As the locomotive screeched to a halt Feldhandler detonated the second larger bomb behind the train. Most of the Jews in the boxcars had not even noticed the first explosion but the second blast was much more powerful. Even at the front of the train, Mueller felt the vibration along the track as the plastique tore into the railbed. In his car near the end of the train Jezek heard the second blast clearly along with everybody else, which added to the terror and confusion in the jam-packed car.
It was critical to Feldhandler’s plan that the engineers driving the train believed that they were trapped unable to advance or retreat, even though the track ahead was manageable. To discourage them from investigating the actual damage Feldhandler aimed his Galil at the locomotive, took a deep breath and fired off several rounds. Bullets ricocheted loudly off the thick steel carriage. The gambit worked. The Polish engineers ducked down in the engine instead driving forward and testing the track. They would to stay hunkered down and await orders from the Germans, or from the partisans; whoever won the fight. It didn’t matter to the railroad men—they just wanted to go home alive.
Feldhandler slunk back down into his ditch, and didn’t move. He did not want to attack the train alone, and he still was unsure when or if Yatom would commit the sarayet. The only visible German was the single soldier riding outside the train. That man had been watching the back of the train, but had alertly turned in Feldhandler’s direction when he shot at the locomotive. The soldier was about 100 meters distant, and clearly searching for the source of tire.
Aboard the train Unterfeldwebel Mueller tried to get his wits about him. He was scared. Small bands of partisans were known to inhabit the countryside, but they had never attacked a Jewish transport. Polish partisans didn’t care about the Jews. Jewish partisans were too few, too poorly armed and too busy trying stay alive to bother with such a mission.
Mueller had a strong inclination to do nothing. He and his men could stay on the train. The partisans might lose interest and go away once they realized that the train had no value to them. Mueller’s policemen were not combat soldiers. Mueller prevaricated. Finally, his assistant squad leader, Corporal Getz, spoke up.
“Unterfeldwebel! What are your orders?”
Mueller still hesitated, fidgeting with his uniform. Finally, he said “We need to check the track for damage.”
“What about the bandits?” answered Getz, using the standard German military jargon for partisans.
“Popel and Bieber are outside already. Tell them to move up the track and check for damage. The bandits have probably fled.”
“The Jews? Some may try to escape” Getz persisted. All the Germans could hear growing panic commotion in the boxcars.
Getz was annoying Mueller. “Correct Corporal Getz” said Mueller.
“Take one man. Go check the condition of the engineers and the rails. Report back to me!”
Getz looked at Mueller incredulously. He had not intended to get himself this dangerous duty, but he could not refuse a direct order. And the order was sensible. Getz was the deputy train commander and carried the squad’s single automatic weapon, an MP-40 machine pistol.
“Jawohl Unterfeldwebel”, said Getz crisply, choking back his fear.
He grabbed the nearest policeman. “Come!”
Getz slowly opened the door on the right, southern, side of the train. He decided to exit there because of the large open field in that direction. On the left, the tree line was closer to the track, a good hiding place for bandits. Getz nervously stepped off the train followed by the policeman. Mueller slunk over the window, and pushed up the cheap blind to watch.
Getz’s immediate sensation upon hitting the ground was elation. Nobody had fired at him! The field ahead appeared quiet and empty. Indeed, but for the continued screaming, crying, banging and other commotion in the cars behind him, it was just a pleasant late spring day in the Polish countryside. He collected himself. Mueller was probably right. The bandits had set off their explosives, taken a few pot shots, and run away. He looked down the train at the coward Poppel, who gave him a quick wave, as if to say everything is okay. Getz turned and walked confidently towards the front of the train.
In his ditch Feldhandler watched as the two Gerrirans exited the passenger car. He noted that the first carried a machine—pistol and wore some insignia on his shoulder. Feldhandler aimed the Galil at the German with the machine pistol. He was trembling. He’d never shot anyone before. Sweat stung his eyes and his helmet felt uncomfortable and heavy. Feldhandler squinted down the iron sights of the rifle and squeezed off a single round.
The Galil went off with a pop that was almost smothered in the heavy air. The bullet missed Getz completely and ricocheted loudly off the coal car, well above the German’s head. The corporal ducked and swung round in Feldhandler’s direction. Feldhandler lowered the muzzle of the rifle and rapidly squeezed off five rounds at the German.
The first three hit dirt and gravel but the fourth struck Getz in the knee and the fifth in the stomach. The German slumped onto the ground clutching at his wounds. The policeman behind Getz raised his rifle but Feldhandler fired another quick succession of shots, also low. The German screamed and fell, blood pouring from a shattered foot and fibula.
Feldhandler’s heart was racing. Adrenaline poured into his system. He took a deep breath and looked at the two writhing Germans. He felt cold. He put his head down for a moment to relax and regain his composure.
A hundred meters down the track Popel saw his squad-mates fall.
He also saw the muzzle flashes of a rapid fire rifle coming from a weed covered ditch, although he couldn’t see the shooter. Popel, like most of the policemen, was armed with a KAR 98 Mauser rifle. It was slow firing, but a reliable, highly accurate weapon, and Popel was a good shot. He swung the rifle in Feldhandler’s direction.
From the tree line, Yatom watched Feldhandler gun down the two Germans who exited the railcar, but also saw that he had seemingly forgotten about a third German down the track, who now was aiming his rifle at the scientist. Yatom radioed urgently to Ilan, who was masked near a tree two dozen meters away.
Yatom keyed his Madonna. “Ilan, do you see that German?!” The sniper already had his SR-25 on the target—at least he guessed it was the target—the man man looked like a German from an old movie.
“Affirmative.”
“Take him.”
Mofaz broke into the net and said “No!” but it was too late…
At the same moment, concealed at the far end of the train, Shapira and Bolander also watched as Popel swung his rifle towards Feldhandler. Popel’s back was to Bolander, well over three hundred meters distant. It was a longish shot, but well within Bolander’s capabilities.
Shapira didn’t have orders from Yatom, but Israeli officers were supposed to make decisions on their own based on conditions at the scene. “Go” said Shapira to the marksman.
Popel stared down the sights of his rifle in Feldhandler’s direction. Through the weeds he detected a flash of human flesh below an elaborate helmet covering. He was surprised at the strange figure, but pleased he had a target. Now, he thought, he would make up for his qualms and failures at Biala.
Feldhandler saw the policeman’s rifle pointed right at his face. He’d forgotten about the third German in his nervousness and excitement. Now, shockingly, Feldhandler realized he would die before he’d accomplished anything, all for a momentary lapse of concentration! The scientist desperately tried to swing his rifle at the German.
Popel squeezed the trigger precisely at the moment Ilan’s 7.62mm bullet tore off his lower jaw. Poppel’s head snapped sharply to the side and his rifle jerked up at the last moment sending his bullet inches over Feldhandler’s head. A split second later Bolander’s 5.56mm round plowed into Popel’s right kidney and blew out of his body near his navel, trailing a bloody spool of intestine. Shock and pain filled the young German’s consciousness. He felt for his missing jaw and came away horrified. He couldn’t even scream. He watched his guts spill onto the graveled rail bed and fell on top of thern. He knew he was dying but didn’t think of his mother, his girlfriend or his country—only pain and horror. Instinctively, he scrambled for his fallen Mauser.