"Yes, that will set an example, of course."
"Yes, they'll be destroyed and buried in a mass grave right in their camp-and the camp will be leveled. Do you understand?"
"I'll work out every detail."
"Meinhart-make sure there is no room for error. Take the rest of the week if you must."
Meinhart left Oberman's office, his assignment uppermost in his mind. Oberman looked out of his window and saw what a sunny day it was. Enough work for today. He turned and headed out the door. As he passed the desk of his aid, he said, "Give me a blank sheet of paper."
The aid handed him a sheet of official letterhead and Oberman signed it on the bottom.
"There, now type up an order for a roundup in retribution for the train derailment last night. Pick a place where we can get about two hundred of these Ukrainian dogs. Just type it up above my signature and have the roundup taken care of today. Dispose of them in Babi Yar."
He left the building to spend the rest of his day at leisure.
72
A Lovely Day...
Ivan and Sosha enjoyed the lovely day as they made their way into the city. They made the trip about once a week by horse cart to keep abreast of what was new in the occupation. "One could almost think there was no war on a day like this," Ivan said.
"It is beautiful today," she agreed as she looked up at the cloudless sky. The sun warmed her face and she remembered how it used to be to enjoy carefree days. A bird flew through her field of vision. "I wonder if birds know there is a war?"
Ivan looked at her and chuckled.
"I really mean it, Ivan. Do you think they know or sense a difference? After all, we share this place with them. We live in a hell on earth. Could they be indifferent to it? Are they disturbed by what we do to each other? Or are they in a world apart? If so I wish I could be a bird." Frivolous thoughts were a luxury and Sosha wanted to savor the mood.
Ivan remained silent, holding the reins out of habit, the horse making all of the important decisions of the morning. How much longer? He wondered. When will this horrible time pass? It seems an eternity since Sol came into our lives and brought the war with him. How will it all end? When?
A squirrel ran across the road ahead of the horse. The animals seemed to ignore each other completely. "Why can't people be like that?" Ivan said, nodding toward the squirrel as it vanished into the brush. "They live and let live. They only attack for survival, while man attacks for the sake of destruction-pure destruction."
"What?" Sosha asked. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Nothing, it's not important."
It was midmorning when they approached Kiev. There didn't seem to be the usual turmoil as their horse took them to the marketplace by the route it knew so well. Everyone seemed affected by the weather. It was like that first day of sunshine after a dismal week of rain.
"We picked a good day to come to the city," Sosha said. "It was a lovely ride and the people will be in a mood to gossip."
Ivan was about to agree when he heard a commotion behind him. He started turning to look over his shoulder as a truck crossed the street and stopped in the intersection just ahead of them. Soldiers with machine guns jumped from the tailgate. Then he realized what the commotion behind them must be. "It's a roundup! Jump off the wagon and run back the way we came!" But he looked over his shoulder as he'd started to do a second earlier and lost all heart. "Dear God, we're caught!"
The street behind them was cordoned off.
All around them people were screaming, running for doorways that were barricaded and boarded up. The Germans, as usual, had chosen the site of the roundup well. The only escape was to charge the barricade and be shot. Some did just that. Gunners obligingly shot them down.
As things settled down, Ivan estimated that there were perhaps seventy people in the area. At precisely the same time, roundups were taking place in two other places just a block apart.
"Ivan, what can we do?"
"Stay with me, Sosha. If you see any chance at all for escape, tell me. But don't let us get separated-and don't do anything to draw their fire. Maybe they will interrogate us and let us go. Just keep your eyes open and be cautious."
The Germans advanced from both ends of the street. Ivan and Sosha climbed from the wagon. People were being herded into a compact group for easier control.
"Look, they're taking our wagon and horse!" Sosha exclaimed, watching soldiers lead the animal by his reins.
"Shh! There is nothing we can do about that. If all we lose today is our horse and wagon, I'll consider it a bargain."
The group was tightly crowded together. Two Germans with machine guns guarded them as two trucks pulled up. "Schnell! Hinein! Hurry, get in!" one of the Germans commanded gruffly.
The crowd was divided into the two trucks. Ivan and Sosha remained together.
73
Gestapo Headquarters...
It was only a few minutes by truck to Gestapo headquarters in the old Palace Of Labor building at Vladimirskaya Street 33. It was an enormous, dark gray, almost black building; an ominous building. People were known to walk blocks out of their way not to have to pass near this structure. Its fa ade was almost majestic, but it fooled no one. Inside was a multitude of interrogation rooms, detention cells, torture chambers and, for lack of a better word, dungeons.
The truck pulled into a courtyard in the rear of the Gestapo building and unloaded its terrified cargo. The trucks from the other roundups were already there. The poor souls that had disembarked them were lined up in three rows along one wall of the yard. The newcomers, Ivan and Sosha among them, were shoved into three more lines in front of the first. An SS captain walked in front of the rows of captives, a riding crop in his right hand. As he walked past each person in the front row, he pointed the whip at that row and counted by sixes as he went. Ivan thought it remarkable that he knew his multiplication tables of six so fluently. How often he must do this, Ivan thought bitterly. When he got to the end there were only five in that row. He had thirty-four rows of six and one of five deep.
"Two hundred and nine of you is what I count," he said. "My orders call for two hundred."
With his whip he tapped nine of the prisoners in the first row on the shoulders. Ivan and Sosha were ten and eleven in that row. "You nine that I have tapped, get out of here-fast!"
He waved his riding crop toward an iron door in the wall of the courtyard. The fortunate nine wasted no time in going out the portal that was opened for them by a guard. Simultaneously Ivan and Sosha thought, thank God we've not been separated!
"All right," the Captain started, "last night a train was derailed by partisans. You are the price for that act." Then he said what Ivan had feared. "Sergeant, separate the men and women and take them into the male and female detention rooms." He went into the building.
Just before they were separated, Ivan quickly told Sosha, "Be careful. At least they're taking us inside. That must be a good sign. If we were just to be shot they'd be putting us back on the trucks. Watch for opportunities that..."
He was pushed on his way.
The women were taken into the building first while the men kept standing in the new lines they had formed. After about twenty minutes, a door opened and an officer called to the sergeant who had been put in charge of the men. "Get going! The first two lines-through the door! The second two lines follow next! Then the last two lines. Go! Schnell!"
As they entered the building, they were immediately redivided. An officer stood where he could quickly see each man as he entered. Most he sent down a hall to the right. Every once in a while he directed someone out and had him held in a new line forming along a wall of the hallway to the left.
Ivan found himself standing in the left hall along with about thirty other men, all particularly strong and healthy-looking. Ivan was among the oldest in the group, but also the biggest. All the elderly, sickly and those younger than their late teens had been sent on.
Ivan immediately decided that th
ey had been held out for some kind of work detail. He feared for the others. But he took heart that the same sort of division was made among the women. Sosha was, after all, a strong and healthy woman.
Oh God, please let her be safe! He prayed silently.
There had been fewer women than men in the roundup-only fifty of them. They, too, had been divided into two groups. Out of the entire group, nine had been pulled out for further evaluation, all in their late teens or early twenties and all attractive.
Sosha and the others had been sent down the hall to the right. At the end of that hall, they were herded into a large, windowless room. There were two doors in one wall-a small one for people and next to it an opening with two swinging doors, large enough to unload supplies off trucks. The floor was concrete, the walls bare brick. The room was illuminated from overhead lights. It had obviously been a big storage room. As the women entered, a woman in a German uniform handed each a large envelope and a pencil and directed them to one wall of the room opposite the two doors. When everyone was in place she announced, "Each of you has an envelope and a pencil. First, write your name and your home address on the front. Then put all of your belongings into the envelope. Everything! Papers, money, jewelry, rings, bracelets, necklaces... Your name on the envelope will insure that you get it back after you are either released from custody here or when you reach your destination-if it is decided that you are to be sent for factory work." The woman's voice and demeanor was firm but pleasant. She had her job to do and she tried to do it as efficiently as possible. She was going to get these people through the unpleasantry of the day as easily as possible for everyone.
"What about our husbands, our families?" one woman asked.
"If you were picked up together, you will be reunited at your destination or you will be released together if all of your papers are in order. Those of you who are sent to work in a factory will have a chance to tell your families after processing. Now all of you do as you are told! Bring up your envelopes as soon as you've followed your instructions. And be sure! You will be searched later. If you hold out anything, it will go hard for you!"
One by one the women handed in their envelopes.
"Very well, is that everyone?" She paused to look around at the women. "Good. Now line up in two rows by the double doors here. When they open, you will be asked to get on a truck that will drive you the short distance to the old school a few blocks from here. There you will be taken into the building for further processing. Be prepared to tell them all the skills you have. Also you will have the opportunity to request that the rest of your family be notified where you are. Those of you who are to be released will get your belongings back then, also. Those of you who were picked up with husbands or family will be reunited there-as long as papers are in order and you cooperate!"
She looked once more about the room. Satisfied that everyone understood, she continued, "When the door opens, hurry along. Those who loiter will have the last choices for good jobs."
As soon as her speech was ended, the doors swung open. The women rushed forward. No one wanted to be last. No sooner were they crowded in the van of the truck than the doors were slammed shut, plunging the women into pitch darkness. The darkness itself brought terror. The truck lurched and in the blackness most of the women fell over each other. There was screaming and swearing. The smell of engine fumes started to fill the darkness. Suddenly a woman realized and cried, "It's a gassing van! They are killing us!"
For an instant it became quiet-quiet enough to hear the hissing, then pandemonium.
"Oh Ivan, Ivan, I want to be with you!" Tears burned in Sosha's eyes. She lay on the floor where she had fallen, oblivious to the panic about her. "Oh dear Ivan, oh God no, not like this!" She became nauseated and dizzy. She wanted not to vomit. She coughed out the contents of her stomach. Her head began to throb. "Please, God-no. Ivan-help-Plea .. se..." ...then passed into unconsciousness.
One by one, the screams from inside the van died out. And then there was only the hissing.
The truck bumped and bounced down a rough dirt road into the ravine of Babi Yar. It came to a stop at the front of a sand and clay cliff about five meters high. The van doors were opened. A stench of human waste and carbon monoxide filled motor fumes poured out as daylight broke in to reveal a limp tangle of female corpses, their lips all strangely red from the gas.
Four Ukrainians jumped into the van and started to throw out bodies. A few still lived, but that didn't matter-they were thrown off with the others. Once empty, the truck was driven off. It would be hosed out and cleaned up for its next load.
The four Ukrainians joined thirteen others who were already taking shoes and other garments off the dead. They placed the clothing on individual piles of coats, blouses, shoes, skirts, even underwear.
One Ukrainian checked each mouth and pulled out with pliers what valuable gold teeth he found, tossing them into buckets. His work was easy. Death by gas left the mouths gaping. Another Ukrainian pressed a finger into each anus and vagina to make sure no valuables had been smuggled that way. His efforts often produced rings, diamonds, gold coins and other small valuables.
They were an efficient crew and in minutes the bodies were being laid out neatly next to each other at the foot of the cliff. A German supervised the entire operation. He passed by the bodies and anyone that didn't seem dead he shot in the head with his pistol. Sometimes he shot just out of boredom. The Ukrainians were ready for the next truckload, which would be along soon.
After several trucks, when there were a few hundred bodies, German ingenuity was again demonstrated. To expedite the burial, large charges of dynamite would be set off along the cliff, bringing down just the right portion of it to cover the dead. Over several months this procedure had terraced the ravine in this section of Babi Yar.
74
Syretsky Camp...
Ivan and the group of men he was with were taken to another large room where they, too, turned over all their possessions. No pretense was made that they would get anything back. Good clothing was exchanged for rags-their hair was cut away-they were told that if they didn't cooperate they'd be shot on the spot. Taken back to the courtyard by another door, they were herded onto open trucks under heavy guard.
As they pulled out of the courtyard, a gas van waited to enter. Seeing it Ivan's fear for Sosha turned to despair. After a few moments of driving, Ivan saw they were being taken in the direction of Babi Yar. At the entrance to the ravine, the road forked just outside the gate. The road to the right wound down into the ravine. The fork to the left, which their truck took, led around the top of the ravine's southern rim. Shortly, the truck came to a double set of barbed wire gates. An armed guard opened the first, which was situated at the foot of a machine gun tower. As soon as the truck passed through, the gate behind it closed. Another guard opened the second one. On both of the gates, as well as on the barbed wire fences, there were signs in German, Russian and Ukrainian: "Lethal Electric Charge-Danger!"
Once inside the second gate, the truck drove on until it stopped in what seemed to be a camp. Ivan and his companions were ordered to disembark.
Immediately they were met by a harsh command to line up and stand at attention. They were left standing that way for what seemed like an eternity. Three soldiers kept them covered with automatic weapons, while a junior officer silently walked up and down waiting. He walked up to the third man who had moved to scratch his nose, drew his pistol and at point blank range blew the man's brains right out of his head. Then he turned, smiling to the rest of the shocked but motionless prisoners and said, "You see, that is what happens when you disobey an order here. Welcome to Babi Yar."
He took a sweeping look at the prisoners, standing at a rigid attention. His smirking smile deepened. "We affectionately call this the Syretsky Camp, after your lovely suburb of Kiev, the Syrets District. This camp is on the very edge of Babi Yar. Any infraction will buy you a spot in the ravine.
"Now, continue to stand at attenti
on until our camp commander comes."
No one moved.
Time dragged.
Ivan's muscles began to ache. He feared he might faint, so he carefully wiggled his toes, flexed and relaxed muscles to maintain circulation. At least the officer was now talking to one of the guards, not looking for the slightest motion among the captives. He had made his point-taught his lesson. No one dared move.
At last, a staff car drove up and stopped directly in front of the line of agonizing men. Ivan dared not move his head, but could see out of the corner of his eyes that the officer was driving the vehicle himself. On the front seat, next to him, sat a huge dog, a dark gray Alsatian, while in the back seat sat a junior officer, who, by all protocol, Ivan thought, should have been the driver.
The senior officer jumped from the driver's seat, not waiting for anyone to open his door. The Alsatian heeled, without command, at his side. The man looked about fifty years of age. His head was completely bald, lengthening his already long, thin face. He wore glasses through which he squinted. His uniform fit smartly, tailored to disguise his less than perfect body. The holster he wore, prominently displayed, was as polished as his gleaming boots. His voice was gruff, angry in tone. He spoke only German. The junior officer from the back seat walked with him, the dog between them. He repeated in Ukrainian everything the officer said in German.
"Well, what have we here?" the commander said, grinning down at the dead body. "Looks like you had to do some disciplining. I hope the rest of them learned a lesson from it." Then he walked down the line of men, counting until he got to the seventh-the man next to Ivan. He drew his own pistol-and without a word or flinch, shot the man in the head.
The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (Boomer Book Series) Page 24
