Different kapos had different expectations. Schlage demanded military precision. He claimed he had served in the Kaiser's army but no one believed him. They quick marched the distance as Schlage and his vorarbeiters, two Slovak sadists with wooden clubs, beat and shouted obscenities. Peter was the only SS guard.
The work at the quarry was all manual and back-breaking. The men cut the granite and split it into slabs. With chisels and hammers they fashioned blocks of granite that was manhandled into an orderly pile by the spur. The trains no longer removed the granite but the camp still produced it at a steady pace.
The men beat and savaged the prisoners relentlessly. By midmorning Peter watched Schlage’s first kill. A Polish Jew slipped while assisting in hauling a slab to the pile and caused the corner to split. This meant it would have to be fashioned into a smaller piece.
Schlage approached him in a rage. He ranted, for the sake of the others or for his own pleasure Peter could not tell, then struck the hapless Jew on the side of his neck. The man went down as if felled by an axe. He writhed about in the snow for a long minute before expiring. Schlage had him removed to the side of the road to be carried back with the Kommando that night.
The men worked at a feverish pace as Peter expected. He was amazed at the weights they could lift and the size of the slabs they could manhandle. This was all pointless as labor, but no more so than the bricks and stone he had seen prisoners move from one pile to another then back again inside the KZ at double time until they collapsed and were beaten to death.
Towards midday two prisoners arrived from the KZ carrying a small kettle with the noon soup. It was a cold and especially loathsome concoction. Still, the prisoners drank it with absolute concentration as much for the water as any conceivable nourishment.
The lunch break lasted ten minutes. It was snowing very heavily by late afternoon and Peter was frozen, but the men in their wooden cogs and striped pajama uniforms were in far worse shape. The kapo and his men had not let up all day. In their own way they were working as hard as the prisoners.
Three times the two Slovaks ordered an inmate to drop his pants while one of them administered twenty-five merciless blows to his exposed skin with a club. The men cried out as they were struck and were left bleeding profusely. Peter surmised they were picked at random as he had witnessed no offense by any of them. These beaten men were scarcely able to move by the time they prepared to march back.
As the Kommando formed in the brief twilight for the quick-time march to the KZ, Schlage singled still another hapless inmate out. He ranted for several minutes then seized him by the groin and lifted him into the air as he squeezed. The man screamed the most awful cry Peter had ever heard and when Schlage threw him down Peter thought he must surely be dying. The kapo kicked him in the head repeatedly with his heavy boots to be certain, then ordered two prisoners to carry him with the other man he had killed back to the KZ for burning.
When the evening count was concluded Schlage, not content with this day's take, singled out a third inmate from the Kommando and had him hung with those who had answered slowly or fallen from exhaustion and cold.
CHAPTER FOUR
News from the war was not good. The Western Front had unexpectedly stalled while the Eastern Front shrank with incredible speed. In only a few weeks the Russian winter offensive would begin.
Peter’s mother wrote twice a week, from the dates on her letters. She spoke of the family, gave news of friends and neighbors, and offered words of encouragement.
His letters home were filled with lies. What else could he do? He described conditions very different from those that existed. As winter set in and their mail was interrupted more frequently, he welcomed any excuse not to write as often. He wished his uncle would come. Peter could
The work at the quarry was all manual and back-breaking. The men cut the granite and split it into slabs. With chisels and hammers they fashioned blocks of granite that was manhandled into an orderly pile by the spur. The trains no longer removed the granite but the camp still produced it at a steady pace.
The men beat and savaged the prisoners relentlessly. By midmorning Peter watched Schlage’s first kill. A Polish Jew slipped while assisting in hauling a slab to the pile and caused the corner to split. This meant it would have to be fashioned into a smaller piece.
Schlage approached him in a rage. He ranted, for the sake of the others or for his own pleasure Peter could not tell, then struck the hapless Jew on the side of his neck. The man went down as if felled by an axe. He writhed about in the snow for a long minute before expiring. Schlage had him removed to the side of the road to be carried back with the Kommando that night.
The men worked at a feverish pace as Peter expected. He was amazed at the weights they could lift and the size of the slabs they could manhandle. This was all pointless as labor, but no more so than the bricks and stone he had seen prisoners move from one pile to another then back again inside the KZ at double time until they collapsed and were beaten to death.
Towards midday two prisoners arrived from the KZ carrying a small kettle with the noon soup. It was a cold and especially loathsome concoction. Still, the prisoners drank it with absolute concentration as much for the water as any conceivable nourishment.
The lunch break lasted ten minutes. It was snowing very heavily by late afternoon and Peter was frozen, but the men in their wooden cogs and striped pajama uniforms were in far worse shape. The kapo and his men had not let up all day. In their own way they were working as hard as the prisoners.
Three times the two Slovaks ordered an inmate to drop his pants while one of them administered twenty-five merciless blows to his exposed skin with a club. The men cried out as they were struck and were left bleeding profusely. Peter surmised they were picked at random as he had witnessed no offense by any of them. These beaten men were scarcely able to move by the time they prepared to march back.
As the Kommando formed in the brief twilight for the quick-time march to the KZ, Schlage singled still another hapless inmate out. He ranted for several minutes then seized him by the groin and lifted him into the air as he squeezed. The man screamed the most awful cry Peter had ever heard and when Schlage threw him down Peter thought he must surely be dying. The kapo kicked him in the head repeatedly with his heavy boots to be certain, then ordered two prisoners to carry him with the other man he had killed back to the KZ for burning.
When the evening count was concluded Schlage, not content with this day's take, singled out a third inmate from the Kommando and had him hung with those who had answered slowly or fallen from exhaustion and cold.
CHAPTER FOUR
News from the war was not good. The Western Front had unexpectedly stalled while the Eastern Front shrank with incredible speed. In only a few weeks the Russian winter offensive would begin.
Peter’s mother wrote twice a week, from the dates on her letters. She spoke of the family, gave news of friends and neighbors, and offered words of encouragement.
His letters home were filled with lies. What else could he do? He described conditions very different from those that existed. As winter set in and their mail was interrupted more frequently, he welcomed any excuse not to write as often. He wished his uncle would come. Peter could
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