Trains to Treblinka

  “Park it here!” one yelled. The Czechs could hear the Nazis hoisting dead bodies into the flat bed of the truck.

  The dogs kept moving, away from the area.

  “Let’s hurry, it’s almost dark,” one of the guards bellowed.

  The truck departed.

  More shots were heard, away from the bog.

  Richard and Karel had not been detected. It was just murky enough in their patch of the bog to escape notice.

  As a dragonfly danced around the still faces of the two Jewish friends, the concluding glimmer of daylight evaporated and darkness flooded the area. The Czechs wait for another hour—their faces ravaged by mosquitos—delaying their departure because of the truck returning to the camp. More voices. More dogs barking. The wagon, full of dead prisoners who had dared to hope for escape, slowly rumbled back to Treblinka. All through their time in the water, the two men could hear machine-gun fire, pistol shots, and rifles—the furious sounds of reprisal and death waiting for them if they, too, were found.

  Agreeing it was time to move out of the water, Richard and Karel swam to the distant shore and crawled out of the slippery mud on the bottom of the bog. Submerged in the water for over four hours, they were soaked and shivering. Before they ventured into the woods they looked back at Treblinka to see it still ablaze with multicolor flames. Good riddance.

  As the two men navigated through the trees away from camp, they could still hear gunshots in various places around them. They were cautious to avoid areas of light, and stayed away from where there was any activity. Karel was barefooted. His shoes had been lost in the thick mud of the lake’s bottom. The two men searched for them before they departed, but the shoes were lost forever.

  Long before dawn they considered stopping, but decided against it. The more distance between them and Treblinka, the better. They followed the stars and moved in a generally southwestern direction for hours, avoiding farmhouses and roads. When the sky began to lighten with the breaking of the dawn, the men hiked alongside a farmer’s mowed field. They found some dense bushes and gathered a mound of freshly cut hay to bed under. Utterly depleted both emotionally and physically, their exhausted bodies soon found undisturbed sleep.

  Near sundown the men awoke and considered their position. They had traveled away from the flames of Treblinka all night, but now what? They did not have a strategy beyond their escape. Should they depart Poland and head into Slovakia? Should they look for a town and claim to be Gentile workers of the resistance? The answer came to them when they stumbled upon a peasant woman who declared that all prisoners of war should head west, not east. The two men were traveling in the wrong direction!

  They agreed their star navigation was deplorable. They had been walking toward the Russian advance! No wonder there had not been any Germans on their tracks; they had been going the wrong direction, but perhaps it was fate.

  Karel suggested to Richard, “The Lord is with us. He has his hand open to us.”

  Karel’s sentiment proved right when the two slipped into a barn one night to bed down in the straw up in the loft. There was something hard beneath them—apples! “Again,” suggested Karel, “the Lord has provided.” They ate from the secret apple stash until they could stomach no more. Richard began to accept Karel’s conclusions.

  In the morning, they decided to make up false identities. After staying a while in their providential barn refuge, they fled west toward Warsaw and the Vistula River.

  Chapter 30

  Back in Treblinka, though the uprising was extinguished, the chaos lingered. Kommandant Stangl’s phone rang continuously; guards called in the numbers of Jewish workers who had been rounded up and shot, and higher-ranking officers from headquarters asked about the status of supplies, and if Treblinka needed more backup. Stangl handled all the important calls. One thing he was blessed with was an even temper; he would survive this, even if other people were spinning out of control all around him.

  “No, we do not need any more reinforcements,” repeated Stangl to a Nazi on the other end of the line. “What we need now are basic supplies. We will have to rebuild. All the dormitories for Jewish workers are burned down.”

  The man on the other end muttered something.

  “No, they are not all dead. We have over one hundred here who need a new barracks,” Stangl explained.

  The calls about the reprisals were the most common. Stangl had an assistant scribble down numbers on a notepad placed near the phone. Soon the record showed that more Jews had been shot than had escaped. That couldn’t be! Something is wrong. They are starting to kill the villagers by mistake!

  Realizing the situation beyond the perimeter of the camp had gotten out of control, Stangl issued the order that all the reprisals should stop immediately. “Return to camp!” he ordered.

  Soon he received the phone call he had been dreading. It was from Globocnik.

  “Report to me immediately!” Globocnik grumbled and then hung up without waiting for a response.

  Stangl had no choice but to oblige.

  When Stangl entered Globocnik’s office at the SS HQ in Lublin, he was sure he would be fired on the spot. But it was not the case.

  “Operations will be shut down immediately,” snarled Globocnik. “Your work there is terminated.”

  Stangl stared at his supervisor and nodded silently.

  “Further, I want all the remaining structures bulldozed, the land plowed over, and every trace of Treblinka abolished from the earth. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but why—?”

  “This is not going to be another Katyn Forest story. Himmler is very clear on that point.”

  “But I thought I would rebuild,” Stangl suggested. “I have bricks and other materials—.”

  “Not at all. There will be no rebuilding. Effective immediately you are no longer the kommandant of Treblinka. Kurt Franz is the new kommandant, and his only role is to tear it down, plow over it, and plant flowers and pine saplings. This will be a farm when the Soviets find it.”

  “The Soviets?”

  “Yes! The Soviets. You know by now how things are going in the east. We have to move out. Relocate. In fact, I have your next assignment for you. You are to return to Treblinka only to pack your bags so you can report to Trieste.”

  “To Italy?” asked Stangl.

  “Yes, you will report there for your new duties in an anti-partisan combat unit on the Italian front. I will be going there as well. And so will Christian Wirth. It is time for you to move on from here. We are shutting down most of these camps.”

  “What of the workers who remain at Treblinka?”

  “They are to stay there for now,” answered Globocnik. “Then, when they have served their purpose to assist with Treblinka’s transformation, they will be shipped to Sobibor, or shot.”

  His words rattled Stangl. He had given the remaining Jewish workers assurances that they would not be put to death. He had hoped to rebuild Treblinka, better than it had ever been. But he could now see that the larger war was calling the shots. Globocnik and Himmler were looking at strategy, public relations, and propaganda on an international scale. Stangl had been focused on the operations at Treblinka. He, and the Jews who worked for him, were collateral considerations and not important to the grand strategy.

  When Stangl traveled to Lublin to meet with Globocnik he was fearful he would be reprimanded for the revolt. Now he could see how foolish his thinking had been. Globocnik was Himmler’s chief lieutenant for the extermination centers in Poland that were about to be overrun by the Soviet Army. Day-to-day happenings in one concentration camp such as Treblinka were nothing compared to the very real possibility of Germany losing the war. What was at stake was their entire way of life. If Russian tanks and soldiers conquered German forces in Poland, there would be nothing left to stop the Allies from conquering Berlin and all of Germany.

  From that moment on, Stangl knew that he had to think about his future, about Theresa and the children. If he hoped
to ever have a life with them, he must begin preparations immediately. Europe was drastically changing.

  The countenance of Globocnik when he spoke of moving from Poland was unmistakable depression and defeatism. There was no more fight left in him. The war would be lost, and what had happened at camps like Treblinka needed to be hidden. “Did you account for all of those who escaped?” asked Globocnik.

  Stangl knew what he meant by the question. Globocnik wanted to be assured there were no survivors, no witnesses to the mass killings that took place each day at Treblinka. He was tempted to lie and say that he believed all of those who escaped had been shot, but something about the entire mood in the room that afternoon suggested the era of playing games was over. Now honesty was more important than posturing.

  “I have no idea,” Stangl replied. “How could I ever know? There were hundreds who fled into the forest, and hundreds who were reported shot. Were they the same people? There is no way to know.”

  Globocnik stared at him listlessly. The curt response was not what he expected from Stangl. He made no reply, just sat at his desk and stared straight ahead.

  Stangl began to feel uncomfortable. Should he leave?

  Suddenly Globocnik turned toward him and said, “You have no more than three days to clear your post.” Then he motioned with his hand that the visit was over.

  Stangl departed and closed the door behind him.

  At Treblinka, the first order of business was to collect the bodies strewn across the camp in order to burn them. The Jews had to work extremely hard to make up for all of those workers who had escaped or perished in the uprising. Since most of the Jewish workers at Camp 2 had been killed in the initial fight, nearly all of the remaining males were tasked to assist in the upper camp with the final excavations of corpses and the burnings.

  Unfortunately those who planned the revolt neglected to ensure the demolition of the building that was target number one and absolutely essential for them to permanently destroy—the gas chamber. It was made of brick and withstood all attempts by the workers to set it ablaze. Within a few hours the facility had been repaired and was ready for operation.

  Tchechia was desperate for information. With no worker leadership, the Jews were forced to rely on whatever the Nazis told them. She looked for another opportunity to escape, but it seemed there were more SS and Ukrainians in the camp than there had ever been. She remained hopeful that Bronka had escaped alive. She knew that on the day of the revolt her friend was on the side of the camp nearest to Camp 2, where workers found an avenue of escape. Tchechia searched for her intensely, but thankfully she did not find her among the deceased who were unloaded from the camp trucks that returned from the woods.

  Three days after the revolt, Stangl assembled all the workers in the courtyard. He was departing and he wished to say goodbye to all of them. He gave a short speech, then actually stepped down off of the porch where he normally stood and approached the workers. He began to shake the hands of those who were familiar to him.

  “Good luck,” Stangl said with a restrained smile. “I’m sure you will be leaving here soon yourself.”

  Kurt Franz, the Doll, stood to the side, glaring at the spectacle. This was not proper Nazi protocol, and it would not make things easier for him with the job he had to do. The camp was closing down. That meant the remaining prisoners would have to be liquidated.

  Stangl departed the area.

  Franz now stood before the assembly and told them to get to work.

  Less than two weeks later, seventy-eight freight cars from Bialystok containing 7,600 Jews unloaded on Treblinka’s large platform. Though there was no warehouse to sort clothing, the tube and gas chambers were still able to serve their purpose. The passengers were commanded to immediately strip and run down the tube for a shower. Soon the large diesel engine was activated, rumbling until the deadly mission was complete.

  Stangl and Suchomel traveled side by side in a long military convoy along with Odilo Globocnik and Christian Wirth in separate trucks. They were accompanied by a few of the Ukrainian guards from Treblinka to provide security for them. Some of the trucks were transporting storage containers bursting with diamonds, cash, and other valuables. The men who had carried out Himmler’s secret plans in Poland were now dispatched to the front lines in Italy. They were sent together, for better or for worse, to provide leadership to a large concentration camp near Trieste.

  After the revolt, Tchechia became the leader of the few women who were left. They cooked, they cleaned, and they laundered the clothing of their Nazi taskmasters. They did not know what to expect from day to day. Multiple rumors circulated the camp about what was to be their fate.

  There was another Jewish worker at the camp also named Tchechia, a young woman who became known as Little Tchechia. Little Tchechia would speak to Tchechia after lights-out, fearful that they could soon be forced to enter the tube and be gassed after all the buildings had been torn down. Tchechia told her not to think of such things.

  When October arrived and the temperature was not nearly so blazing hot, the camp had been transformed. All of the burned buildings had been excavated and cleared. Even the brick buildings were bulldozed over, with lorries of wagons removing the debris from the premises. The fake train station area had been dynamited. It was obvious the time for departure had come.

  On October 20, 1943, an empty train pulled into Treblinka station. Most of the Jews were loaded for resettlement. No one who had seen the events at Treblinka would be allowed their freedom. They realized that meant being incarcerated at another concentration camp where they would probably die.

  One of the guards told Tchechia and Little Tchechia not to board the train, along with one other woman and two dozen males. There were still a few jobs that needed to be done at Treblinka before the SS departed, and they wanted the assistance of a remnant of workers.

  “Why didn’t we board the train, Tchechia?” asked Little Tchechia.

  “I don’t know,” Tchechia responded.

  “Where do you think the others are going?”

  “I heard they are going to Sobibor,” Tchechia responded plainly.

  “Sobibor? Isn’t that another place like this one?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard this.”

  “What are they going to do with us?”

  “Don’t fret. Perhaps we will find out tomorrow.”

  “How can you be so strong? This may be the last night we live and you act like it is nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing; I just choose not to worry about what I cannot change.”

  “I wish I was more like you,” Little Tchechia whispered, nearly asleep.

  The third female worker listened attentively to their conversation.

  Another day passed.

  After finishing their daily work for the Nazis, the Jews were locked in two empty railcars at night. The buildings had been demolished, and all that was left was a small homestead where the SS lodged. The hours passed slowly.

  Each day felt so uncertain, which was horrifying for the men and the three young Jewish women. Suddenly ten of the male workers were taken to a makeshift Lazarette in the woods. Five were shot in the back of the neck with a Finnish submachine gun set to semiautomatic. The other five men awaiting execution were ordered to place the dead bodies onto the grill before it was their turn—the workers’ final act of service to the regime.

  Another uncertain night.

  Another painful morning. At daybreak the Nazis discovered that one of the male prisoners had hanged himself in the railcar. The remaining male Jewish workers were disposed of at the same location in the woods as their comrades, dubbed the “new” Lazarette by the Nazis.

  A night.

  A morning.

  A train sounded in the distance just before noon.

  There was a small room in the homestead where the SS ate their midday meal. Kurt Franz walked in and saw his men being served by the three female workers.

  He eyed Tchechia and smiled.


  Tchechia instantly knew what was about to happen, but she observed Little Tchechia very diligently pour water into the cups of her captors. Tchechia watched as the Nazis sat and curiously stared at their server. Little Tchechia did not know what was coming.

  Suddenly the Doll cleared his throat and said, “Well, girls, it’s your turn.”

  Little Tchechia dropped the pitcher.

  Tchechia busted out with mocking laughter and declared, “Aha! I never did believe your fairy-tale promises of freeing us. You pigs! Just do me a favor and don’t ask us to undress!”

  Little Tchechia whimpered, then began to cry.

  With gritted teeth Tchechia turned to Little Tchechia and said, “Don’t cry, Tchechia! Don’t do them the favor. Remember, you are a Jewess!”

  It did not help.

  Little Tchechia wept all the way to the woods.

  The Doll instructed the three girls to kneel facing a pit where the remains of the male bodies were still smoldering.

  Tchechia whispered to herself, “These lying pigs—”

  A gunshot rang out, shattering the silence.

  Little Tchechia screamed.

  Another shot echoed in the forest.

  Whimpers disappeared like mist in the wind.

  Crack! One final shot.

  Silence.

  Franz picked up a few dry sticks and threw them on top of the three bodies to stoke the fire. He dusted off his hands, then walked away.

  The last Jew was killed at Treblinka.

  Postscript

  Dusseldorf, West Germany

  1964 (Twenty-one years later)

  Fifty-year-old Kurt Franz—agitated at being named in the indictment—was one of ten men who had been charged with war crimes at Treblinka.

  I shouldn’t be at fault for anything! Franz thought. I was just following orders, and never hurt anyone. I didn’t even belong to the Nazi party!

  Sitting through weeks and weeks of testimonies, everybody from a train dispatcher to a handful of Jewish witnesses who escaped, Kurt Franz was at a boiling point and wanted to share his side of the story. His attorney would not let him.