Then Slim opened the file Pasha had given her before they left for Laakirchen. She paged through it to find any possible information about Karl Heinze. She came to the list of personnel at Alpenland. Each employee had their birth date on a list, the job they performed at the children’s home, the date they started there, the date they left and where they went. Most had left in 1944. Ernst left for SS camp Ubungslager, in the town of Dachau on October 31, 1944. Something else caught her eye — next to his name, were the words, ‘Waffen SS.’
Over a quick breakfast at a nearby cafe, Slim briefed Pasha on what she had found out.
“What does Übungslager mean in English?” Slim asked.
“Übungslager means practice, drill or training, so it was a drill camp for the SS. I guess they trained the officers working at Dachau,” Pasha said while he lit his first cigarette of the day and paged through his notes.
“Pasha, what distinguished the Waffen SS from the regular SS?”
Pasha put his notebook down. “Why do you ask?”
“Ernst Heinze was part of the Waffen SS,” Slim answered.
“That explains why everyone is telling us not to tangle with him. The Waffen SS was Himmler’s elite fighting force. They were involved in some of the most horrific atrocities in the War. At Nuremberg, the Waffen SS was considered a criminal organization involved in countless war crimes and crimes against humanity. Probably one of the most infamous of their crimes was the massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane, in France, when over six hundred of its men, women and children were murdered. At the end of the war, the Waffen SS conscripted men from all the occupied Northern countries, but not the Poles. When they ran out of conscripted men, they drafted the Hitler Youth. The Waffen SS created a band of baby soldiers who apparently were ruthless,” Pasha said.
“You don’t think…” Slim said, thinking about Karol.
Pasha stubbed out his cigarette. “At the end of the war, the Nazis used children as young as nine to defend Berlin. The children who refused to fight — and I consider anyone under the age of 16 a child — were hung in the Olympiastadion as an example.”
“What did Aristotle say? ‘Give me a child until he is 7 and I will show you the man.’” Slim put down her coffee and stood up. “Come, it is time for the endgame.”
“Slim, do you think you’re going to find this boy?” Pasha asked, following her lead.
“Yes, I have a feeling we are going to find out what happened to him,” Slim said.
“Do you think he is dead?” Pasha asked as he left money on the table.
“I still don’t know, but we will find out what happened to him.”
“How can you be so certain? After all, we have gone through three countries searching for the boy,” Pasha said.
“I just have a feeling, and it’s not a good one,” Slim said with dread. If what Pasha had told her was correct about Hitler’s boy soldiers, it probably would not matter if Karol was dead or alive. She was no longer looking for a child; she was looking for a broken soul.
Chapter Twelve
1950 — Dachau
As they arrived in Dachau, Slim was amazed by the beauty of the town. Pasha turned onto a wide boulevard flanked by trees, large white houses and buildings with red tiled roofs. Pasha pulled up to the main gate of what Slim assumed to be the former SS training compound.
An American soldier came over and said in broken German, “Kann Ich Dir helfen?”
Slim leaned across the seat and said, “Hi, there, I’m here to see the Major.” She had no idea who the Major was but figured with the size of the place, whoever was in control was somewhere between a major and a colonel.
There was a brief moment before the soldier responded, “Well, ma'am, we call him the Commandant, but if you check in at the building to the left, they’ll give you a pass to get through. Park to the side.”
Slim and Pasha went into the building. At first, they got the runaround from a private who kept trying to direct them to Dachau’s memorial site. Finally, Pasha pulled out his wallet and produced his identification. “I am Sir Robert Nichols of his Majesty’s Secret Service. I have limited time and it is imperative that I speak to whoever is the head of this operation.”
Pasha spoke with such disdain that the private slapped down two passes and pointed outside, “Go outside, through the gate and past the water tower. The Commandant’s office is in the big white building to the right.”
They were in front of the Commandant within minutes. A trim man by the name of Murphy greeted them gruffly, but respectfully.
“So what’s this all about, Sir Robert?” he asked, addressing Pasha and ignoring Slim. It was an oversight not lost on her.
Slim answered anyway “We’re trying to find out what happened to a missing Polish boy. He was kidnapped from Poland and then adopted by a member of the Waffen SS by the name of Ernst Heinze. He was sent here in October 1944. We believe he arrived with the boy and a wife.”
Murphy looked at Pasha for confirmation and then turned to Slim, “What are you some sort of detective?”
“I find people lost during the war,” she said. “This boy’s mother wants to find him. She wants to take him to America to meet his father, who is Jewish.”
Murphy looked from Slim to Pasha in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that a member of the Waffen SS has an adopted Jewish son?”
“Yes. That’s why we need to find him,” Slim said.
“Look, I’m kinda busy. Let me see who I can get to help you.” Murphy picked up the black phone on the desk and pushed a button. “Get Franks in here.” He took a beat, then said, “Please.”
Slim knew she was being passed off and she was not happy about it.
A young corporal came in. “Sir?”
“This young lady.” He waited for Slim to give her name.
“Moran, Miss Moran.” Slim decided her Irish last name would get her the most mileage.
Murphy’s attitude changed immediately. “Not related to the Morans of Cincinnati are yah?” He asked, smiling.
“I’m related to the late Tyrone Moran of Hollywood,” Slim said with a smile. She rarely told anyone who her father was, but if she was going to be passed off to a corporal, Slim wanted to make sure, she got the attention she needed.
“Tyrone Moran? The movie star?” Murphy’s whole demeanor changed.
“I’m his daughter,” Slim said with a broad grin.
“Why, you’re the spitting image of him, you are. Franks, Miss Moran needs to find out what happened to an SS Waffen officer. I want you to go into the Tribunal files and see if you can find…” He looked at Slim for a name.
“Ernst Heinze,” Slim said.
“And don’t you worry, Franks will be able to help you. He speaks German. None of the files relating to the camp guards and the Waffen SS are missing. We used them during the Dachau Trials. Leave no stone unturned, Franks,” Murphy said. “Don’t you worry, we’ll find out what happened to him.”
“Yes, sir,” Franks said, with a tinge of a German accent.
After Franks left, Murphy said, “His parents sent him to cousins in Cincinnati in ’39. I said to him, ‘Kid, I could get you a transfer to Munich,’ but it turns out this is where his father died. His mother was sent to the women’s camp, Ravensbruck, and succumbed to typhus. He just wants to be near them. Every day, he’s by the crematorium saying prayers for them. It kills me. I got a boy his age going to Fordham University in New York City on a football scholarship.”
“I’m a fan of Catholic colleges, I went to Trinity in Washington, D.C.,” Slim said.
“I want my daughter, Peggy Jo, to go there. She’s a straight-A student, but I’m not rich,” Murphy said, impressed.
Slim opened her purse and took out her card. “Here’s my card. If I can be of any help to your daughter, please write me. I’m sure I can help find a scholarship for her.”
“Oh, this is swell, thanks,” Murphy said, putting the card in his pocket.
“Major, were you here
during the liberation of the camp?” Slim asked.
“I was part of the US Army 42th Infantry Division. That day was one of the strangest days of my life. As we neared the camp, there was this smell… We came upon 30 train cars filled with decomposing bodies. I thought I was at the gates of hell.”
✽✽✽
1945 — Dachau
The bulk of the men under Captain Murphy’s command had never seen combat. When they came into the camp, Murphy gave his men their orders, “The Germans are supposed to surrender. We don’t know how many prisoners they have or what shape they’re in. None of you men fire a single shot without getting a direct order from me.”
Murphy could see that his men were revved up: their adrenaline pumping. They were here to liberate the camp, but when they came upon boxcars filled with rotting skeletons just piled on each other, the younger ones in the company just stared at the corpses and began to wretch. Murphy heard one of the more seasoned soldiers say, “Geez, if it is like that out here, what do you think it is like inside?” And all their excitement about being the liberating heroes ground to a halt.
The major in charge came over, “So, Murph, here is what I know: At the gate, one of the SS subcommanders will surrender to Brigadier General Linden of your division. The SS is going guard the camp to maintain order and then it’s going to be turned over to us. Linden wants this to go smooth. You guys will be going in first, so keep your men in check.”
“What’s with all the skeletons in the train cars?” Murphy asked.
The Major took a deep breath, “There was a typhus outbreak, and the SS guards were trying to move the prisoners to a different satellite camp. Most of the guards ran away yesterday. They’ve got thousands of prisoners in there,” he said, “keep your men in line.”
Murphy saw the SS subcommander come out with a white flag. He was flanked by someone from the Red Cross. After a brief set of negotiations, Linden walked through the gates and Murphy ordered his men to follow. They walked for several hundred yards. Murphy could see the other SS guards in the towers holding white flags. They walked past more rotting bodies next to each other. When Murphy saw one of them move, he called for the medic. As they pushed forward, they heard a roar of cheers. Then they saw emaciated men, some not older than young teens, rush towards a barbed wire fence and were instantly electrocuted. Murphy saw General Linden shouting, “Shut the goddamn electricity off! Get all the SS guards in the square, we’re taking over the camp.”
The soldiers walked past the fence and saw men spilling out of barrack after barrack. They were wearing what seemed to be weird grey and blue striped pajamas. The Major came over, “the General wants the camp turned over to the prisoners. We’ll maintain the order; let’s just get the guards down from the towers.”
Murphy told his men to assemble the guards in the square. As more of the imprisoned men poured out of the barracks, the cheering turned into sobbing. Murphy heard screaming and rushed over to see a group of prisoners pummeling a guard who was clutching a white flag. The SS guard looked at Murphy through his swollen eyes and started to beg for his life.
“Get the guards assembled, take their weapons and line them up,” he barked. “Don’t let any of them escape. If they run, shoot them.”
Throughout the afternoon, there was the sound of sporadic gunfire. Murphy heard that members of the battle-hardened 45th grabbed the first of the surrendering guards, threw them in one of the train cars and shot them. Some of the gunfire came from the SS guards trying to shoot the escaping 30,000 prisoners. The place was going to explode. In the late afternoon, the guards were finally assembled. Whoever was still left from the Waffen SS training camp were thrown in with the camp guards.
Then Linder called all the company captains to the gate to brief them on the transfer of power. They heard a burst of machine gun fire. Murphy ran into the square and saw a pile of men. He saw one of his men, a twitchy freckle-faced kid from Ohio, laying on the ground pumping bullets into the remaining guards. Murphy went over and kicked the gun out of the kid’s hands and then picked him by the collar.
“What in God’s name do you think you are doing?” he shouted.
“You said to shoot them if they were trying to escape,” the kid said said, avoiding his eyes.
“You’ll be tried for this, you stupid son of a bitch,” Murphy shouted. He looked around at his men. “Not one of you thought to stop him?”
“Nope, Captain. They were escaping,” one of his men said. The others just nodded and said, ‘Yup.’
“Some of those Germans were from the training camp next door. They weren’t guards here. They were infantry, just like you guys,” Murphy said.
“Let me ask you something, Captain. If you had been stationed next door to something like this and you did nothing, ain’t you just as guilty? Like we drove through this town. All these trees and flowers coming up, fine houses of the folks living in Dachau; ain’t they responsible too? You ought to make those townspeople dig the graves for these people.”
Captain Murphy looked at his men. He knew they were right. He also knew that if they descended into vigilantism, chaos would ensue.
“Not another shot fired. Do you understand me?” Murphy said.
“What about if the prisoners want their own revenge, Captain?” another asked.
“Walk on.” With that, Murphy walked away and muttered to himself the Catholic Act of Contrition. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.”
God gave man free will and this was what he had done with it.
✽✽✽
1950 — Dachau
“Do you think Heinze might have been one of the slaughtered Waffen SS?” Slim asked.
“There’s a chance. You said the wife came here?” Murphy asked.
“Apparently,” Slim said.
“Were there wives and children living with the soldiers on base?” Pasha asked.
“Yes, the training camp for the Waffen SS resembled the Presidio army post in San Francisco. You have the barracks, the houses for the junior officers, the bigger houses for the senior officers, a store, a movie theater. I’m sure there were wives and kids on the base,” Murphy said. “Anyway, look. Franks is bound to take a while. I can get someone to show you around Dachau; the museum is just the crematorium. The old camp barracks are being used for apartments.”
They were shown around by a nineteen-year-old private from Newark, New Jersey. “I was just fourteen when the war ended; my older brothers fought in the Battle of the Bulge, Guadalcanal… I remember when they were first playing newsreels about the camps in the movie theaters. I couldn’t believe what I saw. When it came on, everyone was getting comfortable, passing out the popcorn — you know how people are before a movie starts, excited and all. Then the images were projected and there were gasps. Like everyone couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Someone said, ‘They oughta kill every last one of those camp guards.’ I heard they almost did. I’ll show you the crematorium. Like I said, all the former barracks are housing displaced families.”
They followed the young private to the crematorium. Flags from all nations memorializing the dead hung from the rafters of the ovens.
“The townspeople want the crematorium shut down, but there’s an international committee made up of surviving prisoners. They think it should be a memorial and museum,” the private said, concluding his tour.
A short time later, they met Murphy who was waiting for them with Franks.
“Ma’am,” Franks said, “this is what I could find: an affidavit from Heinze taken during the RuSHA trial. They didn't charge him with anything. There is no mention of a wife, but I did find something.” He looked over to Murphy, who shrugged.
“What is it?” Slim asked, “Is it about the boy I am looking for?”
“You said this boy is Jewish?” Murphy asked.
Murphy looked at Franks and nodded.
“On April 20th, 1945, Adolf Hitler left the bunker to greet members of the Hitler Youth in the garden of the Reich Chancellery. It was one of the last photographs of Adolf Hitler alive. We found this photo in Heinze’s file.”
Franks pulled out a black and white photo of Hitler shaking the hand of a round-cheeked boy. Franks turned over the photo and on it was scrawled, ‘Karl, son of Ernst Heinze.’
“These boys were all given Iron Crosses some for the Battle of Berlin. Others were from the Hitlerjugend Panzer Division of Breslau,” Franks said.
“He does not look any older than my son,” Pasha said as he turned the photo back over.
“Do you think this is the boy that you are looking for?” Murphy asked.
Slim took the photo Lena gave her and arranged them both side by side.
“It’s him. I know it’s him. It is the same face. A little older, but this is the boy. Do you know where Ernst Heinze might be now?” Slim asked.
The Lost Boy Page 18
