The shooting lasted only a few more seconds—perhaps the machinegunner had lost his aim, or his weapon jammed. Itzak used the pause to crawl into a bit of defilade, where he loaded the grenade launcher slung under his Tavor. Instead of bombarding the Germans with high explosive, the well-trained commando dropped a pair of white phosphorus smoke grenades. Within seconds the German position was shrouded in a milky haze, while within their makeshift trenches several Germans began to scream as the hot phosphorus burned through their wool uniforms and into flesh, torching skin and bone.
The main column came to a halt a hundred meters behind the Kubelwagon. The sayeret ran from the vehicles and began to deploy on the roadsides, followed by Fliegel’s men. Moments later Mofaz next heard the delightful clatter of Roi’s Negev as it sent tracer into the hastily piled sandbags. Two MG-34s manned by Fliegel’s men joined in, pinning the Germans within the position.
Mofaz crawled over to Itzak, tapped him on the shoulder and said “after me.”
The two commandos ran toward the German entrenchment while behind them Yatom directed increasingly heavy fire onto the cowering enemy troops. The Israelis dropped more phosphorus on the Germans, mixed with high explosive rounds. Ilan and Bolander began sniping at any helmet that popped over the rough parapet. The crescendo of smoke and fire allowed the Mofaz and Itzak to splint to within twenty meters of the German entrenchments. From there they could hear the surviving Germans calling to each other. Although neither Israeli spoke German well, they could easily understand the sound of panic. Mofaz stirred the pot by tossing a hand-grenade into a nearby slit—trench. The explosion blew a bloodied helmet into the air, which tumbled down the hill. Itzak threw a grenade, producing a heart-rending scream of horror or pain. Satisfied that enemy was about to break Mofaz radioed Yatom to cease fire.
Mofaz and Itzak charged into the German position. A half-dozen dead and wounded Germans lay around a large tripod mounted machinegun, while down the road a pair of men crept away. The crawling men didn’t look back at the Israelis but just kept going until Itzak hit them with bursts from his Tavor. Mofaz considered sparing the wounded Germans, but then thought better of it—the situation was too dangerous. He put bullets into the wounded and dead alike. A few minutes later the column drove up the scene of the battle.
The dead Germans proved to be yet another unfortunate group of largely middle-aged Ordnungs Polizei. The Israelis had made short work the policemen, but as Shapira and Feldhandler moved through the wreckage of the position they looked worried.
“They dug this position right through the roadway,” noted Feldhandler.
“And look at this machinegun” said Shapira, as a couple of Fliegel’s men attempted to carry the heavy Hochkiss to one of the trucks. “It’s an old French weapon—I can’t remember what it’s called, but it is a piece of work.”
“Nearly took my head off” said Mofaz approvingly. “And not really meant to travel” continued Shapira. “These guys were here to stay. The Nazis are constructing a ring of fortifications around us. They must have observed us this morning.”
“Alright” said Yatom phlegmatically. “That’s all the more reason to keep moving, before they build a wall around us. Grab up the rest of their weapons and ammo and let’s get going. Ron, you and Chaim take over the lead in the Kubelwagon. Take Feldhandler too.”
Yatom walked over to Mofaz, who had his helmet off and seemed to be praying. “You okay Major?”
“Couldn’t be better” said Mofaz seriously. “That charge was impressive. I’d put you in for a medal, but.”
“Just get me home Colonel” said Mofaz, putting his helmet back on and pushing a fresh magazine in his rifle. “These won’t last much longer” he said, tapping the the gray banana clip and walking off to his vehicle.
Yatom drove the column eastward into the night, hoping to outrace the sprouting German roadblocks. But the Germans had reacted to the Treblinka raid with typical efficiency and aggression. Two hours after the encounter with the Ordnungs Polizei Shapira radioed in yet another obstacle at the entrance to tiny village of Zaboe near the tovim of Miedzyrzec Podlaski, only ninety kilometers from Lubin.
Chaim stopped the Kubelwagon just within small arms range of the German roadblock. Shapira scanned the enemy position through thermal binoculars. It consisted of a well built entrenchment linked to a small fortified cottage to Shapira’s right. Suddenly, Germans popped a flare, illuminating the Kubelwagon on the open roadway. Too late, Shapira realized that these Germans meant business.
The German opened fire on the exposed Kubelwagon as if they were on the Russian front. Chaim gunned the engine and tried to drive the vehicle off the road as Itzak had done earlier. As he turned the wheel a burst of fire from an MG-34 struck him in the left shoulder, throwing him out of the vehicle, and sending the Kubelwagon careening off the highway, tossing out Shapira and Feldhandler too.
Shapira hit the ground and rolled, bruised but not otherwise injured. But he watched in dismay as the Kubelwagon tipped over and came to a stop wheels up. Feldhandler sprawled on the ground nearby, his uniform badly torn. The scientist looked bloodied and shaken.
Shapira told him to keep down. Feldhandler had sense enough to this anyway, with bullets snapping over his head. Shapira’s radio squawked with Yatom at the other end, but the Israeli lieutenant ignored it and crawled over to Chaim who lay near the upended Kubelwagon. Chaim had dragged himself into the lee of the vehicle, even as German bullets slammed into it and threatened to ignite its fuel tank. The grenadier’s flack vest was torn near the shoulder where a 7.98 mm bullet had hit it and bit into his flesh. Another bullet had struck a ceramic plate covering Chaim’s chest, breaking it, but not penetrating.
Shapira keyed his Madonna and asked Yatom to put fire on the enemy and come forward. At that moment a second German flare went up and German machineguns opened fire on the rest of the column. With the German’s attention drawn elsewhere Shapira called to Feldhandler, who crawled over. Together, they dragged Chaim away from the Kubelwagon and into a shallow ditch along the side of the road. As three men pressed themselves into the slight depression, a volley of rifle fire hit the Kubelwagon’s gas tank detonating it, scorching their faces, and illuminating their new position. Bullets thumped around the three Israelis. Chaim clutched a battle compress to his wound while Shapira finally returned fire.
Feldhandler gamely put out the bipod on his Galfl and fired off a fifty round magazine. His tracers appeared to hit wildly but caused the Germans to duck and gave the Israelis a small respite.
Shapira reached for Chaim’s weapon and pulled a random grenade from the grenadier’s ravaged vest. Shapira shot the grenade at the Germans. It exploded lamely and let off red colored smoke. He reached for another, hoping that this one would have some explosive in it, when two other grenades struck the German position. They were fired by Itzak and Nir, who had come up with Mofaz and Ido on Shapira’s left. Meanwhile, from across the road, Shapira heard the sound of Roi’s Negev opening up, followed by the combined racket of Fliegel’s men, firing rifles and MG-34s toward the German roadblock. Ido ran over to Chaim. The Israeli medic removed the injured man’s vest and calmly attended to the wound as if nothing was going on. Shapira grabbed the vest, pulled out another grenade and fired it at the Germans. Mofaz came up.
“What do you think?” asked the Major, ignoring Chaim’s distress and the blasted Kubelwagon.
Shapira raised his head to respond, when a bullet put a hole through his helmet covering. Mofaz fired a burst from his Tavor toward the Germans out of natural aggression, but without much hope of hitting anything important. The two men pressed themselves into the ground.