The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (18 page)

Hans Oberman had come from an old, aristocratic German family. He'd been to the finest schools, wanted for nothing. No deep interests led him into no profession. He'd always hunted new pleasures and because of that, he'd developed a broad and perverse body of knowledge. His delightful conversation made him wonderful company.

All this, in addition to his totally amoral nature, made Hans Oberman an ideal candidate for promotion within the SS.

Three hundred Kievites had just been rounded up and executed in reprisal for three Germans found dead the night before in a gutted print shop. As furor over those reprisals started to die down, word spread about a special troop transport train due to pass through Kiev in about two weeks. Fifty new pilots were to pass through the city on their way to airfields near the Russian front to relieve or replace veterans killed, injured or furloughed.

These men, a special squadron, entered flight school on a day when Herman Goering made a formal inspection with heavy news coverage. In his honor the group had been named the "Goering Squadron." Publicity followed them all the way through training and Herman Goering took a special interest in them. The replacements would spend one night in Kiev. To pay Herman Goering homage, preparations were being made to satisfy "his favorites" every pleasure while in the city. The exact date, time and train were to be kept secret for security reasons.

Ivan was in Kiev two days after the story of the squadron broke. The next day the family camp held a conference.

Moshe began, "Ivan has gotten word to us of a train coming through Kiev with a special squadron of pilots headed for the Russian front. They are known as the Goering Squadron. If we could sabotage that squadron, wouldn't that be a fitting present for that egomaniac Goering?"

"So what is to stop us?" Boris asked.

"Blowing up the train will be no problem," Sol replied. We're very proficient at that. The problem will be to get the date, route and time."

"That's right," Moshe agreed. "Without that information, our skill is useless. So I will appoint two teams. Those of you who can move about Kiev with relative safety, I'll send to gather information. Sol, you can't go into the city for fear you'll be recognized. You'll move down to camp one and gather the information the others bring back. Boris, Dovka, you go into Kiev with three others and gather what intelligence you can.

"In the meantime, my group will plan the actual mission which will depend on the information you return to us."

Sol had the proper papers made up for the team going into Kiev. The three men of letters had them in hours; identification papers, food coupons, work papers, all necessary to pass a sidewalk inspection at any soldier's whim.

They went into town with Ivan. He arranged for them to stay with Gregor Kirtzof and his family. Ivan met Gregor through Father Peter. Now an opportunity arose to use Gregor's facilities and contacts. It was not a step taken lightly. It was the first time the Jews depended on a non-Jewish partisan, other than Sosha and Ivan, for their own security. They were very nervous about their vulnerability.

Once in the city, the Jews spread out into various crowded sections to watch and listen. Before they parted, Gregor warned, "If military vehicles come, get off the street immediately. Go into a building, down an alley, up a side street-somehow vanish. It could be a roundup." He paused a moment. "And be off the streets by six thirty curfew every night or you may be shot on sight. I remind you that it is not just Jews that have to fear the Germans now."

Gregor was nervous, too. These Jews were not the only ones vulnerable. He knew that if even one of them were caught, torture would probably bring forth the information that he was involved with them. Then he and his entire family would end up in Babi Yar. He knew he himself was no threat to the Jews, but he doubted anyone could stand up forever to the tortures of the Nazis. He was at great risk, too.

Dovka went into the marketplace with Ivan. There they split up. She double checked her forged papers, indistinguishable from Ivan's real documents. She carried very little money. No one had much money. What she carried was real. The partisans had considerable amounts of coin and currency taken from Germans they had killed. Compared with the citizens of Kiev, they were well off.

She moved once around the marketplace, first to fix in her mind escape routes. Then she passed through it slowly, purposely heading into the biggest crowds. That was where the conversations were and like flocking birds there was security in numbers. There was hardly anything to buy. People sat about hawking their belongings to buy food. But little food was available, even if they did have money. Long lines huddled in front of the few food stores still open. Dovka happened by a bakery at the moment the baker tried to close his door. The line to his shop was still long; people had been waiting for hours. Those nearest the door, who had been waiting longest, protested loudly.

"What do you mean you're out of bread?" cried the closest man. "It's not yet two o'clock! We've waited three hours and now you tell us you're out of bread?"

"Don't complain to me!" the baker shouted back, showing no sympathy for the unfortunate shoppers. "I only have what I can make. Complain to the commandant! Maybe he'll listen. We've had our supplies cut for the next eight days because of those damned pilots. We're rationed so they can have their fancy party! So tell your troubles to the Germans. Maybe they'll invite you to the affair." He laughed in the man's face as he slammed and locked his door.

"Eight days," Dovka said under her breath.

She was filled with excitement. About four forty- five, she met Ivan again. She could hardly wait to tell him what she'd heard, but he spoke first.

"A week from tomorrow," Ivan exclaimed!

"Yes," she said, surprised. "Eight days."

"How do you know?"

After hearing her story, Ivan added, "That's much the same way I found out. I overheard two women complaining of a cut in their meat supply."

"Everyone in town seems to know the day."

"That's when they are celebrating the pilots. They'll be coming in during the twenty four hours before. Now, if we can just piece together the other details as easily."

In the basement of Gregor's home that evening, everyone compared stories. Each confirmed that the Goering Squadron would arrive in seven to eight days. Ivan went back to Sol with the information while the rest stayed in the city. Ivan was anxious to get back to Sosha.

For four days, the Jews risked their lives on the streets of Kiev. But they found out nothing new. On the evening of the fourth day they were depressed and frustrated. It was then that Gregor's father came in with a newspaper.

"I have it!" He was waving the newspaper excitedly over his head. "It's right here!"

"What? Let's see," Gregor said.

"A soldier threw it away and I picked it up," Gregor's father explained. "It's their armed forces paper. They all read it. It's written in German, but someone told me what it says."

"Let me see that," Dovka demanded, "I read German." She looked at the article. "Goering Squadron in Warsaw," she translated aloud. The Goering Squadron was being sent through Poland to boost morale there. It took a few seconds to sink in. "Of course, now we know the route. There's only one train that runs direct from Warsaw."

"Now we know the day and the track!" Gregor announced.

"I don't think we should stay to discover the exact time," Dovka said. "That information won't be on the street. We can assume they'll arrive in the early morning if they leave Warsaw in the evening or arrive here in the late afternoon if they leave Warsaw in the morning. It's narrowed down to a twelve hour period. The mission will be a little more risky, but I don't think we should waste time trying to get more accurate information. It will just put us all at risk."

The Jews thanked Gregor and his family. It was early morning by the time they arrived at the first camp. After the Jews left Kiev, all the local papers carried the story of the Goering Squadron being in Warsaw.

The morning the Squadron was to leave Warsaw, Major Hans Oberman awaited his Colonel's call. He remembered how uneasy he'd felt at their last meeting. But today would be different. He'd give his report, put his plan into action, accomplish his task and in a few days things would be pleasant again. The call came and Oberman strode into the Colonel's office.

"Well, I assume you have a plan to trap those partisans!" the Colonel said expectantly.

"Yes, Colonel, I have a trap, part of which has already been implemented. The wheels are already in motion," he said looking at his watch.

"Don't you think you should have cleared it with me first?" There was anger in his voice.

"You can stop it if you like, but I had to take care of the preliminaries. There was no time to check with you. If you like the plan," Oberman said confidently, "and it works, I will gladly let it be known that you were instrumental in it. If you don't like it, it can still be scrapped."

The Colonel's tense face slowly relaxed. He motioned Oberman to go on.

"As you know, sir, there has been a security leak regarding the Goering Squadron."

"I am aware of that-painfully so." He squinted and sourly pursed his lips.

"Colonel, I am that leak."

"What?" The Colonel flew to his feet. "Are you crazy? Are you trying to get us all demoted - shot?"

"I hope not, sir," Oberman said, a smug smile on his face.

The Colonel sputtered and growled. "Explain yourself! This had better be good!"

"As of now, they are not coming." Oberman said quietly. "Instead-unless I change the orders in twenty minutes-a trainload of Jews will leave Warsaw."

"Jews?" cried the Colonel in disbelief. "We're receiving a trainload of Jews? What do we want with more Jews?"

Oberman just waited a few seconds, letting the Colonel settle down. He knew he'd have to explain it all, point by point, to the old fool. Stupid old fart, he thought.

"Colonel, I doubt we'll ever get them here. When the Goering Squadron's arrival became public knowledge, I thought, surely every partisan within a hundred kilometers would be after the train's route and schedule. So I rerouted them-but not their train. My guess is the partisans will sabotage that train and when they do, we'll have the bastards. Now," he remarked acidly, "if you think the partisans will not try something, we can still let the Squadron come by the original route."

The Colonel disliked Oberman's sarcasm, but he liked the plan.

"Go on, Major."

"Well, these partisans have always worked a fifty kilometer area north of Kiev. There are five excellent places there to sabotage the train. Right now we have lookouts at each of those places. As soon as one of them reports partisan activity, we will converge and wait. Either the partisans will kill a trainload of Jews and we'll take them; or if the train gets through, we still may get the partisans; and the Jews go to Babi Yar."

The Colonel was smiling now but still had a few questions.

"What about the train crew?"

"All Poles," Oberman returned the smile. "Even the guards are Polish collaborators. We can afford to sacrifice three dozen Poles for this plan."

"But what if the partisans have spies in Warsaw? What if they're warned?"

"They may well have a spy system in Warsaw," the Major conceded. "But the spies will see what they think are pilots boarding the train. The Jews have been on the train for twenty hours already. They were put on before the train entered the station." Oberman again looked at his watch. "Right now, thirty Polish collaborators in Luftwaffe uniforms are boarding that train to guard it en route."

Satisfied with himself, Oberman continued, "We will have our party tonight." He chuckled, "But we will be celebrating something more than the Goering Squadron!"

The Colonel joined him in laughter.

While Major Hans Oberman and his Colonel toasted their plan, the partisans left camp one, led by Boris, who had been chosen to command this important mission. They headed for the spot selected to sabotage the train, a trestle about thirty kilometers north of Kiev. If the explosion didn't kill the Squadron, they reasoned, the long fall would. Traveling with caution through the area took several hours. As soon as they arrived at the appointed spot they set the charges on the bridge, unaware they were being watched.

Just before dusk, an ear shattering explosion shook the earth. The trestle and train just steaming onto it fell into the deep, narrow gorge. When the dust finally settled there was silence. Each witness was momentarily transfixed. Finally Boris broke the spell.

"Down to the train; let's finish our job and get the hell out of here! Gather weapons and anything else we can use."

They came out of their hiding places. It was difficult climbing down into the steep gorge. It took them several minutes. The watching Germans didn't reveal themselves. A major was enjoying his view of the scene. Hans Oberman took charge of his operation. "Not a sound until I fire my pistol," he passed the order along from man to man. They'd been told it before, but he wanted to make sure. He was savoring. "I can't wait to see their faces when they find those dead Jews," he whispered to his Lieutenant."

Now the Lieutenant understood why Oberman had let the guerrillas blow the bridge. They could have taken them before, left the bridge intact, saved the train. "Won't this disrupt our transportation for days?" he asked the Major.

"We have plenty of Ukrainians to put to work on a new trestle. It's worth a little inconvenience and rerouting to teach them a lesson. Besides, they have no hope of escape from that deep gorge. We'll be able to pick them off like target practice."

The Lieutenant dropped the subject.

When the first men reached the bottom and looked into the broken rail cars, at the carnage, they realized something was wrong. "Boris," one called, "These men are tied to their seats-those not torn loose by the fall."