Upfall

The sayeret gathered over the next several minutes, including Chaim and Bolander, back from their patrol to the stream. Only Shapira and Roi were absent, secluded in the copse of trees where the track disappeared. The soldiers were confused by the situation, but not in bad spirits. Yatom and Mofaz had agreed that there was little point in going through all the theories and permutations of their current situation with the men. The important thing was to prepare tactically and then decide what to do once their actual circumstances less muddled.

Yatom sent Chaim and Bolander, still sweating from their trek from the stream, to hike out and join Shapira, reuniting team Gimmel. The two commandos set off without a word of dissent, but Yatom was guessed there would be plenty grousing about their flaky officers en route. Mofaz took his team and deployed among the trees on the ridge to the east. There Ilan set up a sniper's nest. Joined by Perchansky, Yatom's team shifted to the west a few dozen meters in the direction of Shapira's men. All the teams checked their radios again, which continued to function normally. The GPS tmits were still out, as were cellphones—which the men were not supposed to have with them, but they carried anyway.

Yatom then set off on his own to have a chat with Shapira and check his position, arriving a few minutes after Chaim and Bolander. The American lieutenant seemed more at ease with the situation than anybody. Perhaps thought Yatom that was because Shapira was used to leaving loved ones behind for a principle—and why he immigrated to Israel in the first place, that is, made aliya. Aliya, is the Hebrew for "ascension" or "going up." It suggested that the immigrant had moved up to a better, more appropriate place. An American especially, Yatom knew, gives up much making aliya.

Yatom explained the situation to Shapira as best he could.

"So you just intend to wait for a train to arrive?" asked Shapira after Yatom finished, "to see if Feldhandler is being truthful?"

"Yes. I'm going to give it an hour or two and if nothing happens we'll reconsider. I'm hoping that Feldhandler might come to his senses."

"What are we going to do if it is a train full of Jews heading to Sobibor."

"It's still not our business" answered Yatom.

"I'm not sure I agree" said Shapira.

"Whether you agree or not, I need to know that you will follow my orders."

"Of course" said Shapira mildly. "You know, if Feldhandler does stop a train, and it is filled with Jews, they will be our responsibility. There will be thousands of them. They'll need food and water."

Yatom said nothing.

"Feldhandler picked this spot because it's a good ambush site, and because of the stream" continued the lieutenant. "That train is going to come, and it's going to be our problem colonel—with all due respect."

Yatom frowned—not because Shapira was questioning his judgment, but because he feared that the young lieutenant was right. Shapira's equanimity about their situation allowed him to analyze the situation dispassionately—something that was impossible for Mofaz and that Yatom found difficult too.

"Beseder Lieutenant. Let's see what happens. But under no circumstances shoot without an order from me."

Yatom stalked back to his own team. The sun was higher in the sky, the air was hot and muggy, but the exercise encouraged him. By the time Yatom reached his little command post, set up by the resourceful Nir, he'd calmed down a little. He scanned the field with his binoculars. Feldhandler was still in his ditch lying by his weapon. Yatom was about to go back out and talk to Feldhandler again when Shapira came on the radio.

"Commander" said the lieutenant "there is a train approaching."

Chapter 10

Abraham Jezek's life had come down to this—guarding a square meter of space for himself and his family, in a baking, stinking freight car, already filling with the dead. They had been underway for nearly a day he reckoned, from a decrepit Polish ghetto. The ghetto was infinitely worse than Prague, from which his family had been forcibly removed a year before; the train, infinitely worse than the ghetto. Nothing could be worse than this, could it?

People had been pissing and shitting themselves for hours, the pair of buckets the Germans provided had overflowed long ago. There had been no food or water since they'd left the ghetto. Men and women had stripped to their underwear to escape the oppressive heat. Children went naked, barefoot in the filth. There wasn't even room to sit. He stood miserably in the corner and allowed his wife, Ilse, and twelve year old son, Abner, to lean against him. Other hopeless people, strangers, leaned in turn on his small family. Under foot were those that could stand no further, trampled and covered in piss and shit, either dead or waiting to die.