Nuremberg Tour 25

When Friday comes, a huge honor is bestowed upon me. I'm the only trainee invited to join the NCO's for the Friday beer. Ok, so I only had one, like most of them and yes, it was low alcohol. But it was fun conversation, now unmistakable that most of them view me as a fellow career soldier. All except Farzana. When it's your own friend, maybe she doesn't see the flaws, the problems that led to it.
As we break up, Naomi grins, "next year in Nuremberg." I know what she means, a takeoff on "next year in Jerusalem" and we both laugh.
My weekend feels flat, I find myself missing my friends. Amazing how much I've become attached to them in just a week.
I could go to JCC, read the papers, but I'm afraid of the reaction. So instead I go to the university library, to chip away on my project.
I'm already starting to see connections. Lot of the survivor characters had good tech skills, be easy to fit them into postwar Israeli civil and military life.
I choose a likely bombing raid. I'll invent a crew for one particular USAF B17 raiding the ball and roller bearing plant at Schweinfurt on October 14, 1943. Give the readers a lively air battle prior to the bomb breaching the camp perimeter.
I stand, stretch, look out onto the university architecture dating to Antiquity.
And then I see Tasma walking, book in hand. She grins, "hello there 'romantic rival."
I laugh.
"Gotta check this book out, then we'll do coffee. Ah I see you're getting material for your bomber."
"Yes, I made a resolution. As of the point I take over, it'll be positive, heroic from there on. That includes my camp survivors and the B17 crew."
We settle in at the lounge. Easy smile, "you look different, more confident, more can do. Army life ok so far?"
I relate my first week of basic.
I leave the hard question til right near the end, don't want to spoil the fun part of the conversation. Then, "tell me Tasma, do you really think things are ah well past redemption? That no matter what I do in the book, it won't work?"
She stares out the window a moment, then in a sad tone, "friend you got off mega easy, I mean being a Jew. If you were Afghan, likely you'd be dead by now."
I gasp.
"You know for a fact, they'll never forgive and never forget your supposed role in his death."
I nod.
"Stay in the army and don't come back. It'll work out best, you'll see."
It isn't rational, but I actually feel optimistic. That I suppose would be the influence of Sarge.

(So ends Part One. Part Two is now being prepared; the blog could be inactive for several months.)