Liberated...

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Place – Concentration Camp – near Allied border
Time – late morning, approaching mid-day

It had been a week since Joe had arrived at the camp. He had finished his work at Otto’s house and had been told that he would not be needed anymore…he had spent just over two months on that yard and all he got was a one-way ticket to a camp. Delightful. He often wondered if he would ever see the girl again, Adelhied…if she was dead…that would be awful…the poor girl.

The camp was one near the Allied border and word had it that the Allies were breaking through the German ranks. It was a work camp but Joe knew that there were deaths happening every single day. He had been thrown in amongst the “able-bodied” workers and had been building a new hut for them all to sleep in.

The usual day had been – get up at an early hour, role call where some of their number would be taken off for gassing, and then to work for the day. The stench of death was everywhere, in the huts, in the ground that they walked on each day….some of the members of the camp had killed themselves in a bid to get out of this hell, others had just accepted their fate and had been carted off like cattle to slaughter.

Today, the 12th November – had been different.

He had been awoken early by shouts and into the tiny hut that the men slept in – 5 to a wooden bunk – came German guards, shouting for the prisoners to get outside now. They had gathered in the yard, and suddenly, guns were being fired at the large group of Jews.

Realizing what was going on, the Jews had all begun to run in different directions, dodging shots. Joe had been amongst the crowd, if only he had a gun, he would fire down all those Nazi fuckers. He hid under a bunk in one of the hits, being so skinny and small, he was able to hide in the shadows, and a few of the other men were there with him, all shaking.

After what felt like three hours but had only been one, the firing stopped from outside and the sound of vehicles starting and fading away…they had gone? But why?

Joe scrambled out of his hiding place, and pushed open the door of the hut to see a disgusting sight – dead, thin Jewish men covered the ground, people he had spoken to an hour before now lay dead in front of his eyes.

He turned towards the gates and saw the last of the German vehicles disappearing in a cloud of dust.

”They have left.” one of the Jews who spoke English came up to Joe.
Joe nodded, tears running down his face as he slid to the ground and put his face in his hands…they were all too sick and malnourished to go anywhere and the gates were locked. A number of the men had moved up to the barbed-wired fence and were staring out at the trees and the track that surrounded the camp….


*******

It was nearing mid-day, the sun was over head and the scene was exactly the same as it had been a few hours ago…Joe sat on the set of a hut, staring, just staring at the ground, people around him moved about, some had tried to get the gates open…a lot of the Jewish men did not know what to do…nor did Joe…was that the sound of vehicles? He glanced up, past the blue and white striped men towards the road….could he hear cars?

[Moritz Erichsen]

Soviet forces had been the very first to ever approach a Nazi camp, reaching Majdanek near Lublin, Poland, as late as July 1944. Naturally, taken aback by the prompt Soviet procession, the Germans endeavoured to conceal the evidence of mass murder by obliterating the camp, and thus camp staff set fire to the large crematorium utilized to burn bodies of murdered prisoners, victims of the regime; nevertheless, in the rash evacuation the gas chambers had been left standing. British forces liberated concentration camps in northern Germany, counting Neuengamme, and very soon would also plan to liberate Bergen-Belsen as well; the general plan was to enter the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp (near Celle) around April 1945. They would come to find, however, only sixty thousand prisoners alive, most of them in a critical health condition due to a typhus epidemic, while more than ten thousands of them had perished from the effects of malnutrition or ailments within a few weeks of liberation. Suffice it to say, liberators (which was, in fact, a rather smug manner with which to entitle the Allied forces, previously blinded to the ideas of a concentration camp) confronted horrendous conditions in the Nazi concentration camps, in which piles of corpses lay unburied on the ground, left there to rot, a decomposing stench spreading throughout the area gradually. The full spectrum of the horrors inflicted during the Nazi regime would only be evidenced and observed subsequent to the liberation of the rest of the concentration camps. The minute proportion of inmates who had survived bore a resemblance to skeletons due to the demands of forced labour and the nutrition deficiency, compounded by months and years of maltreatment. Many were so considerably and inhumanly weak that they could hardly move their muscles so much as actually walk across the other side of the room; disease remained an omnipresent likelihood, and the spread of epidemics would be prevented – they believed – by burning down the camps, which they set to do. Camp survivors would face a long and tough road to recovery.

The Neuengamme was a concentration camp built in late 1938, thirty kilometres east of Hamburg, and which, until early in 1940, had been a supplementary camp of KZ Sachsenhausen, before it went on to become a fully independent KZ. Around forty to fifty-five thousand prisoners perished of a total one hundred and four thousand people. It had been the disease home of many Soviet prisoners of war, for which the SS had bee only too delifghtfully committed to exterminate. By the end of 1944, the number of prisoners had approached forty nine thousand, of whom around twelve thousand had been in the main camp and thirty-seven thousand in the satellite camps, including nearly ten thousand women, with a total of five thousand six hundred and ninety two prisoners known by name have perished in 1944. In the spring of 1945, when American and British forces flooded western and central Germany, they were followed by troops assigned to determine and secure any evidence of German war crimes. Among them was Dr. Charles Larson, one of America’s leading forensic pathologists, who was assigned to the US Army’s Judge Advocate General’s Department, and who had performed autopsies at Dachau and some twenty other German camps, on certain days examining more than a hundred corpses. The troops currently sent to liberate Neuengamme had strategically overrun Northeast Germany through crossing Denmark.

He had run out of cigarettes, and thus Lieutenant Moritz Erichsen was chewing on a toothpick on the left corner of his mouth, while he was staring in the near distance towards the concentration camp. They had received intelligence of a German shooting several hours before their arrival, and so he could not help but wonder – with a nasty streak – how it was useless to try and liberate corpses. He viewed the whole issue of liberation as a ridiculous move from the Allies, not exactly being the one to value human life as appropriately as one should have wished, and hardly ever showing the remotest sense of sensitivity as to these poor people’s miserable and wretched lives. He was only doing it, not out of the goodness of his heart – for he had, truly, none – but because it was a command from ‘above’, and as above, so below. “What the hell, Lloyd,” a Private mumbled to his comrade, and then looked stubborn at him. “I told yeh I should’ve never brought it with me,” he muttered, and bent lower in their hiding place, waiting for their right moment of attack. Private Lloyd did not bother look at him, but was pointing his Lee Enfield ahead, and bothered not with the other man, other than a vague, “Shut up”. They could hear engines from the distance, and the air was filled with black smoke surrounding them. Private Lloyd coughed slightly but shoved his fist into his mouth to prevent himself from making noise.

“One German a beer, two Germans an organization, three Germans a war …” Private Chapman chimed in an undertone, mimicking the Polish saying, focusing on the target in the distance. They could see the barbed wire from afar.

“Shut your cakehole, Chapman,” Private Lloyd mumbled briskly. They could feel the air move the leaves off the tree, and the grass against which they were lying. Though it was one o’clock, it was not warm whatsoever. The grass on some parts was yellowed and pissed.

“Where are those fuckers?” Barker grunted, and Moritz smirked. “They do a round-up every twenty five minutes, so the boss said. They playing hard to get? I’ll – ”

“Oi, Barker, where are your manners?” Lloyd intervened in a mocking tone, his concentration still undeviating, and unblinking.

“Why aren’t we moving on? I hate being stuck here!” Chapman complained silently, but the sound of his voice was throaty and raspy. “My Thomson’s getting a rash, I think they’ve spread the grass with pesticide, those sodding –”

“Yeh, say that in German, and I’ll give you a scratch,” Barker laughed quietly, but Chapman only frowned at him.

“Nay, pal, I speak French to the ladies and German to my horse,” he informed him, and then hit Barker on the shoulder with the butt of his rifle. Barker swore at him under his breath. “Where are those bleeding Krauts? Sodding cowards! I’d have taken their mothers and sisters if I could – oi, I’m done waiting!”

“We’re not moving until we receive command from Shaw,” Lloyd said matter-of-factly, and then stole a quick glance to his left, where in the Southwest Corporal Shaw was located, supervising the scenery from a higher altitude.

A nasty grin suddenly spread across Moritz’s filthy mouth, the toothpick moved to the right, and it was as though a menacing child had just found the dog to plan its shooting on. “That’s our cue, ladies,” he told the comrades, after Shaw had made the signal. The German cars could be heard from several feet away, and then a booming sound echoed across the deserted area as the tanks launched an attack, while the infantry jumped up on their feet and run under the concrete and across the field, towards the concentration camp, shooting at the direction of the German officers who had made the mistake of getting out of their cars and hiding behind the trunks. The silence had been officially broken by the series of screaming, shooting and a new source of commotion had just been set into place.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Suddenly, like a huge explosion shooting started from the other side of the fence. Joe raised his head quickly, and stood up, looking out at the distance and seeing the German cars stopping, the men getting out and hiding behind trees and trucks…what was going on?

He saw to his right, tanks coming just along the track, infantry soldiers running towards the camp also…the prisoners around him had started to panic, shouting at each other in German and Polish languages. The line that had been standing at the barbed-wired fence began to back away, bewilderment displayed all over their faces.

”Was ist los?” one of the prisoners came up to Joe who was staring out beyond the face.

”Sein die Verbündeten. » Joe muttered in slight bewilderment. He stumbled closer, pushing people out of his way as best he could what with his weak and muscle-less bones.

He glanced at his fellow Jews, all of whom were staring at the on coming tanks and infantry men. The Germans were running away from the on-coming British or American advances – Joe could not tell from here which army it was.

” Was ist los?” a commotion began and Joe was knocked to the ground by the sudden shouting from the prisoners, every one of them not knowing what was happening. Joe scrambled out of the way and struggled to his feet, grabbing the fence for balance….they were being rescued – but the Allies were going to have a shock when they saw what the Germans had done.

” Beruhigen Sie unten! Sein die Verbündeten! Sie sind gekommen, uns zu befreien!” Joe shouted at the top of his voice in German, but no one heard or even listened to him as they kept on shouting at one another, a few had gone towards the fence and were staring out, their eyes wide and watchful.


Translation: – What is going on ?

- It’s the Allies

- Calm down! It’s the Allies! They have come to liberate us!

[Moritz Erichsen]

“Shoot the bastards!” some Private would scream while pointing his rifle at the Germans, the tanks moving forward and firing towards the south-eastern region of the land shortly to bomb the east wing of the concentration camp towards where the Axis cars were to be found; Moritz ducked as a wave of sand and dried leaves jumped from the yellowed and pissed ground, mixed with dust, and covered his face with his arm instantly but only momentarily, as he quickly moved sideways to resume a secure position while simultaneously forwarding his steps towards the fight scene instead of retreating, thus intending to accelerate the course of this ‘game’ and ending it a moment sooner. Frankly, this was not exactly his cup of tea, freeing the Jews, for he could not give the damnest thought about them or cared of their future or previous malnutrition, but then again would he should he even discover of what concentration camps served as? None of the Allied forces was precisely aware of how they were essentially utilized, and were to receive one of the greatest shocks of their sordid lives once they did; of course, such a vague word as ‘shock’ could hardly ever remotely explain or describe the sheer magnitude of the situation or the overpowering effects it would most certainly and without a precedent bear upon the lives of those who would witness the true meaning of what it meant to be inside a Nazi concentration camp.

“Nehmen Sie Deckung!” German cries of command were heard from the right, several seconds before the Allied tanks bombed the east wing of the German headquarters on the Northern part and approximately a hundred feet away from the concentration camp itself, the grey walls exploding with a thundering noise that echoed all around the vast region and which was capable of deafening any men having sought shelter within close proximity, and breaking into thousands of small pieces, as the agonizing screaming and the barking commands were multiplied, corpses flying around and the Jews running about like headless chickens, not quite knowing what to do (if indeed they possessed such physical strength as to actually be capable of performing the vital task of running) but indeed being shocked and taken by complete surprise at all the happenings. “Bomb the bastards!” more shouts were heard, and then as several of the men dropped the grenades over at the camp, there was a short-held explosion and the barbed wire was broken, mud and pebbles jumping up in the air and bringing about additional chaos to the already anarchic situation that prevailed upon the Neuengammen concentration camp at the moment.

In such situations as these, Moritz, like every other soldier, responded with an animalistic thirst of survival, only additionally ‘enhanced’ in his case with stabs of sadistic attraction in watching the enemy suffer in the most horrible ways, failing to realize or possibly understand the subtleties which separated a ‘good’ from a ‘bad’ man, and that such terms were essentially indiscernible. “To the north wing! Don’t let them escape!” Moritz shouted at the soldiers within close distance, pointing with his rifle towards a spot through which the German officers, those who had remained alive at least, were trying to flee. He felt something sharp suddenly brush through him and as he quickly turned around he noticed one of the bleeding enemies having missed him by an inch – Moritz growled, grabbed him from the throat, thus making the bayonet drop on the ground, and then realized the other man had no gun, which made him drown. He was a very young boy, who belonged to Hitler Youth, and a nephew to one of the SS members who had brought him that day on the concentration camp to ‘teach’ him about what being a real Nazi truly meant and how he should serve the Fatherland. He seemed terrified and shocked, his arms trembling and his face having turned a ghostly white colour as he knelt down, speechless, his lips shaking and his wide eyes bulging. Moritz sneered, looking down at him arrogantly in his tall and imposing posture. Then he shot him. For some, war brought the worst aspects in a man’s life. For others, it enhanced them. And what did it matter that he was shooting one of his own kind? What did it matter that he was a cannibal?

Translation

Take cover!

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

One could see the hope in the eyes of the Jews around him. They could see as easily as Joe that the Allies were bombing the German building in the distance. Joe squinted his eyes against the sun, shading them as he watched as the Allies bombed…in a way he wished he was there, he wished that he could transport himself into one of those Allied soldiers, and just be a normal soldier again….he wished that he had never had met Strumfelder, or Vlakte or Adelheid. Even sometimes he wished he was not a Jew, he knew that he would be disliked by his family even more if he ever was to do that…

Most likely a majority of Jewish people in the camp sometimes wished they weren’t Jewish…but one could not turn back the clock, turning back time seemed like a fantastic idea and rather a dangerous power to possess…if only Joe could turn back the time and make himself not go to that French village, not walk along that French road…not get captured….

BANG

Joe was brought sharply back to the present day – a bomb had just gone off, a small dust cloud appeared…it was small as it was far away. The Jews around him shouted hoarsely, gripping their thin bodies tightly.

Joe glanced around him. He spotted one of his friends – David Skoblogush – a former painter who had been in the camp longer than Joe and who Joe saw as a father-figure – the man had collapsed on to the ground…

”David!” the American shouted, stumbling towards his frail friend, pushing people out of his way.

He fell down next to the man. David’s breathing was slow; he was muttering a Jewish prayer, eyes closed…

”David?” he took hold of the man’s hand, tears running down his face…another person dying….THIS COULD NOT HAPPEN! Why did this happen to good people?

The man’s hand went limp…he was dead….just like that….that was what the Germans did to people, one minute they were up and seemingly fine, next they were lying…dead….like cattle.
Joe howled, but no one could hear him, they were all too scared…tears kept on falling…with shaking hands, he reached up and pushed the sleeve up and saw a printed number on the man’s skin…again, like cattle.

[Moritz Erichsen]

A small group of the British soldiers rushed towards the north wing of the German headquarters situated several feet away from the concentration camp itself, while the remaining squad stayed behind to fight those cowards who wished to flee the scene and get to their Mercedes, although all three of them had been damaged extensively so that the engines would be as good as nothing and the trunks had been reduced to tatters, thus incapacitating them of even so much as hiding behind them. The thirteen-feet high thick and electrified barbed wire surrounding the concentration camp could only be destroyed with heavy bombardment, as anyone was well aware artillery fire would certainly not reduce it to pieces but instead lift the wire up and then drop it down in a worse tangle than before. “Fire!” more shouts echoed in the area, and it seemed for several moments the earth had frozen as the wire was bombarded with mortar shells, a disgusting sound of barbed wire being dislocated and broken as a massive wave of smoke surrounded the vicinity for a few moments – more screams from the Germans shouting orders of non-retreat and swearing at the enemies – and then, only for one nanosecond, silence.

It commenced once more, of course, the noises and the screaming, the barking of orders from both sides, the unmistakable war cries and engines being blasted into the air, while a British Sergeant rushed towards the damaged cars, pointing his rifle towards the two or three Germans seen in the distance amidst the dust and smoke. “Where is he!” he screamed barking, striding across the path while simultaneously loading his gun. “Where is that bloody coward, Pauly! Where is that fucker!” And then he popped out his chest proudly and shouted: “Pauly! Come out here and fight like a man, you ruddy bastard!” And yet SS Lieutenant Colonel Max Pauly, commandant of the concentration camp since early 1942 after having replaced SS Captain Martin Weiss, was nowhere to be found. The Sergeant was too desperate to find the man who was the leader of this hell hole, as hatred combined withwar fatigue blinded him to the point where the only thought that consumed his soul was to kill the Lieutenant Colonel. Max Pauly was generally known for his cruelty along with thirteen other officials would be held responsible for Neuengamme concentration camp in what would be inevitably called the Curiohaus process in Hamburg before a British, during which Max Pauly with ten other defendants were sentenced to death and to be hanged in Hameln prison.

Though history had not yet been written, and thus the Sergeant stormed in front with the intention to shoot the bastard who had been the cause of so many families having perished within the concentration camp. Moritz observed him all the time, looking at him with fierce distaste at the risk the other man was taking and calculating the dangers of the Sergeant’s current situation, he abandoned his cover and yelled, “Sergeant! Sergeant! Take cover!” but the other man was too far in the distance to even hear them – and then, a shot was heard, and the Sergeant fell down on the ground, dead. A German officer had jumped up from what appeared to have been a deep hole in the ground, several feet away from where the corpse now lay amongst many other corpses, and on which they would find the German had hastily dropped his artillery. He let a cry of triumph escape his throat, but it didn’t last long, as two of the British Privates were quick in throwing off a grenade after him, while Moritz was too busy reloading his own gun quickly under cover, feeling the sweat profusely trickling down his neck and wetting his uniform.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

David’s skin was white; the black inked number would be there forever. Joe stared, his hands shaking, tears running down his face. This place, this hell-hole would burn, deep into the ground…
It suddenly occurred to Joe that he hadn’t known much about the man, who now lay before him – he wondered if any of David’s family or friends were still alive…he couldn’t do much now, there was more pressing matters to be getting on with.

Pushing himself off the ground, Joe looked around. The fence at the farther end of the camp had exploded, leaving an opening. The Allies would soon be approaching it and would come and rescue them…but from what Joe could see they were still occupied with the Germans.

A few of the older men began to rush towards the fencing, but backed away automatically when they heard gun shots and shouts.

A group of skinny Jewish children were sitting nearby one of the huts, they were crying, huddling together – the skin on bodies was stretched tight over the bones which protruded from places that had not been seen to come from outside of this camp -Joe stepped forwards, getting away from the hubbub of the crowd that was now staring at the cloud of dust and the broken fencing – he knelt down next to them, muttering words in German at them, calming, soothing words…they seemed to stop crying slowly. He patted each of their heads in turn and then lent himself against the hut as he felt his legs become weak from only standing for less than a few minutes. A pained expression crossed his face as he landed rather heavier then he intended, feeling like each and every bone in his body had snapped.

”Come on you blasted Allies, get the hell in here and see for yourselves what hell is…” Joe muttered, clenching his teeth together.