The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (24 page)

Still, they anticipated much higher losses on the Rozvazhev action.

Never in the past had so many of the guerrillas been committed to a single action. Sixty three made up the total force. Even at that, they expected to be outnumbered four or five to one. The number of Germans stationed at Rozvazhev had been increased since the warehouses had been filled to near-capacity. The number of guards had been enlarged to sixty on each shift. The rest were inventory personnel and workers. All were potential adversaries once the fighting started and the partisans planned to keep as many as possible out of the battle.

For once, the guerrillas went into battle 'in style.' They had a small convoy of stolen German trucks and military vehicles hidden. They'd drive to the vicinity and then separated into groups, each with its own objective. The three men of letters had worked diligently to prepare the proper orders, should the drivers be questioned. The drivers and those visible in the vehicles wore captured German coats and caps. The four-hour drive to the separation point went without incident.

It was 11:30 p.m., just ten minutes before the first shot in the twenty-five minute raid would be fired. The first group to go into action cut telegraph and telephone lines at two designated places, isolating the town except for the wireless transmission station, which two dynamite blasts destroyed fifteen seconds later.

The second group stationed machine gunners around the barracks. When the transmission station exploded, the guerrillas threw dynamite into each of the buildings, blowing them up. A huge fire erupted and lit the entire sky. The few Germans who escaped through windows and doors were cut down by gunfire. In the first seconds of the battle, more than a hundred and seventy Germans died.

Almost simultaneously, the police station housed in an old church and the few Ukrainian policemen inside met the same fate. An officers' club and one for enlisted men were also leveled. After the first two minutes of battle, other than those men on duty, nearly all the Germans in town were dead or dying. This left sixty or seventy guards at the warehouses without replacements or reinforcements.

Two groups carried the main attack to the warehouses. One was to attack the main entrance first, drawing as much fire as possible. The second group would then attack the rail gate, after which the Jews' secret weapon would be brought into action.

At several points near the main entrance, dynamite blasted out large sections of electric fencing. The attackers immediately cut down a number of guards with machine gun fire. The remaining guards took cover and trained their guns at the gaps in the fence, waiting for the attackers to rush through the breach.

None came.

The Germans were puzzled. The attackers would have to come through there to reach the warehouses!

Suddenly a gigantic explosion behind them brought down the front wall of one warehouse, crushing twenty sequestered Germans. Then another explosion rolled flames into the sky at the next storage building. The Germans scattered into gunfire as they broke into the open. More explosions followed and flames licked at the stars from several areas in the buildings. Now there were secondary concussions as volatile materials stored in the buildings exploded.

As planned, many of the guards were drawn to the action at the front of the buildings. But minutes later, at the rear, the guerrillas set up their secret weapons. They'd made giant slingshots out of forks of small trees and rubber truck inner tubes. Two men held each trunk firmly while a third drew the sling, which cradled a packet of six dynamite sticks. A fourth man lit the short fuse and at the first sign of sparks the payload was let go.

The device lobbed dynamite nearly a hundred meters. The first charges dropped on the warehouse roofs blowing gaping holes. The next payloads soared inside where they destroyed the entire compound and stored supplies.

Secondary explosions and wind driven flames were destroying the whole warehouse complex. The guerrillas withdrew. The entire operation took fifteen minutes. It was not yet midnight when the guerrillas raced out of Rozvazhev. They had not yet counted their casualties but few were missing from any of the vehicles.

The group at the rear, led by Moshe Pinsker, fled, having done their job perfectly and without loss of a man. They crossed a clearing and unknowingly entered a minefield. A sudden blast tossed the truck onto its side, igniting its fuel. Before the stunned passengers could crawl free the extra dynamite they carried exploded. When the smoke cleared no one survived of Moshe and his group.

Major Hans Oberman was livid with rage, but only because his superiors were livid with rage. That created unpleasantness for Oberman. As his superiors did, so did he pass the unpleasantness down to his subordinates. "I want a complete report on Rozvazhev!" he roared as he stomped through the outer office. "I want facts and figures-and quickly!"

The lieutenant cowered and nodded.

All day long bits and pieces of information filtered into Oberman's office. "Total destruction of the warehouses..."

"Destruction of the communications center..."

"Destruction of Ukrainian police facility..."

"Two hundred seven German military personnel known dead, seventy nine injured, most serious to critical, ninety six unaccounted for..."

The figures changed as the day drew on; the injured joining the dead, the unaccounted uncovered in the rubble. The one figure that remained the same all day was, "Eleven enemy dead, none captured or known wounded."

The next day Oberman reported to his superiors, "Gentlemen, it appears our troops were the victims of a very well planned raid. They obviously knew our entire routine and layout at the Rozvazhev complex. How they came by this information is not yet discovered."

"And just who are they?" one of his superiors demanded.

"Partisans," Oberman stalled. "An army of partisans; our estimates indicate a minimum of five hundred!"

"An army of five-hundred partisans?" he sputtered. "How can that be? Where would they operate from?"

"Perhaps this force was made up of several groups joined for this specific action. We know that many groups operate throughout the Ukraine. We would be na ve to think they could not work together on major projects. Until now, they've carried out only minor raids on trains, convoys, isolated patrols and small storage depots. Never before have they ventured a major military action." He paused. "We think this was directed and organized out of unoccupied Russia."

"Out of Russia?" the Colonel barked in surprise.

"Yes. We have monitored almost daily broadcasts into occupied territories from the Russians. They encourage resistance. They could have sent leadership, even troops, to participate in the action."

"You have evidence to support these ideas?" one officer asked.

Major Oberman looked down at his hands, "We have no hard evidence yet. It is evident, however, that this raid two days ago was a superb military effort-not what we expect from loosely disciplined guerrilla gangsters."

"Well, let us hear some facts now," the Colonel insisted, pointing impatiently at Oberman's papers. "Continue with what is black and white."

"Very well," the Major said with a shrug. "Our latest figures and these are still not final, indicate that of our total military force of three hundred eighty two men assigned to Rozvazhev that night, three hundred forty eight have died, twenty three are on the injured list, eleven are still unaccounted for."

"And what price did the enemy pay?" inquired one of the officers.

Oberman's eyes lowered. His voice weakened. "Only eleven of their dead have been found. But we do not know how many of their dead or wounded they took with them."

"I have heard enough!" the Colonel exploded. "I want no more speculation! I want no more excuses! Oberman," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "I want action. I want the forests of the Ukraine purged of partisans. I want every guerrilla rotting in Babi Yar!" He sprang to his feet and stomped from the room.

During the silence that followed, while each officer digested his commander's orders, one by one each gaze turned to Oberman.

It looked as though the entire town of Rozvazhev went up in flames as the group looked back, waiting for the truck with Moshe and his men to come. When it did not appear as scheduled, they grew concerned.

"They should be here by now." Sol said anxiously. "Even the extra time it would take them to come from the back of the depot..."

"I'm afraid they've had trouble," Uri interrupted, "maybe we should send someone back..."

"No one goes back!" Solomon insisted. "We can't risk more lives to their unknown fate. We agreed to that from the very beginning."

"But its Moshe-his whole group, Uri protested as more and more of the concerned group gathered, awaiting a decision.

"I know it's Moshe's group. No one loves Moshe more than I, unless it's you, Uri." He paused. How has this come to fall on my shoulders, he thought? Why doesn't Yorgi speak up? He just watches me struggle with the problem. Then without thinking further, spontaneously Sol said, "It's not my decision that we not go back. It's Moshe's. He made the rule long ago-and wisely. We all agreed long ago! And each of us knew we might one day be the ones left behind."

"How much longer can we wait?" Uri asked.

"Not long," Yorgi finally answered, stepping before the group. "Sol's right! We have no choice but to go on," he looked at his watch, "and right now."

He looked back down the road toward Rozvazhev.

They could all see the sky brilliantly lit where the town had been.

"I'm afraid the illumination can be seen clear to Zhitomir. Even with communications down-especially with communications down, that glow will bring Germans. They must be on their way already."

Yorgi looked at his watch again, a fine German timepiece captured several weeks earlier on another mission. He thought a moment. He, too, was fond of Moshe and the others, but as a soldier and commander he could not let emotion cloud correct judgment.

"If they are well, they'll make it back. If not, we'll not be able to help. Let's go home! Now!"

Yorgi gave his next command, "Set off two dynamite charges in those vehicles!"

They set long fuses and plunged into the forest with their wounded. The journey by foot to their base was expected to take them two days. They carried seven seriously wounded comrades. Twelve others had minor injuries and could travel without help. Before the night was over four of the seriously wounded had died. Their friends could not stop to bury them. That was understood before the operation began. "It is difficult to leave friends alone, even in death. Final farewells are not meant to be so abrupt and unceremonious," Sol commented.

Father Peter and Rachel were in charge of the wounded. The council would not let me go to the rendezvous point because they were not willing to risk the only physician the camp had. I could not change their minds to let me go. The best I was allowed was to wait for the wounded at camp two. Not even would they allow me to go to camp one. Father Peter and Rachel weren't allowed to accompany the combatants into the town during the raid but waited the long minutes for the fighters on the road at the meeting point. Each explosion they heard conjured up fears for their friends. Father Peter and Rachel had become close companions since Dovka's death. Along with Sol, the young priest had helped Rachel regain her strength and objectivity. In turn, Rachel understood better than anyone else the torment and personal anguish that plagued Father Peter. When he wasn't busy with the radios and she not occupied with the hospital or alone with Solomon, she and the priest spent many hours together, trying to fathom this ungodly world.

As each vehicle came to the meeting point, Rachel and Father Peter assigned people to help with the wounded. Makeshift bandages were checked and changed, but little more could be done for the seriously wounded. They continued to bleed and writhe in delirium. There was nothing to reduce their pain. They knew their efforts with the most critically injured were futile and that carrying them was a tremendous expenditure of energy, but it was difficult enough to leave their dead behind-impossible to leave their wounded.

By noon the next day, the last of the critically wounded had died. The group had traveled many kilometers but could not stop long to rest. They knew the Germans would start out with dogs from the point where the trucks had been destroyed. At best they had a five-hour lead. Hampered by their wounded, that lead would be reduced to three hours. The first six hours did not lead them toward home. Instead they headed west past Zhitomir, about five kilometers south of that city. By dawn, they had passed by the city and then they continued twenty kilometers due west, until noon when they came to the Teterev River.

The river flowed northeast at that point. There, they entered the river and doubled back, walking in the water to confuse the dogs. They waded for three or four kilometers, a slow and dangerous route because the Germans were searching by air also. Every so often a plane would drone in the distance and the party would scatter for cover along the bank until the aircraft passed, almost skimming the water. While the others waded, backtracking in the river, two of the group stayed on land, going the opposite direction. Alone, they could move fast and it was hoped they would lay a false scent for the dogs, giving the main party more time.

When the raiders finally left the river, they headed north toward home. They plodded in silence, each person weighing in his mind the successes and losses. Eleven were missing. Seven had died since the raid. The remaining injuries fortunately were minor. Moshe was among the missing-all probably dead. Except for those missing with Moshe, their comrades had been felled and injured by small arms fire. What targets they'd made, silhouetted against the flames! They'd probably been shot by Germans roused from the beds protected by their mistresses when the dynamite blasts shook them.