A Time for Reckoning

A Time for Reckoning

         

As Ernst Huber left for work that damp and misty early April morning, the first thing that caught his attention was the exceptional silence.

This is quite strange. He thought. By this time in the morning the rumbling of the factory machinery should be heard clearly. Where are the trucks? Where are the soldiers?

Ernst should have noticed the silence earlier, often the whistles and shouted commands woke him before his alarm had the chance. Today it was eerily still, too quiet to feel comfortable, something was definitely wrong.

Ernst quickly checked his pocket watch, relieved to see that it was not he that was late; the penalty for being late was severe, very severe, especially during these last few months.

A sick, guilty feeling began to settle into the pit of Ernst’s stomach and his mind raced with thoughts as he alternately sped up and slowed down his pace.

Could it be? Could the labor force already be at the factory? Would they be under guard and command of the soldiers, or would they be there waiting to take their revenge on whomever they could?

Only last week Ernst’s wife, Hilda, had remarked that she hoped some sort of arrangement had been planned for the dispersal of the work force if the soldiers were to be reassigned to the Eastern Front.

“They must take them along if they go, all of them!” She said. “Either that, or send them elsewhere, but they must settle the matter once and for all. You Ernst, most of all, will be blamed for what has happened and not just at the factory, but for whatever may have transpired at the camp all these years as well.”

Ernst had shushed her immediately, looking around guiltily for unseen ears, even though they were surely safe in their home.

“Be quiet, woman,” he growled, “I have no information about things that transpired anywhere, but at the factory. What went on at this camp or at any other, is and never was any business of mine, nor yours!”

Ernst knew his growls could silence his wife for the moment, but he also knew that no amount of growling and protesting would ever silence the voices he heard when he tried to sleep at night.

In the beginning it seemed like a valid idea. The war was taking most of the local work force and demand for the munitions that the company produced increased at a frantic pace. Before long the correspondence from the military changed from friendly requests and invoices to rigid demands and not very well veiled threats.

Then one afternoon Ernst was called to a meeting with his employer, Herr Grubnicht, and three officers from the newly formed SS command.

“Ahhh, come in Ernst.” Herr Grubnicht smiled, meeting Ernst at the door. “Please allow me to introduce Commandant Schmidt; his adjutant, Major Brelling and Lieutenant Alweng. Gentlemen, Ernst Huber, our Managing Supervisor.”

Motioning to the chairs, Herr Grubnicht smiled once more, and then quickly left the room as the officers seated themselves across from and on either side of the chair that Ernst had tentatively sat on.

“Herr Huber,” Commandant Schmidt had begun, “it has come to our attention that the factory here in Weimar is falling behind in meeting the expected quota of munitions, drastically behind. This can not continue, it will not continue. Do I make myself understood?”

Ernst felt his heart come to a complete standstill, his breath gone and his mouth so dry that his lips stuck together. Trying desperately to breathe and his mind whirling with protestations and fearful cries, Ernst managed to babble a bit.

“Commandant Schmidt, surely you realize that the work force in this area has been badly depleted as most of our former workers have been pressed into service with the military. We can not run the company at anywhere near full capacity without workers to man the machinery.”

“Don’t worry about the manpower,” Commandant Schmidt said with a tight smile, “that will be remedied very soon, perhaps as soon as the day after tomorrow.”

“With enough workers, I am sure production will improve significantly, Herr Commandant.” Ernst vowed.

“If it is not, I am sure that a place for you can be found on the eastern front, of that I am also very sure.” The Commandant promised.

Thursday morning there were indeed, two military trucks idling out front when Ernst arrived at the factory. Ernst remembered the horror and pity he felt when he first saw his new work force. There they were; very thin men, little more than walking and breathing skeletons, with haunted and dead eyes. They were dressed in striped prison camp uniforms that were little more rags.

Not surprisingly, these men were very easy to train. Most had been businessmen and skilled laborers before the war and though they had no love for their captors or taste for what was being produced in the factory, the extra food rations and escape from the tedium and horror of the camp itself, gave them the incentive to work hard. Soon the quota was being met even as the demand increased.

A cacophony of sounds and a kaleidoscope of images flooded Ernst’s brain as he remembered those first months. The trucks were there every morning before dawn and as soon as Ernst unlocked the doors, the whistles blew and the men rapidly piled out and were marched to their various work stations. Grim soldiers stood guard at the doorway and walked among the machinery, their weapons shouldered, but always on display.

Of course none of the prisoners were assigned to the more critical and delicate tasks, there were still enough of the older regular employees to do those, but they were kept busy with any and all labor assignments. Also of course, there were no coffee or rest breaks to delay the day’s progress and the meal break was considerably shorter then it was for the ordinary German citizen workers.

It wasn’t long before Ernst felt a little less apprehensive and even took the time to occasionally talk with the new employees, never about their living conditions or political matters, but the day to day matters at hand. Sometimes there were even moments of humor, a small joke about the clumsiness of one that dropped a wrench, or the wretchedness of the early hour.

Ernst even might comment on something that happened at work to his family around the dinner table in the evening. About how the production was improving or how the SS officer had complimented him on said improvement. How one time one of the new workers had sung such a beautiful song while he pushed the trolley trucks to the waiting boxcars. Ernst felt that he and the new workers were not all that much different except for their circumstances and things were going to be okay after all.

Listening to the radio in the evenings, Ernst knew the war wasn’t going well for Germany even though none of the newscasters said so outright, but he could tell by the undertones of what was being said and the shrillness of the speeches being broadcast from the Fuhrer and others in government. Perhaps this whole unpleasantness of having virtual slave workers would end soon.

His wife, Hilda, never heard those undertones though and his son, Hans, wrote glowing letters from the youth camp about how Germany’s mighty army would soon have the world in its pocket and under control. Ernst knew though that the scores of airplanes he saw and heard nightly were not all coming from the Luftwaffe and the rumbles of noise he also heard were explosions of some sort, at first sounding far away, then day by day ever closer.

Either way, it may all be over soon. He thought to himself.

Then one morning as Ernst arrived at the factory, he was greeted by Commandant Schmidt.

“Good morning, Herr Huber.” The Commandant began, his tight ghastly smile menacing without ever touching his black eyes, “I thought that this morning you would accompany me to the camp. We need to choose some new workers and I would like your opinion on their qualifications. Orders from the Fuhrer are that we increase our production tenfold immediately and you will see that this order be carried out. Lieutenant Alweng will oversee the workers in your absence.”


A shiver of dread ran up Ernst’s spine, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was go to the camp or anywhere else with this man, but he swallowed his objections and followed the Commandant to the waiting car.

Ernst was directed to the front seat of the automobile while Commandant Schmidt and Major Brelling sat in the back. The two officers whispered quietly, leaving Ernst to his anxious thoughts. Once he heard the Commandant give a snort and then a small girlish giggle, he would remember that giggle for the rest of his life.

As the command car arrived at the foreboding fenced compound Commandant Schmidt leaned forward and tapped Ernst on the shoulder. “You will of course not speak of what you see behind these fences and walls to anyone, is that understood?”

“Yes of course, Herr Commandant.” Ernst answered, wishing that he would not, or could not; see what he was already beginning to see.

It was really not necessary for Ernst to be on hand to pick any new potential workers; he would get what was given, plain and simple. Ernst began to understand almost immediately as the car slowly made its way through the gate, he was here was for an education. All around them were walking skeletons, of course those that could walk that is. There were also scores of bodies; some living and some not, but most sprawled and crumpled here and there with no design or pattern and pretty much everywhere, the soldier guards not giving them much direct regard, but standing and marching about with their weapons always at the ready.

As the trio got out of the automobile, Major Brelling saluted the Commandant smartly and strode to the office building. “I will give you a quick tour, Herr Huber.” Commandant Schmidt smiled grimly. “Then perhaps you will have a better understanding of your work force and the importance of your duties.” Staring directly into Ernst’s eyes for a few seconds, the Commandant turned abruptly and started off towards a long building, the nearby guards pushing several of the walking skeletons far away from his path.

Ernst could not help the revulsion he felt at seeing what he saw that day; not the piles of dead bodies lying stacked and crumpled by the crematorium, not the windowless building with the long rows of shower heads and the massive locks only on the outside. After just a while his mind refused to even acknowledge the smell and piles of ash and bones.

After the “tour” was completed, Commandant Schmidt led Ernst to a row of men standing at attention in front of a barracks building. “These are your new workers, Herr Huber.” The Commandant pointed and then waved his arm briefly. “They will be at the factory tomorrow morning, use them wisely, but use them until they are used up. The driver will now return you to your duties at the factory.” Without another word, Commandant Schmidt turned and walked to the office building.

The Commandant was right; Ernst did not speak of what he saw to anyone, neither to his wife nor any other living soul. After returning to the factory, Ernst worked quietly and steadily until he could quit for the day. Hilda never questioned him about anything that happened at the factory, nor did she even know that he had been to the camp that day, but Ernst ate little of his supper that evening and went to bed early without listening to the radio or reading the paper, his usual routine. He didn’t remember sleeping that night and slept little ever after.

The deafening silence as Ernst made his way to the factory, pushed his mind to racing and his heart thudding in his chest only to find that there were no trucks, no workers, not even the regular staff of paid workers. Just a large dark building filled with silent and unseen ghosts.

The British soldiers came a few days later; the questioning went on for some time.

After the war, millions of German citizens claimed they had no knowledge of the atrocities that Hitler and the Nazi regime inflicted upon the concentration camp’s population. Ernst Huber was one of those liars; though there were times, very late at night, he dreams of hearing a girlish giggle just over his left shoulder.