Even without navigation errors, breakdowns or delays—unlikely traveling back roads in a strange country at night—they would not reach Treblinka until the next day at the earliest, and then he would need time to prepare and reconnoiter the ground. That left aside the fact that his auxiliary force of freed prisoners remained untrained and unready for combat.
Yatom realized that the sayeret’s greatest advantage would be their ability to fight at night. The Israelis preferred to operate at night, and possessed the latest night-vision technology—technology that was unimaginable in 1942. The attack on Sobibor had been in broad daylight because the immediate situation required it, and the element of surprise was overwhelming. At Treblinka Yatom planned to go in during the dead of night, which meant at this northern latitude, sometime in the first hours of morning. At best, Yatom figured, they might manage a night assault early on the morning of May 28, a day-and-a-half away.
Satisfied for the time being that he was on the right track, Yatom stood to stretch. It was nearly 1400. Around the encampment men continued to doze, but enoouragingly, Yatom watched as some of Sandler’s and Fliegel’s men quietly played with their new weapons, a dangerous but necessary proposition if they were to familiarize themselves with the tools of a new trade. Inevitably there was a mistake. The lager was shaken awake when a young man named Popovitch accidently shot off a burst from one of the MG-34’s. Luckily, the bullets only hit tree bark and leaves, but the noise seemed to echo across the countryside for many minutes afterward. Yatom had his men, now all well awake and alert, secured the perimeter themselves, and ordered the new Jewish fighters to pull back and clear their weapons. This they did somewhat awkwardly and with embarrassment, the army veterans among them taking the lead.
In the wake of the machinegun’s discharge, Mofaz and Shapira joined Yatom near the edge of the wood, looking south into the small Polish village. Through pairs of raised binoculars they saw what they wanted least—activity, and not of an innocent sort. Several men emerged from decrepit houses, joined finally by two men in uniform. The uniforms didn’t look German, but it was highly unlikely that any man in uniform at this time and place would be friendly.
“Get the German policeman” Yatom said sharply to Shapira.
Shapira returned a moment later with Mueller. “Cut his flexcuffs” said Yatom. Shapira sliced through the plastic cuffs with his commando knife, but let the blade rest near the German’s side. Yatom handed his binoculars to Mueller and pointed toward the village. In his rough German he said “What kind of soldiers are those?”
Mueller, happy to be free of the cuffs, and anxious to please his captors took the glasses eagerly. After a few seconds he handed them back and said confidently “They are Polish policemen. They work for German authorities now.”
“Well” said Yatom, taking back the glasses and scanning the village “they are heading this way.”
“The fools are coming to investigate the shooting in the woods” said Mofaz in Hebrew.
“The question is do we attempt to deceive them or shoot them?” said Yatom. “They will be here in a few minutes and will certainly discover our carnp if they go into the woods.”
“We did take some German uniforms with us” offered Shapira.
“Feldhandler speaks German like a native, and I’m pretty fluent. These Poles probably wouldn’t he sensitive to accent anyway.”
“Beseder. Go play dress-up, hut hurry. We’ll use him too” said Yatom pointing at Mueller. “And if he fucks up, we’ll just kill them all. Make sure he understands that.”
Shapira nodded and ran off after Feldhander, and the truck with the German uniforms and equipment. Yatom made his way along the line, told his men about the ruse.
They spread out further in the tree line. With their woodland pattern clown hats, and secreted within the tall grass and underbrush, they were nearly invisible. Yatom hurried back into the woods, and found Shapira and Feldhandler, clumsily attempting to dress themselves in uncomfortable gray woolen uniforms. Mueller stepped towards Shapira. Three Tavors were quickly pointed at the German who swiftly raised his hands.
“I only want to help” said Mueller emphatically. Shapira allowed him to step forward, and Mueller began adjusting the Lieutenant’s suspenders, belts, buttons and buckles until Shapira looked half-way presentable. Then he did the same for Feldhandler. By the time Mueller finished Polish policeman were only fifty meters away, advancing cautiously with their pistols drawn.
“We need German weapons” Shapira said excitedly. Feldhandler crashed through some brush and secured a Mauser and MP-40 from a couple of Fliegel’s men huddling nearby. The scientist handed the rifle to Shapira and kept the sub-machinegun for himself. Unfortunately, per Yatom’s orders, neither weapon was loaded, the MP-40 obviously so, but it was already too late.
“No time” said Shapira, “let’s go.”
“What are we going to say?” whispered Feldhandler.
“Think of something” whispered Shapira, ushering Mueller forward as well. “Tell them we are a German SS unit and to stay clear.” He paused. “Maybe we can get some infonnation from them first.”
Shapira, Feldhandler and Mueller stepped from the woods. The startled Poles raised their pistols. In the underbrush Yatom and Mofaz put the sights of their Tavors on the Poles, laser dots dancing on the policemens’ chests.
“Halt!” cried Feldhandler in German, stepping from the underbrush. “Waflen ab!”
The Poles holstered their weapons, upon recognizing German troops.
“This is an SS unit hunting partisans” Feldhander continued in German. “Stay away.”
“We heard gunfire in the woods. It was our duty to investigate” the older of the two Poles said defensively, in good but heavily accented German.
Feldhandler nodded, but said nothing.
“Are you hunting the partisans who attacked the German camp near Sobibor station?” said the younger policeman, earning a sharp glance from the other man.
“Yes” said Shapira nervously. “What do you know about that?” he demanded with a little more authority, hoping attitude in his voice trumped accent.
“Nothing at all” said the older man.
“He asked about the camp” Shapira pressed. “How do you know?”
“We were informed by telephone just an hour ago and told to be on the lookout for partisans. Only doing our duty…” said the older Pole.
“What else?”
“That’s all, I assure you, Mein Herr” said the Pole obsequiously.
“What German unit informed you of this?” broke in Mueller, sounding very much the SS man, so much so that the Poles quickly assumed that Mueller was in command—his uniform was filthy but of high quality, and his German precise. Feldhandler and Shapira exchanged glances, but went along. It was a good question.
“The Reich railroad command” said the Pole. “They discovered the attack this morning after a train was stopped on a damaged track a few kilometers away.”
Mueller looked at Shapira, like a dog that had just done a trick and expected a treat.
“Return to you post, and say nothing more of this” said Shapira, trying to mimic Mueller’s ease and confidence. “Do not report this meeting. Our movement is…” Shapira stopped searching for the right German words “…especially secret—you understand?” The Poles nodded.
“Warte mal” said Feldhandler suddenly. The two Poles looked at him nervously, out of fear and confusion. Who the hell was in charge here, they seemed to be thinking. It was most un-German. “You may inform your superiors that you encountered our unit if asked. We are heading north after the partisans.”