Upfall

So it went through Shapira's watch until sometime after noon Yatom and his Alef team took the watch. Fliegel's well rested group relieved Sandler's men who had spent most of the morning dozing anyway. Yatom awoke refreshed from his nap. He stretched pleasantly in the warm and humid spring air. Israel was hot but rarely humid, and Yatom enjoyed the difference, even if many found soggy air uncomfortable. After satisfying himself that the perimeter was still secure and their position well camoflagued, he moved off to a makeshift latrine that Mofaz's men had thoughfully dug, and took a satisfying shit. Then he went to the edge of the wood, pulled out his binoculars, and examined the Polish village. It was still quiet, with not even a farmer in the field. Maybe it was Sunday, he thought, and realized he didn‘t know the day of the week. With little else to do for the moment, he pulled out one of Feldhandler's history books, laid back against a smooth birch tree, and read in the dappled afternoon sunlight.

The histories appeared to back up the claims of the German policeman Mueller. Treblinka indeed seemed to be a particularly horrific place. The commandant was an incompetent, but a ravenously bloody-minded one. Had Stangl lived, according to the books, he would have taken over Treblinka in order to turn the place into a cleaner more efficient death factory.

In a strange way, this boded well for the Israelis. Treblinka was poorly administered, and more vulnerable to attack. It lacked a minefield, and if anything, its defenses less capably manned than Sobibor's. Against this, Yatom had to assume that his small force would be unable to achieve the same level of surprise as at Sobibor. He had no idea whether word of Sobibor‘s destruction had reached the German command, but it was unlikely that Sobibor’s fate would be unknown to the Germans in Treblinka by the time the sayeret arrived.

Even without navigation errors, breakdowns or delays—unlikely traveling back roads in a strange country at night—they would not reach Treblinka until the next day at the earliest, and then he would need time to prepare and reconnoiter the ground. That left aside the fact that his auxiliary force of freed prisoners remained untrained and unready for combat.

Yatom realized that the sayeret’s greatest advantage would be their ability to fight at night. The Israelis preferred to operate at night, and possessed the latest night-vision technology—technology that was unimaginable in 1942. The attack on Sobibor had been in broad daylight because the immediate situation required it, and the element of surprise was overwhelming. At Treblinka Yatom planned to go in during the dead of night, which meant at this northern latitude, sometime in the first hours of morning. At best, Yatom figured, they might manage a night assault early on the morning of May 28, a day- and-a-half away.

Satisfied for the time being that he was on the right track, Yatom stood to stretch. It was nearly 1400. Around the encampment men continued to doze, but enoouragingly, Yatom watched as some of Sandler‘s and Fliegel's men quietly played with their new weapons, a dangerous but necessary proposition if they were to familiarize themselves with the tools of a new trade. Inevitably there was a mistake. The lager was shaken awake when a young man named Popovitch accidently shot off a burst from one of the MG-34's. Luckily, the bullets only hit tree bark and leaves, but the noise seemed to echo across the countryside for many minutes afterward. Yatom had his men, now all well awake and alert, secured the perimeter themselves, and ordered the new Jewish fighters to pull back and clear their weapons. This they did somewhat awkwardly and with embarrassment, the army veterans among them taking the lead.

In the wake of the machinegun's discharge, Mofaz and Shapira joined Yatom near the edge of the wood, looking south into the small Polish village. Through pairs of raised binoculars they saw what they wanted least—activity, and not of an innocent sort. Several men emerged from decrepit houses, joined finally by two men in uniform. The uniforms didn't look German, but it was highly unlikely that any man in uniform at this time and place would be friendly.

"Get the German policeman" Yatom said sharply to Shapira.

Shapira returned a moment later with Mueller. "Cut his flexcuffs" said Yatom. Shapira sliced through the plastic cuffs with his commando knife, but let the blade rest near the German's side. Yatom handed his binoculars to Mueller and pointed toward the village. In his rough German he said "What kind of soldiers are those?"

Mueller, happy to be free of the cuffs, and anxious to please his captors took the glasses eagerly. After a few seconds he handed them back and said confidently "They are Polish policemen. They work for German authorities now."

"Well" said Yatom, taking back the glasses and scanning the village "they are heading this way."