Padlocked, page 33
“Aren’t you going to stop that?” Max asked, incredulous.
Sergey was silent for a moment before turning to Max. “Why?”
Before Max could answer, the guard whistled. A German Shepherd appeared seemingly out of nowhere, raced down the dirt road, his teeth bared, his eyes riveted on the guard. As the prisoners began to scatter, leaving the guard on his knees in the dirt, Sergey stepped forward and withdrew his pistol. Just as the dog reached him, his eyes still on his master yards away, Sergey shot him in the head, killing the dog with one bullet. Then he quickly marched to the guard, with the rest of the group following.
Sergey pointed his pistol at the guard. “Get up,” he said in German. “To your feet. The next bullet is for you.”
Max cowered behind the others. The prisoners kept their distance as Sergey ordered a Soviet officer to bind the guard’s wrists, ensure he was disarmed, remove his shoes and socks, and march him to an area in the courtyard where he would be lined up with other prisoners of war.
Then Sergey turned to Max. “Can you identify him?”
Max avoided looking at the guard as he answered. “Hans Wagner.”
The soldier who was binding his wrists looked up and repeated the name.
“His position?” Sergey asked.
“Camp guard,” Max replied.
“A supervisor?”
“No.” Max looked around. “I would assume all the supervisors have fled.”
“Your job is not to assume.” Sergey’s jaw stiffened.
Max nodded. As Hans was led away, Max asked, “What will be done to him?”
“That is for someone else to decide.” He pointed to the closest building. “Clear the building,” he ordered the soldiers in his group. As Max started to move, he grabbed his forearm and unceremoniously pulled him back and nearly off his feet. “You stay with me at all times.”
As the prisoners were informed that they were free, they hobbled outside the building in varying stages of incapacitation. Max was forced to study each one and determine if they were Germans attempting to hide among them. It was not a difficult job, as every prisoner was no more than walking bones, so thin and emaciated that Max didn’t understand how it was humanly possible to remain alive. As their task continued, the soldiers were assigned to gather stretchers to transport the feeblest among them to medical tents set up at varying intervals, which were already overflowing.
“There!” Max shouted, pointing his finger. “She is a guard!” He felt himself grow taller with his newfound importance.
The woman was not dressed in prison stripes, but she walked with her chin held high in a crisp, form-fitting uniform. The prisoners gathered to watch her pass them by before one picked up a rock and tossed it at her, hitting her in the head. Though blood spurted outward and the guard stumbled slightly, she quickly righted herself and wordlessly continued.
“Arrest her,” Sergey ordered.
As the soldiers surrounded her, ordering her face down to the ground, the look of astonishment was palpable.
“You are arresting me?” she bellowed with indignant authority. “I have kept order in this camp!”
One of the soldiers removed her baton and cracked it across her lower back, slamming her to the ground. “Shut up!” he thundered. As they continued removing her weapons and shoes, one raised her skirt to her waist as if searching for hidden weapons there. When they lifted her to her feet, they did so by grabbing her arms tied behind her back. She uttered an involuntary scream as a bone cracked.
“Who is she?” Sergey asked.
“Auguste Heinz. Camp guard,” Max answered flatly. He pointed to her epaulets. “The officers wear insignia.”
“And who is to say they will not remove it?” Sergey spat.
“Straight to the holding area?” one soldier asked with a malicious grin. “Or is a side trip necessary?”
“The holding area,” Sergey answered curtly. “We have much work to do. Later,” he added, waving his hand. “Perhaps you will have time later.”
Another bloodied female guard came around the corner, half-carrying a prisoner who appeared to be unable to walk on her own. As one soldier led off Auguste, the others surrounded the second guard and ordered her to release the prisoner. When she didn’t appear to understand, Sergey shouted the orders in German and then Polish.
A group of female prisoners rushed in, all talking at once. Two gently took the weakened woman from the guard, while others attempted vainly to reason with soldiers who did not speak their language. Once the guard was separated from the sick prisoner, the soldiers thrust her to the ground to perform the same disarming and binding they had just completed with Auguste.
Max was astounded to see the female prisoners attempt to rush in while other soldiers held them back. Unlike the scene he’d witnessed earlier, where the guard was attacked and beaten, these women argued with the soldiers attempting to arrest her. He was nearly tempted to interpret, but he was too mesmerized by the unfolding scene.
“Name?” Sergey asked. He now carried a notepad and pencil as the guards began to add up.
“Agata Heinrich.”
One of the soldiers brought her to her feet by her hair, pulling out a substantial clump of it in the process. As they shoved her past Max, he noticed the pebbles in the dirt had skinned the side of her face. He wondered why her clothing was covered in fresh blood. She did not look at him as she passed, and the female prisoners started to follow her. The distance between them grew as the soldiers were fast and efficient, while the prisoners were feeble, their gaits halting.
The hours dragged on with about a dozen guards rounded up in the section Max had been assigned. Though he performed the duties assigned to him, he had increasing difficulty processing the scenes before him. His mind felt as though it simply had ceased to function, as if he had been plunged into another realm that was not of this earth and which the human brain was not equipped to handle.
And yet he knew somewhere in his soul that his nightmare had only just begun.
46
Matylda
The medical vehicle was filled with personnel, including doctors, nurses, and orderlies. As they bounced along in a long convoy, it was difficult for Matylda to imagine that anyone was left to treat the Soviet patients left behind. For as far as she could see, light-tan boxed vehicles with their distinctive red crosses against white backgrounds rolled forward along the road to Auschwitz-Birkenau.
They had precious little daylight left, she thought as she peered out a small flap window in the otherwise closed vehicle. They had been forced to cool their heels most of the day as Soviet soldiers combed through the camp, ensuring it was safe for additional forces to enter. Still, they had been briefed that suspected Nazi employees remained embedded inside, though the army was confident they would root out every last one. Matylda was roused from her thoughts as a Soviet nurse said, “It’s unusual for us to be transported into the field.”
“I wonder why they’re not bringing the wounded to us?” another chimed in.
“Calm down, everyone,” a doctor interjected. He appeared tired and had kept his eyes closed for much of the trip. As the nurses grew silent, he continued, “You were all in the briefing. This is a situation unlike any of us has ever experienced.”
“But, how is this different?” a woman across from Matylda asked. “Wounded are wounded.”
“Your jobs are to stabilize the patients for transport, as many as seven thousand,” the doctor said.
“How are a few hundred of us going to treat seven thousand wounded?” a young nurse whined.
“Are you serious?” Matylda recognized the older nurse supervisor. She was a stout, no-nonsense woman, and now she leaned forward to glare at the younger nurse. “Where the hell have you been while we’ve been fighting for six years?”
The transport rolled to a stop, abruptly ceasing all conversation. When the rear flap doors parted, the doctors were the first to disembark, followed by the supervising nurses. Matylda was one of the last to step onto a road packed into a solid slab of hardened snow. Her first reaction to what lay before them was one of horror.
All the medical personnel, herself included, were clothed in layers. The Soviets were accustomed to temperatures far lower than those in Poland, and they knew exactly how to keep from freezing. They had carefully arranged woolen undergarments next to their skin to hold in warmth and keep perspiration out, as any moisture would chill them. Over the wool, they wore an insulating layer meant to trap the warmth between it and their heavy undergarments. On top of that, they wore water-resistant outer garments. Their gloves covered a good portion of their forearms and were tucked inside the outer clothes, and their feet were clad in two layers of wool and skid-proof boots. It was the Soviets’ ability to thrive in winter that eventually made fools of the Nazis during Operation Barbarossa.
Yet, when Matylda surveyed the camp beyond the fence, she spotted people as far as the eye could see, dressed in thin clothing as though it was the middle of a brutally hot summer. They were barefoot, the luckiest among them wrapped in threadbare blankets. And they were all walking toward the front gates.
“Hurry!” the head nurses called out. “Grab the supplies! Go through the gate. We must keep moving!”
Matylda shook off her horror and hurried to the supply wagon, grabbed what she could carry, and joined the line of medical personnel rushing through the gates. Once through, she had no time to stare, as she was instructed to dart into the courtyard, where tents were being erected. As quickly as a tent was declared stable, it was filled with cots, sheets, blankets, pillows, and all manner of medicine and paraphernalia.
“Line them up outside,” a doctor ordered. “Sickest ones first. This tent is for triage. Anyone who can’t stand in line or is carried forward is to be seen first.” The order was repeated down the rows of medics until order was established amidst the chaos.
Matylda swiftly began lining up the patients and quickly discovered that it was rare to find someone walking on their own. Most appeared to be starving. They scratched at lice, mites, and fleas to such an extent that they seemed to have infected every living thing, despite the brutal cold. Many were held up by others or dragged on blankets; those were placed near the front of the rapidly growing lines.
She was only vaguely aware that the medical transports had pulled away from the gates immediately after the personnel had disembarked and the supplies were retrieved, to make room for a convoy of military vehicles and soldiers. Soon, the courtyard was swamped with patients and soldiers. Shortly after, the medical transports reappeared, facing in the opposite direction, and the sickest patients were steadily moved on canvas litters with wood poles into their cavernous interiors. Once fully packed, they set off toward the Soviet field hospitals for urgent care.
“Orderly!” someone called. “Orderlies needed!”
Matylda rushed to the tent opening to find a line of litters waiting for transport. She quickly picked up one end, while another orderly, a young woman, picked up the other. As they hurried through the chaotic courtyard to another waiting transport, she glanced down at the body in the litter. It was a young woman so emaciated that she might have appeared to be a pre-teen but for her withered face. She lay in a fetal position and was so still that Matylda wondered whether she had already succumbed to death.
They reached the ambulance and stood in line for a moment as others were placed inside, where patients were arranged to maximize the space.
Matylda leaned toward the woman. “What is your name?” she asked. The litter was as light as a feather; the woman couldn’t have weighed more than sixty pounds. She balanced the poles in one hand as she leaned forward and gently rapped her cheek. “What is your name?”
After a long moment, the woman attempted to open her eyes.
“What is your name?” she repeated.
Her lips moved, but no sound escaped.
“Your name?” she asked again.
“Siostra Mamo?” The whisper was so low and labored that Matylda couldn’t be sure she heard it correctly. “Is it you?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“In hell.” Her fluttering eyes stopped trying to open, and she appeared to slip into sleep.
“You have been rescued,” Matylda told her as she handed the litter poles to personnel inside the ambulance. She wanted to say more, but the litter was whisked away too quickly. Another orderly handed her an empty litter and instructed her to hurry.
As she rushed back to the tents, she overheard a supervisor announcing, “All ambulances will continue their rounds between the hospitals and the camp until all patients have been transported out of this putrid hell.”
The work continued for hours, but it seemed more like minutes. Only the darkening of the skies told her that night would soon be upon them. In anticipation, soldiers were already bringing up portable lights that would illuminate the tents throughout the night.
Matylda finally stopped to catch her breath after too many trips to count. The packed snow had turned to slippery mush under the constant trampling, making every trek to the waiting ambulances an exercise in balance control. Yet the lines grew ever longer as more were found and informed of their unexpected freedom.
Everyone was famished, and it broke her heart that they had nothing for them. Again and again, she explained that they would be transported to a hospital, where they would be assessed and fed. Despite strict orders, she witnessed more than one soldier handing out candy bars, but she couldn’t bring herself to object.
As she wiped her forehead of perspiration despite the cold, she spotted Hank and Rafe emerging from one of the many streets that surrounded the courtyard. They raced to another staging area, a destination clearly in mind. Her eyes followed them until she realized that Nazis were being rooted out, frisked, cuffed, and lined up. She had been so busy with patients that she hadn’t noticed the bedlam beyond the courtyard. Former prisoners who were strong enough to fight were pummeling the Nazi guards, as Soviet soldiers stood by watching. Occasionally, a soldier would join in with the butt of their rifle if the Nazi appeared to be gaining the upper hand.
Once they joined the group of Nazis, Hank began busily snapping pictures as Rafe scribbled notes. Then, patients who had stood in line for hours started to break away from the tents and rush as best they could to a point where Soviet soldiers were forced to hold them back. One woman called out, “Agata!” The name was repeated among the people until it became a constant chant.
Then, a male voice joined the fray, shouting, “Agata! Agata!”
Her blood ran cold. She knew that voice. Frantic, she rushed through the throngs of people, calling, “Piotr! Piotr!”
Matylda’s search was abruptly interrupted by a massive blast in the area where the Nazis had been assembled. The ground trembled under her as women began screaming. The air was filled with rainbow colors produced by a grenade, the metal casing and incendiary materials flying out in all directions. Matylda pulled a mask over her nose and mouth as she tried to wave away the smoke, while she continued to call out for Piotr between coughing fits.
As the air began to clear, several medics raced toward the site of the blast, and Matylda was caught up in the rush to help the victims. As her feet flew across the ground between them, she caught sight of bodies lying in a tight circle. It was not difficult to discover who had set off the grenade, as a Nazi guard lay in the midst of them with his arm and side blown away.
She was still yards away when she went down to her knees on the hard, packed snow.
That’s funny, she thought. I must have slipped. She tried moving her hands to push herself up, but she couldn’t feel the ground.
As Matylda looked up from her position in the cold muck, several faces were turning around. The medics’ rush forward halted as they stared at her in horror. Surely, she thought, they must know that I didn’t fall on purpose. Why are they looking at me like that?
47
Matylda
Matylda could hear the commotion all around her, but the smoke was too thick for her to see anyone else. Their voices shouted in all directions in distinctly female and male tones, but she was unable to decipher their words.
It dawned on her that there was too much smoke from one grenade; a second detonation must have occurred as she rushed toward the victims of the first blast. She whirled around, her equilibrium lost as confusion set in. Then, a pinpoint of white light shone from a distance and grew larger as it drew near. Help was on its way; the military was shining its floodlights on the scene, and they would soon find her.
A figure began to form inside the light, the gait so familiar to her that she was speechless. As he came closer, his clothing came into focus. He wore brown, slightly baggy slacks, an off-white linen shirt, and a warm tan vest. His hair was chestnut and cut short, a few stray locks escaping beneath an umber flat cap. As he became more focused, a broad smile emerged across his face, reaching to his aquamarine eyes.
His arms spread wide, and she threw herself into his embrace. “Aleksy!” she cried.
“Maty,” he said, holding her so close that her face was pressed against his neck. “Oh, Maty, how I have missed you.”
She could have remained in his embrace forever. He was huskier than he had been during the war, and her hands roamed across his back and hips as if she could pull him into her. When at last she pulled away only far enough to look into his face, he appeared more youthful than he had during the Nazi invasion. Gone were the worrisome lines between his brows and the downward turn of his lips.
