He pointed and said, “New York?”
Everyone had heard of the big city of New York, just like everyone has heard of Berlin.
Then he moved the stick down a bit and said, “Philadelphia.”
We sat with our backs against the wall we’d built and I drew an outline of Germany and pointed to my hometown, just outside Dresden.
Soon he brought two more changes of clothes, which I shared with my comrades, Karl, Helmut and Heinrich. We continued constructing the building, assisted by several more American soldiers and a few civilians.
Chapter 16 - Herschel’s Story
The days went by. I walked, feeling stronger each time. Most days Reb Horowitz accompanied me. At first we spoke of our families and then of our schooling, carefully avoiding the topic of our camp. I hadn’t known him well, just when he secretly said prayers or when it was his turn to help me pile the corpses on the trolley to take them to the pits. When no guards were about, he said the Hebrew prayer for the dead over the bodies. When guards were about, he silently moved his lips.
While we walked, he told me his story and I told him mine.
After a week, King Mendel started walking with us, haltingly at first but stronger by the day. He refused any and all help. One of the American doctors had procured an artificial leg for him and helped to fit it. After several adjustments Mendel was left to fend for himself. “No more crutches,” he insisted
One day we came upon a pair of men digging a large hole. I stepped forward and asked in German what they were digging for.
A thin, bald man said, “A latrine, son.” He stood up, hand against his lower back and eyed me, “Seems to me a strong lad like you could maybe help us?”
I looked at my tent mates and the Reb and Mendel nodded, and then walked off. I jumped into the hole and seized the shovel. Beside me a short, thickly muscled man, several years older than me with a shock of red hair and a bristly mustache just nodded toward the opposite corner. I took up the shovel and began to dig. I felt strong and soon developed a rhythm. The hole grew deeper and the dirt piles once knee-high outside were now chest-high.
“Ease up, lad. The wagon comes.”
I jumped up and held out a hand for my shorter companion. He grasped my wrist and hauled himself up. A slab-sided wagon driven by an American soldier and hauled by two dispirited nags stopped by the hole.
“Well? What are you waiting for? You didn’t dig that dirt out of the ground to save it, did you?” laughed the driver. He jumped from the seat and grasped one of the shovels. “Here, I’ll show you how us Nebraska farm boys do it!” And he started to shovel our piles. He worked steadily and without a wasted motion.
Even though I had been shoveling for more than an hour, I stood beside him and matched him stroke for stroke. Soon it became a contest, with our companions cheering for one or the other of us. We looked at each other occasionally and grinned. It only served to spur us on. Finally the wagon was full. We collapsed with laughter and fell to the ground.
“You are a pretty fine shoveller, young man,” he panted, handing me a jug of water he retrieved from the footwell of the wagon.
I drank thirstily and said, “You are not very bad yourself, old fellow.” And we fell to laughing again.
“You speak pretty good English, sonny boy. Are you an American?”
I chuckled, “Oh, no, sir. I just have learned some English in my school years ago.”
“Well, you are the first one I’ve met in this Godforsaken country who speaks good old English,” he said.
“Where do you take this dirt, sir?” I queried the exhausted soldier.
His face lost its humor, “To the Nazi camp.” And he pointed toward the other side of the road.
I thought for a minute. This might be my only chance to get inside there. “May I come with you, sir? Perhaps I can help.”
“Help? How could you help?”
I shrugged. “Well, sir, I speak some English as well as German, and,” I reminded him, “I am a fine shoveller.”
The soldier barked a laugh and held out a hand, “Canfield, Harry Canfield.”
“Herschel Rothberg, sir, at your calling.” We clasped hands and shook once.
Harry Canfield struggled to his feet and helped me up, “Sure, lad, come on, but you won’t have to shovel this dirt over there. Those Nazi bastards will empty the wagon.”
“What is it to be used for, sir?”
“I think they’re going to be using it to level a building site. I heard talk that they’re building a big courtroom and are going to put the former guards on trial.” He motioned me up to the seat and climbed in beside me. Clucking at the horses, he snapped the reins and off we went, slowly but toward the gate, the slow hoofbeats muffled in the dusty road.
As we passed my tent I saw Mendel and the Rabbi seated on boxes outside. They rose as the wagon passed. Mendel started to raise a hand but the Rabbi restrained him. I just nodded at them. I think the Rabbi guessed where we were heading and why. He must have known of my relationship with Hans. Most of the prisoners from Kefferstadt did.
At the gate to the Nazi camp, the guards questioned Private Canfield, asked who I was and where we were going. He replied that I was just a civilian helper. They let us in and locked the gate behind us. Two guards followed behind.
All about were men in Nazi uniforms. My stomach tightened. Though I was now a free man, the sight of those arrogant, terrible men still made me fear for my life. We came to the building site and stopped at one end. Men were waiting. I climbed down with Private Harry and sat in the shade. Two Nazi privates climbed into the wagon and slowly started slinging shovels full of the black dirt into a depression near the rear of the partially completed building.
Though I kept my head down, I looked at each prisoner carefully. No Hans. I stood and stretched. As I started toward the opposite end of the building, Private Canfield shouted, “Stay close, Herschel. Don’t leave my sight.”
I smiled and waved, “I will not go far, sir.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and strolled on. As I came to a doorway, a man came out and nearly bumped into me. I instinctively reached my hands out and gripped his arms. It was Hans.
His eyes grew wide and he gasped, “Herschel!” What…?”
“Shhh,” I whispered, shoving him roughly back into the doorway. Inside the room, we hugged each other briefly. After these months and the long rides, now I had found him, my friend, my brother.
“Where are you now, Herschel? How did you find me?” Tears were streaming down his face as he clutched my arms. “They mean to hang us.” He hung his head down, not looking me in the eye.
“Then we have to get you out of here.”
“Escape?” He asked.
“Yes.” I gripped his upper arms again. “I’ve been thinking about this day. You have to get out with as many of the other guards as you can. They will cause a diversion. When they run away, you must run for our camp.”
“Your camp? Then you are at the DP camp across the road?”
“Yes. I am in a tent with two friends, a one-legged boy named Mendel and Reb Horowitz from Kefferstadt. Can you get out of here?”
“I do not know. I will try. When?”
I thought. “Two nights. It is a quarter moon and will be dark. Come to the fence on the west side of our camp about one hundred meters from the corner by the street. I’ll be waiting there near midnight.”
“Yes,” he said again. “I will be there.” Then Hans pushed me hard out through the door.
I stumbled out the door and would have fallen, but Private Canfield caught me. He glared at Hans and then helped me back to the wagon.
I heard Hans curse me in German. I almost laughed, covering it with a cough. Canfield helped me up into the now empty wagon.
“I told you to stay where I could see you. Do you know what these Nazis did for the last few years? They were guards at the death camps.” He went on without waiting for an answer from me. “The rumor mill says that this building is g
oing to be a courtroom. That end,” he pointed to where we had dropped the dirt,” is where we will hang the lot of them.”
“Yes, I understand, sir. I am sorry.” The wagon was empty now and the two American guards with weapons stood beside it.
Private Harry motioned the horses and wagon forward and I sat quietly, my demeanor peaceful but my mind going a million kilometers per hour. How was I to get Hans out? Even more important, how was I to pass him off as my brother?
All I could do is wait by the fence and hope he would be able to come.
Chapter 17 - Hans’ Story
I was overwhelmed seeing Herschel. I had thought I would never see him again. I was sure the American military courts would hang us all. Now, I might have a reprieve. Herschel had it worked out, a plan to free me, I hoped. To free me, but what of my friends? All I could do was help them get through the fence. After that, they were on their own. I knew I must make a plan to free myself from this camp. Herschel could only help me after I was on the outside.
The fence was the problem. The Americans had built a very tight compound. Around our camp was a fence made up of many strands of barbed wire, taller than my head. There was a gap of possibly three meters and then another barbed wire fence, just as high, surrounding the first fence. If we walked to the front of our camp near the gate and looked across the street, there we could see the other camp, this one surrounded by a single fence, not as high. I’d heard it was a camp for displaced persons from all over the Reich.
I went to our tent and got Karl, Josef and Heinrich. We walked the fence line, stopping behind a large canvas tent in the rear, and I whispered to them, “I am going to escape from here in two nights. I am not going to wait for them to hang me for something I did not do.”
Karl looked at me, shocked, “If the Americans catch you, they will shoot you. Are you insane?”
“Yes, Hans, you do not know if they will hang us. Don’t they have to give us a trial first?” asked Josef.
Josef was the youngest of us, barely sixteen years, short with curly black hair and a slender build. His father had been a fighter pilot and Josef had not heard from him in more than two years. His mother and two younger sisters had lived in Dresden. None of us mentioned what happened to that poor city. He was naïve, had only been in Dachau two or three months before the camp was overtaken by the American soldiers.
I rounded on him. “Every man here was a guard at a camp that killed thousands of innocent people! You think the Amis care about a fair trial? Do not be a simpleton.”
Karl grabbed my arm, pulling me back. He stood at my side and said to the others, “Hans is right. Any trial will be a farce.” He looked from one to the other, “I will go with you, Hans.”
I felt a hand gripping my shoulder. Karl and Heinrich and Josef stiffened, almost standing to attention.
A voice behind me whispered, “So, young man, you and your little friends are going to try to escape?” The Sergeant-major came around and stood before us, hands on hips. He had on a clean uniform, a tall cap and a sneer on his face. He was much older than any of us, with short, graying hair, a deep scar under one eye and thick wrists. A tattoo of a chain was around one of those wrists. He laughed, a short bark.
“I, I don’t know what you are talking about, sir.”
”Oh, come, come now, young private. I overheard everything you said.” He eyed me as if he were used to using a monocle, “And just how do you propose getting through the wire?”
I pulled my shirt up slightly. Tucked into my trousers was a wire cutter. I let the shirt drop. “I was helping a soldier on the new building and found these. One of the working men must have left it behind.” I shrugged. “I thought that I would need it someday, perhaps.”
He held out his hand, “Give.”
“Nein,” I replied, stepping back.
The Sergeant Major came at me and attempted to grab the cutter, and I slapped his hand away. He looked at me in amazement. Once again he came at me and I struck him in the stomach with all my force. He expelled a huge rush of air and clutched his sides, nearly falling.
I’d held my ground against this supposedly superior non-commissioned officer. The other lads moved up beside me and stiffened. “The night after this one, I am going out through that fence there.” I nodded toward the fence as it ran behind the large tent. “If you want to escape also, be here after midnight. The moon is small then, and it will be quite dark. If you have two or three others, bring them with you.”
He nodded and smiled craftily, chagrined, hoping no one had seen a private strike him.
“You are not my superior any longer. The war is over, Sergeant-Major.”
“No, not yet, Private. The Fuehrer may still survive. Survive to begin again.”
I shook my head, “No, sir, our war is kaput, again. I suggest that if you get out of here, you just disappear. That is what I am going to do.” I turned to my mates, “Come, let us go plan.” I turned one last time to the older man. “Remember, midnight, tomorrow night. Good day, sir.”
Back at our tent, I assisted Karl in removing all insignia from what was left of his uniform. Since we were not allowed knives, we used a small piece of glass Karl had found on the ground near the construction site. We worked methodically removing the epaulets also and mending the blouse as best we could.
“Are either of you fellows coming with us?” I looked at Josef and Heinrich.
Josef shook his head, looking at the floor. “I cannot, Hans. I am too afraid. I am sorry.” He looked up with a tear in his eye.
“Heinrich?” I queried the taller boy. He looked from Josef to me. I could almost see the wheels turning.
Finally he stood. “I’ll come too. I do not like it here.” He put a hand to Josef’s shoulder. “You will be all right, my friend. You are young and Amis will see that.”
The next night was cloudy. Even better. We were all tense. We had been sitting on our cots for hours, speaking quietly of our homes and families. No one had a watch, but Karl assured us that it was time to go. I did not know how he knew but we were all eager to depart. We had reconnoitered the camp the last few days and knew that the area behind the large tent in the rear was the darkest and least guarded. We hoped the Amis assumed the barbed wire fences would discourage any attempt at escape.
Josef wept openly as he hugged each of us. He kept mumbling over and over how sorry he was. We assured him that we understood. Heinrich clutched the small bag of food we’d managed to put aside, and Karl extinguished the small lantern we had been issued.
“Let us go, my friends. We’ll meet again in Stuttgart.” I slipped out the tent flap into the darkened compound, staying in the shadows. A few stars shone here and there between the clouds. I waited for my eyes to get accustomed to the dark. Against the sky I could see a watchtower in one corner of the compound. Atop it, two moving red dots suggested soldiers smoking.
In a few moments we reached the large tent. I felt, rather than heard, the lads behind me. I stood quietly by the rear tent corner. A voice hissed from the other side.
“Is that you, Private?”
“Ya. Just wait until the cloud covers the moon,” I hissed back. A few minutes passed. As soon as I saw the edge of the moon darkening, I moved quickly to the fence and knelt, feeling for the wire. The lowest strand parted with a nearly audible twang. I felt the barb on the second wire and snipped between it and the next. I felt the third but couldn’t feel the barb. I ran my hand back and forth. No barbs. Curious. Had they run out of barbed wire? No, the next was barbed. Just as I was about to snip it, a large hand reached out tore the cutter from me.
“Let me do that, you clumsy boy.” The Sergeant Major quickly snipped the bare wire before I could warn him. I saw a flash of light as the searchlight came on and a deep voiced siren began to moan. He had cut a trip wire connected to an alarm system. The Sergeant roughly shoved me aside, and he and two more men pushed past and into the gap between the fences. It would take the American guards some time to fin
d the break in the fence, I knew, but that still only gave us seconds.
“Come,” said Karl, lifting me to my feet and pushing through the cut wire. Ahead I saw the next fence wires were cut and the older men were running for the nearby wood.
“Go!” I pushed Karl, then Heinrich through the fence as the searchlight swept in our direction. I barely had time to run the opposite way, toward the other fence corner, toward the road. “Good luck,” I whispered at my friends.
Parked ahead was a truck with one axle on a stand. I threw myself on the ground beside it, hoping that the searchlight would pass over me. It did, and I immediately jumped up and ran for a small clump of bushes. They cast a dark shadow offering cover. Behind me I heard the pop, pop, pop of a machine gun opening fire. Before me I heard jeeps roaring out of the compound. When I took a chance and looked up, I saw soldiers with weapons at the ready. The drivers growled through the gears. I quickly covered my head, not wanting my pale face to expose my position. The searchlight swept over them and momentarily stopped, making sure it was American soldiers in the jeeps. I knew that they would be blinded for a few seconds and that the area outside the light circle would appear darker than the surrounding landscape, so I drew myself to my feet and ran again. Behind me I heard screams as some of the heavy bullets found their marks. I hoped that it was not Karl or Heinrich for they were good boys and had never harmed anyone.
The road lay like a pale streak before me. I crawled toward it, then rose to my feet and deliberately walked backward, hoping that anyone who saw me or my footprints in the dust would assume I was walking toward the disturbance, not away from it.
In a minute I was across the road and running alongside the fence, opposite the direction my comrades had run. I dared to stop and look behind me. The spotlight illuminated a broad swath of the open ground between the fence and the nearby wood. One jeep had stopped, and soldiers with lanterns were inspecting the cut wires. Other soldiers were looking at crumpled shapes, and at another, a soldier knelt and was attending a wounded man who was screaming. I hoped again that the wounded man was either Karl or Heinrich or that they had escaped.
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