So it was better to go first to Treblinka. Not only would it throw the Germans off the trail, but the disorganized camp would be an easier target than well-run Belzac.
Satisfied that he had made the correct choice in heading north, Yatom glanced down again at his Polish map and consulted his compass. Despite the convenience of their GPS devices, Yatom had always insisted that his men maintain basic land navigation skills—now those skills were vital. The hardest task was keeping the map and compass steady as Nir sped the convoy down narrow and rutted backroads, bouncing Yatom violently. He reckoned they were about six kilometers northeast of Sobibor driving for a series of high roads that would ultimately lead them northwest to Treblinka.
So far they’d been lucky and seen no sign of German patrols or security posts. Sobibor had indeed been put in the middle of nowhere. Yatom wanted move on a few more kilometers and then find a patch of woodland in which to hunker down for the rest of the day. The sayeret commander lightly elbowed Nir and had him turn onto another dirt road that led generally eastward into broken farmland and thick copses of trees. Yatom glanced behind him to make sure the convoy was in order and saw Feldhandler dozing between Ido and Rafi. The two commandos were clearly tired but alert, their weapons pointed out of the car, covering the right and left. Yatom activated his radio.
“Bet leader, Gimmel leader—this is sayeret leader—over.” Mofaz and Shapira acknowledged him. “Do you see those woods about a kilometer to the northeast?”
“Yes,” they confirmed.
“We’ll pull over and reconnoiter the area. If suitable we will stop there.”
The convoy reached the area of the woods, which appeared to extend several kilometers further to the east. Yatom had Nir slow the convoy to better search for a farm path or a forester’s track into the trees. After driving another kilometer they found a small battered road off to the left that went deep into the woods. South of the woodline, they saw several dilapidated looking farm houses, but no signs of life.
The convoy gingerly turned onto the track and bumped their way several hundred meters northward before Yatom ordered a halt. He dismounted, knelt and carefully scanned the surrounding woodland. Ido and Rafi climbed out of the car and fanned out on either side into the high grass along the path. Shapira jumped from his truck with Chaim at his heels.
“Ron, take Chaim, Ido and Rafi and reconnoiter these woods. If clear, see if there is room to hide the vehicles.” Shapira nodded and set out.
Yatom walked back toward Mofaz’s vehicle but the Major had already dismounted.
“Let’s get everyone out of the vehicles for now and establish a perimeter” he told Mofaz. “It will be good practice for the new guys.”
Mofaz ran down the line and emptied the trucks of the tired and disoriented Jewish soldiers. By yelling, cajoling and demonstrating, he put Sandler’s and Fliegel’s men into a rough perimeter around the vehicles, supported by team Bet.
In the meantime, Shapira affixed his “clown hat” and with the other commandos moved into the woods. It resembled an organized European wood only superficially. This Polish forest was much less structured than typical German woodland. Beyond the trail, bitches, oaks, elms and ashes grew randomly, surrounded by a tangle of second growth underbrush. Eastern Poland held some of the last old growth woodland in Europe. The Israelis were unused to such a jungle-like setting, but moved through it professionally, anxious to clear the area and finally take a rest. Shapira found two or three small clearings that could accommodate the vehicles and reported this to Yatom.
Yatom took another look around the area before ordering the convoy off the road. The Polish houses to the south disturbed him, as did the fact that his lager would be just a few meters off a visible track.
On the other hand, the area seemed remote, the woods were both dense and accommodating, and rested on a slight ridge. Yatom walked to the front of the convoy and waived his arm like the leader of a wagon train in an old Hollywood western. The drivers lurched their vehicles into the woods into the small clearings Shapira had found.
Mofaz pushed the Jewish fighters into the woods in all directions to surround and guard the lager. Yatom followed, walking along the perimeter until he was satisfied that the new position was reasonably secure and defendable. Yatom stopped at the southernmost point of the perimeter and looked down uneasily into the tiny village and unprosperous fields that lay in the shallow valley below.
The little hamlet was uncomfortably close. Yatom organized sentries and watches. Mofaz’s team took the first watch along with Sandler and his men. The rest of the contingent broke out an assortment of snacks and rations and enjoyed a second breakfast before succumbing to a richly deserved sleep. Mueller was carefully tied to a tree, but leit ungagged. Yatom lay down nearby for his own belated nap, and to discourage the German from making any noise. Mofaz, tired but not in desperate need of sleep, moved around the perimeter nervously for the next two hours, making sure his own men were alert, and regularly kicking Sandler’s undisciplined men awake.
The woods grew warm as the day wore on, but stayed quiet except for the buzz of insects and warble of birds. About ninety minutes into his watch Mofaz saw a German prop plane fly by to the south, as if heading for Sobibor. He was unfamiliar with 1940s aerial reconnaissance techniques, but the plane seemed too high and far off to be a danger and Mofaz did not bother Yatom about it. Ninety minutes before noon he kicked Shapira awake, led his men to a comfortable burrow in the forest nearby Mueller and Yatom, and slept.
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.