Upfall

Out of Fliegel's view, the badly wounded Baruch grappled with Gorobets on the floor, now slick with blood. As the Ukrainian who shot Karl worked the bolt on his Mauser, Fliegel screwed up his courage and stepped into the abattoir. The Silesian gripped his Uzi hard to depress the safety on the back of the grip as he'd been taught just hours before, and pulled the trigger, spraying the room wildly with bullets. He nailed the Ukrainian with the Mauser and forced the rest to duck for cover. Behind him came De J ong, who‘d pushed his way back to the front. De Jong fired his Walther at a shadowy gray target in the burning room. Fliegel ducked out the way, methodically trying to reload his weapon.

In the corner near the door Baruch pounded Gorobetz's head repeatedly against the floor, even as he bled profusely from his stomach wound. Fliegel, Uzi reloaded, sprayed the room with fire again as De Jong ducked away. A few other Jews, some armed, some not, rushed into the shattered barrack.

Their ears ringing and bodies tense with adrenaline Fliegel and De Jong stood stock still in the middle of the building and looked at each other. Gorobets and Baruch were dead, the Jew atop the Ukranian. The only other Ukranians left in the barrack were dead or dying. De Jong ordered the men still without weapons to arm themselves with the rifles of the fallen and fled guards, plentiful now. Then he and Fliegel stepped back out into the dirt and dust of the Forward Camp.

Shapira and his team moved up to join them, their weapons now trained on the SS Barracks across the parade ground, and the nearby Commandant‘s house. Across the camp there was an occasional shot or shout as Yatom's men cleared Camp 2. In the Forward camp things were now strangely quiet.

The Israeli lieutenant approached De Jong and Fliegel, at a cautious crouch, while they stood upright, as if oblivious to the fact that they were still involved in a battle. It was clear that the pair, and the rest of the Jewish platoon for that matter, had shot their bolt. Shapira realized that he and his men would have to take down the Commandant‘s house and the SS barracks.

Between the Ukrainian barracks and the Commandant‘s house was the camp armory. Shapira moved his team outside this building, but did not enter it. The Commandant‘s house itself lay only a few meters beyond. It looked like a cheap Alpine chalet, visible from incoming trains and the rail platform, the better to lure camp victims into a false sense of security. The front door and a few windows were the only way into the building. His team was well practiced at this sort of operation and Shapira did not intend to make a production of it. He signaled towards the windows and doorway. "Ready?"

The team answered with a silent, collective nod.

Inside the chalet Obergefrieter Paulaner crouched by the front door. Paulaner had watched the developing battle through the chalet windows, and once or twice had chanced to open the front door a crack. He didn't like what he saw. What appeared to be a motley group of prisoners, assisted he guessed, by Russian commandos, had broken into the forward camp and taken the Ukrainian barracks. Now, inevitably, the chalet would be next. All communication was out, and like Stangl, Paulaner was armed with nothing more than a pistol.

"Herr Commandant" Paulaner called down the hall. "They come!"

Stangl crouched behind his desk, frightened and at a loss. He‘d avoided watching the developing disaster, preferring to rely on Paulaner's increasingly frantic reports, in the hope the the young Obergefreiter exaggerated. But the continuing rattle of gunfire, the explosions, the lack of communication and the failure of any of his men to come to his aid gave increasing credibility to Paulaner‘s panicked narrative. Stangl considered fleeing through the window, he considered fighting it out, and he considered suicide. But he did nothing but remain huddled near his desk, a terrified ghost in SS grey.

The Israelis entered the chalet a moment later. Chaim kicked in the door and Shapira tossed a flash bang grenade. Bolander went in behind exploded grenade. Paulaner, stunned by the blast, retreated to a far wall and stood dumbly. Bolander killed the German with a shot to the head, that smeared the white painted wall with blood and brain.

Shapira followed and seeing that the front room had been cleared headed down the short hallway towards the Commandant‘s office.

Shapira decided to save a flash-bang and instead moved around the doorway, rifle at the ready. It was a mistake. Stangl, still crouched behind his desk, fired at the Israeli, striking Shapira in the chest.

Shapira felt the bullet and stumbled backwards, loosing a burst of his own at the German, hitting Stangl in the left shoulder.