Padlocked, page 24
As Agata neared the camp, she was astonished at its size. She had expected a work camp adjacent to the chemical plant, along with a few administration buildings or barracks. What she saw instead was a city that dwarfed Oświęcim. There were too many buildings to count, though she slowed her walk so she could absorb her new surroundings. At one end of the camp were several black stacks spewing inky smoke into the air, which lingered over the camp like dense fog. It emitted a strange smell, and Agata wondered what type of chemicals were produced in the factory. As she drew closer, the stench reminded her of the bodies in the woods and those she later found deceased in trenches.
The checkpoint guards became burlier and gruffer as she neared. Finally, she reached the final checkpoint beside a gate that proclaimed in German, “Arbeit macht frei,” or “Work sets you free.” She thought it was odd, as she’d never considered that any work she’d performed would set her free.
The last guard was different from the others. While the others she’d encountered did not look her in the face or eyes, he did. He was young with only tiny patches of scattered stubble, thin, and wiry. He wore his uniform as the others did, with an erect stature as though he must always be at attention. He greeted her, as the others did, with the Sieg Heil salute, which she returned.
“So,” he said as he looked at her paperwork from Herr Kursell, “you are new here.”
“My first day,” Agata said a bit nervously.
“You won’t make it,” he said curtly.
“Pardon?”
He handed the paper back to her. “Lose your expression if you want to keep your job.”
“My expression? I wasn’t aware—”
“Look angry. Act angry. Those who don’t are quickly fired.”
Agata folded the paper and returned it to her pocket.
He pointed at a nearby building. “Go there. You’ll receive further instruction.”
“Thank you.”
He swore under his breath. “Don’t thank anybody here, got it?” He shouted the last two words in a voice that sounded so hostile, she thought he was going to strike her.
A quick glance told her that a line was forming behind her and that people were staring at her curiously. She avoided his eyes as she left the guardhouse and made her way to the nearest building. She wandered past scores of uniformed men, careful not to make direct eye contact with any. She was also shocked to see scores of people so thin that she didn’t know how they survived, though she tried not to stare. Their clothing was in varying stages of neglect and was obviously too thin for the climate, and many were barefoot, though the hard ground was covered in frost. They parted as she walked past and maintained their distance.
Inside, she found a classroom with three other new hires. She selected a desk among them and sat. When she looked at the others, she found them staring straight ahead. A growing unease began to take hold of her, seemingly taunting her naivete. This was not an ordinary work camp for the chemical factory. A sinister cloud hung over the air as though she had walked into a lion’s den, and the lion was circling.
The morning was filled with stern lectures. No materials were given to reinforce the lessons, and they were forbidden from taking notes. The instructor wore an SS uniform. He appeared aged in a way that Agata could not quite put her finger on. He spoke in a brusque manner; his eyes remained fixed on the wall behind them, and his face did not have natural expressions. He announced early in his lecture that there would be no questions.
She struggled to remember everything she was told. She ticked off information in her head: the camp was constructed on forty acres. Three train tracks converged there, which brought new prisoners every day. It was the first time she heard them referred to as prisoners, and her heart began to sink when she thought of Elsa.
There were thirty warehouses filled with supplies, where one of the newly hired young men was assigned to work. A crematorium and chambers were located in one area, but the instructor did not elaborate on what took place there, as none of the new hires would be assigned to that area. It was apparently a place to aspire to. The chemical factory was located in another area. Then there were communal buildings, such as toilets, showers, a cafeteria of sorts, medical facilities, administrative offices, and completely separate buildings for guards. Her title, like those of the other females, was SS-Aufseherin, which meant female SS overseer.
As the morning crept on, another instructor took over for the first. This one was older and carried a constant smirk. Before he spoke, he turned his attention to Agata, the only woman in the room. He announced that there were thousands of male guards at the camp and only a few hundred women. Women were expressly forbidden from entering the male areas for any reason and were always to defer to male guards, regardless of the circumstances.
There were also male regions, including a prisoner-of-war camp divided by nationalities and faith. Women were also forbidden to enter this area. Agata tamped down the thought of Piotr in such an area and offered a brief prayer that he was still free.
The number of guards was growing as the camp expected to double in size, and they were all Germans. No other nationality was permitted to work in the camp.
As the hours turned to afternoon, a train appeared just outside the windows, and a whistle blew throughout the camp. The instructor ordered the students to rise and stand at the windows to watch. The train consisted of cattle cars. Uniformed soldiers moved from one to the other, sliding open the doors. From that point onward, it was ordered chaos.
“Expect the trains three times a day for now,” the instructor said as they watched. “The number will increase. The soldiers will order the people out of the cars. They are to remove any bags or possessions and pile them in designated areas.” His face seemed to warp into a sinister smile. “That is where the confusion begins. Everyone wants to tell us how important their bags are and how they cannot be parted from them. The soldiers will make them understand that there are no exceptions.” He looked directly at Agata. “None.”
Agata nodded in understanding, though she did not fully comprehend what was happening.
The instructor continued. “The prisoners are lined up. Do you see the men standing there, with the batons?” As we all nodded, he turned to one of the other new hires. “You, there. You are assigned as a bookkeeper. You will stand beside those men at each incoming transport.” The young man nodded but appeared perplexed. “They are doctors. As people arrive, they determine where they go. Those too weak, too old, or otherwise infirm will be taken directly to the chambers—anyone who cannot work. You will receive additional instructions, but you will log in their money and possessions. The possessions will go to the warehouses, and you will send the money to Berlin.”
Agata tried to let this information sink in. She wondered if the chambers were a medical facility, given that the doctors had selected them to go there. Still, she didn’t understand why their money and possessions were confiscated. She tried not to allow her mind to wander to Elsa, but she couldn’t help but wonder and worry whether all that Elsa owned, regardless of its use or sentimental value, had been taken from her here.
“During the same sorting,” the instructor continued, “men are separated from the women. Men go to one set of camps and women to another.” He pointed at the arriving prisoners and the hysteria that was forming as couples were separated from one another. The soldiers became brutal, beating the arrivals when they would not willingly separate.
What had transpired thus far had been nothing compared to what they witnessed next. As the men were separated from their wives and children, the children were then separated from their mothers. Nearly every mother clung to her child, arguing an exception should be made, appealing to the soldiers, or becoming furious or hysterical in turn. Children screamed and cried for their mothers as soldiers led the older ones away and carried the smaller ones. Doctors then separated the children into two distinct groups.
The instructor turned to Agata and the man standing next to her. She kept her eyes trained on something in the distance—she didn’t know what, because her brain was no longer fully registering what she was witnessing. She did not wish to look into the instructor’s face, afraid her eyes would betray her horror.
“You, girl,” he snarled. “You speak Polish?”
“I do,” she answered in German.
“You will meet every transport. You will translate the doctors’ and soldiers’ orders for those arriving from Poland.” He half-turned toward the last new hire. “I am told you speak Hungarian?”
“I do,” the man answered quietly.
“You will translate for those arriving from Hungary.” He paused as he looked back into the courtyard. “Do you see the lines that have formed? You two translators will then lead your assigned lines through the camp to their barracks—or the chambers.”
As the chaos continued, they were ordered back to their seats. “You will work six days a week, eleven hours a day. Until we hire more people, you will frequently be required to work longer hours or on a seventh day. You men may be sent to the front lines; when you are, women will take your positions. You will be paid weekly; you’ll learn your pay then. Your meals are also provided. There is plenty of food and a canteen where you can get more.” He smiled, though his eyes remained veiled and his expression felt sinister. “You will also find a cinema, sports clubs, and entertainment. Do your jobs as assigned, and you will be taken care of—handsomely.”
When the class was finally dismissed, they were led to a building where they received new uniforms, including coats, shoes, and boots. Then they were brought to a third building where they were allowed to eat their fill.
Agata was acutely aware of a group of female guards at one end of the cafeteria, while the males dominated the rest of the room. She juggled her pile of clothing with a tray of soup and sausage and made her way toward the women, but set her tray on a separate table. As she seated herself, she could feel their stares boring into her, perhaps assessing her. After a moment, they stood and left without speaking.
Agata should have been famished, as she could not recall the last time she had eaten. But as she swallowed the broth containing a few sparse vegetables, she wondered how she would ever find her sister—or, if Elsa was even there.
31
Hank
The invasion took place not at Pas de Calais but nearly 200 miles to the south, at Normandy. Through the extensive Polish spy network, Hank learned that it hadn’t been the Americans acting alone, but in coordination with the British and Canadians, among others. It hadn’t been led by General Patton but by General Dwight D. Eisenhower. The troop buildup further north had been an elaborate ruse that effectively fooled Hitler and routed the Nazi soldiers to the wrong area entirely.
The French Resistance had played a key role, and it was the French underground that now routed information to the Armia Krajowa. It was rumored that Adolph Hitler now made all military decisions, both strategic and tactical, and he had been asleep in Berchtesgaden in the Bavarian Alps during the invasion. With no one willing to awaken him, he’d slept until noon. Unwilling to believe the invasion had begun two hundred miles further south at Normandy, he did not react until nearly four o’clock, and then, he deployed only two Panzer divisions.
This gave the invasion a tremendous advantage. The figures were so massive that Hank repeatedly questioned them, unwilling to put wild overestimations in print. He was assured by numerous sources that they were correct: close to 160,000 Allied troops were now in France. It included 4,000 landing crafts and 1,200 warships, over 23,000 parachutists, and more than 800 aircraft.
And this was just the beginning.
The information lagged behind, although Morse code enabled faster communication than traditional ground-based spies. With the successful Allied invasion, estimates indicated that nearly a million Allied troops were joining the fight on European soil, with more on the way.
The Polish Underground was abuzz with competing beehives.
Before the war began, Poland had been a hotbed of clashing politics. On one side were the communists. It might have seemed logical that Poland could join the Soviet Union, as they shared a border, but the Poles had suffered tremendously at the hands of the Soviets. Before World War II began, the Soviets had enacted genocide on the Poles with a concerted effort to exterminate Poles based solely on their race. When the Germans invaded, it simply shifted the genocidal efforts from communism to Nazi nationalism.
Hank found himself in increasingly complex struggles. His newspaper was fact-based but part of a greater effort to steer political views toward a country free of both the Soviets and the Nazis. Yet the Soviet Union was now aligned with the Allies, including America and the United Kingdom, while the Polish government remained in exile. The Soviets were approaching from the east while the Americans attacked from the west, and if both sides were successful, the Nazis would be squeezed between them and perhaps annihilated or captured.
Some Poles pinned their hopes on the Americans reaching them first, which gave them a chance at Western-style democracy. Others supported the Soviets and communism. And there still remained supporters of Nazi-style nationalism.
Working as a journalist while simultaneously supporting the Armia Krajowa faction that wished to expel both the Soviets and the Germans was increasingly fraught with danger. The trusted circle became smaller, with Hank and Rafe receiving their information almost exclusively from Matylda and Piotr. Though Rafe argued that they were trustworthy and verified the facts as they received them, Hank wasn’t completely convinced. His steady catchline, “Trust but verify,” was now impossible.
There was a new moon, a type of night when the moon seems turned away from the sun, blending seamlessly into the darkness, like an angel too overcome with grief to watch the continued earthly confrontations. There was also a steady drizzle that reminded Hank of tears and sufficient lapis clouds to conceal any light from distant stars. It was impossible to see the terrain, as it appeared as though there was no delineation between the sky and the ground. It caused Hank some anxiety, as he was accustomed to observing things with his camera, but he knew the night was chosen precisely for its murkiness.
The silence was broken by Rafe’s voice next to him, his words spoken in a raspy whisper. “Fucking Vichy fuckers.”
Hank didn’t respond, and neither did Matylda nor Piotr on the other side of him. At the mention of Vichy France, Hank’s mind wandered even though he fought to remain focused on the present moment.
Less than a year after Germany invaded Poland, the Nazis used the same Blitzkrieg type of assault to invade and occupy France. By June 1940, France had negotiated an armistice with Germany, which divided the country into territory occupied by the Nazis and other territory in the south of France that, on paper, was to be governed by the French. In reality, Vichy France, so named for the new French capital of Vichy, was a puppet government. The Nazis gave directives to the French leaders, who then carried out those directives. These included turning over all Jews to German forces and the establishment of the Vichy Secret Police, the equivalent of Germany’s Gestapo, whose primary mission was to destroy the French Resistance that had sprung up, similar to Poland’s Home Guard.
“My Mamá and Papá,” Rafe continued, “fled Spain for Southern France. They thought they would be safe there.”
“There is no place safe in all of Europe,” Matylda said quietly, “nor in Africa.”
“Still,” Rafe said, “I must find my mother. I must get her out of France.”
“How would you get there?” The anxiety in Matylda’s voice was palpable. “You cannot expect to get through the German lines. There are hundreds of miles between you and your mother.”
“I must try.” Though Rafe’s face was cast in shadows, Hank felt him turning toward him. “Do you remember that girl we saw a while back? The one who was literally walking through the German lines to reach her sister?”
“Agata,” Hank answered. He focused his eyes on what he thought might be the distant horizon, though it was nearly impossible to tell. “She was German-born, as I recall, and I think that she planned to pass as German. You, my friend, could not hope to impersonate a German, even with your language skills and pseudo-uniform.”
“Agata?” Piotr said. “Do you know the last name?”
“Agata...” Hank paused. “Heinrich. She was going south to—”
“—to find her sister, Elsa,” Piotr finished.
“Do you know her?” Hank angled so he could see Piotr’s face. In the shadows, he could only see his eyes, wide and unblinking.
“I met her in Warsaw on the day the Germans started their bombardment. She stayed at my aunt’s warehouse for a time. We heard that her sister and father had been rounded up and put on trains. She was determined to reach her sister.”
“Where was her sister being taken?” Matylda asked.
“Toward Kraków,” Hank answered.
“Ah. Where the trains go, now from all over Europe,” Matylda said.
“Was she well?” Piotr pressed.
“Yes,” Hank said. “She was well enough to insist on walking to Kraków. I advised her to move around it, not through it, to Oświęcim.”
“She didn’t even know for certain that’s where her sister was going,” Rafe said, “or whether her sister was still alive. Yet,” he added, “if she could brave the German lines in Poland, then I must brave them to reach and rescue my mother.”
