Betrayed: Secrecy, Lies, and Consequences

by Frederic Martini

  Once back at the Rock Pile, the squad leaders assessed the condition of their men. Nobody in Fred’s squad had been badly injured, but Fred and several others had second-degree burns, and cuts and bruises on their feet. The scavenged items were collected for use by the group, although Fred held onto the scrap of cloth as he had already used it to bandage his deepest cut. The coins could be used for bartering with the other prisoner groups for blankets, cigarettes, or perhaps even shoes. Fred received kudos for recovering the rifle part and ammunition.

  The squad leaders met with the senior officers while Fred and the other noncoms mingled and compared notes and experiences. When the officers returned, Fred was told that finding loose ammunition and parts for rifles and pistols was now a top priority. With luck, they would eventually be able to scrounge the parts needed to assemble their own weapons. One of the leaders of the Communist prisoners had had the same idea, and the two groups had agreed to cooperate. Living on the Rock Pile the airmen had no place to cache weapons, but the Communists had the run of the camp at large. So they would receive, stockpile, and assemble the components.

  THE SIXTH DAY

  Early the next morning, the airmen were rounded up by SS-Corporal Hoffman and his men, and again marched under guard to the main camp appellplatz. As Fred had feared, there would be no coffee today. On arrival, the airmen were counted and then groups were assigned to continue assisting in the cleanup and repair of the camp. One of the German guards commented that the airmen had been chosen for this work because it was clear that they understood order and discipline, qualities that were unusual within the general prison population.

  They worked through the day. Late in the morning, men were sent to the kitchen to get soup, which they carried to the various work teams. Although they were still technically under the eyes of SS guards, now that the fires were out and any survivors removed from the rubble, quick work was no longer essential, and the guards paid less attention. A few of the airmen, including Fred, Sam, and the others assigned to the factory complex, found that they could reduce the damage to their feet by carrying things out of the ruins along a carefully selected path, then surreptitiously carrying them back. This process, which could be repeated indefinitely, kept them looking busy but didn’t help the German recovery efforts at all. Moving back and forth, they could scan the surrounding area very carefully for any items of potential use.

  Again the long day ended with a return to the square and a quick counting, after which they were escorted back to their “home” in Little Camp. When the SS guards left, the airmen again gathered together to compare notes and share any treasures they had managed to collect during the day. More cloth had been secured, and large pieces were turned in to be used as bandages or foot protection. Small bits and pieces of cloth too small to be of other use were kept by those who found them, for use in lieu of toilet paper.

  Fred had obtained several scraps that he thought would last a day, or perhaps two, given the diarrhea and cramps he was experiencing. He hated going to the abort, knowing that on every trip his bleeding, aching feet would be immersed in the horrid, stinking goo that surrounded the facility. He didn’t want to begin thinking about what diseases and infections could result. Of course, most of the other airmen were in the same predicament, all trying to put the trip off as long as possible, but when one broke down and announced he was heading that way, there were always several others who agreed to join him.

  Something else was going on, and the senior officers seemed agitated. Finally, Lamason pulled the men together to explain. Speaking in low tones, he said that he had been part of a work detail near the laundry, where the Goethe tree still smoldered. A Dutch kapo, who spoke reasonable English, had them clearing debris by a wooden building near the crematorium. The man, who had been a doctor before his arrest, let the three men into the building for a look at what the Nazi medical staff had been doing. Lamason paused, struggling to find the right words before describing a room filled with atrocities.

  There were rows of shrunken heads, a bound book of tattooed human skin, what appeared to have been a healthy young man who had been skinned and preserved for display, isolated organs, stomachs that had somehow been stretched to the bursting point, spinal columns, genital organs with various sexual diseases, hearts ranging from healthy to abnormal to diseased, and death masks taken from prisoners of various personality types. It was bizarre, sickening, and very frightening. Everyone had by now accepted that members of the SS were ruthless, but Lamason’s chilling account made Fred realize that the term “ruthless” was inadequate — they were perverted sadists who treated prisoners as curios and experimental animals.

  THE SEVENTH DAY

  The only real source of relaxation for the airmen was smoking the cigarettes they received as gifts or obtained in exchange for coins or other valuables recovered from the ruins of bombed buildings. While they waited for the evening appell, Fred, Sam, Paul, and Ed were standing by the fence, smoking their precious cigarettes. They were standing in the corner closest to the ruins of the German Armaments Works when they saw two German officers, one of them SS-Captain Schmidt, and an older, heftier officer who, judging by the elaborate uniform, outranked Schmidt.

  They were accompanying a tall man in an SS uniform who looked like a Nazi recruiting poster. His immaculate uniform, which looked custom tailored and impeccably pressed, set him apart from the other officers. Watching through the fenceline, the airmen made a few rude comments about how tidy his uniform would be when he got home. Fred was pleased to see that his burnished black boots were already coated with mud and filth.

  The Germans were perhaps 50’ away when they stopped and talked, Schmidt pointing to various places in the wrecked complex. The airmen were too far away to hear the entire conversation, but it looked like the Germans were discussing the bomb damage to the munitions plant and to the Gustloff Works, from which a tenuous cloud of smoke still lingered above the barracks of the main camp. As he listened, the attention of the SS-major was at first on the ruined factory, but after a time, he seemed to have seen enough. As he turned toward the officers and faced Little Camp, he spied the men standing at ease nearby.

  He gave them a careful examination, his gaze sharp. For several long moments he stared directly at Fred, and the inspection made him very uncomfortable. The man then turned to the officers abruptly, interrupting the monologue Schmidt was giving, to speak to the senior officer in the group, who nodded. The three men then turned and walked toward the bombed out factory complex, eventually turning right, toward the train yard, and disappearing from view.

  When appell was finally called, the SS guards were accompanied by the camp commandant, SS-Colonel Pister. His presence made the airmen fear the worst, because the rumor mill within the camp had already advised them that the commandant’s wife and daughter had been killed in the bombing. Pister was accompanied by the same SS officer Fred had seen earlier, whom he’d been told was an SS-major.

  Pister began with a diatribe that his harried translator could barely keep up with. He called the airmen terrorfliegers, blaming them for the deaths of civilians and the destruction of his camp. He then paused, calmed himself, and walked toward the airmen, Schmidt at his side. Through his interpreter, Pister asked several airmen what their particular skills were — Could they weld? Could they operate heavy equipment? Were they machinists? — but all he got in return was name, rank, and serial number. In disgust, he turned and stood before Philip Lamason, who was waiting at attention in front of the assembly.

  He told Lamason that their work since the bombing raid was appreciated, and said that he had a critical need for skilled labor in a manufacturing facility of extreme importance to the Reich. If Lamason’s men agreed to do the required work, their treatment and their living conditions would improve significantly. The location of the facility was not identified — there was certainly no manufacturing to be done around Buchenwald anytime soon — and it was obvious that whatever work was involved, it woul
d further German military interests. So Lamason thanked Commandant Pister for his offer, but explained that he must refuse to allow his men to undertake such work, as under the Geneva Conventions, POWs were not required or permitted to further the war efforts of their captors.

  In response, an angry SS-Captain Schmidt whipped out his pistol and thrust it under Lamason’s chin. When Lamason, forced onto his toes, remained silent, Fred braced himself for the shot. Schmidt cast a quick glance at Pister, as if to ask whether or not to pull the trigger. Pister let the moment linger and then gave a subtle shake of the head. Schmidt holstered his pistol as Pister expressed his disappointment at that decision and added that perhaps Lamason would have cause to reconsider his position at a later date.77

  The men were then counted and escorted back to Little Camp, where they were dismissed, appell having already been completed. Apparently, similar questions had been asked of the French prisoners at appell, and in desperation, many had volunteered. The next morning, over 400 French prisoners were loaded onto trucks and headed off to the Mittelwerk, although the airmen knew nothing about their destination.

  The workload, the inadequate food rations, the hard ground, the fleas and lice, all were taking their toll. Without exception, the men were losing weight, the loss being especially marked among those with dysentery. Every morning, the airmen arose scratching at infected sores, their joints and muscles aching and stiff, their stomachs grumbling with hunger, their feet swollen and tender. Every day saw a few more airmen stricken with dysentery. And then it started raining.

  67 Airmen were sent to collect food or drink each day at 0530, 1100, and 1630.

  68 There was no record of the squad assignments. If the members of related units were kept together, Fred’s squad would have included sergeants Sam Pennell, John Hanson, Arthur Pasha, Leo Reynolds, and William J. Williams, and Lt. William Powell from the 385th BG, and Sgt. Ray Wojnicz and Lt. Russ Hilding from the 447th BG. All were from the 4th Combat Bombardment Wing.

  69 The airman was Lt. Robert Mills of the Royal Australian Air Force.

  70 One of the keys to the survival of the airmen was their diversity of background. Many were first-generation Americans who had learned another language from their parents. Ed Ritter spoke Polish and could understand German, Frank Vratney spoke Czech, Dutch Spierenburg spoke Dutch and German, Bernard Scharf spoke German, and in addition to the Canadian airmen fluent in French, every airman who had spent months with the FFI could get by in that language.

  71 The Special Operations Executive sent undercover agents behind enemy lines to conduct espionage and sabotage, and to coordinate Allied efforts with those of the FFI.

  72 See Appendix 4 for a discussion of Lamason, the Special Operations Executive (SOE), and plans to escape Buchenwald.

  73 The 8th Air Force sent 129 bombers from the 401st, 351st, and 457th Bomb Groups on this mission. These bombers released approximately 300 tons of bombs. One-half were 1000-pound high-explosives and the rest were 500-pound incendiaries.

  74 The Gustloff Werke (Gustloff Works) manufactured rifles, pistols, and — most critical at this stage in the war — gyroscopes that were part of the guidance systems for the V-1 and V-2 rockets.

  75 The Deutsche-Ausrustungs-Werke, or DAW, was a munitions plant and small arms manufacturer.

  76 Flight Sergeant Frank Salt, 35 Sq RAF, had a small piece of shrapnel in his shoulder. He was taken to the camp hospital, but the medical staff was too overloaded to deal with a “minor” injury, so he was returned to Little Camp, where fellow airmen removed the fragment.

  77 Prisoners not slated for immediate execution were usually held in Little Camp until they had lost 20-30% of their body weight. At that point, when they were much more tractable and much less likely to defy their captors, they were assigned to labor kommandos.

  CHAPTER 10

  Endurance

  THE SECOND WEEK

  IT WAS A STEADY RAIN. The nighttime temperature was cool, and with no protection from the elements, the men were soon huddled together, shivering. The blanket that Fred and Sam shared did little except slow the flow of water over their bodies. The rain exposed even more rocks at the Rock Pile, and turned the bare ground elsewhere in Little Camp into a quagmire. Each night the temperature dropped further. It was an awful time for anyone with nowhere to run and no way to shield himself from the elements. By day Fred huddled with the rest, gathered around smoky fires. The only positive aspect was that the SS guards, who disliked the weather almost as much as the airmen, called appell only once each day, and the counting went swiftly.

  Exposure gradually took its toll. In addition to dysentery, infected cuts and insect bites, Fred developed a chest cold. He wasn’t alone — everyone was sniffling and coughing, and there were a few cases of pneumonia. Fred was shivering and cold, his feet were infected and swollen, the wounds becoming deep ulcerations. The dysentery was unrelenting, and the itching from flea bites and scabies was driving him crazy. But what bothered him most was not his wracking cough, but that each cough triggered one of the sharp, stabbing abdominal pains that he was having at random intervals, day and night. Even so, he considered himself better off than some of the others. Lt. Beck, an officer with one of the other American squads, became weak and listless. Fred heard that Hemmens had had his arm re-broken by a whack from a guard’s baton, and he had developed a high fever.

  Efforts to clear rubble and recover equipment had been suspended for the moment, so Fred had plenty of time to think about how miserable he felt and how much he missed Brooklyn. To combat depression, the officers sent their squads out several times each day to look for anything that would keep the fires going. In Fred’s opinion, those fires were all that made their situation tolerable — he could toast his bread and light cigarettes, and at night they provided an illusion of warmth. He made multiple circuits of their small world each day, moving beneath the eaves of block buildings when the wind direction made that beneficial.

  The work parties soon resumed. By now the airmen were a known quantity within the confines of Little Camp, and as word spread through the prison grapevine that they were reliable, kapos started arriving to take groups of airmen on kommandos working in and around the camp. The airmen on the labor details returned exhausted, but they invariably brought new information that helped Fred piece together a clearer picture of what went on in the camp at large. And sometimes they brought additional rounds of ammunition or weapons parts that slowly added to their stockpile.

  After his arrival processing, Fred associated black armbands with a position of authority. But since then, he learned that prisoners were categorized into discrete types, and each had a place in the prisoner hierarchy. The category of each prisoner was indicated by a badge sewn onto his right sleeve near the shoulder. A red triangle, point downward, indicated a political prisoner. A plain red triangle was worn only by German political prisoners, otherwise there was a letter within the red triangle indicating the nationality of the prisoner — F for French, S for Spanish, and so forth. Apparently now that the airmen were ranging farther afield, proper labeling was required, and the airmen were given red triangles to sew onto their sleeves. Fred’s was marked A for American.

  Green triangles were worn by convicts. Although most of the prisoners at Buchenwald were either Reds or Greens, there were many other categories and nuances. Roughly 300 German Communists (red triangles) were currently in positions of authority. The Reds had life-and-death power over other prisoner groups because they usually decided who went on the kommandos with the highest death rates, and who got transferred to one of the 75 satellite camps of Buchenwald. The Communists were not partial to the democratic French, and over the last year, places with high death rates (like the Mittelwerk) received a disproportionate number of French civilians. Prisoners who returned from such postings were either too weak to survive or already dead. In either case they soon “went up the chimney.”

  Early in the first week of September, approximately 250 French civ
ilians who had been living in the open area outside of the Rock Pile were collected and led out of the compound for transport to a remote labor camp.78 Then on 3 September, while a misty rain was falling, Fred watched as the young gypsies from Block 58 were rounded up and taken away. At appell that evening, Kindinger told the assembled airmen that they could leave the Rock Pile and move into the newly opened space in Block 58. Fred heard Lamason ask what had become of the gypsies. Kindinger’s reply was that the only thing that mattered was that they weren’t coming back. So after appell, Fred collected his meager belongings — a small cup, a wooden bowl, several cigarettes, and a few scraps of cloth — and hobbled off to shelter after two weeks in the open.

  The barracks was definitely an improvement, but it was still barely habitable. A wooden framework supporting four tiers of shelving ran along the walls, the tiers vertically separated by roughly two feet. Each individual shelf was six feet long and four feet wide, and there were dozens of shelves in each tier, filling almost the entire width and length of the room. Bedding, where present, consisted of filthy straw stuffed in worn burlap bags.

  There was an open area in the center of the building. Within this space, there were long wooden tables with bench seats, like elongate picnic tables, and toward the front of the room, the area from which the gypsies had been expelled, was a potbellied wood stove. Although small, the stove could be used to heat soup, toast bread, and if kept alight, generate heat at night. Although no longer exposed in the yard, airmen continued to stand guard at night, and those on duty monitored the stove at the same time. The first things burned that night were the mattresses, which were disgusting, fetid, and infested with fleas, ticks, and mites.