Upfall

"We can't leave these men behind" Yatom told Sandler in his ever improving German. "Do something."

Sandler carried a captured MP 40. He'd shot a few practice rounds from it in Sobibor—yesterday had been the first time he'd ever used a firearm of any kind. Sandler hated the Germans passionately, a feeling that had hardly been assuaged by the death of the guards at the gassing complex, where Sandler's entire family had died. He didn't hesitate.

"I will do it" he announced turning to his men. Yatom and the Israeli officers hurriedly ducked behind Sandler, moving his men back a few meters too, just in case. But Sandler was fast— before Yatom had turned back the young Jew had put a short ragged burst into one German and took aim at the second, who was a bit further away. That man died seconds later.

Feldhandler walked up smiling. "Might as well have your men put a few rounds in the corpses—for practice" he said in fluent German.

Sandler nodded and six of his men stepped forward with their Mausers and fired a couple dozen rounds into the dead Germans, while the rest of the Jews from the trucks watched. Then Shapira and a couple of his men collected the German's rifles and grenades and tossed them into Shapira's truck. It was ugly and messy, but it had to be done. Yatom and Feldhandler squeezed back into the first staff car and the convoy sped off, leaving behind a roadblock of smashed corpses and bicycles. Perchensky, in the cab of Shapira's truck, shuddered as the column drove past the scene of the firefight. She had endured the battles at the train and in Sobibor because she had still felt herself in a kind of daze, the experiences essentially unreal.

Driving through the vast empty fields of eastern Poland had cleared her head, and gave her time to think, and to reflect on the disastrous turn her life had taken. The more she thought, the more she disliked everything that was happening. As she watched Sandler finish off the Germans, and his men blast away at the corpses, she wept. The Germans were really just boys, like Israeli soldiers, like Sandler and his own men. Did they deserve that? At that point she resolved not to involve herself further in the adventure. Yatom and Feldhandler could prevent her from leaving the sayeret but they could not force her to help. She mulled over her decision as the convoy rolled on, past fields reeking with manure and the occasional flea bit village.

The roads improved slightly as the convoy headed west and Perchensky assumed they would soon be nearing Treblinka. Since running into the roadblock they had not seen any more Germans and she allowed herself to relax, exhausted by her own sobbing. By mid-morning, the temperature had risen to pleasant warmth and Perchansky dozed. She was awakened by Yatom's rough growl outside her window. Shapira leaned awkwardly from the back over her sweaty torso to listen to his commander, as Yatom was joined by Mofaz.

Holding a German map, Yatom pointed to a farm track off to the left of the road. With a stubby finger he pointed to an intersection a few kilometers down the road, and then ran his finger down the paper to a point marked with a red grease pencil—Treblinka.

"We can take this road until this intersection here" Yatom was saying, pointing at the map again "but l can't believe they wouldn't have another roadblock there." Shapira and Mofaz nodded as Yatom circled the intersection with the pencil. It looked very close to Treblinka.

"Why don't we take this farm path" said Shapira, twisting over Perchensky‘s body and nearly putting an elbow into her face. "We only have seven or eight kilometers to go—we could cover that cross country by afternoon."

"What about the river?" said Mofaz. They had been riding north of the river for most of the journey since Ciechanowiec. As best they could tell from the map and road signs, it was the river Bug.

"It's shallow" said Feldhandler, who pushed his way into the conference. "If there is not some old bridge along the way, we can afford it."

"How do you know?" asked Mofaz.

"Because I know history. Refugees fled the German occupation zone to reach the then Soviet zone by fording the river in 1939. It's nearly summer and the river is almost certainly starting to run low."

Yatom studied the map for a bridge or ford. "It's difficult to tell on this map. You look." He passed the worn map to Feldhandler.

"Here, at this bend about two kilometers on, these markings seem to indicate a ford. And at the bend the river would run low and sluggish."

"Beseder” said Yatom. "We'll cross at the ford if possible, and if not find an alternative. We'll push on to here" Yatom made another mark on the map. "We'll leave the vehicles and go the rest of the way on foot, after dusk" Mofaz stretched his neck but said nothing. "Okay with you Major?" said Yatom.

"Let's have everybody get up that tree and have a look at the place" he said. "Then we will meet and come up with a plan. We attack tonight."