Perchensky, a few kilometers away, listened to the battle raging in and around Treblinka with increasing trepidation. At that distance the firefight sounded like a series of scattered pops and muffled bangs, that reminded her of the popcorn she would make in the little microwave she and Feldhandler shared in the Dimona lab.
Occasionally the rattle of an automatic weapon echoed over the fields. That reminded her of a woodpecker. A few times she made out a distant explosion, presumably from a sayeret grenade or rocket. At least she hoped so. She wasn’t interested assisting the sayeret but was not so jaded that she hoped for a German victory. She shifted her seat in the truck and passed the time working on a complicated tensor equation by the dim glow of a chemlite.
Mueller watched her, his back and hands aching against the small tree. Like Perchensky he could hear the battle in the distance, and had little doubt that his captors were winning again. He twisted his hands against the flex cuffs and rubbed them on the rough bark, but whatever they were made out of seemed far to strong to saw through.
The plastic of the cuffs was alien to Mueller—light but maddeningly strong. He gave up trying to work his way free. Instead, he called out to Perchensky, who he knew spoke excellent German.
“Frauline” he said respectfully “please allow me relieve myself. ”
Perchensky ignored him. Mueller repeated the request, louder this time, but with a touch of desperation, ending his plea with a couple of anxious ”bittes”
Perchansky climbed out of the cab. She felt sorry for the German sergeant, even if he had heen a death train guard. She hadn’t bothered to speak with him, but had the feeling that he was friendly and cooperative. She was smart enough to know that plenty of decent Germans had killed and tortured Jews, but after traveling with Mueller for two days she had ceased to see him as a danger, and rather more like a pathetic dog. Dogs had to shit and piss.
Perchansky left her Uzi in the cab and walked over to him. “The fellows will be back before too long” she said in proper high German.
“You can wait.”
“l can’t, Frauline. My bowels—I think I have dysentery.”
“Then you will be going all night” she said oddly.
“Please, don’t treat me like an animal” he croaked. Perchensky thought it over. Mueller looked drawn and pathetic.
She was also still angry annoyed by the whole situation. Even if Mueller took a shit and ran off she didn’t reckon it would matter much. She went back to the cab, grabbed her Uzi and rummaged around for another pair of flex cuffs. From watching the soldiers deal with Mueller over the days, she knew that the cuffs were disposable.
They had to be cut off and replaced. Not finding any spare cuffs, she located instead a useable length of cord amidst the piles of junk in the rear of the truck. She weighed whether to take the risk of releasing him as opposed to letting him shit himself, and then felt foolish for worrying. Am I nervous just because I’m a woman? I’m armed and can use the weapon she reassured herself. Besides, she concluded, he just needs to take a shit. Perchensky considered issuing a stern warning before cutting Mueller loose, but guessed that it would only show weakness. She had the gun. Mueller would respect it or he wouldn’t.
Without saying anything, she walked behind the tree and using a German bayonet cut the plastic cuffs.
Mueller immediately shook his hands out, grateful to feel blood return to his veins.
“Danke.” Mueller started to undo the rope at his feet, but stopped part way through and looked at Perchensky to get her approval. She nodded. Mueller finished and stood up. He felt surprisingly well now that he was physically free, even if the woman had a machine pistol trained on him.
“Enschuldigurig” he said, carefully, trying to gain a hit of privacy.
“Tut mir Ieid” said Perchansky. “You’ll have to do your business here.“
Mueller took a step forward. It was very dark, with only a crescent moon and the strange glowing stick providing light. He weighed his options. Flee and take the chance that she would not shoot him or miss? Or attempt to overpower her?
He was much bigger and reckoned that he would easily win the struggle.
Mueller lunged at her without further thought. Perchansky raised the Uzi but Mueller managed to throw out a thick arm and knock the weapon to the side. Perchensky squeezed off a burst that shattered the quiet and a tree branch but nothing else. Mueller grabbed at the machine-pistol and used his hulk to knock Perchansky off balance. He grasped the sling and ripped it off her head, tearing her hair and burning her neck with the friction. Perchansky screamed and stumbled away from him.
Mueller stood looking at her for a second, feeling elated. Perchensky stared back, anger mixed with growing terror. She hated herself for her own stupidity. She felt the long seconds pass as one does in the midst of a fall. She’d freed him, she thought. He owed her. She no longer posed a threat. He would turn and go.
The German smirked, raised the Uzi, pointed it at Perchensky, and pulled the trigger. She closed her eyes, raising her arm helplessly, realizing that thanks to a few seconds of bad judgment her life was forfeit.
Nothing happened. Mueller pulled at the trigger a second time, taking his eye off Perchensky as he fumbled with the troublesome weapon. She gathered her wits, recognized that she was still alive, and ran.
Mueller raised the weapon again, and still the gun wouldn’t fire.
He cocked it as he’d seen it done and squeezed the trigger at third time—pointlessly. Perchensky had alreadyfled behind the trucks and into the dark woods on the other side of the clearing. There was no point in chasing her, Mueller figured. She was no longer a threat in any case.
He considered tossing the worthless gun aside, but thought better of it, slung it over his shoulder, and crashed into the woods heading north, back toward the Bug and the nearest German post or patrol.
Perchansky heard Mueller bound away, his big body smashing through the underbush like a tank. She collapsed against a tree and tried to catch her breath. An intense feeling of exhaustion enveloped her, and she began to sob. She put her head between her legs, fearing she might pass out. Finally, she gathered herself and stood up. In the distance she could still hear shooting from Treblinka, but there was no sign or sound of Mueller. The forest smelled clean and invigorating.
She breathed in deeply and cautiously walked back toward the trucks, hoping to find an extra pistol or rifle among the piles of equipment.
Had she been religious she might have thanked God for her salvation, but as her head cleared she guessed why the Uzi hadn’t fired, and it had nothing to do with the Almighty. There is a second safety behind the grip of an Uzi that has to be depressed to fire the weapon. Mueller clearly hadn’t known that, and in fact, the idea would have been alien to him. Eventually, he would figure it out, but by then she hoped to be back in the protection of the sayeret and long gone.
In the back of one of the trucks she found a single old Mauser carbine. It was a strange to her as the Uzi had been to Mueller, but with time on her hands, she pulled out a box of bullets and began working with the weapon—just in case.
Chapter 24
After the generator shack exploded, Wirth returned to the prisoners’ barracks and assembled a small squad of men to escort him to Erbel’s office. He ordered the rest of the SS platoon fan out into the camp and engage the enemy—which he guessed they were unlikely to actually do. No matter, thought Wirth as he made his way to Erbel’s head-quarters through the gloomy camp. He already sensed that Treblinka was lost.
Wirth tried to affect calm as he stepped out of the prisoner enclosure into the blacked out alley that ran to the Front Camp. The dark appeared to offer enough safety and anonymity to make a safe passage. But as Wirth walked toward Erbel’s compound with his escort, one after another of his men was struck down by bullets that seemed to come out of nowhere and hit with the accuracy of a firing squad. In a minute four of his SS escorts were down, leaving Wirth and one other man still standing—a young corporal. They looked at each other, then took off at a dead run for the Forward Camp. Wirth alone made it to safety. He burst into Erbel’s office, panicked and drenched in sweat. Incredibly, Erbel was in worse shape, kneeling on the floor and fiddling pointlessly with a dead telephone. Treblinka’s sergeant major stood nearby, shamefaced. Wirth ignored Der Spiess and joined Erbel on the floor of the office. The two officers exchanged ashen glances.