Upfall

While the two Ukrainians desperately worked the bolts to their Mausers to load another round, De J ong cleared the chamber of the pistol and pulled the trigger again. This time the Walther worked. De Jong emptied the magazine at the Ukrainians, his ears ringing, unused to the loud 9mm blasts from the small handgun. Somehow he managed to hit them both. Through the dust and his gun smoke he saw the two grey clad men on the ground, one wreathing in pain, the other trying to crawl away.

De Jong had the presence of mind to reload his weapon, while one of the other squad leaders forced open the gate. The Dutchman glanced back at the wounded Porchak, then put it out of his mind and stepped into the Forward Camp. Behind him a couple of the unarmed Jews grabbed the weapons of the fallen Ukrainians and finished them off by smashing their heads with the butts of the heavy Mausers.

Another man grabbed Porchak's weapon.

Directly ahead of De Jong, according to the rough map that Shapira had sketched out for him, were the two Ukrainian barracks, and beyond those, the quarters of the camp commandant. A third Ukrainian barrack was across the way to the right. He was to attack the Ukrainians first, then move onto the commandant's quarters.

Beyond these buildings and several others, were the SS barracks. He would attack those last if it proved necessary. In the meantime he had to watch out for fire in that direction.

Shapira stopped his team just outside the gate to the Forward Camp. He'd barely seen De Jong's confrontation there, but was pleased with the result. A wounded Jewish man lay on the ground nearby, comforted by a comrade. Shapira had neither the time nor resources to help. From where his team stood they could put fire on the Ukrainian barracks, but not those of the SS, which were blocked from view. He watched nervously as De Jong struggled to organize his men and get them moving against the Ukrainian buildings. They didn't know if barrack buildings were occupied, but assumed at least one or more must contain the night watch platoon. In fact, the Ukrainian watch platoon was located in a single barrack building—the one nearest to the commandant's quarters. Inside, the twenty-three Ukrainian guards had been roused by the sound of fire coming from the unloading area, but generally ignored it.

There was occasional gunfire in Sobibor, either from troublesome Jews during unloading, during the execution of older or infirmed Jews who couldn't manage the walk to the gas chambers, or from target practice by their fellow Ukrainians or the SS. Most of the soldiers simply turned in their bunks and attempted to get back to sleep. Only their Ukrainian platoon sergeant, Gorobets, who feared the SS, got up and bothered to look out a window. What he saw turned his bowels to water. The gate into the Forward Camp had been breached and the two guards lay face down in the dust. Around them was a motley group of armed prisoners heading straight towards the barrack. He turned and screamed frantically at his drowsy men.

De Jong led his men to the first barrack building, gritting his teeth and squinting, expecting at any second to be fired upon. Behind him his men ran instinctively hunched over, as if they expected a heavy rain. They reached the building without incident. De Jong went directly to the door, his men crowding behind him. Had the building been defended they would have made inviting targets, but a few quick glances through the windows indicated that this building was empty.

De Jong called forward one of the young grenadiers anyway, and ordered him to toss a grenade inside. The boy, about sixteen, ran up to the door, opened it—it was unlocked—and tossed in the grenade without pulling the charging cord. It landed on the wooden floor with a thump.

”Scheisse!" yelled De J ong in German. The embarrassed and otherwise unarmed boy ran into the building after the grenade.

"It's empty!" the boy exclaimed, retrieving his grenade.

"Congratulations" said De Jong, "you've taken our first objective."

The boy smiled crazily.

It quickly became clear that their second objective, the barrack that lay just beyond, would not fall so easily.

"Look!" exclaimed Natan Fliegel, a Silesian Pole who was another of De Jong's squad leaders. Fliegel pointed to the next barracks where the front door had quickly opened and then shut again. Seconds later the barrels of several Mausers poked out of open windows.