech soilders stood by to pull the chocks. Tom settled into the pilots chair and buckled in. He reached over and pushed the ignition plugs. The port engine sputtered to life, followed by the starboard. Tom waved down, and the two soldiers pulled the chocks. He through a salute to the Captain and then pulled the window shut. He looked once more and saw everyone was clear, and began taxiing down to the runway.

"Haganah Air Flight 1 requesting permission to take off."

"Permission granted, good flying."

Tom shoved the throttle forward, and the plane lifted up into the wild blue yonder.

The day wore on, the sparkling Mediterranean beneath them, Tom concentrated on the maps, the airspeed indicator, and his heading. Navigation came second nature to him, and he had a fairly accurate sense of direction. He could almost feel the cross wind that was pushing him a few points off course an hour. He knew that he had to drop below the coverage of the British radar on Cyprus.

"I’m going to take us down to 300 feet now, and we’ll be at that level till we make landfall in Palestine, hopefully somewhere between Haifa and Tel Aviv."

Alexina nodded. Tom brought the plane down carefully. His arms tensed, harder than a rock. He needed to maintain split second reflexes, and never stray from where he was. At this altitude, they could be in the drink in a split second, a projectile hurtling toward the bottom of the sea at several hundred miles an hour. He took his hand off the control column only to slide open his window, and feel the salt spray on his cheek. This was flying. It was nervewracking and exhilarating all at the same time. All he had to do was hold this altitude for next 3 hours.

The sun was starting to wane in the sky over Jerusalem when Hannah went home. It had been a beautiful blue-sky day, and she imagined she could see for miles. She wondered what Tom thought of days like this. She sighed as she walked home. She could see the menorah candles starting to burn in several windows, as families gathered to sing and pray, and exchange what gifts they could in this troubled time. She missed Tom.

The sky was getting darker, and beads of sweat were running down Tom’s forehead as he concentrated totally on maintaining his altitude. Alexia was silent, watching him, not wanting to distract him. Suddenly, he hauled back slightly on the stick, and solid land rushed below them.

"Feet dry." Tom announced to no one in particular. He took a deep breath and leveled the plane off at 1,000 feet. He wiped his brow, and sagged in his seat. He reached for the radio.

"Home plate, this is base runner…"

"…Come in please." Ben grinned. Someone in Haganah’s code department must have been an American transplant. He picked up the shortwave transmitter.

"Base runner, this is home plate. We’ve cleaned the plate, you’re clear to come home."

"Excellent. Base runner out." The radio crackled.

"Fire up the lights." Ben called out.

The airfield was bathed in light in the growing dusk.

Tom turned the plane south, and in the distance, he could see the lights of Tel Aviv on the starboard side, and vaguely, higher up in the mountains to the port, he could make out the faint twinkling of Jerusalem. He flew south, and soon, ahead of them, he could pick out the lit airfield. He dropped to 500 feet and dropped the landing gear. He lined up for final approach.

In the falling dusk, Ben could make out the outline of the plane as it approached the runway, the drone of its engines getting louder as it approached. The movements of the plane seemed a little jerky, like Tom was tired. But everything looked good from where Ben sat in the jeep.

The wheels touched down once, twice, and finally a third time, and they were down. Tom felt the tail come down as he throttled back, safely back in Palestine once again, among friends. As he taxied to a halt, a jeep came up along side, and he could see Ben waving him to follow. He followed towards one of the larger hangers, and spun the plane around so it could be rolled in tail first. Then he cut the engines, and the propellers spun to a hault, and silence decended. The ringing subsided in Tom and Alexina’s ears. Tom leaned his head back into his chair, and Alex reached over and patted his arm and smiled at him.

"Lets go."

Tom and Alexina grabbed their bags, and the slid the cargo door open and jumped down.

"The manifest is still in the cockpit, but I’d say that the avalible arms supply of the Haganah just increased several fold." Tom said by way of greeting.

Ben smiled and stepped over to them. "Its good to see you both."

"Here we are, together again," Tom said, and Alexina’s heart caught in her throat as she watched Tom and Ben embrace. Ben turned to her and kissed her on the cheek.

"You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you," he said. She blushed. He turned back to Tom. "You’ve got someplace to be. We’ve got an armored car waiting. We can run them up and down the hill quickly if they’re by themselves. They don’t bother with just one. They go after the convoys. The boys here will get this thing unloaded." Tom nodded.

"Come on," Ben gestured to both of them, and lead them to a waiting armored car, which was little more than a truck with layers of steel and wood mounted over it. It moved surprisingly quickly up towards the Tel Aviv road, and soon, they were passing Latrun on the road to Jerusalem. Tom was quiet on the trip, but Ben tried to make small talk, as they caught up with one another on the intervening years. Alexina was distracted however, by the sight of the burned out trucks and cars that lined the road to Jerusalem. "My God," she breathed, passing on particularly nasty wreck.

"That’s why we need that plane. We’re going to have our own Berlin Airlift." Ben cleared his throat. "I’ve made arrangements for you to stay with one of my relatives, who is housing one of the women I work with at the Agency. They’re actually American citizens, so they stay close to the American consul, and consequently they are ignored by the British, the Arabs and the Irgun. I’ll take you there after we drop lover-boy here off at his fiancé’s place. Do you mind coming up do light the Menorah with us first?"

"Not at all."

A round another turn and there they were, passing into the outskirts of Jewish Jerusalem. The car turned down a side street and into the neighborhoods, before pulling up in front of a nice looking apartment building.

"This is the new place?" Tom asked in surprise. It was far nicer than anything he’d seen in Jerusalem yet.

"It was build after the uprising, and completed after the war. Its one of the newest buildings in Jerusalem. You really got lucky."

"Well, we all know that I’m just the luckiest bastard on earth." Tom’s full, cocky, 100-watt grin was in full force. "Lets go."

It was getting later, and Hannah was beginning to think that Ben was never going to show up. Eventually, she and Rachel and Mordi decided to start without him, as Mordi had to go to bed early to get up to guard the morning convoy. They were lighting the candles when Hannah heard a car outside, and then the door creeked open a few moments later. They were singing, but she was not prepared for a pair of arms to wrap around her waist, and Tom’s deep voice to join in, right by her ear. It was all she could do from turning around and kissing him right there. Instead she leaned into him and closed her eyes. She felt a tear slip down her cheek as she smiled broadly. She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Mordi and Rachel were smiling, as were Ben and another tall, red haired woman. They finished singing, and Hannah turned around, and embraced Tom fiercely.

"Happy Hanukkah," he whispered in her ear.

"Best present ever," she whispered back.

"And you haven’t even unwrapped it yet," she could feel him smirking against her hair.

"Incorrigible," she giggled, nipping his ear.

Ben cleared his throat. "Nice to see you again Hannah."

She blushed, turned back toward the rest, but keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Tom. "Ben, why didn’t you tell me?"

"I couldn’t. I didn’t know for sure he’d be here till after I left this morning. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. All the information was very compartmentalized after the scare in Rome. But we think we’ve found the leak now."

"Good."

"Hannah, this is Alexina Winters, an old friend from the war days. Alexina, Hannah Levi, my fiancé. And Rachel and…I know your name but I don’t think we’ve met in person. Mordichm?" Tom asked, extending his hand. Mordi grinned, shaking Tom’s hand.

"Its Mordi, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. Hannah has told us a lot about you."

Alexina shook hands all around. "I’m really happy to be here. I hope I’m not intruding."

"Oh, no bother at all," Rachel said, heading for the kitchen. "Who wants lakates?"

"Oooooooh…" Tom’s eyes lit up. "lakates."

"When have you had lakates?" Hannah asked in surprise.

"My mother used to make them. Got the recipe from a Jewish woman who lived across the hall from us. Dad and I loved them," he replied. Hannah shook her head. Tom continued to surprise her.

They stood around the kitchen, eating lakates and chatting. Finnally Ben announced. "Well, Alexina and I are going to get going. She’s staying with my aunt. I’ll see you all around. Tom, I imagine that we’re going to need you to start flying supplied with in the next several days, so be prepared."

"Roger that."

"Good night all." Ben and Tom embraced, and then Hannah and Ben. Tom hugged Alexina, and wished her a good night. The door shut, and quiet descended upon the apartment.

"We’re going to bed," Rachel announced. "It’s a early day tomorrow."

"Good night," Hannah said, waving as Mordi and Rachel disappeared into their bedroom.

Tom and Hannah sat in the living room. There was a stillness.

"Hi." He spoke, sighing, putting his feet up on the low table.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. C’mere." He held his hand out, and Hannah sat on the couch with him, and curled up against his shoulder.

"When did you miss me the most?"

"All the time."

"Were you scared?" she asked.

"Most of the time. I was terrified in Rome. I was afraid I’d never see you again. Hauled off to the Isle of Wright to serve 50 years to life."

"I didn’t know you’d been arrested until after you’d been freed. I wouldn’t have known anything. Ben probably would have told me, once they figured it out. I would have been crushed."

"I know. That’s how I felt, knowing you wouldn’t know. But I’m here."

"How was the flight in?"

"Nerve wracking. Flying at 300 feet is tough on the nerves. My arms are stiff."

"I’ll massage them for you." She said reaching up

"You don’t have to…ooooh…" he moaned as she began working the tension out of his arms.

"Feel good?"

"Yeah, real good."

Silence descended, as Hannah worked the kinks out of Tom’s tense muscles. He smiled down at her, and leaned down and kissed her gently.

"I missed you." He breathed.

"I missed you too." She kissed him back, and he drew his hand behind her head, holding her to him.

"I love you." She whispered, when they came up for air.

"I love you too." He got off the couch, and got down onto one knee. "Hannah, would you…could you…will you marry me?"

"Yes, Tom." She was crying now. "Yes, I will." She pulled him back toward her on the couch and kissed him again, more eagerly this time.

"Uh, Hannah?" Tom groaned.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Can we move this somewhere more comfortable. You’re hurting my back."

"Oh, I’m sorry." She grinned mischievously. "Want to christen the new bed?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I’d like nothing more," leering at her. He scooped her up in his arms, as she gave a delighted little yelp, and he carried her off into the bedroom.

"Thank you for the ride Ben." Alex said, as she followed him slowly up the stairs to where she would be staying.

"You’re welcome. It is good to see you again."

"I’m so glad you made it."

"Well, they tried their best, but here I am."

"You’re tougher than they were. They couldn’t keep any of us down." Ben grinned at that, and turned toward her. But while he did so, he lost his concentration and didn’t lift his dead leg up far enough to clear the step. It caught and he began to fall. Alex caught him, and he regained his balance. The grin was gone, and in its place was a bitter frustration.

"Damn thing’s useless. May as well be wood," he gasped, out of breath.

Alexina hesitated. "Do you feel much pain?" Concern was written all over her face.

He sighed. "No, no not really. Just a dull ache sometimes. Phantom pain. Feeling cold or hot in toes I can’t feel anymore. The doctors tell me its psychosomatic. It comes and goes."

"Do you want me to help you back down the stairs?"

"Its alright. I’ll be alright. I’m more than halfway there now, worse to go back than to finish. I’ll rest for a few minutes and then go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I’m sure."

She paused for a minute and looked at him. "You’ve come a long way."

Ben felt his heart catch in his throat. "Its nothing."

"No, I’m proud of you. A lesser man would have given up." She was silent. "Standing next to you and Tom again, I feel like the kid all of a sudden. The two of you, so much more mature from having seen all the things you’ve seen, and suffered everything. You all seem so much older. I feel young next to you two."

Ben sighed. "Its hard to remember I’m twenty five when I walk like an eighty year old." He said, more bitterly than he had intended.

"I’m sorry."

"No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it that way. Its just sometimes…"

"I won’t say I understand how you feel, because I can’t even imagine, but I understand why you’re frustrated."

"Thank you."

"That’s what friends are for. And you and I ought to be better friends than me and Tom. I mean, after all, when we last saw each other, we were still friends. Wasn’t the case as much with Tom and I." She grinned, she was trying to cheer him up.

"Very true, Alex." He took another hesitant step up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. Alex held his shoulder, and they made their way up the stairs. Ben knocked once on the door, and it opened, a petite young woman with dark hair and glasses.

"Colonel!" the women exclaimed, "Are you alright?"

Ben smiled weakly, "I tripped coming up the stairs. Alexina, this is Ruth, one of the assistants at the Agency. She’ll be hosting you while you’re in Jerusalem until we find you a more permanent place. Ruth, Alexina Winters, the mechanic that came with Commander Lawson’s airplane. She was a bonus."

"Come in!" She took Ben’s others shoulder. Chava! The Colonel is here."

"Colonel?"

"Its my Haganah rank. My wartime experience made me officer material, and then they decided that I had a skill for planning, so I made the general staff."

"Oh." Alex said. "So what do you plan?"

"I plan special things, like Tom’s little jaunt. Clandestine things, capturing British supplies, and the like."

"Like the commandos?"

"A bit, yes. We call them Palmachnicks." Ben sat down at the table as Chava, a graying older woman, pulled out a chair for him."

"You shouldn’t be walking so much Benjamin." Chava scolded him gently.

"Chava is my aunt and tends to think I’m an invalid, and its rubbing off on Ruth," he sighed and lifted his leg onto the chair that Ruth provided.

"Colonel, you are an invalid." Ruth pointed out gently. "You should rest."

"I’m still a young man, Ruth, I have much to do, and must stay active. There is a war on, and I am needed."

"In the office, Benjamin. Not on the front lines."

"There is no front, Chava. Not in this war." Ben sighed. "See what I put up with in my own office?" he waved his hands. Alexina stifled a chuckle and nodded. "At any rate, I think you’ll be alright here."

"We made up a cot in the spare room, I hope it will be alright."

"I’m sure it will be fine," Alexina assured.

"Do you have a driver, Colonel?" Ruth asked.

"No, I’m afraid I dismissed him for the time being. I’ll get home alright."

"No you don’t. Do I have to call Pavel down?" Chava threatened waving Ruth for the telephone.

Ben sighed. "No Chava, don’t call Pavel. I’ll be fine."

"You should stay here on the couch then," Chava declared, in a tone that indicated she was not about to be contradicted.

"Chava, I’ll get home just fine." Ben protested, but even to Alex they appeared to be weakening and drifting towards petulance.

"Ruth, go see if there’s a spare blanket in the closet."

"You young men are all alike, headstrong and stubborn. No sense at all. If your mother was alive, Benjamin ben-Judah, she would have words with you."

"Yes, tante," Ben sighed, having completely caved in.

"I remember when he was just a boy. Sometimes they only way to get him to listen was to smack him right upside the head. Little nogdkit." Chava muttered.

"Chava is actually my mother’s sister-in-law." Ben finally explained, seeing Alex trying to follow the conversation like a fast paced tennis match.

"Your lovely mother took me in after my poor David died. And then she herself, taken before her time. It was a tragedy." Chava heaved a heavy sigh. "And look at you Benjamin, your mother would be appalled at you. You look like you haven’t bathed in days." Ben rolled his eyes and dropped his head to the table groaning. He looked sideways at Alexina, and mouthed, "wait for it".

"And when are you going to find a nice Jewish girl? Your father, rest his soul, would want you to settle down, raise a family. Give me grand nieces and nephews."

"My aunt has no children, and therefore she can’t have grandchildren, so she lives vicariously through me." Ben explained. "Tante, now is not the time to be berating about lack of progeny. Do you have to embarrass me in front of guests, and in front of the one assistant in my office who still has some modicum of respect for me?" Ben waved at Alex and Ruth, but his half grin said that he was less than truly annoyed, and he shook his head.

"Look at the time! You’ll want to be getting to bed, I’m sure. Travel is such a curse." Chava began clucking over Alexina.

"I am a little tired, but I am glad to be here."

"Well, Ruth will show you where you will sleep, and the wash closet it off to the left over there if you want to clean up at all."

Alexina shouldered her bag and followed the younger woman into a spare room filled with filing cabinets fairly bursting with paper. Ruth sighed apologetically. "Sorry for the mess. We keep some records in duplicate here, so if anything ever happens to the Agency building, we’ll have backup copies. As well, we keep some of the more private records here, where the British might not find them. They’ve never searched the Agency before, but there’s always a first time for everything." Alexina nodded, and set her bag down on the low cot, before sitting down.

"Thank you for putting me up."

"Its quite alright. We’re pleased to do so. The Colonel said you would be a great help to us."

"I’m only a mechanic."

"But we need skilled workers badly. And especially now that we have the airplane, we’ll need people like you even more. And soon, we’ll be getting other airplanes."

"Fighter planes?"

"Yes."

"I saw them, in Czechoslovakia, at the airport."

"We’re recruiting pilots in America to fly them. There getting together soon. You’ll be the chief mechanic of the Haganah Air Force." There was admiration in Ruth’s eyes. "I wish I had the opportunities you do. You are lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"Most of the women who come to Israel get to do great things. Women fight in the Haganah, you repaired airplanes in the war. I’m a secretary."

"Why don’t you join the Haganah?"

"Technically, I am. But they won’t assign me to the fighting battalions."

"Why?"

Ruth held out her glasses. They were very thick. "I’m practically blind without them."

Alexina nodded. "Would you like to learn to work on the airplanes? Glasses don’t matter."

"Oh, I don’t know if I could learn…"

"Anyone can learn, it’s a matter of how much you want to."

"I don’t know what the Colonel would say."

"I’ll talk to the Colonel, if you like. I could certainly use the extra set of hands."

"You would do that? For me? I can’t tell you how important this would be for me. I have to feel like I’m making a difference."

"I’ll see what I can do."

Ruth smiled broadly. "Thank you so much, Miss Winters."

"Please, call me Alex, all my friends do."

"Thank you…Alex." She grinned. "I’ll let you get ready for bed now."

"See you in the morning." As the door shut, Alex pulled her shirt off and opened her bag, pulling out her oversized soft pajamas. As she slipped them on, and curled up on the cot, surrounded by paperwork, and listening to the soft murmurs in the kitchen, for the first time since leaving the RAF, she felt home.

Back across the city, Hannah and Tom lay together, Hannah curled up in the crook of Tom’s arm. They watched the moonlight across the city.

"What was the trip like?" Hannah asked, as they heard gunfire break the silence of the night.

"Lonely without you. It was nice to have Alex for company though."

"What happened between you two? Ben said I would have to ask you."

"What happened between us never should have happened. It was a mistake that I couldn’t correct. She should have been with Benny. He was the one who was truly in love with her. And the guilt I felt over that, and over Benny being shot down, things got ugly after Benny went down. A bad situation got worse. I drank too much. Far too much. But everything turned out alright."

"You don’t have any regrets?"

"Any regret I have is that it happened in the first place. I wish it hadn’t. I shouldn’t have gotten in the way. Ben should have had her. The problem was that she never could see Ben as anything but a kid. That was partly my fault; I treated him like a kid brother, even though he was only a couple years younger than me. Now, he seems older than me."

"Do you think he still likes Alex?"

"I don’t know. We never got the chance to talk about it." Tom sighed, "We haven’t had the time."

"I’m sure you’ll get a chance soon."

There was a comfortable silence.

"Hannah?"

"Yes?"

"What’s the plan?"

"What do you mean?" she twisted up to look at him.

"When should we get married? What are you going to be up to? I’m probably going to be in and out, dodging the British."

"They may send our unit out to one of the kibitzes on the northern frontier, unless they think they need us for Jerusalem. But most of the new recruits are being smuggled into the city, so they may want more experienced troops on the borders. No one’s sure what’s going on. I’m not even sure who’s in charge."

There was a pause. Tom knew all to well what that feeling was like. "Racel and Mordi are getting married next week." She said.

"Oh? Good for them."

"What will it be like to get married?" She asked hesitantly.

"I’m not at all sure what you mean." Tom said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"We’re…different."

"Hannah, I think what you’re trying to say is, I’m Jewish, and you’re not, how does that affect us?" he said wryly.

"Well, since you put it so bluntly," she grinned.

"Hannah, I’m going to assume you want a Jewish wedding. Fine. I like Rabbis. I’ll need coaching on the Hebrew."

"Okay," Hannah was giggling now. Tom had such a way of putting her at ease. "What about kids?"

"Little versions of you and me?"

"Yeah."

"I like kids. Kids are good. We’ll have a passel of them."

"After this is all over."

"Fair’nuff."

"Raise them Jewish?"

"Sure. Its not like I have any strong connection to my traditions. Its all the same God in the end, right? I mean, we agree on the first half of the Bible, just not the second half."

"Right."

"So what’s the problem? You’ll just have to explain to them that dad is a goy putz."

"Well, you might not be a putz, even if you are goyim." Hannah grinned in the darkness. "So you’re really be okay with that?"

"Sure, honey, just so long as they grow up with some kind of religion. Well…I might have a problem if you wanted to bring them up Buddhist, or Muslim, or something…but…" Hannah slapped him playfully.

"Okay, I was wrong, you are a putz."

"Seriously. Its fine with me. Any other important questions to answer before we find a rabbi?"

"No, I don’t think so."

"So lets get married. Before the 1^st of the year. Who can you find?"

"I’ll ask the Rabbi when he’s here to marry Rachel and Mordi. Maybe he would be willing. Sometimes its hard to find someone to do a mixed marriage, but this one seems all right. Then we’ll need to find ten men."

"Right. I’m sure Ben could help us there."

"Probably."

There was another long silence as Hannah stared out the window at the clouding skies. Rain was threatening, which would be good, it had been dry. "Tom?"

"Hmm?" he answered sleepily.

"Were you scared in Rome?"

"Scared I’d never see you again, hauled off to some nameless British prison, to be held at the Queen’s pleasure. I wasn’t scared, as much as I was mad my luck had run out, just when I had a reason to want to go on." Tom sighed. "The stones on the floor were cold, and lonely. I missed you the most that night."

"I missed you so much while you were gone."

"I love you honey," he kissed the top of her head. "I’m safe and sound now."

"Good." She snaked her arms around him, and held him tightly. "Good."

"You should get some sleep." He began stroking her hair, and Hannah felt her eyelids drooping down.

"Okay," she sighed, and soon, she dropped off to sleep, listening to the rhythm of his beating heart.

December 22, 1947

The week had been a wild one. Hannah had spent much of it tracking down a list of any and all cisterns in Jewish hands in Jerusalem. A week ago, the day Tom arrived back from Czechoslovakia, the Arabs had blown up the water supply lines. The British were working to repair them, but it reveled a Haganah weakness. There was no way that the Haganah would ever control the entire length of the pipeline, and the would certainly be cut. They had to begin planning for that eventuality. Hannah went around the city, cataloging the old cisterns. The list was bleak, but, somewhat hopeful that they could store enough water to survive several weeks.

"Its too bad we can’t haul water up in plane as well," Tom said, as they were dressing. "It’s just too heavy to haul economically. We wouldn’t make a dent, and burn a lot a fuel just trying."

"Didn’t they used to haul fuel?"

"Petrol for lorries and tanks. But we burned more AvGas than we could haul. Different type of gas certainly, but still, it never made sense to me." Tom said, buttoning up his collar. He slipped on an old pair of aviator sunglasses he’d swapped a bottle of whiskey to an American for, and turned around. "Am I presentable?"

Hannah looked him up and down. His uniform pants had been pressed to a sharp crease, his buttons had been polished, and his medals gleamed. His uniform cap was sharp, and the American sunglasses made him just…hot. "You look…"

"What? Something on my shirt?"

Hannah grinned. "Yeah, take it off…and there’s something on your pants, take those off too."

"Ha…ha…ha. Lets go, or you’re going to be late for your best friend’s wedding."

Hannah paused. "Well, if I’m late because I’m prematurely consummating my own, its okay." She launched herself at Tom. He fended off her arms. "Now, now. Don’t get your dress wrinkled. And you’re going to wrinkle my dress uniform." Hannah pouted. "Later, my love, later. Lets get going."

Mordi and Rachel were to be married down the street at a small synagoge that had been established quickly after the neighborhood’s transfer from Arab to Jewish hands. Guests from the couple’s Palmach unit were already arriving, as well as Mordi’s family. Rachel, like too many young Palmachniks, had no living relatives. Tom and Hannah were seated well forward, making Tom slightly uncomfortable. It was hard to miss the stares of the others in the room. There was no mistaking his uniform as British. There wasn’t much he could do about it, and truth be told, he was still proud of it, and what he had accomplished while wearing it in service to the King. And above all that, it was the only set of "dress" clothes he currently owned.

Tom had never been to a Jewish wedding before, although he had been to a Jewish prayer service once or twice, with Benny, during the war. And he had sought out a Rabbi after Benny was shot down, but they had rubbed each other the wrong way, and Tom walked out. The first part of the wedding was amusing, as he watched Mordi try to present his Torah lesson while being heckled by his father, his uncle, his brother and all the men in the Palmach battalion. He didn’t quite understand the point, but it was funny. Rachel and Hannah and all the rest of the women were laughing so hard they were falling over. He suspected there were a good deal of inside jokes sailing over his head.

"Do I have to do that?" Tom whispered to Hannah when she calmed down.

"No," she whispered back. "The Tish is optional, especially in a mixed ceremony."

There was the signing of the ketubah, or marrige contract, and the service shifted primarly into Hebrew, and he began to get further and further lost, which, he reflected, did not bode well for his own impending nuptials. Hannah tried to coach him on some of the Hebrew from the audience. He figured he understood about every third word. He watched Rachel walk around Mordi seven times, and then came the exchange of rings.

"Listen carefully." Hannah hissed at him.

"Harei at mekudeshat li betaba’at zo kedat Moshe v’yisrael." Mordi announced, handing the ring to Rachel."

"Something about Moses and the Laws of Isreal?" Tom questioned.

"Behold thou art consecrated unto me with this ring according to the laws of Moses and Isreal." Hannah whispered back.

The audience was encouraged to participate in the next section, as together, some with more clarity than others, they recited the prayer for peace in Jerusalem. And then, soberly, the Rabbi laid a wine glass on the floor, and Mordi brought his foot down on it.

"Mazel Tov!" the crowd lept to their feet cheering. Mordi swept Rachel up into a kiss as the cheering and whistling continued.

"I think I can handle that part," Tom told Hannah. She rolled her eyes at him. "Which part? The breaking of the glass or the kiss?"

"Both. But I can demonstrate the kiss now." He said. She slapped him on the arm.

"Don’t take away from the bride and groom."

"Sorry."

"No your not. Lets go meet the Rabbi."

"Rabbi? Do you have a moment?"

"Yes, my dear, what is it?" the Rabbi turned toward Hannah.

"Rabbi, this is Tom Lawson, he’s my fiancé."

"My, Hannah, you didn’t tell me you were soon to be under the canopy as well." Hannah grinned. The Rabbi extended his hand. "Menachim Wienmann." Tom took it. The Rabbi had a strong grip.

"Rabbi Wienmann, I haven’t known you for very long, and I hate to ask, but…"

"What is it dear?"

"What Hannah is trying to ask, sir, is wheather you would marry us as well. And you should know that the primary consideration is that, although I’m perfectly willing to have a Jewish ceremony, I’m not Jewish."

"No, I might have guessed. Not with all that hardware." The Rabbi grinned. "How many of the (Insert Yiddish swear phrase here) did you get during the war?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"What are you doing now?"

"I’m flying for the Haganah."

"Good for you." The Rabbi paused. "Its not something I normally do, but then, that’s probably only because its not something that normally happens in this part of the world. I’d be more than happy to marry you."

"Thank you Rabbi!" Hannah gushed.

"Thank you sir, it means a lot to Hannah. Is there any chance we could set up a meeting, and you could coach me a little on the Hebrew?"

"Drop by any time you’re free, Commander. I’d be more than happy to help out a fellow veteran. You see, I did my time as the Rabbi with the 7^th Armored. Not many Jewish boys in that outfit, but a few."

"I’m sure you had your fill of the desert."

"More than enough, young man, more than enough." The Rabbi nodded. "I’m going to have to get along and…" the Rabbi gestured vaguely in the direction of the rest of the celebrating wedding party.

"Of course." Tom said, shaking the man’s hand once again.

"Thank you so much, Rabbi Weinmann." Hannah hugged him.

"You’re welcome dear."

They watched him depart. "That was easier than I expected." Hannah said.

"Yes. I’ll have to stop by," he offered his arm to Hannah.

"Where’s Alexina today?"

"She’s doing a little sightseeing, she wanted to see the Church of the Holy Sepulcher."

"Ah."

Alexina stood in awe. Her faith told her she was standing on the holiest of holy ground. The blood of Christ was supposedly shed on this hill. She was standing in the church, almost alone. It wasn’t the in-season for this church, most of the pilgrims, the few that had braved the violence, were in Bethlehem. But Alexina stood rooted, and she wouldn’t have noticed if the whole world had past by her standing there.

The church’s ceiling was painted with scenes from the passion, and staring up at the alter, she couldn’t help but feel moved. She had lapsed in her faith sometime during the war. She hadn’t found the priest’s ritual blessings and passive platitudes enough, while she watched people killed around her, and watching the priests perform Last Rites, by rote, almost mumbling them in their sleep. To her, it hadn’t seemed like a living faith. Faith was no comfort for the young boy who was still screaming when he died from head to toe burns.

But here, looking up the images of Christ, weeping on the cross, and yet still asking for Gods forgiveness on the people who hung him there. Here, on the spot where His blood fell. Alexina fought the urge to drop to her knees on the spot, and instead found her way to a pew. She kneeled in the pew, and out her pocket she drew a set of well worn rosary beads. She didn’t know why she brought them today. They had been a gift from her Grandmother when she was confirmed. She haltingly made her way through a few half forgotten prayers when she was startled by a bang from the back of the church. The door to a Confessional booth slammed shut behind its occupant, an old spring pulling it back. She hesitated for a moment, and then got up and walked to the back of the church. She went in, shut the door, and slid the sliding sign to read "occupied". She kneeled.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

"My the Lord Jesus bless you and help you tell your sins." Alexina looked up in surprise. The Priest’s accent was decidedly familiar. A little further south she judged.

"Somewhere near Cork father?" she said, letting her own voice fall back into the familiar patters on home.

"Aye, lass. And you’re from the Six Counties, I imagine."

"Aye, Father. A long way from home."

"And a long way from God, from the sound of your voice."

"Aye Father." She paused. "Father, I’ve lapsed my faith."

"When was the last time you were at Mass, my Child?"

"Sometime during the war. I was a mechanic, in the Royal Air Force. I stopped going, because I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why He let all those boys die. Not yet men. Boys, Father. There was one," her breath caught in her throat. "I helped get him out of his cockpit. He was only 19. He had a piece of shrapnel in his chest. He was bleeding everywhere. It was everywhere. In the cockpit, soaked through his clothes. Running over my hands as we pulled him out. Crying for his mother," Alex was not surprised to feel tears. "He died before we got him to the stretcher. He’d lost too much blood. Why Father? Why the waste? Why him? Why not me? I was playing cards when my barracks was bombed. I’d be dead if not for that. I don’t understand God, Father. Is that a great sin?"

The priest was silent for a time. "My Child, it is natural to not understand the mysterious ways of our Heavenly Father. I can’t tell you why that young man died. I can’t tell you why the millions of others died in the wars throughout the centuries. But you did not die, because the Lord had not yet ordained the time He would call you home. Your purpose on this earth has not yet been fulfilled. My Child, even I question God’s mysterious ways. It is not a great sin. Perhaps you will find your purpose here in Jerusalem. Why have you come here?"

She was thrown by the question. What would Tom say? She asked herself. "I have come to help God’s chosen people, the Tribes of Israel. I came because of my friends."

"To come to help your friends is a noble thing."

She snorted unladylike, "I have come to fix airplanes. To help more men kill each other, as I did in the war." She was suddenly very bitter about that. And she was still confused. "But surely Father, it is a sin to neglect the Lord? I can’t begin to count my other sins. I have taken the Lord’s name in vain countless times, I have been dishonest, and harbored ill will. I have been with men outside of marriage. My sins are as numerous as the grains of sand on the beach." Dear God, she sounded like a Bible verse.

"My Child, all sins are forgiven by the Lord, no matter how numerous they are."

"But I have done so many things, what have I done to deserve it?"

"None of us deserve the Forgiveness of God, that’s why it’s a gift. You, nor I, nor anyone on Earth deserves the gift of God’s forgiveness."

"I deserve it least of all."

There was a long silence on the other side of the screen.

"You carry much guilt, my Child. You must not only seek forgiveness from God."

"Father, what do…"

"I suggest my Child, that you also seek to forgive yourself."

"But I fixed his plane!" she nearly screamed. She broke down crying. "It was going to be scrubbed from the mission, he wouldn’t have flown, if I hadn’t found the hole in the piston and replaced it only an hour before the mission. I fixed the plane he flew to his death!" she buried her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.

"May the Lord Jesus Christ absolve you, and I, by his authority, absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit." The Priests voice was almost too quiet to hear. She hurriedly crossed herself.

"Father, I don’t understand."

"You don’t have to my Child. God always forgives. But you must also forgive yourself. Go forth, my Child, and sin no more."

"Thank you Father."

"Come back anytime lass."

She stepped out of the booth, and walked hesitantly back to the pews, where she kneeled again, and slowly, began counting off the decades on her rosary beads.

December

The late night café had obviously seen better days, but it was quiet, and anonymous. It was really ideally suited to their purposes, Tom reflected, sliding into the booth across from Ben, who eased his way in gently. A server took their order and smiled at them. Ben and Tom stared across the table for a long moment.

"It’s been far too long." Ben said.

"I don’t know where to begin," Tom replied.

"What have you been up to?" Ben asked, lamely, not really looking Tom in the eye, and playing with the saltshaker.

"Well, you know, same shit, different day." There was a pause as the waitress dropped off the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "I’m flying again."

"Oh, really?" Ben’s mouth quirked upward in a sardonic grin. "For who."

"Some old friends."

The firing from the slope had been quickening, just as the faire from the school house began to slack off. Hannah could hear the screams of the wounded and dying. She tightened her grip on her Sten gun. This was it, she thought. She was going to die here. Her and the baby, never see Tom again. She clicked home her last magazine and chambered the first round. 10 for the Arabs, and one for her. Capture was not something she wanted to contemplate.

Suddnely there was a roar. She thought is was the rush of ardrenaline in her ears, until she felt the wash of a stiff breeze. A shadow passed over her and the roar moved ahead of her. A small needle nosed airplane flew overhead, and a cluster of small objects fell from the wings. From the arab lines, a large fireball appeared, and dark black smoke. Wailing screams came to her ears. Arabs appeared on the horizon, burning feircly before collapsing. Hannah looked up. The plain was painted the drab desert tans and brown camoflauge pattern, and marked on the wings with the blue Star of David. Hannah began to cheer, and the others did as well. When the plane flew over again, a hand tossed out a small bag which fell about 10 yards behind the school house. Yosef, bleeding from a graze, ran over and picked it up. Hannah joined him.

Help is on the way. Tell Hannah I love her.

The plane circled once more and a hand waved. They waved back as it began screaming down upon the Arab positions, tracers flashing from its wings.

"That should keep them busy for a while. Lets regroup and gather the wounded." Yosef said, adjusting his bandage. A low drone added itself to the noise around them. Hannah pointed. "look!" The big transport plane appeared on the horizon, low.

"It looks like its trying to land in the field."

"The pilot must be crazy."

"Or very good."

"I thought Tom broke his arm and couldn’t fly?"

"Rudder right!" Ben called out and Tom pushed the rudder in the copilot’s seat, arm in a sling in front of him. Ben adjusted the steering column from the pilots seat.

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