Games of State

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Manfred attacked with the knife stabbing down toward Bob Herbert in his wheelchair.

For someone who can stand up, defending against a knife attack is relatively simple. You think of your forearm as a two-by-four. You extend it downward or upward and catch the attacker's forearm with your forearm. Then you pinwheel that two-by-four of yours, use it to redirect the attacker's momentum up and away, in and away, or down and away.

At the same time you step out of the way. This enables you to prepare for the next slash or stab. Or better still, since you've probably exposed their side or back by maneuvering them away, you have the chance to beat the hell out of your opponent.

If you're in close or underneath your attacker, you still use your forearm for defense. Only now you bend your arm at the elbow first. Forming a "V," you catch the attacking arm firmly with your forearm. Retaining forearm-to-forearm contact you redirect the arm up, down, or to the side, just as you did with a straight-arm defense. The only difference is that you must block closer to your wrist than to your elbow. Otherwise the knife may slide down your forearm, slip under the elbow, and stab you.

Because Manfred was bringing his arm down, with his full weight behind the knife, Bob Herbert had to bend his elbow to stop him. He raised his left arm up, his forearm across his upturned forehead, his fist tight to strengthen the arm. As he met and stopped the attacking arm, he hit Manfred's exposed jaw with a hard right jab. The raging German barely seemed affected by the blow. He drew his blocked arm back, cocked it to his right, and slashed toward the left, toward Herbert's chest.

Herbert dropped his left forearm, made a "V," and blocked again. Somewhere behind him he heard Jody scream. But Herbert was too focused, too determined to keep the brute away to tell her to run. More soldiers died in hand-to-hand combat because they were distracted than because they didn't know what to do.

This time, Manfred refused to be stopped. Though his arm was blocked, he bent his wrist. His hand moved as if it were independent of the rest of him. He pointed the blade toward Herbert, the knife-edge pressing against his flesh.

Herbert was one second away from having his wrist slashed.

He bought himself another second by pushing his left arm toward Manfred to relieve the pressure. While Manfred adjusted to put the knife back in position, Herbert reached his free right hand over his blocking left. Grabbing the knife hand, he dug his thumb between Manfred's tight thumb and index finger and wrapped the rest of his fingers around Manfred's fist. Dropping his blocking forearm to get it out of the way, he twisted Manfred's fist clockwise, hard and fast.

Manfred's wrist snapped audibly and the knife dropped to the ground. But the relentless Manfred was on it in an instant. Holding it in his left hand and howling with anger, he surprised Herbert by driving his knee into his gut.

Herbert doubled over in his wheelchair and Manfred fell on top of him. Pinning Herbert back with his body, the German leaned over him, raised the knife, and plunged it into the back of the chair. The blade tore audibly through the leather as Jody screamed at the German to stop.

Manfred stabbed again, snarling ferociously. Then again. Then there was a loud pop and he stopped stabbing.

He reached for his throat.

There was a hole in his flesh, a hole put there by a bullet fired by Jody from Karin's gun. Blood leaked from the two branches of his common carotid artery, just below the jawline. The knife fell from Manfred's hand and then Manfred fell from the wheelchair. He twitched for a moment and then was still.

Herbert turned and looked at the young woman's dark silhouette against the darker sky.

"Oh, God," she said. "Oh, God." "Are you all right?" Herbert asked.

"I killed someone," Jody said.

"You had no choice." She began to whimper. "I killed a man. I killed someone." "No," Herbert said. He wheeled around and headed toward her. "You saved someone's life. Mine." "But I… I shot him." "You had to, just like other people have had to kill in wars." "A war?" "That's exactly what this is," Herbert said. "Look, he didn't give you any choice. You hear me, Jody? You didn't do anything wrong. Nothing." Jody stood there sobbing.

"Jody?" "I'm sorry," she said to the body. "I'm sorry." "Jody," Herbert said, "first of all, would you please do me a favor?" "What?" she said numbly.

"Would you point the gun to the side?" She did, slowly. Then she opened her hand and dropped it. Then she looked at Herbert as though she were noticing him for the first time. "You're not hurt," she murmured. "How did he miss?" "I never go anywhere without my Kevlar-lining," he said. "Multi-layered bullet-proofing in the back and seat. I got the idea from the President. The chair in the Oval Office is lined with it too." Jody didn't seem to hear. She wavered for a moment, then followed the gun to the ground. Herbert rolled to her side. He took her hand and gave it a gentle tug. She looked up at him.

"You've been through a lot, Jody." He helped her to her knees. Then he pulled a little harder and she started to get back on her feet. "But you're almost at the finish line. The home stretch, from here to the Autobahn, is a little over a mile. All we have to do…" Herbert stopped speaking. He heard footsteps in the distance.

Jody looked at him. "What's wrong?" Herbert listened a moment longer. "Shit!" he said. "Get up. Now." She responded to the urgency in his voice. "What is it?" "You've got to get out of here." "Why?" "They're coming— probably to check on the others." He pushed her. "Go!" "What about you?" "I'll get out of here too," he said, "but right now someone has to cover the retreat." "No! I won't go alone!" "Honey, this kind of stuff is what I'm paid to do. You're not. Think about your parents. Anyhow, I'd just slow you down. I'm better off digging in and defending us from here." "No!" she yelled. "I'm not going alone." Herbert realized that there was no point arguing with the young woman. Jody was scared, exhausted, and probably as hungry as he was.

"All right," he said. "We'll go together." Herbert told Jody to retrieve the gun he'd used up in the tree. While she did, he wheeled over to Karin's body. He picked up her gun, then used his flashlight to search for the SA dagger she'd been holding. He slid it under his left leg, where it would be handy, then checked Karin's gun to make sure it still had a few rounds left. Then he went over to Manfred's body. He took the German's knife and felt for other weapons. There weren't any. He took a moment to examine the contents of Manfred's windbreaker pockets under his flashlight. Then he rejoined Jody, who was waiting several yards from the bodies.

Most of the time Bob Herbert felt like someone from Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch, a cartoon show he used to watch when he was in the rehab center. It was about a freewheeling hero in a souped-up stunt racer. Now, for the first time since he lost the use of his legs, Herbert felt like Rambo. A single-minded man with a mission and the will to enforce it.

Over a half-century before, a black man, Jesse Owens, had embarrassed Hitler by outracing his Aryan athletes in the Olympics. Tonight, Karin's angry pursuit had shown just how much Jody's survival had undermined her authority.

Now, if a man in a wheelchair managed to escape these tough guys, it could very well end the myth of the Nazi superman. Certainly among this group.