Beyond the wire, p.1
Beyond the Wire, page 1
Books by James D. Shipman
TASK FORCE BAUM
IRENA’S WAR
BEYOND THE WIRE
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
BEYOND THE WIRE
JAMES D. SHIPMAN
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS
Chapter 1 - The Death Factory
Chapter 2 - Decisions
Chapter 3 - Anna
Chapter 4 - Past and Future
Chapter 5 - The Sick and the Dead
Chapter 6 - Complications
Chapter 7 - Cat and Mouse
Chapter 8 - The Tour
Chapter 9 - The Future
Chapter 10 - A Surprise in the Dark
Chapter 11 - Desperate Measures
Chapter 12 - Descent into Nightmare
Chapter 13 - The Journey
Chapter 14 - The Plan
Chapter 15 - A Surprise at Dawn
Chapter 16 - The Chamber
Chapter 17 - The Lockdown
Chapter 18 - For This Moment
Chapter 19 - Course Changes
Chapter 20 - A Flicker of Freedom
Chapter 21 - Disaster
Chapter 22 - The Waiting Game
Chapter 23 - A New Plan
Chapter 24 - The Assault
Chapter 25 - The Chase Begins
Chapter 26 - Escape
Chapter 27 - An Unforeseen Problem
Chapter 28 - The Chase Continues
Chapter 29 - Flight to the Gate
Chapter 30 - Problem at the Gate
Chapter 31 - Mira
Chapter 32 - The Interrogation
Chapter 33 - Success and Failure
Chapter 34 - Marek
Chapter 35 - Through the Gate
Chapter 36 - Saved
Chapter 37 - The Interrogation
Chapter 38 - The March
Chapter 39 - A Meeting
Chapter 40 - A New Road
Author’s Note - Information About Places and Characters
Acknowledgments
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2022 by James D. Shipman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
Maps courtesy of Mapping Specialists, Ltd., Madison, WI.
The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3642-7 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3671-0
This book is dedicated to all the victims of the Holocaust.
May we never forget.
There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.
—Elie Wiesel
INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS
Chapter 1
The Death Factory
October 1944
Auschwitz-Birkenau
The screams faded. Jakub hunted through the coat of a dead man. He searched with a practiced hand, groping through pockets, fingering seams. He felt something hard. Eyes forward, he tore at the fabric, ripping open a secret pocket. An object fell into his hand, circular and metallic. A watch. He glimpsed a flash of gold. Jakub lifted the jacket, folding it and stacking the fabric on a pile he’d made. With the return movement, he slipped the watch into his striped pajama pocket. He didn’t look around for the guards. Taller than the others, he couldn’t afford to attract their attention. If one of the SS did catch him it wouldn’t matter. He’d never feel the bullet.
He was so thin that his frame felt stretched, his skin translucent like paper. He looked over his matchbook arms swimming in an ocean of sleeves. Jakub reached up and ran his hand over his head, feeling the stubble. He’d possessed a mop of unruly reddish-brown hair, but it was gone, shorn off by the Nazis— who needed it for the felt slippers of U-boat crews, or some such madness. Another casualty of this hell.
All quiet now. The Zyklon B had done its work. Another thousand candles snuffed out. He shook his head. Mustn’t think of that right now. When his clothing stack was head high, he jerked the pile from the bench and stumbled to a nearby cart, easing the cumbersome load inside. If the fabric toppled over, he’d have to start again, and he might get a beating for it if a guard was nearby.
Schmidt was here today. The worst German of all. He looked like a child in his SS uniform. He was missing his upper middle teeth and his words whistled and slurred when he spoke. His cheeks were deeply pocked. When Jakub had first arrived in Auschwitz, he’d felt sorry for the man’s unpleasant features. That hadn’t lasted long. On the first day he’d watched the SS sergeant shove two workers into the gas chamber—killing them just for fun in a game the Nazi called “the lottery.” He played it most days he was stationed here. Jakub wished that Schmidt were all he had to worry about, but amusements were just one of a thousand ways to die.
Up and down the long, narrow undressing room, the Sonderkommando labored, each prisoner rushing about, head down, avoiding the attention of the SS.
“Hurry up, you worms!” shouted Schmidt. “There’s another group waiting. Get things put away double-quick or I’ll send the lot of you in for your own special treatment.”
Jakub dashed to another stack, eyes on his feet. The room was nearly cleared out now. He clutched the handle of the cart when he was finished and struggled toward the door. Another prisoner hurried up, crashing into him and nearly knocking him over. It was Tomasz.
“I’m not letting you take all the best jobs,” his friend whispered. “Still alive I see.”
“I am,” whispered Jakub. “But for how long? Only God knows.”
Tomasz chuckled grimly. “Always the philosopher. You’re still breathing this moment, that’s what matters. Tomorrow you could be up the chimney, so why worry?”
“I’m going to survive this,” insisted Jakub, gritting his teeth.
“Sure you will, boy, sure you will. If anyone can, it’s you. As for me, I’m just trying to live until tonight.” Tomasz leaned in closer, looking up at his friend. He wasn’t much older than Jakub, but he had the fierce, weathered features of a Warsaw tough. “Do you have anything?”
“A watch. A little money. I couldn’t count it.”
“The watch any good?”
“Gold, I think.”
Tomasz whistled. “That alone will get us through. And a bit more than that.”
“How are you fixed?”
Tomasz smiled. “It’s been a good morning. I’ve got three gold coins. Good-sized ones. Old Russian ones I think. A couple biscuits too. I’ve one for you when we get around the corner.” They pushed the cart through a set of double doors and turned to the left. For a few seconds they were unobserved, and Tomasz shoved his hand in Jakub’s pocket, leaving behind a lumpy object.
“Thanks, I’m starving.”
“Aren’t we all, my boy? But we manage a hell of a lot better than those poor bastards in the main camp.”
Jakub nodded. “And they hate us for it, and for handling the living and the dead.”
“Bah,” scoffed Tomasz. “What choice do we have? I don’t remember filling out an application, do you? They can get all high-and-mighty about what we must do, but that’s not why they dislike us. It’s our access to things that help us survive that they hate.”
“I’d be dead already without the extra food,” admitted Jakub. “Still, that might be better than living like this.”
“There you go again, thinking. No good doing any of that in here. It’s grab the goods, eat what you can, and trade for a little fun. No point worrying about anything beyond that. A bullet or that gas yonder is just a mistake away.”
“Speaking of that, Schmidt’s in a mood today.”
“Watch that one,” warned Tomasz. “He’s a snake inside a wolf inside a demon.”
“He looks half devil,” said Jakub.
“More like a rat to me. But one with a deadly bite.”
They reached the end of the corridor and pushed the cart up a ramp to the outside. The undressing room and gas chamber in Crematorium II were located in the basement, necessitating a laborious trip up to the ground floor. They couldn’t talk now because there were guards present. They strained at the weight of the thing as they shoved it up, spurred by the shouts and orders of the waiting SS. They reached the top and recovered their breath for a moment as one of the Germans picked at the stacks with a baton. After satisfying himself that there was nothing smuggled inside, he ordered Jakub and Tomasz to load the clothing into a waiting truck. They moved on the double-quick, stacking the articles in the back. Fortunately, t he bed was nearly full, so they didn’t have to climb in and out. In a few minutes they were done, and they scurried down the ramp with the encouragement of a couple blows to the back from the Germans who screamed at them to hurry.
“I hardly feel them anymore,” muttered Tomasz. “The bastards.” He leaned closer and whispered, “The Russians will hit these Nazi pricks even harder, I think.”
“If they ever get here.”
“They will. Have faith. But whether we are alive or just some dust by then, that we will have to see about.”
They reached the basement and pushed through the doors to the undressing room. There was already a new group of arrivals there, starting to undress. Jakub hesitated.
“What are you doing?” Tomasz asked.
“I don’t want to go back there. Can’t we wait?”
Tomasz looked around. “Too risky. Maybe if Schmidt wasn’t there today. But that bastard is looking for any chance.” He shoved the cart along. “Let’s go. Just a few minutes and they’ll be gone.”
Jakub reluctantly followed him. The room was crammed with bodies. They were men, elderly, with a sprinkling of young children. Most of them were removing their clothes, unaware of the death that awaited them a few meters away. But there were a few who looked around, fear in their eyes, watching the guards, looking for answers.
“Excuse me,” a well-dressed man said, stepping up to Jakub. He looked like a professor, with his thoughtful eyes and peppered hair. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing,” Jakub responded. “It’s just a quick delousing and then you’ll get your work uniform and barracks assignment.”
“Are you telling me the truth?” he persisted.
The man’s eyes were searching his, pleading for answers. Jakub turned away, trying to avoid him, but he felt a hand on his arm.
“Please,” the man said. “I just want the truth.”
“The truth is you better get undressed,” snapped Schmidt, who had noticed the exchange and rushed up to them. He looked Jakub over, his lips curling in a twisted grin. “Perhaps you should do the same, Bak.”
“I’m working, sir,” said Jakub. “This man asked me a question.”
“And that one question took all this time?” asked the SS guard. “You’re going soft, Bak. Surely there are others who can handle this task more efficiently. I think you better join this gentleman for the delousing, since you’ve become such fast friends.”
“Sir, I—”
“Get undressed!” Schmidt shouted, cracking Jakub on the shoulder with a wooden truncheon. “Looks like you just won my lottery for today, Bak.”
“Now, now, sir,” interjected Tomasz, sprinting up to intervene. “I’ve got something important to show you. Something I’ve just come across.”
Schmidt’s face flushed with anger. “Watch it, Lis. Unless you want to go with them.”
“Sir, I know you’re going to want to see this.” Tomasz never raised his voice but spoke in a calm, measured tone, almost a whisper.
Schmidt hesitated, staring hard at Jakub. He could feel his heart threatening to explode out of his chest. The guard took a step toward him, his eyes glaring. Jakub thought he would strike him. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned to Tomasz. “Well, what is it?”
“Not something for prying eyes, sir.”
Schmidt glanced at Jakub for a moment longer, running his fingers along his jaw as if contemplating something. “Fine. Let’s step over to the ramp.” He turned back to Jakub. “Get back to work, Bak, before I change my mind!” he commanded.
Jakub rushed to the clothing, folding madly, his hands shaking. The new group of victims was already marching to the gas chamber. He stacked the fabric, keeping his eyes down. He was too terrified to search the stuff for anything valuable. He’d forfeited another life. How many more times could he dodge death?
His friend returned, standing next to him and grabbing a handful of clothing. “You cost me all that gold,” whispered Tomasz. “Luckiest thing I’ve found in a while. I could have bought a whole sausage and a dozen loaves of bread. You owe me big-time.”
“Thank you,” he managed to say. “You saved my life.”
“No, I saved your life again,” said Tomasz. “You owe me for that as well.”
Jakub thought of the old man, of the room full of people who were just here. Their lives were already expiring in the adjacent chamber. “Perhaps I should have gone with them,” he said. “Truly, Tomasz, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“You’ll endure all that’s thrown at you, until you’re out of chances,” said Tomasz. “You don’t only owe me. Remember what your father made you promise.”
“I don’t want to think of Papa right now.”
“You don’t have to. But don’t forget, our families are gone. Everything that mattered to us is already up that chimney. You’re all I have. You’re like a brother, Jakub. The nearest thing I’ve got left, and I’m not losing you to your brooding guilt. Now get your ass moving! Remember, we’ve the fence to look forward to!”
* * *
The work was done. After a half-hour roll call in the frozen evening air, Jakub and Tomasz marched with the others up two flights of stairs to the attic. Long lines of bunks stretched the length of the room. A single stove burned in the corner, emitting a feeble warmth. This would never have kept more than a portion of the space heated, but the crematorium fires below did just that.
Jakub walked over to one of the narrow windows and stared out past the wire that separated Crematorium II from the main camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau. Row after row of long squat buildings stretched out into the distance. The camp was named Birkenau after the nearby birch trees.
Jakub retrieved a dirty iron bowl from his bunk and marched over with the others to the supper line. A prisoner dished him out a half serving of watery turnip soup and a slice of bread. Jakub returned to the bunk he shared with Tomasz. There was no mattress and no pillow, and they had only a thin blanket to share. He could hardly remember what it felt like to sleep in a real bed. He sat on the edge and was soon joined by his friend.
“Hardly worth the effort, is it?” Tomasz asked, glancing down at their meager supper. He shrugged. “Still, every little bit helps.”
Jakub reached into his pocket and pulled out the biscuit. It was hard as a rock and terribly stale, but he dipped the bread into his soup, softening it for a few seconds before he attempted to eat it. Tomasz retrieved a chunk of salami about the size of two fingers. He tore the meat in two and handed some to Jakub. “There you are, my friend. This will sustain you.”
Jakub shook his head. “That’s for you.”
Tomasz laughed. “Nonsense. Share and share alike between the two of us.” He slapped Jakub on the arm. “If I don’t feed you today, who will I have to bother tomorrow?”
Jakub laughed and accepted the meat. He took half of the piece in one bite, relishing the flavor. He closed his eyes. He remembered his mother’s cooking, the Sunday meals out in Kraków cafés, all the wonderful dishes he’d ever eaten. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it. But you’re in charge of the main course tomorrow so you’d better get busy. And don’t forget, you owe me three gold coins and two lives.”
“The gold I should be able to come up with. The lives are a little tougher.”
Tomasz leaned in closer. “Speaking of gold,” he whispered, looking around to make sure nobody was watching them too closely. “Let’s have a look at that watch.”
Jakub retrieved the object from his pocket. It was indeed gold, eighteen karats according to the inscription underneath the dial. The face said Mido from Switzerland. The band was gold as well, a thick, flashy affair that likely came off the wrist of a wealthy businessman.
Tomasz whistled. “Some rich bastard must have been holding on to this. That’s worth more than my coins, I’ll bet.”
“You take it then,” said Jakub, offering it to his friend.
