by Albert Holl
After the vast mass deaths that had gone on until May, those who recovered were laid down in the rooms, where the rows of prisoners had already been considerably reduced. Of the two thousand or so officers who boarded the train in Beketovka only 835 had survived. Except for up to 132 men needed for essential duties, like chopping wood, doing the washing for baths, kitchen, hospital and sanitary installations, all the convalescents were incapable of working. Nevertheless the Russians were prepared to set some of them to clearing the ruins of the former convent chapel. Josef Kayser, the Catholic priest of the 76th Infantry Division, after he had returned from the founding celebrations of the National Committee Freies Deutschland in Moscow, said of this place a few weeks later: ‘Here in the ruins of the former convent chapel I have seen the light!’ The pathos in his voice still rings in my ears and I can clearly see the scorn in the face of the Guards major watching. At that time none of us had any idea of what still awaited us. When I saw the Communist emigrant Knippschild and spoke to him for the first time, I thought he was a Russian. A little later I discovered that he was actually a German who had emigrated to Russia in 1933. The emigrants Steiner and Wolf, who had fought in the German Legion on the Red Spanish side, appeared among us, along with the writer Dr Friedrich Wold and the wife of the Austrian Communist Party leader Peter Fischer, but as yet we did not realise what significance their visits would have for us.
At the request of my regimental commander, Colonel Reinisch, I had taken over the responsibility for a so-called company consisting of 152 soldiers, NCOs and officers. But I soon realised that my position as leader of the company was untenable. I came into conflict with the emigrants who were looking for people that they could manipulate for their political machinations. As a soldier, I naturally reject all political collaboration, especially as we were prisoners here. I did not want to be a traitor. I soon found a successor in Captain Hilweg, who came from Breslau, and I was relieved of my post on health grounds.
What a circus they had tried to make of us when a photographer appeared to take pictures for propaganda purposes. They sat the staff officers outside in the yard at white-covered tables laden with food that was expressly only intended for the photographs. Finally the prisoners from individual rooms were summoned to the meal and snapped. The finale was formed by the company. I still recall the greedy eyes of the men, who could hardly wait to be able to start eating. But it was so windy that the tablecloths almost blew away, so that after the photographs of the company were taken they ate in the normal dining room. Some of them had the bread taken from them that evening because at lunchtime they had taken more than their share. Some of the prisoners even had to converse loudly although there was no electricity during the day and at night they produced such terrible sounds that one could not understand them and nobody listened. Who would believe that Potemkin was dead?
I can see now Weiss-Wolf sitting opposite me as he tried to enlist me for the Communists. I was to go with him to Moscow to be baptised as a traitor. I had even withdrawn from the cultural group that wanted to use me to present our best and greatest poet for the ‘progress’. And then the most monstrous thing that the German officers did was founding the National Committee Freies Deutschland on the 14th of July 1943. As their colours they chose those of the Second Reich: black, white and red. The president was the emigrant Erich Weinert, with vice-presidents Heinrich Graf von Einsiedel and Engineer Major Karl Hetz, whom we called ‘Karlchen’ because of the whining tone that he had developed after the marches and the spotted fever. Further leading roles in the foundation ceremonies were played in our camp by Major Heinrich Hohmann, Captain Karl-Heinz Stolz, Lieutenant Dr Heinrich Abel and a few others.
Lieutenant Raier I saw standing on the podium delivering wild hymns of hate against the Third Reich in a tone that would have done credit to an ordinary pimp. Raier had been captured on the first or second day of the war. Herr Heinrich Graf von Einsiedel, 22 years old, and a great-grandson of the Iron Chancellor, also stood at the tribune and, as a worthy representative of his great predecessors, spoke about the mistakes made in the 1918 revolution. But as one could tell from his speech, it galled him greatly that he had not been awarded the Knights’ Cross by ‘the Corporal’.
Mistrust and unrest had arisen among the prisoners. Our grievances – bugs, poor accommodation, insufficient food, etc. – now retreated into the background. Those who yesterday had been irreproachable were already seen as traitors in the enemy camp. Even my fellow countryman Hund, the headmaster of a primary school, was among them. His behaviour had already earned him the nickname ‘Pig Dog’! One could no longer trust one’s closest friends. Only if two stood alone were their thoughts valid; informers were everywhere! Especially relevant for me was a talk I had with Captain Lützelberger, a headmaster from Lippstadt. Three of his sons were still fighting in the grey tunic. The eldest was a captain, like himself. Old Lützelberger wanted to join the National Committee. There were tears in his eyes when I reproached him with what his eldest son would say, but the next day he gave in to the pressure from the emigrants and likewise joined the traitors.
At the moment my divisional comrade Second-Lieutenant Karl Proschinsky is shaky. He was a dashing lad, though he has used little of this gift here. The enemy works with lies and intrigues, using the most common means.
In April we were allowed to send letters home. A few weeks later it was said that the post had been rejected by the German government, but a few days ago comrades found this ‘rejected’ post in a building in the Kama. The rooms had previously belonged to the church and were now being made into a new camp. The Russians had only wanted to read what we had to report back home!
My heart is full of uneasy concern. What will this lead to? Even my comrades Imig and Peter, with whom I was going to flee shortly before being taken prisoner, have joined the traitors. Has Jim Fürstenburger also taken this step? I don’t believe it! He has been lying for a few months now in the woodland cemetery north of the town. The good cavalry Captain Rapp has also not returned from the hospital, nor Second-Lieutenant Haferkamp. They have found their eternal home and now lie undisturbed by the turmoil of these days.
ARRESTED AS LEADER OF A BAND OF CONSPIRATORS
I sit up. Has someone called my name? Yes, again: ‘Captain Holl!’ It is coming from the entrance to Block II. ‘Here!’ I answer, shaken out of my gloomy dreams. Already as I approach I see by the gate sentry the former camp officer of the day. He is a tall, pockmarked Russian now working as a runner for the NKVD. We call him ‘the Tout’. I feel uneasy.
‘Captain Holl?’ he asked, in a high, unmanly voice that sounds repulsive to my ears. I acknowledge. He orders me to follow him. Without pulling a face, I obey. Questioning glances from comrades meet me as we go towards the club building. I enter the building with my body taut and without looking to right or left. Although I am not aware of committing any offences, I instinctively scent trouble. Inside, we go up to the first floor. The Tout stops in the corridor in front of the last door on the left and opens it.
Inside I see a lieutenant whom I know well by sight, and a young Jewish woman. The lieutenant has propped an elbow on the table and is holding his angular head, which is polished bare, in his hand.
The Tout reports. My name is given. The lieutenant asks something, but I cannot understand what is being said. The Tout asks me in bad German where I am quartered. We go to my room, where I have to pack my things. Now it is clear to me that I will not be coming back here. As I go out, I am able to pass my pay book, which I have been able to conceal until now, along with some photos and a map of Russia, to Captain Spannagel.
Again I stand before the NKVD bully. He says something, which the Jewish girl translates as: ‘Captain Holl, you are under arrest!’ I had expected something like this but was nevertheless a little pale. ‘May I ask on what grounds I am being arrested?’ The interpreter translates. The reply banishes my original depression: ‘You are the leader of a band of conspirators and have been sprea
ding Pro-Fascist propaganda!’ So it was only this, nothing concrete. ‘May I then see the band whose leader I have the honour to be?’ My smile did not seem to please him and he said something in a cynical tone. The interpreter translated: ‘Smiling will not help you!’ So that was a threat.
The Tout then receives some instructions from the bullying lieutenant, after which we leave the room. My few things are taken to the room next door, which was the Tout’s accommodation. Then we go down the stairs again and he leads me over the yard towards the bathroom. He stops shortly before it, takes a key from his pocket, opens some double doors and orders me to enter.
I was now standing in an anteroom. In entering I had seen that there was a door straight ahead. The double doors are closed behind me. I stand in the dark and feel my way forward to the door that I had seen. I open it but the room beyond is also dark. Now I try on my right. Ah, there is light. I am able to open a door and enter a bright room. It is vaulted like a cellar with two barred windows from where one can see across to the camp bakery. Moss hangs from the ceiling, so it must rain inside. I sit down on one of the three wooden racks in the room, then lie down on it in my thin Wehrmacht overcoat that I have been able to bring with me – and think. What do the Russians want from me? Wait! One thing I already know for certain: I would never become a traitor! I would rather die! I then go round the room looking at the walls. One victim had tried to draw Africa with a pencil. In the corner is the name Corporal Shäfer. I can take twelve paces straight ahead and eight paces from side to side.
FURTHER AS ‘CONSPIRACY LEADER’
At the double doors outside I hear the noise of the lock as the door is opened and immediately closed again. There is a short silence, then a groping forward and the door to my room opens. I get up reluctantly from my bed and give a greeting in a taut manner. In front of me stands the Ia of the 71st Infantry Division, Lieutenant-Colonel von Below, who is surprised to see me here. His face shows amazement at the encounter.
‘What brings the lieutenant-colonel here?’ I ask. Still standing at the door, he replies: ‘I have been arrested as leader of a conspiracy!’ I have to smile and say: ‘I too, Colonel.’ ‘But what do the Russians want from us?’ He looks at me questioningly. ‘They want us to become traitors, and that we will never be, Colonel, even if they line us up against the wall!’ We look at each other and shake hands.
We have already been six days in the cell and today we have had reinforcement. It is Colonel Crome, who, as a former corps commander, is highly regarded. Meanwhile the interrogations that we have already undergone clearly indicate what the intention is. They want to force us, at whatever the cost, into joining the National Committee. They hope that a number of resisting officers will follow our example. The growth of the traitor movement is going too slowly for the Russians.
Until now all interrogations have proved negative. On the first occasion a young Jewish second-lieutenant interrogated me. The next day it was the Guards major himself. With the face of a GPU executioner – he seemed to have had some experience as such – he ordered me to sit down. Sitting opposite him, I looked him straight in the eye. He apparently could not take this, as he kept looking away. Then came question and answer. I had nothing to keep silent about. My replies were clear and I did not lie. Questions I could not answer as a soldier, I refused.
Kudriatschov saw that he was not achieving his aim and became abusive. He threatened me: ‘You will never see your homeland again! We will destroy you physically and emotionally! Siberia is vast and has many silver and lead mines!’
The threatening aroused my obstinacy. Did this proletarian believe that his gorilla behaviour could intimidate me? Turning to the interpreter, I said: ‘The Guards major thinks that he can weaken me with his threats, but he will only achieve the opposite!’
The interpreter translated this. What a comical effect it had! Kudriatschov jumped up from his chair and shouted out: ‘Who is doing the threatening here? Even if we had two Captain Holls here, each armed with a machine-pistol, and I with just my Browning, I will finish both of them!’ I could only smile.
The same process took place with Lieutenant-Colonel von Below and Colonel Crome, both without success. Long hours of questioning, always to the same end: join the National Committee! And always the same reply was given. The Russians now tried other means on us. I would never have thought it possible, but it was. Every two or three days we were taken to the NKVD and there wrote a report on our performance and work, as well as the talks that Crome, von Below and myself had had.
If this cellar could talk, why would it not report everything? This is where our dead comrades had been put after they had been snatched away by the spotted fever. At night the female Russian dentist we called ‘Sauminna’ would appear and use her pliers to pull the gold teeth of the dead out of their mouths. Among the informers was one Böven, from Unterrath near Düsseldorf, who had been brought up strongly religious and whose studies had been paid for by the Catholic Church. As Judas gold for his work, he was given special dishes from the kitchen. They were carried right past our window. Working as prison supervisor was the leader of the Anti-fascists, Senior Paymaster Hohmann from the Bückerberger area, who was responsible for ensuring that our comrades could not communicate with us. This Hohmann, as well as Captain Hilwig, Lieutenant Baltin, Lieutenant Frey from Saxony, and four other officers had given the Russians reports about me that led to my arrest. Immediately afterwards I had no contact with these gentlemen as I was avoided as a traitor. I was so surprised when I was able to even read their signatures in an unguarded moment. I would never have believed it.
They also tried to soften us up with hunger. Instead of the usual daily ration we received 400 grams of bread daily and precisely measured out warm broth that was issued in the presence of a guard. It was water with stinging nettles. If one was lucky, one also found a cooked pea pod. If we had potatoes in their jackets, often two or three out of four would be rotten. There was never any butter or sugar. We discussed among ourselves anything that would help pass the time, recited poetry, went over German history, played chess, sang. We omitted only the one thing the Russians wanted: we never discussed politics.
A new guest, Lieutenant Breining, a Swabian, was also brought to join us from time to time by the NKVD. It seemed to me that he took things too much to heart.
In front of the whole camp, even the cooks and other employed personnel had to parade, the interpreter issues an order from Guards Major Kudriatschov whereby Crome, von Below and I were to go before the war crimes tribunal in Kasan. With this manoeuvre the Russians expected that even the most fickle and anxious of those interrogated would become more flexible, ready for admittance to the National Committee. Wonderful! The former courts-martial adviser Klein was one of the first members of the National Committee, so was now a traitor. His batman, a German Wehrmacht corporal, was sentenced to death in his absence. A few weeks ago Klein himself had been sentencing such persons, but now they sit together at a table and let themselves be served by them.
Gradually our beards were becoming even longer as nobody shaved us. A special pleasure for us was when some stalwarts came to the doors under cover of night and brought us bread. They had spared it from their own mouths. We also got the latest camp news from them. As this took place in the anteroom, Böven was unable to establish who the visitors were. The bread was shared fairly, with even Böven getting a share so that he did not notice that we were reporting about him.
We have now been in the lock-up for over a month but I have not been called for interrogation for about a week. The Russians seem to have realised that I am a hopeless case. The files pile up from interrogation to interrogation and the result is the same: nothing.
Our lock-up company has meanwhile increased after our camp senior, my last regimental commander, Colonel Reinisch, who came from Kärnten, was sent for punishment during an inspection of the camp by the Minister of the Interior of the Tartar Republic. The reason given was that as the Minis
ter was leaving a room he said it was dirty. The true reason was actually Colonel Reinisch’s aversion to politics. As the camp senior, he therefore had to go. His successor is Major Friedel, a Swabian, who better meets the expectations of the Russians.
A change has occurred in the daily monotony. Crome, von Below and I were taken to the bathroom, shaved and given clean clothing. The guard tells us to get ready to leave, as we will be moving on shortly. Where will we be going? Dressed, and with our few belongings ready on our beds – The Tout brought them to us a short while ago – we say farewell to the inhabitants of the lock-up. It is evening and already quite dark in the lock-up. Böven does not feel comfortable in his skin. As I go to him to say goodbye, I see sweat on his brow and even his hands are damp. With the words: ‘I will never be a traitor!’, I say goodbye to him looking him straight in the eye.
FROM NUNNERY CAMP TO KAMA CAMP
Nunnery Camp lies behind us. We three are marching one behind the other. In front of us is a guard with a rifle and fixed bayonet, and behind us two more guards, one with a submachine-gun, the other with a rifle and fixed bayonet. One guard for each of us: we must be bad boys! Today is the 21st of September, so we spent almost five weeks in the oppressive lock-up. We converse in whispers about where we might be going. There are three possibilities: Jelabuga Prison, the Courts-Martial Tribunal in Kasan, or the newly established Kama Camp, which lies in the church town of Jelabuga directly on the bank of the Kama. The prison comes in sight, but we go past. Now only two possibilities are left: the way to the harbour in order to be taken to Kasan, or the way to Kama Camp.