low voice. "But we're still a long way from getting out of here. By the way, my name is Cham Elovitz."
The other young men introduced themselves — Benjamin Sahl, John Ivinmetz, Lev Wymann… and other names, all Jewish. I assumed that the two blonds, Karl Nierman and Jacob Keifer, had been immigrants from West Germany to Israel.
"Each time the guards come in they're heavily armed," Lev Wymann said, "and they watch to make sure we don't try anything."
"They might not feed us tonight until after they take Carter out," Benjamin Sahl offered.
"What's the procedure when they bring you food?" I asked. "Do they make you line up against the wall or take some other kind of precautionary measure?"
"Four of them come in," Sahl said. "Two guards and two other men. One man carries the pot or a sack. The other guy has tin plates and spoons. The two guards stand by the door while the other two pass out the slop. Grabbing for the gun-carrying guards would be impossible.
"That's right," sighed Karl Nierman, "and they're not going to be any less careful tonight."
"How far inside the door do the guards stand?" I asked.
"Six, seven… maybe eight feet," Nierman replied. "It depends where we're sitting when they come in. What's the difference? They have guns. We're still at a disadvantage."
I looked at the handcuffs in my right hand. "We have one advantage. They believe I'm cuffed. I'll tell you how we'll do it. Eight of you sit against the east wall. Sahl, you and I and Risenberg will sit by the south wall, near the center. Do any of you have training in karate?"
Sahl Soloman chuckled. "Sure, we know Gobat, the Israeli version of karate. It's a blending of all the oriental variants."
"Let's get into position," I said. Ben Sahl and I hurried to the south wall. The other Israelis moved to the east side of the room and sat down. Sitting toward the center of the wall, I put one cuff around my right wrist and pushed the prong slightly into the locking section, making sure that the prong's first notch did not move past the lock catch. Putting my hands behind my back, I used the same method on my left wrist. All I had to do was move my hands slightly and the cuffs would fall off.
With Sahl sitting to my right and Risenberg watching through the small opening of the door, the ten Israelis and I waited.
Five o'clock came.
The guards did not bring the evening meal.
I watched the end of the one shaft of light as it moved ever so very slowly to the southeast corner of the room. I judged it was about five-thirty when we heard the door to the outside open. Risenberg didn't have to tell us that the guards were entering the building. A strained, anxious look on his face, he hurried over to me and Sahl and sat down to my left.
Moments later, we heard the iron bar being removed from across the door to the prison room. Then the door was pulled open and five Arabs stormed into the room, two carrying AK-47 assault rifles slung across their shoulders, the other three holding Russian PPsH submachine guns. From where we sat, Risenberg, Sahl and I could see a sixth Arab waiting out in the corridor. He was holding a 9mm UZI submachine gun. Much to our chagrin, we saw that several other Arabs were standing in the open door of the guard room, at the west end of the corridor, and were smirking.
I stood up, afraid that if I waited to let the guards jerk me to my feet the handcuffs would fall off. Two of them advanced, one saying in a loud voice, "This time, you offspring of a pig, you will tell
al-Huriya
what he wants to know, or we'll begin by breaking your fingers one by one."
When the two Arabs closest to me reached for my arms, I decided it was now or never. I flicked my wrists, the handcuffs dropped to the floor and my arms streaked upward and out with such speed that the Arabs had no chance to defend themselves. Using Karate as we planned, I bunched the fingers of my left hand into a
Nukite
spear, stabbing into the neck of one guard. It felt as
The other young men introduced themselves — Benjamin Sahl, John Ivinmetz, Lev Wymann… and other names, all Jewish. I assumed that the two blonds, Karl Nierman and Jacob Keifer, had been immigrants from West Germany to Israel.
"Each time the guards come in they're heavily armed," Lev Wymann said, "and they watch to make sure we don't try anything."
"They might not feed us tonight until after they take Carter out," Benjamin Sahl offered.
"What's the procedure when they bring you food?" I asked. "Do they make you line up against the wall or take some other kind of precautionary measure?"
"Four of them come in," Sahl said. "Two guards and two other men. One man carries the pot or a sack. The other guy has tin plates and spoons. The two guards stand by the door while the other two pass out the slop. Grabbing for the gun-carrying guards would be impossible.
"That's right," sighed Karl Nierman, "and they're not going to be any less careful tonight."
"How far inside the door do the guards stand?" I asked.
"Six, seven… maybe eight feet," Nierman replied. "It depends where we're sitting when they come in. What's the difference? They have guns. We're still at a disadvantage."
I looked at the handcuffs in my right hand. "We have one advantage. They believe I'm cuffed. I'll tell you how we'll do it. Eight of you sit against the east wall. Sahl, you and I and Risenberg will sit by the south wall, near the center. Do any of you have training in karate?"
Sahl Soloman chuckled. "Sure, we know Gobat, the Israeli version of karate. It's a blending of all the oriental variants."
"Let's get into position," I said. Ben Sahl and I hurried to the south wall. The other Israelis moved to the east side of the room and sat down. Sitting toward the center of the wall, I put one cuff around my right wrist and pushed the prong slightly into the locking section, making sure that the prong's first notch did not move past the lock catch. Putting my hands behind my back, I used the same method on my left wrist. All I had to do was move my hands slightly and the cuffs would fall off.
With Sahl sitting to my right and Risenberg watching through the small opening of the door, the ten Israelis and I waited.
Five o'clock came.
The guards did not bring the evening meal.
I watched the end of the one shaft of light as it moved ever so very slowly to the southeast corner of the room. I judged it was about five-thirty when we heard the door to the outside open. Risenberg didn't have to tell us that the guards were entering the building. A strained, anxious look on his face, he hurried over to me and Sahl and sat down to my left.
Moments later, we heard the iron bar being removed from across the door to the prison room. Then the door was pulled open and five Arabs stormed into the room, two carrying AK-47 assault rifles slung across their shoulders, the other three holding Russian PPsH submachine guns. From where we sat, Risenberg, Sahl and I could see a sixth Arab waiting out in the corridor. He was holding a 9mm UZI submachine gun. Much to our chagrin, we saw that several other Arabs were standing in the open door of the guard room, at the west end of the corridor, and were smirking.
I stood up, afraid that if I waited to let the guards jerk me to my feet the handcuffs would fall off. Two of them advanced, one saying in a loud voice, "This time, you offspring of a pig, you will tell
al-Huriya
what he wants to know, or we'll begin by breaking your fingers one by one."
When the two Arabs closest to me reached for my arms, I decided it was now or never. I flicked my wrists, the handcuffs dropped to the floor and my arms streaked upward and out with such speed that the Arabs had no chance to defend themselves. Using Karate as we planned, I bunched the fingers of my left hand into a
Nukite
spear, stabbing into the neck of one guard. It felt as
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