“That explains the blood. We need to talk to Feldhandler and Mofaz and decide what to do with her” said Yatom.
“Do with her…?” said Shapira worriedly.
“Relax Ron. I mean whether to take her with us or not. I wasn’t planning to take any of the Treblinka survivors, but…”
“I don’t think we have a choice Colonel.”
“You are probably right. Get Mofaz and find Feldhandler. Let’s talk to them and then get the hell out of here.”
“Does she know who we are?” asked Feldhandler anxiously a few minutes later, squatting in the dirt with Shapira and Yatom while Mofaz stood munching on a rind of stinky German cheese.
“Not quite” growled Yatom. “Where have you been anyway?”
“I was praying” replied Feldhandler in a serious tone. “Thanking God for the deliverance of this place.”
“You’ve got to be kidding?” guffawed Mofaz. “You praying—the mad scientist who bends light and time—give me a break.”
“And you” spat Feldhandler “a religious Zionist officer with a mouth full of pig fat?”
“It’s cheese, idiot.”
“Maybe you should give somebody else a chance to eat?” suggested Yatom. Mofaz gave Yatom the rest of his cheese rind.
Yatom took a bite. “Not the best cheese I’ve eaten, but it’s better than Ioof” He tore off a piece and gave it to Shapira.
“She doesn’t know we are not from this time—how could she?” said Shapira chewing the cheese as he spoke. “But she also knows we are somehow ‘Israeli’ and not likely from the yishuv of 1942.”
“What else?” asked Feldhandler.
“Nothing, so far as I can tell. She’s a bit confused—as anyone would be. It’s a mystery to her.”
“Not forever” said Mofaz bluntly. “But who cares. So she figures out we’re ‘from the future.’ What difference does it make? She can’t do anything about it, and neither can we.”
“You’re right really, Mofaz, much as it surprises me” said Feldhandler.
“Ron and I think that she and her sister should accompany us anyway” said Yatom. “Just in case—any objections?” The two other men shook their heads.
“Tov gadbr(?)” said Yatom. “Now we need to get organized and out of here. Mofaz, prepare enough vehicles for us and the Bears group at the motor pool, and take some food as well, but not too much.
Feldhandler, gather Sandler’s men and the Treblinka survivors here, so I can address them before we go. Then we’ll divide up the weapons from the camp armory. Ron, take your team, get Perchansky, and our old vehicles and meet us at the main gate.”
“I nearly forgot about her” said Shapira stupidly.
“Forgot about who” said Norit, appearing suddenly in a clean but baggy German uniform, speaking as if she were just one of the guys. The Israeli offioers eyed her closely but otherwise ignored the comment.
“Norit” said Yatom bluntly, as if he were addressing any other Israeli “help Dr. Feldhandler here gather everybody in the square. Keep them organized and calm. Beseder?” She nodded.
“We go in one hour.”
Despite their exhaustion, Shapira and team Gimmel hiked hard to the sayeret’s former lager in the woods, reaching the site in under fifteen minutes. Though they expected to find Perchensky and Mueller the site appeared to be abandoned. Shapira suppressed his alarm and squinted in the dim morning light. The Israelis spread out to conduct a proper search, when Perchensky emerged from the murk, prompting the edgy commandos swing their weapons in her direction.
“What’s going on?” demanded Shapira, his tone a mix of annoyance and concern. Perchensky looked fiaught and haggard but her voice betrayed no fear or remorse. “What does it look like to you Lieutenant?” she said acidly. She pretended to look around. “The German escaped and took my Uzi.”
“When?”
“Hours ago. I would have radioed, but I figured you were busy—and oh yes—you forgot to leave me a radio anyway.”
Shapira was about to ask which way Mueller fled, but realized it was pointless. “Are you injured?” he asked politely. Perchensky shook her head.
“Good. We’re moving everything we can to Treblinka—you can help if you like, or rest in one of the trucks.” Perchensky shrugged and shuffled a few meters until she stood near Bolander. The commando looked at her and then directed his eyes back to his commander. Shapira ignored them, and ordered the team to move all the useful equipment into their best truck. While they worked Shapira walked over to the remaining staff car, wondering if it was worth taking. Perchensky walked up as Shapira continued to ponder over the vehicle. “Don’t you have anything else to say?” she asked.
“What is there to say? So the German escaped. You’re alright, so it’s no big deal. We killed a lot of Germans today, and some got away. He’s just one more.”
“But he has the Uzi!”
Shapira considered this and then wondered if she were just try’ing to get his goat for some reason. “That weapon is no more advanced than these German guns. It was developed in the 1950s. It’s a souvenir for him and won’t be worth much of anything, even if he shows it to his superiors.”
She stepped close to him. “Fine. But don’t you wonder why he didn’t kill me?”
“I assumed you got away from him, somehow.”
“He tried to kill me” she said, her voice now cracking. “He pointed it at me but it didn’t fire.” She leaned into him and he hugged her awkwardly. Five hours ago he might have been happy about it. Now he was just a little annoyed. He pushed Perchensky back slightly but held on to her shoulders. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t sobbing. Bolander, several meters away, looked over at the two of them, and Shapira walked away. Perchensky turned in the opposite direction and walked off to gather her things. He couldn’t figure out women, and wasn’t in the mood to try.
It was nearly 7a.m. by the time Shapira’s team managed to navigate the staff car and truck over the broken ground between their bivouac and Treblinka. Mofaz had already assembled the rest of the convoy—the two Kubelwagons, two more staff cars and two relatively new Opel trucks. Fliegel’s men were hurriedly loading machine guns, crates of Mausers and ammunition boxes aboard one of the Opels. Mofaz waived him over.
“What took you so long?”
“Hard driving off road.”
The Major watched Perchensky and the rest of team Gimmel dismount. “Where is the German?”
“Got away” said Shapira simply.
“Beseder” said Mofaz. He didn’t give a crap about any of the Germans, dead or alive. “Yatom wants us ten minutes ago. Let’s get going.”
The two officers jogged over to the sayeret commander who was standing near the camp entrance. Feldhandler, Sandler and Fliegel were with him. Shapira saw that Norit was hovering in the distance, chatting with Chaim. Perchensky came up behind them.
“Who’s the woman speaking Hebrew with Chaim?” she asked Yatom, as if they were meeting for morning coffee instead of planning an escape. She’d managed to wash her face and comb out her hair, trying to put the ordeal with Mueller behind her.
“No time for that” said Yatom.
“You look like hell” Feldhandler told her, drawing sharp stares from the Israeli officers. Perchensky ignored him.
“We should have moved out an hour ago” said Yatom, trying to hold his aggravation in check. The danger from German aircraft was acute. His men were tired, and in danger of loosing their edge. Sandler, Fliegel and their men had done their best, but getting the freed prisoners in some order had proved more difficult than at Sobibor. Sandler assembled Treblinka’s former captives in rough order in the Forward Camp near the gate. They milled about nervously, well armed and carrying bags of food and other supplies.