Engel led the group advanced quickly and cautiously through this defilade, hiding in the shadows, avoiding open spaces. Ilan briefly caught sight of the group, and fired a single round at one of the moving targets.
Klum fell like a sack of sand, hit flush in the face by Ilan’s bullet. Engel shook off Klum’s sudden death and pressed the column onward. Erbel ran by the dead clerk without a second glance. A few meters from where Klum fell, Engel reached defilade again, in the lee of the food storage shed, opposite the roll call square. The deportation square, where the Jews were held and where Erbel demanded the go, was only a few dozen meters beyond that. To reach it they would have to cross another exposed area.
Engel looked back at Klum’s body, a rich pool ofblack blood seeping into the dust near his shattered head as they leaned against the storage shed. “Ignore that” said Erbel coldly. He turned to the Schweinsteiger, waving his pistol. “Go now for the deportation square! Run. I will follow.” Schweinsteiger looked at Erbel wide-eyed, while the four Ukranians huddled behind him.
“Los!” yelled Erbel again. The SS corporal lunged around the corner followed by the Ukranians. Bolander and Ilan caught the movement and prepared to fire. Suddenly, another group of figures appeared in their sights moving directly across the path of the sprinting enemy. From the direction of the movement it could only be Shapira’s group. The Israeli snipers held their fire.
Sandler saw the SS running toward the deportation square as he led the Bulls down the same street in the opposite direction. He cried out excitedly and fired off several rounds from his MP-40. Schweinsteiger fired back with his machine-pistol. Neither man hit anything.
Sandler paused and motioned for his men to go to ground, afraid that they faced an unexpected counterattack. Instead, Schweinsteiger and the Ukranians, followed by Engel and Erbel continued their run toward the deportation square, bursting through the unguarded gate. Erbel’s group found cover behind the undressing barrack, where Treblinka’s victims shed their clothes before being marched to the extermination camp.
Shapira, saw Sandler fire his weapon and halt the column. He ran up to the Sandler, now lying in the dirt. Shapira knelt on one knee and looked at the former Sonderkommando. “Why did you stop?” demanded the Israeli lieutenant.
“I thought we were under attack” Sandler stammered, disturbed at Shapira’s harsh tone.
“What attack?” asked the commando, looking across the darkened camp. There was not a German in sight, nor were Sandler and his men under fire.
“They ran in there” said Sandler, pointing to the deportation square.
Shapira looked back toward the tower where he knew Ilan and Bolander were still ensconced. He raised Bolander on the radio.
Bolander told him what he’d seen from the tower—a group of Germans running toward cover. He hadn’t fired for fear of hitting Sandler’s men.
“What square is that?” Shapira asked, pointing dramatically in a way he knew that Bolander could see through his powerful optics.
Bolander took out his own rough sketch of the camp and studied it with the help of a small flashlight.
“That’s the square that attaches to the passageway that goes to the extermination camp.”
“That’s the route Yatom’s planning to take into the camp” said Shapira worriedly.
“I hear you” Yatom broke in, having monitored the discussion.
“Ron, take that square and drive out the Germans.”
“Acknowledged” said Shapira. He snapped down his NVG and looked again at the deportation square. To his surprise, it was crammed with people lying on the ground or huddled against the two main buildings. The people were obviously the camp’s Jewish prisoners, assembled there by the Germans for some reason. Shapira reported this to Yatom.
“I see that” said the Israeli commander. “You still need to move into the area. Try to identify the Germans, without injuring the prisoners—if possible. Don’t take any chances. Report as soon as the passageway is clear.”
Chaim and Roi having monitored the conversation with Yatorn nodded to Shapira. Shapira motioned to Sandler and Fliegel, to meet him by the side of the road. Shapira pointed to the deportation square and the two large buildings within.
Sandler immediately recognized that these were undressing barracks. “The far building is probably the women’s barrack—it looks like there is a haircutting room attached.”
“Take the men’s barrack first” said Shapira. “As you move in tell the people you are Jews here to rescue them. Ask for their help.”
Sandler smiled. He quickly explained the plan to his men, who appeared almost enthusiastic. This was what they really came to do.
Sandler led his men at a run across the camp road toward the deportation square. He broke into the compound and he let out a savage cry. Soon all the attacking Jews were yelling at the top of their lungs as they entered the square.
Erbel and his men had fled into the women’s undressing barrack. They shared the barrack with about fifty women and girls who had been sheltering there to avoid the battle. Erbel watched as Sandler and his men burst onto the dusty square. He pushed at Corporal Schweinsteiger, who stood by the doorway. then pointed at the onrushing Jews. “Shoot them you idiot!”
The SS man fired a burst from his MP-40. Several of the Ukranians fired their Mausers from the building’s two windows.
One of Sandler men fell. Sandler forced himself to ignore the casualty and press the attack All around him scores of Treblinka’s Jewish prisoners hid their heads in the dirt or crawling away toward cover.
“We are Jews! We are Jews!” cried Sandler as he crossed the open area. He paused to fire a burst at the women’s barrack, and then continued his run toward the men’s barrack on the opposite side of the square. Fliegel’s men followed, Chaim and Roi with them. The two Israelis stitched the women’s building with automatic fire, while Sandler and his men stormed into the men’s barrack. Sandler burst into the men’s building, a bundle of nerves and excitement, his finger on the trigger. But there were no Germans inside, just frightened men and boys.
In the women’s barrack two Ukranians fell back dead from their firing posts at the windows, while Schweinsteiger ducked back in the room, bleeding from bullet fragments and wood splinters in his face and hands.
“It’s no use” said the SS Corporal resignedly. Erbel looked around the room. He noticed that the women were remarkably calm. These were not recent deportees recently off the train, but prison laborers who had already seen as much horror and death. They seemed not so much afraid, as hopeful and curious. As bad as this was, to them it was better than a normal day at Treblinka, and it was pretty clear that this day the Germans were getting the worst of it. Erbel still had a plan. He may not have run Treblinka flawlessly, but he was not a fool. A trained lawyer, he was had a cold-blooded instinct for survival, if nothing else.
Erbel looked at Schweinsteiger, Engel and the Ukranians.
“Forget about outside” said Erbel, his voice jagged. “Turn your guns on these women. They are our hostages. If one moves, kill her.”
He looked around the darkened room, lit only by the reflection of random fires and the waning moon. “You understand me too, don’t you?” he asked, addressing his question to the prisoners. None replied.
Outside, all around the deportation square, Treblenka’s Jews pulled themselves up out of the dirt. Slowly, it dawned on them that they were rescued. Here and there loud rejoicing broke out and the Jewish soldiers joined in the celebrations, forgetting for the moment that there were still a band of Germans watching from the building across the square.