by Brad Murray
Wicker returned to the room with a white box in hand. A bright red bow sat pertly atop, proclaiming the significance of what lay inside. Wicker delivered the box to Josef silently, expressionless as always. He peered down from his bright round eyes and rosy cheeks that lent him an innocent boyish appearance and concealed the malevolence within.
“What is it father?” asked Viktor excitedly.
His father slid the present over the table in front of him. “I guess you will have to open it to see, my son.”
Josef put his arm on his wife’s shoulder, captivated by the scene of his young son tearing through the wrapping paper. Ava turned and looked at her husband inquisitively.
“Whoa!” shouted Viktor as he tossed the wrapping paper to the floor.
The boy eagerly freed the object from its box and held it in the air, proudly displaying the shiny steel blade for his family. Ava gasped. Josef patted her neck, silently reassuring her.
“Hitler Jugend Fahrtenmesser,” breathed an awestruck Viktor. The “Hitler Youth Knife” as it was known. The knife, or more aptly described, dagger, was six inches of stainless steel. Its handle was painted black with a nickel-plated checkered pattern. A swastika adorned the grip in gleaming red, white, and black. Ownership of the Hitler Youth Knife was enthralling to a boy. It meant adventure. Best of all to Viktor, it meant he was coming of age in the eyes of his father.
“Josef, he’s too young,” said Ava. “The knife is not supposed to be given until he is older. Ten, or perhaps even twelve.”
“Mother…” started Viktor. But his father raised his hand cutting off his protest.
“I had a knife when I was a boy, younger than Viktor even. Sure, he is younger than most boys when they receive their dagger, but Viktor is not most boys.” Josef winked at his son and went on. “I will watch over him, teach him, make sure he understands and respects it.”
Viktor nodded in agreement. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as all eyes were on the worried mother, awaiting her response. Ava sighed, looked up at Josef and then at Viktor. She feigned a grin, clearly not happy with her husband, who had not even bothered to mention the knife. But the half-hearted grin was indicative of her stamp of approval nonetheless. Reluctant though Ava was, father and son locked eyes for a moment, and rejoiced in their victory without saying a word.
Outside in the distance, a dull explosion reverberated faintly. Ava shrieked. The two soldiers shared a knowing look; it was the unmistakable sound of mortar fire. Recent sporadic reports indicated the war was marching closer to the Schwarz family home every day, but this was the first time there was actual evidence of the approaching frontline. The Allies were tearing through Germany from the west, the Soviets from the south and east. The Germans hadn’t launched an offensive in over a month and appeared to be in full retreat.
The Schwarz’s had lived in a quaint three bedroom house on top of the hill above Haasburg prison camp for three glorious years. Though the family lived near a concentration camp, Ava had always felt that the war seemed far away. They were protected here in this little corner of the world, and danger had always seemed remote. Haasburg was located southeast of Munich near the Austrian border, far away from the frontlines. They had lived a normal life here, and the Allies, it seemed, were half a world away. And, though her husband wore the SS uniform, Ava had worked diligently to shelter the family from the war. Talk of it at the dinner table was strictly forbidden, and she never, ever, asked Josef about his day.
She didn’t want to know.
The war had broken apart so many families, claimed the husbands of so many of Ava’s childhood friends. But she had been ever so fortunate to marry a man of stature, a man of distinction and significance. Josef’s rank as camp commander had afforded the family the precious opportunity to remain together, and for that she was grateful. But try as she might, it was growing impossible to keep the war at arm’s length, as the bombs in the distance reminded her. Germany would inevitably surrender, and it wouldn’t be long before the family would be forced to abandon their home and retreat to Berlin. What would happen to Josef if captured by the Allies? After all, he was an important member of the Nazi Party. And what would happen to the family? Would they be able to stay together or would they be separated? Tortured? Killed? The thoughts of the possibilities paralyzed her with fear. They had a plan, and that part was comforting at least. But the plan was laced with risk, and she couldn’t help but worry about the ramifications for her children if the plan failed. She knew Josef had the same fears, though he was putting on a confident face to ease the tension.
Even though the explosion was far away, it was completely unexpected and utterly disconcerting. Everyone in the room, including Josef and Wicker, stood in silence, searching each other’s anxious faces, unsure of what to say. Finally, Ava jumped from her chair and paced the floor, running both hands through her hair.
“I thought we had at least three more weeks Josef!” cried Ava.
Josef cleared his throat, grabbed his SS hat from the table, and motioned towards Wicker. Wicker nodded and exited the room immediately. As Commander of Haasburg, Josef had been contemplating the forthcoming end of the war. Inevitably the Allies would overtake the camp, and soon. But he hadn’t expected it to come this soon. Perhaps, he thought, the boom in the distance hadn’t come from the frontlines and that maybe there was another explanation. But in his heart he knew the undeniable truth.
The end was near.
High Command in Berlin was in disarray. In recent weeks, Josef had found it more and more difficult to make contact with his superiors, and when he was able to actually speak with someone in High Command, his orders were often vague and unclear, if there were orders given at all. And because High Command was never unclear, it was all the more troubling. Josef’s primary unanswered question was what to do with the camp. To him, it came down to two options. He could order his men to flee, leaving the prisoners to fend for themselves. Or, he could liquidate the camp’s population and eliminate all evidence that they had ever existed at all. In the former case, ordering the camp to be abandoned would allow his family a head start on the road back to Berlin. But leaving the prisoners alive meant there would be evidence that, as Haasburg Commander, could be used against him in the Allies’ prosecution of war crimes. In the latter case, the entire population would be exterminated, a desirable outcome no doubt, and all evidence of the prisoners’ wretched lives eradicated. But this alternative would take a great amount of work and time; and time was becoming an increasingly precious commodity. As Ava said, he had thought there would be three more weeks. He had hoped there were weeks remaining before being forced to make such a decision. The bombs rumbling faintly in the distance dispelled this notion entirely.
Josef said nothing to Ava as he marched through the front room and out the door. Wicker was already sitting in the Mercedes-Benz, engine running, headlights on, awaiting his superior. Josef scurried into the passenger side and Wicker promptly shifted the car into gear. A two minute ride down the winding, pine tree-lined dirt road provided the pathway to the camp.
“To the communications building,” muttered Josef.
“Yes sir.”
Wicker drove cautiously, noticeably slower than normal. Josef studied Wicker’s expression and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He did not often smoke, but in recent weeks he had found comfort in it, only doing so when out of Ava’s sight.
“I have not known you long, Wicker, but I am observant enough to know when a man has something to say,” said Josef, lighting his cigarette. He drew in a long pull and exhaled, licking his lips. Wicker glanced at Josef and back at the road.
“Go ahead,” said Josef, raising his eyebrows and beckoning Wicker with his free hand. “Speak.”
Wicker paused for a moment, as if searching for the words. But Josef didn’t buy it. He’d studied Wicker’s file and had scrutinized his every move since his arrival. Wicker was deliberate, calculating, never one to speak off the cuff. He’d
probably rehearsed his forthcoming speech a dozen times.
“Respectfully sir, if I may…”
“Let us dispense with the formalities and play-acting for just a moment,” said Josef. “The war is just beyond that horizon. We do not have time for mock pleasantries and pretense. I have a lot on my mind, Wicker. More than you can possibly imagine. So just say what you have to say.”
Josef took another draw from the cigarette. Wicker’s jawline tightened and he stole a quick glance at Josef. Wicker’s expression darkened.
“If anything, Sir, I am a man of directness. Doing away with such ‘mock pleasantries and pretense’, to use your words, would be a most welcome respite. And you are most certainly correct, Sir. The war is just over that horizon. The Allies will inundate this camp in just a matter of days. They will pour through that pass like locusts,” said Wicker, motioning to the mountains rising above the south side of the camp. “And we will be defenseless to stop them.”
Wicker’s tone had changed completely, and his mannerisms as well. Josef realized that, for the very first time, he was seeing the real Hans Wicker. This was the very same person Josef had always imagined him to be, hiding just beneath the ass-kissing surface, momentarily free from the binds of rank and formality. Yet there was something startling about witnessing his true personality come out into the open. The transformation happened smoothly, effortlessly; like the flick of a switch.
“The war is over, we both know that now. High Command is in shambles, we cannot depend on receiving orders. Therefore, you must make decisions on your own; the fate of your men and the fate of the camp reside solely within you.”
Wicker spoke the truth, every word of it having already crossed Josef’s mind. Regardless, Wicker was speaking to Josef as if they were equals. And Josef didn’t like it at all.
“When I asked you to speak freely, I did not intend for you to take it as an invitation to speak to me as if we were of the same rank. Might I remind you of your place, Untersturmführer,” Josef said calmly. “Do not forget yourself. You are a subordinate and if I did not have more pressing issues to deal with…”
“But that’s just it, isn’t it Sir? There are more pressing issues to deal with. My apologies for my crude delivery, I am not a skilled orator - unlike you. But we both know that what I say is true.”
“Fair enough. What is your point, Wicker? What do you want?”
“What I want is to carry out the solution. What I want is to fulfill our responsibility to the Reich and to Germany before it is too late.” Wicker paused for effect. “We must do our duty and eliminate the rats. The prisoners must be eradicated. Now.”
“No such orders from High Command have been given!”
“Nevertheless, we know it must be done! You know you’re in danger, Sir. And more importantly, your family is in danger. Certainly you have had many sleepless nights thinking of this? Ava, Viktor, and Martha lie in the path of an inevitable, unstoppable force. You must have realized that your rank, your position, endangers them. They will be tortured – killed – because of the simple fact they share your name.”
A solemn expression filled Josef’s face. Wicker went on, sensing he had struck a chord.
“Every moment that you remain here only further cements their fates. You must take them and flee Haasburg.”
“And I suppose you are volunteering to remain and see to the liquidation of the prisoners yourself?”
“I will.”
“And you would see to the evacuation of my men?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Why your desire to stay? Why not flee this camp and leave these mindless, inconsequential vermin to fend for themselves? You must realize the good lot of them will die within days if left alone, either by disease or starvation.”
Wicker’s eyes glowed; the answer to the question was rooted in his very purpose for being.
“Because it must be done, Sir. Because, if even one of them were to survive and was liberated by the Allies, there will be one more filthy rat in the world. That rat will multiply, as rats are prone to do. It is our duty, Sir, to rid the world of the Jew while the opportunity has presented itself. That opportunity is now, whilst these walls remain standing. The clock is ticking, and soon we may find the opportunity has slipped between our fingers.”
As the Mercedes approached the gate, two armed guards saluted and gave a quick once-over inside the car, just as they did with every vehicle, and waved them through. Josef sat in silence, Wicker’s words echoing in his head. He knew them to be well-founded, himself having run through the very same scenarios Wicker had just painted countless times over the past few weeks. Josef was deeply conflicted. His duties to his country and to his men did not align with his duties as a husband and father. Fulfillment of one came at the expense of the other. Each time he thought of staying, he had visions of being captured and of his Ava being tortured, of Viktor being hanged, or of his sweet little innocent Martha being shot in front of him. The visions were unbearable. He and Ava had already made detailed arrangements to flee the country, and when they decided to leave, they could do so in a moment’s notice. However, each time he thought of ordering the abandonment of the camp, a sickening feeling washed over him. It was treason; there could be no worse shame. Additionally, there was something else causing his hesitancy.
The boy Doctor Wagner called “Superjunge.”
Wicker stopped the Mercedes in front of the Communications Building, a concrete reinforced two-story structure that housed the camp’s radios and antennae on the second floor. The building’s open first floor served as the officer’s dining room, as well as the location for the Christmas pageant. Haasburg was the home of somewhere between eight to nine hundred prisoners. Josef had stopped paying close attention to the actual count over the last few weeks. Their numbers were dwindling - what with as many as thirty prisoners per day dying of typhus and any number of other diseases and ailments. At one point, Haasburg had housed over twenty five hundred, most worked the synthetic rubber plant down the road in support of the German war effort. But in late 1943, High Command determined that, in addition to producing high quality rubber, Haasburg’s residents could serve Nazi interests in a most distinctive way.
It was that winter that Doctor Wagner arrived.
Josef exited the vehicle without another word to Wicker and entered the building in hasty, brusque paces. Bram Müller, who was in charge of camp communications, was plodding drearily down the stairs, thumbing through a stack of papers. He looked up to see Josef entering, stopped on the bottom step, and saluted.
“Sir,” said Müller. “I was just about to have these reports delivered to your residence.”
He extended the stack of papers to Josef, but Josef motioned them away.
“Give me the quick summary,” he snapped.
Müller took a deep breath.
“Nuremberg has been captured,” said Müller.
“Won’t be long now then,“ remarked Wicker. “Any communication with Berlin?”
Müller shook his head. “The American 7th Army is moving south toward Munich and is nearing Frommberg. We are mounting a resistance there, Sir. You may have heard mortar fire echoing earlier.”
“Frommberg?” said Josef distantly. “That’s less than ten kilometers away.”
Josef knew the village well, and the residents of Frommberg knew him. Josef frequently drove Ava and the children there, often just to get away from Haasburg for a few hours. Frommberg was a tiny village, occupied by a few hundred residents. Its one main throughfare was lined with shops of all variety, built with exposed-timber frame construction buildings. The pointed steeple of the local church towered above the village, seeming to extend towards the peaks of the Alps. The air was clean and crisp and the people were friendly. It reminded Josef and Ava of home - the village in which they were married and lived in before the war.
The moment Müller uttered the word “Frommberg,” something clicked in Josef’s mind. Perhaps it was the fact t
he Allies were invading a place so close and so familiar that drove home the reality of the situation. It had been an excruciating couple of weeks, agonizing over the decision and knowing that his life and the futures of his children were in limbo.
A sort of peace came over him - Josef knew what he must do. The Germans were mounting a resistance. Perhaps it would be enough to buy him time. Müller looked to his superior for instruction. “Will there be anything further, Sir?”
Josef, gazing blankly at the floor, snapped to. “No Müller, that will be all.” Josef started to turn away, but caught himself. As an afterthought he said, “Please continue in your efforts to contact Berlin, and notify me immediately if anything changes.”
He turned towards the door and signaled Wicker to follow. Stopping outside, Josef reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He offered a cigarette to Wicker.
Wicker shook his head, “No Sir. I don’t smoke.”
“Of course you don’t,” Josef smirked. “You’re just the perfect little German, aren’t you? Why, you could star in one of Goebbels’ films, couldn’t you?”