Upfall

Although Wlodawa lay at the eastern extent of Poland, in 1942 there was no border and no distinction between Polish and Belorussian territory. The Germans controlled everything. Endless plains that stretched beyond the Polish town. For the Israelis, such expanses of ground were both mysterious and inviting, but there was no time to contemplate such thing. The north/ south high road could be reached by going through Wlodawa, or by navigating a maze of rough farm paths around the town. The route through Wlodawa was likely more dangerous, but Yatom was unwilling to risk his rickety vehicles on agricultural byways even worse than the roads they had just come through. Nor was he willing to waste the time.

"We will go through the town" he said into his radio. He adjusted his German uniform blouse and cap, gripped the MG 34, and waived the column forward.

Nir gunned the engine on the car, intent on moving the column through the town a fast as possible. "Good Nir" said Yatom "but don't lose the trucks."

They bounced along the last few hundred meters of the farm road in bone rattling fashion until Nir reached a paved roadway and swung the column left. The road surface was rough and pitted, but better than the farm paths. In a few minutes, Wlodawa opened up on either side of them, not much more than a collection of buildings along the high road surrounded by two—bit farms and the occasional grain silo.

There were few people on the streets, and no sign of the German military. Nir pressed the accelerator and sped through the dusty border town, nearly hitting a dog at one point and splashing a peasant woman when he hit a muddy puddle. Yatom looked back. The rest of the column was still in good order behind him but very stretched out. Just as it appeared they were reaching the edge of Wlodawa, near a small intersection, Yatom saw German signals party stringing wire off to the right side of the road. There were not more than a dozen men in the unit, along with a single truck.A couple Germans looked up as the column roared past. Yatom waved, and one of the Germans gave a half-hearted wave back, before a sergeant yelled at him to get hack to work. The column drove through Wlodawa without further incident.

Once they reached open country beyond the town Yatom had Nir slow down. According to the map, the high road ran north along the old border for about thirty additional kilometers, before turning northwest, about a third of the way to the target. Yatom decided to drive the road north as far as they could until nightfall, at which point they would pull off for a rest and to map the final approach to Treblinka.

Perchensky sat in the passenger seat of the truck directly behind Yatom's command car. Mike Bolander was at the wheel while Shapira sprawled in the back with the Negev gunner Roi, the trussed and sullen Mueller, and most of the unit's supplies. She had said little since arriving at Sobibor, shunted to the side while the men fought argued and fought again. She'd been overcome with shock and disgust with what they discovered in the camp, and what they had left behind. Perchensky was a smart and methodical woman unused to uncertainty. To her own surprise the entire episode had thrust her into an unaccustomed bout of disorientation and confusion. Afraid to show weakness, she shut herself up and off. With more than enough to do, and their macho dismissiveness, the other Israelis had not even noticed. Despite her better judgment, she felt a bit of sympathy for the German Mueller, who seemed to be as confused and ignored as she was.

The ride through the springtime Polish countryside had refreshed her a little. Although she recognized their extreme danger intellectually, she had enjoyed the trip through the strange country, and especially sitting next to the tough American—born Bolander. He was so much not Feldhandler. Like all the commandos Bolander was fit and physically confident. But he, like Shapira, lacked much of the macho bravado of the native Israelis, and was only too happy to chat with her about matters that she guessed were not designed to lead to fucking.

She grew more comfortable as the Polish towns and villages sped past, with little or no sign of Germans. When they came upon the German signals unit, she had the good sense to duck down—not that a pretty dark haired Polish girl in a German supply truck would have raised too much suspicion. The Germans were conquerors after all, and the Poles were at their disposal. The names of the villages were outlandish, and yet she knew that this was the land of her recent ancestors. Szostaki? Kodern? Were these places that Perchenskys had lived—or lived now, in this new timeline—ifindeed that is what Feldhandler had created? Like the other Israelis—excepting Bolander and Shapira—she was surprised how empty such fine land could be. Valuable land that would support endless farms and greenhouses was mostly empty steppe or forest.