Andrei looked slowly to Wolf Brandel.
“I don’t know,” Wolf pleaded.
Andrei sat down slowly and contained his temper. “What story will they tell, Simon Eden? Will they unearth the Brandel journals and read about how five hundred thousand sheep walked silently, without protest, to their deaths and the high-sounding idealists who stood for honor crawled out on their hands and knees through crap-filled sewers to tell the world our heritage? What story, Simon? What story? Have you no shame? Have you no anger to avenge dead children? Simon! One week! Let us stand and fight like men for one week!”
“We cannot hold a week. It is impossible.”
“Betar! Masada! Jerusalem! We must show them Jews can still fight, Simon!”
“It is our duty to try to survive,” Simon said.
Andrei turned to Wolf. “Order the Bathyrans back to Mila 19. We will not be a partner to this final debasement of our people.”
“Don’t pull your people out of the command,” Simon pleaded.
“Do you hear me, Wolf? I have given you an order!”
Wolf looked again from one to the other in utter confusion.
Ring! Ring! Ring! screamed the alarm bell in long dashes. Ring! Ring! Ring!
Wolf stole a glance at the street “It’s swarming with SS.”
The four men quickly checked their weapons and bolted out to the ladder to the roof. Andrei was the last one through. He closed the trap door behind him and rubbed his arms in the sudden burst of January cold.
“Down through Mila 5,” Andrei said. “Be careful not to stir up those feathers and give our position away.”
They crouched low and stepped on the feathers as though they were walking on eggs. Chris’s foot hit a hidden ice slick and he crashed down, unable to contain a pain-racked scream.
“My knee!” he cried, torn with pain.
“What is it?”
“Trick basketball knee. Fine time to jump out.”
“Look over the side,” Andrei said. Wolf crawled off with Simon.
Chris grimaced as he tried to slip the loose cartilage back into place. It cracked as it found the slot Chris turned white-lipped.
“Can you move?”
“Wrap it up in something so it won’t jump out again,” he grunted.
Andrei whipped off his leather jacket then tore the sleeve from his shirt and with it deftly locked Chris’s kneecap into place.
At the edge of the roof Wolf and Simon peered down on a street swarming with Germans. The kettle was set up all the way from Nalewki to Zamenhof streets with the main force concentrating on the Orphans and Self-Help headquarters at Mila 19. They slipped back to Andrei.
“We’re boxed in,” Simon said.
“Can we make a break for your headquarters?”
“No,” Simon answered. “We’d have to cross an open courtyard at Mila 5. We’d never make it.”
“Can’t stay here,” Wolf said. “They’ll be all over the roof in minutes.”
“I have a hiding place up here,” Andrei said. “I think it will hold all four of us.”
Chris struggled to his feet. Simon and Wolf draped an arm over his shoulders and Chris was able to hobble. Andrei led them to the last house at Mila and Zamenhof.
The roof slanted at a sharp pitch for fifteen yards to the rain gutters. Near the very edge, before the overhanging eaves, was a large chimney.
“We’ve got to get down there to the chimney,” Andrei said. “Lie absolutely flat and move in a direct line with the chimney so you won’t be observed from the street.”
Andrei went on his belly, headfirst down the steeply angled tiles, the Schmeisser cradled in his elbows. Inch by inch he wiggled his body downward. Watch the ice, he said to himself, dig your toes in, don’t look at the edge—that’s a five-story drop—easy ... easy. The blood poured into his head and made him giddy for a moment, and he was suddenly struck with the weakness of three days without food. The tile nails jammed into his legs and belly and sliced his leather jacket, and the cold cramped his body. A few feet more ... just a few feet. Andrei lined up the chimney and rolled against it.
With his back braced against the chimney, he waved for the next man to come down. Simon went over. Andrei removed a loose tile nail, the first key to a Chinese puzzle. He slid a tile out and loosened five more, which he set down into the sub-roof. He had made a hole just large enough for a man to get into the sub-roof and eaves.
Simon made the mistake of coming down feet first. Although he was in a better position to grab with his hands, he could not see his direction or the ice slicks and could conceivably miss the chimney, for Andrei was unable to shout up directions without drawing attention from the street. Midway down, Simon had to turn his body so that he would come headfirst.
Come on, Simon. Come on, for Christ sake, Andrei muttered to himself. Time drawled on. Come on, Simon. If they get on top of us, we’ll be clay pigeons.
Simon Eden reached the chimney, put his back against it, and dropped his head between his legs, close to tears of sheer fright.
Next Chris. Wolf crouched in a rear guard, watching the rooftops.
Chris was racked with pain, dragging the game leg, but he came down fast and without hesitation. Andrei dared a peek around the corner of the chimney to the street. Luck was with them so far.
“Simon, get down there. Crawl forward as far as you can go. Stay on the crossbeams. The flooring under it is rotted away. Chris, follow him in. Move up as close against him as you can so there’ll be room for all of us.”
Simon went headfirst into the hole. He slid his body over the beams. The joists formed a sharp angle at the beams, so a large man like Simon Eden was all but wedged in a vise. He pushed forward with the greatest effort until he came to a dead end.
Chris followed him, struggling with the painful leg.
Andrei looked up the roof to Wolf and waved for him to begin his descent. Wolf hated the roofs. They made him dizzy. He had moved a few yards when all he could see was the edge below him and all he could think of was his body hurtling down a sheer plunge of five stories to the pavement. He closed his eyes. Everything began to spin. He froze on the spot Andrei and the chimney seemed miles away.
Andrei snarled. He wanted to shout up to Wolf, curse him, prod him, order him. Time was running out. Should he crawl up after Wolf? No, that would certainly attract attention from the street. But if he allowed Wolf to stay where he was, Germans would be above him at any second.
“Come on, lad,” Andrei prayed. “Come on. Move, boy, move.”
The sweat in Wolf’s eyes turned icy. He lifted his head. “Got to ... got to ... got to ...” He crawled an inch ... another ... “Got to ... got to ... got to ...” Closer, closer, closer. Andrei scampered up, snatched his hand, and dragged him down the last six feet. Wolf was shaking.
“Get down there,” Andrei said, hurling him headfirst into the hideaway.
Andrei went into the roof last. He was greeted by an accumulation of sixty-five years of filth and cobwebs. He stretched his body downward until he was stopped by Wolf’s feet, then eased his upper half down. He lay flush against the chimney. Andrei lifted the tiles from his prone position and slipped them back into place. When the last tile was fitted, the eaves were plunged into darkness.
The four men were locked in a lightless coffin. They lay inside a triangle formed by beams, rafters, and the wall. Each man lay on three two-inch boards which supported his body at his calves, thighs, back, and shoulders. Beneath the beams was a rotted floor, part of which extended into the eaves, directly over the street.
The face of one man touched the feet of another end to end. Their movement was limited to a few inches. They could turn over from back to stomach only with a slow effort.
“Everybody all right?” Andrei whispered.