Trains to Treblinka

by Charles Causey

  When the concert finished, the young women ran next to each other back toward their living quarters, where they would wait until supper. Before they arrived, Bronka whispered to Tchechia, “The revolt is happening tonight or tomorrow.”

  “How do you know?” asked Tchechia.

  “I could see it in Rudi’s eyes.”

  “Well then, we must get ready. We will make sure the gold we have stored is easily accessible once we hear the first shots being fired.”

  “I hope we have enough,” said Bronka.

  “It will have to be enough!” declared Tchechia.

  Zelo could not sleep. At dark, the male barracks in Camp 2 was locked and the lights were turned off soon after. The men knew what was happening the next day through communication between some of the workers across the fence. It was clever how they did it, but it had to be clever or the Germans would find out what was going on. The revolt was to begin at five in the afternoon, and Zelo and his men would be ready.

  Before Franz Stangl settled down for the night he thought about writing a short note to his wife. It was his usual routine, a habit he had started many months before. He did not always mail the letters he wrote to her, but he usually wrote and updated her on how he was doing and asked her questions.

  However, that night he was deciding against writing her. He had just returned from leave. His wife Theresa had pestered him incessantly about quitting his post. She had somehow figured out what was happening at Treblinka, and that “her Paul” was in charge. It had greatly disturbed Theresa. She recently saw a priest about it. Her final words to her husband before he left home was that he needed to quit, and soon. She did not understand, thought Stangl. It was not that easy.

  Stangl put down his pen. He would write her tomorrow night.

  A sip of liquor.

  A moment to think.

  In essence, Theresa had issued him an ultimatum, though she knew she wasn’t allowed to do that to him. He had gone over this with her after they were first married. He could issue an ultimatum, as the man, but she was never to give him one. She did not like that rule then, and she obviously did not like it now, because she threatened him. It was almost as if he were supposed to choose Theresa over his job at Treblinka. It wasn’t fair.

  She knew he couldn’t simply quit, not with men like Globocnik and Wirth. They had no feelings for others, and it appeared no sense of family, or what it might be like to be married to a strong-willed wife. These were men who had a singular focus—deal with the Jews.

  Stangl decided to take his mind off the whole mess. He would definitely not write Theresa tonight, and he would consider writing the next day. Tomorrow will be a good day, Stangl thought. A friend from Vienna passing through the area was to visit with him over lunch. It will be nice to catch up, he thought. But for now I must get some sleep.

  Chapter 26

  Monday, August 2nd, was a very hot day. The guards discussed several tactics on how to keep cool, but finally decided they would take a nice long swim after lunch. Stangl received his visitor and began drinking with him before their meal. The Doll had taken a pass to leave the blistering hot and smelly work site. He would not be back for a few days.

  Several of the Jewish workers walked along the camp street, watering the parched flowers. The rest of the Jews were at their respective work sites, keeping out of the sun and trying to act normal. There were no trains that morning. Just stillness, except in the upper camp where they feverishly worked to finish operations.

  Before lunch, while smoke rose from the grills in Camp 2 and Ukrainian guards walked the perimeter fence for their morning rounds, Rudi told the young men to take the cart to the munitions room.

  “Now is the time,” he said softly. “May God be with you.”

  The young men had been briefed that they must secure the grenade detonators this time, and they were ready for the task. Just before they left, however, it was reported that one of the guards whose room was directly next to the arms room had worked the previous night and was now resting inches away from where the young men were to gather the rifles and grenades. Something had to be done. Camp elder Galewski, who spent the morning reassuring the workmen who were having a hard time focusing, dispatched a brave worker to go and deal with the untimely predicament.

  The man selected by Galewski went to the guard’s room and knocked furiously. “Sir, you must arise! You are needed in the vegetable garden. There is a fight with the potato workers.”

  The guard arose, swore, dressed, and then rambled out of his room to attend to the problem.

  “We must move quickly,” the worker declared to the guard. It was true; time was of the essence.

  When the Jewish worker and the guard departed the area, a horse and cart—the one used for garbage pickup—was rolled up to the back of the ammo room. One of the men went through the front door with the stolen key and then opened the back window next to the cart with trash. The grenade boxes were handed out the window, as well as the detonators, pistols, and then rifles.

  Nearly three dozen weapons passed hands through the window and were then quickly wrapped in burlap and placed underneath the garbage moments before a desperate whisper was heard. “He’s coming back! Quick, get out of there!”

  The young man inside the room lowered the window, replaced the bar, and hurried out of the room. As he rounded the corner of the building, he passed beside the grumpy guard who was frustrated by being called from his rest for such an insignificant matter.

  The horse-pulled cart made its way over to the SS garage managed by Standa Lichtblau. The mechanic inspected the grenades and weapons. They were ready for use. He took the munitions and a secret stockpile of alcohol bottles out of the garage. Working stealthily, he disbursed everything by wheelbarrow to other work sites. By the time lunch was over there were weapons and grenades all across Camp 1.

  Galewski told Rudi, “The nest is out. Get word to Zelo. From this moment, not another Jew will be murdered without reprisal!”

  Tchechia sat in the kitchen area, peeling a mountain of potatoes with three other women, when there was a quiet knock on the door.

  “Is Paulinka here?” a male voice asked when the door was cracked.

  “No, she is at another site.”

  Standa quickly entered the room, bringing half a dozen grenades and detonators. He looked at the women seriously but with a slight glow emanating from his eyes.

  “It is today,” he said triumphantly. “Hide one of these grenades in your potato buckets.”

  “Gladly,” said one of the workers. Tchechia reached out a second time to have two grenades for her bucket.

  Zelo and Jankiel received the news from Camp 1 with relief. Their crew was scheduled to be locked in the barracks that afternoon, but Zelo convinced the guards to let them all continue working for extra bread rations. The cremation work needed to be done, so the guards relented.

  Zelo inspected the weapons and ammo previously bought from nearby peasants. The revolt was to start at 5 p.m. He eyed the guards on the watchtowers along with those in the excavators. He would be ready.

  The Jewish workers at Camp 2 had desperately waited for this day. Having endured incredible mental suffering with their scandalizing tasks, they were filled with much relief to hear the good news. The workers had only to withstand but a few more moments. They labored heartily, trying to act normal, yet whispered to each other in passing, “Ha-yom, ha-yom! (The day, the day!)”

  Stangl and his Viennese friend were laughing, having a grand time. They had finished lunch, but the stories and drinking continued. They could be heard from outside Stangl’s office.

  Some of the guards congregated under the branches of a large tree on the edge of the courtyard. Another group of guards departed for their afternoon swim. Suchomel, in a bright-white shirt, decided to ride his bicycle around the camp for a while. Miete and Mentz rested in the shade at the Lazarette. Kiewe, his hat pulled low over his forehead, was dispensing ten lashes as punishment to som
eone who displeased him. He did not know that his actions were being watched very closely by attentive prisoners.

  Richard observed the wonderful, cloudless blue sky as Rudi gathered the Czech contingent around him. He was so nervous and overcome with emotion that he could barely speak.

  “Has the gasoline been sprayed on the buildings by the disinfectant detail?” Rudi asked. The worker in charge of spraying all the clothes with disinfectant had a central part to play for the entire plan. He filled his canisters with the gasoline received from the garage and walked around the camp that day, spraying the sides of all the buildings.

  “Yes, check.”

  “Everyone on the list has their guns or grenades handy?”

  “Check.”

  Rudi wiped the sweat from his brow. “The gas pump will blow up as soon as the first shot is fired?”

  “Yes, as well as the buildings around it.”

  “The branch cutters are ready to cut the telephone lines? People are at the fence, ready to blow it open? Galewski is keeping an eye on Kiewe?”

  “Check, check, check!”

  Rudi gave the men a genuine smile, the first one seen from him in a long while. As he spoke his final words he was borderline incoherent. “Boys…tell the ones at home…this is the moment…”

  Rudi shook each man’s hand one last time: Robert, Richard, Karel…but Hans refused to shake. He quickly mumbled something about the revolt not actually happening.

  Hans had seen revolt dates come and go; he did not want to get his hopes up too high that day. Something had changed about Hans after Zelo had been taken to Camp 2. It seemed he could never quite pull himself together, and he was not as helpful to the revolt organizers as he had been when Zelo was with them. The other Czechs recognized that something had broken inside of their friend; they understood his despair.

  David Brat grabbed Richard’s hand and whispered to him, “King David’s psalm declares, ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.’”

  Richard held firmly to David’s hand—a true friend. Richard remembered when he was delirious with typhus and suffering from malnutrition. David came to the sick bay and secreted two small, wrinkled apples into Richard’s hand. How much David spent for the apples, he never cared to share. What Richard could not forget was after David gave him the apples, the old man knelt down and kissed Richard on the forehead. It was a simple gesture, but in a place like Treblinka, where the only physical touch was with a whip or a slap, the kind act was truly remarkable.

  Other workers shook hands, always discreetly, and always in the knowledge that it could possibly be the last time they would see each other. There was a glow in everyone’s eyes and a spring in their steps. Bellies were stuffed with food for the long night; pockets were stuffed with money.

  As the minutes ticked on, spirits grew agitated: 2:10, 2:22, 2:37… Galewski and Rudi determined they would not be able to wait until 5 p.m. to begin the revolt—something would most definitely happen before then. Though they wanted the time to be as close to evening as possible to aid the workers’ escape under the cover of darkness, it was decided that 4:00 p.m. would be the new time. Galewski sprang into action to let Camp 2 know about the change.

  The heat was intense.

  Suchomel took another lap riding his bike.

  Laughter was heard from the kommandant’s quarters.

  Then something happened that put everyone on edge.

  Shouting was heard from behind the barracks…

  What was up?

  Kiewe discovered a teenager with a pocket full of gold. He began inspecting other men near him, telling them to clear out their pockets. Kiewe shouted for Blau, one of the chief kapos who was friends with Stangl and an informer. The two began discussing what had been happening that day—boys shaking hands at lunch as if they were saying goodbye, workers being especially nice, men running to formation quicker than usual…

  Suddenly Kiewe began marching one of the men caught with gold toward the Lazarette.

  It was not yet 4:00 p.m., but something had to be done. Galewski sent a man with a pistol to intercept Kiewe.

  A shot rang out.

  The camp froze.

  Chapter 27

  At Camp 2, the men heard the shot but it was earlier than expected. They were not sure if it was the revolt or one of the many executions at the Lazarette. The men, soaked with perspiration and blood from their duties, paused for a moment, glanced at each other, and continued to work. Then there were explosions and more shots. The uprising had started! It was time to take action.

  Zelo hurried to a wall where a sharp axe was hidden, camouflaged in the corner. He then ran toward the nearest guard, who stood looking at him in disbelief. One strong swing to the midsection and the guard went down. Another guard came running. Another swing. Zelo had his second kill. He grabbed their rifles and handed one of them to a fellow worker.

  Others at Camp 2 went into action. Adasch and Jankiel ran to retrieve their pistols and let the men in the male barracks know the revolt had begun. The workers outside who had been carrying corpses quickly grabbed whatever they could find: pitchforks, shovels, and other instruments used for their dreadful tasks. They immediately put them to work on the bewildered guards.

  Soon men were being killed on both sides, guards and workers. Both guards driving the excavators were shot. Guards in the towers were targeted, but they returned fire, and some with deadly accuracy. The months of pent-up anger and rage from the Jewish workers at Camp 2 finally released itself upon the guards who had whipped and threatened them daily.

  Several men started cutting through the multiple layers of barbed-wire fences that separated camp work and freedom. There were three rows of barbed wire plus an additional row with trestles interspersed with barbed wire.

  One row cut through.

  Two rows cut through.

  One of the guard towers not out of commission yet began firing down on those cutting the fences.

  More shooting.

  More cutting.

  Bodies were prostrate all around the fourth and final obstacle before freedom. Soon the tower gun was quieted. An immensely loud explosion originated from Camp 1. The Ukrainian guard in the tower decided to escape down the stairs and run for his life.

  The gas station has blown up!

  Zelo knew it was time to flee and join the main effort at the lower camp. The workers here would finish it up. No more bodies would be excavated today!

  Kiewe heard the crack of a gunshot, then felt a searing pain in his left side. Had he been fired upon? By whom? Who dared? He fell to the ground on his side and looked up into the face of the man who had shot him. There stood a Polish worker named Wolowanczyk, a Jew from Warsaw. He actually had a confident grin on his face! Kiewe wanted to scream to warn Mentz, but it was too late.

  When he heard the shot, Mentz came quickly out of the Lazarette—he, too, was shot. Something has to be done and quick, they thought. But neither were able to get up and do anything. It appeared the inmates had taken over the camp.

  Kommandant Stangl jackknifed out of his chair and shouted, “What the devil is going on out there?”

  As soon as Stangl opened wide the door to his office, gunfire sprinkled the exterior wall of his building—almost as if it was directed at him!

  “Who is doing this?” Stangl shouted.

  Stangl’s visitor leapt for the floor and hid behind the desk. Stangl, as if in a daze, clumsily shut the door and locked it, then maneuvered to the floor alongside his friend. Whatever was happening outside, they would have to wait it out.

  “Kiewe’s got his!” a voice yelled out.

  “Hurrah!” shouted another voice.

  “Revolution!”

  Immediately after the single shot on Kiewe there was a brief pause, as if no one could comprehend what was happening. Though it was a quarter hour before 4:00 p.m.—fifteen minutes before the prescribed time—Galewski quickly deduced that
the workers must immediately follow through and continue what had been started, even if the upper camp was not ready. Without words passing between the two men, Rudi understood the same and went into action.

  To get things going, Rudi whipped a grenade out of his pocket and thrust it in the direction of the Ukrainians’ barracks. Kaboom!

  He then secured a confiscated machine gun and climbed to the top of the zoo’s pigeon house for a good vantage point. It had been a while since he had been a lieutenant in the Czech Army, but his warrior instincts were now fully engaged.

  Jews with pistols and rifles from each camp now came running into the courtyard, looking for guards to fire upon. Franz Suchomel quickly un-holstered his pistol and began firing into a mass of workers heading his way. The workers with guns immediately returned fire, knocking Suchomel off his bike, but they did not fatally wound him. He clambered away toward the mess hall.

  Bottles of petrol turned into Molotov cocktails were lit and thrown at many of the wooden buildings, instantly setting them ablaze.

  Grenades exploded.

  Machine-gun fire rattled throughout the camp.

  More shots, more explosions, more yelling.

  “Hurrah! Hurrah! It’s begun!”

  Several gasoline drums were set on fire, causing enormous explosions and black billowing smoke. It did not take long for the SS and the Ukrainians to realize what they were up against.

  Those in the watchtowers began to rain down violent gunfire onto the Jewish workers. But their gun blasts drew attention from the armed insurgents and the guards soon became targets themselves. Grenades were lobbed at the towers, machine-gun fire was returned to their high positions, and some of the tower guards were taken out.

  As the Jewish workers ran out of ammunition they threw their weapons to the ground and looked for fallen guards to steal theirs. Chaos ensued as the uprising was now in full swing.