“Scheisse!” yelled De Jong in German. The embarrassed and otherwise unarmed boy ran into the building after the grenade.
“It’s empty!” the boy exclaimed, retrieving his grenade.
“Congratulations,” said De Jong, “you’ve taken our first objective.”
The boy smiled crazily.
It quickly became clear that their second objective, the barrack that lay just beyond, would not fall so easily.
“Look!” exclaimed Natan Fliegel, a Silesian Pole who was another of De Jong’s squad leaders. Fliegel pointed to the next barracks where the front door had quickly opened and then shut again. Seconds later the barrels of several Mausers poked out of open windows.
The two buildings were lined up end to end, so that the Ukrainians did not have a clear shot at the Jews next door. Rather they had a view across the open space to the gate, and Shapira’s squad, while Shapira had a direct view of the Ukrainians. The Israeli saw rifles emerge from the barrack windows. He pointed to the building and team Gimmel opened fire. The Ukranian barrack was instantly splintered by dozens of 5.56mm rounds, particularly from Ro’i’s Negev, which he raked along the length of the building. A few Mausers fell from the window sills or were pulled back by the stunned Ukrainians.
Shapira called over to Chaim, who crouched a few feet away. “Put a couple of grenades into the building.”
Chaim put a 40mm high explosive grenade into the Tavor’s launcher and sent it expertly through one of the barrack windows where it exploded with a bright flash. He put a second grenade through the next window. Smoke poured from the stricken building.
Shapira looked toward De Jong who was cringing with the rest of his men against the wall of the first barrack, watching in amazement as the Israelis poured fire into the second.
“Los! Los!” Shapira called to him in German, swinging his arm in a forward motion, the universal military sign to advance. “Aufgehts!” he yelled for emphasis.
De Jong knew what was expected of him, but felt as if his courage had been drained. He turned toward Fliegel. “Go” he told the other man. “You lead them.”
Fliegel took a deep breath, hunched over and waved to his men.
He was scared but there was nothing for it. They either had to see this thing through or die. “After me!” he cried.
Fliegel was brave, scared shitless, and sensible. The Silesian ran over tn the second barrack, but as he reached the building threw himself to the ground and began crawling toward the front door out of the view of the Ukrainians inside, and out of the way of any remaining Mausers in the windows. His men, recognizing a good idea when they saw it, followed. Shapira watched at a distance, impressed. Not only were the attacking Jews out of the view of the Ukrainians in the building, but the Israelis could still put fire on the building over their heads—which they did—carefully.
Shapira was just about to shoot some rounds of his own into the building when Chaim handed him the radio handset. It was Yatom.
“Report,” ordered the colonel.
“Ready and in position at the Forward Camp—De Jong’s men are attacking.”
“Tov,” replied Yatom. “Continue. We’ve taken the platform and most of Camp 2. We are behind you now. We are taking down the remaining watchtowers and that the big forester’s tower—there’s a radio antenna on it.”
Shapira turned and glanced at the tall wooden tower in the center of the camp. A couple of seconds later the antenna exploded hit by a 40mm grenade fired by one of Yatom’s men.
“Acknowledged” said Shapira, as he turned back towards his own battle.
The second Ukrainian barack resembled a charnel house. Most of the men inside were dead or dying. The rest hid as best they oould behind bunks. A few had altogether given up on fighting and sought escape through the windows on the back side of the building.
Gorobets hunched by the door gripping an MP-40 and cursing his men, calling them girls and cowards—tr’ying his best to make them hold. As grim as the situation was, he still feared the SS more. There was no lock for the door and there was no way to block it because the SS had bolted the Ukrainian bunks to the floor. The SS didn’t trust their auxiliaries. There was no way for Gorobets to bar the door except with his own body.
Outside the barrack, Fliegel reached the door and stood up. Next to him was a squat young man he knew only as Baruch who carried a stick grenade.
“Geh!” Fliegel urged the man in Yiddish.
Baruch, guessing the door would be locked or blocked turned the handle and thrust into the room with his shoulder, plowing into Gorobets. The Ukrainian fired his machine gun wildly, managing to hit Baruch once in the stomach. Baruch fell forward onto the Ukrainian, but Gorobets managed to kick the door shut as the wounded Jew collapsed on top of him.
From the doorway, Fliegel watched Baruch disappear into the building. He wondered why the young grenedier had not tossed his grenade. Fearing the worst, but without another option, he waved in the next rrian, who carried a rifle liberated from one of the Ukrainian guards at the gate. This fellow looked like his cousin Karl, if Karl had been shit-stained and terrified, but amazingly the man pushed at the door and went in anyway. Fliegel saw Karl’s doppelganger crumple as a Ukrainian guard fired into him at point-blank range. Fliegel instinctively backed away from the doorway.
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 Jong, 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?”