One Million Dead

One MILLION Dead

One million were dead. One million were dead. One million were dead, and how many had I killed? My weapons were terror and force. My weapons were my hands, whip, and my mouth. These Jews had nothing. They were dirt under the soles of our German boots.
         One million were dead. I had seen them, milling around, working, starving, dying. I had more than once been ordered by my Unterscharfuhrer to shoot those who were not working hard enough. Why? They were tired; of course they could not work hard. Of course! One million were dead, but how many had I killed?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trucks drove down the cobblestone road into the Krakow ghetto. As soon as the back ramps dropped, an SS company jumped down. My comrades and I demanded the Hebrews come out. We were taking them somewhere "better". I followed my squad into the nearest apartment building and we burst in, yelling for every occupant to come out. We were harsh, as we were trained to be, commanding all Jews to go out into the street.
As we finished clearing the building, several men and boys were running away. Scharfuhrer Erwin Koggell raised his rifle and fired a round, toppling one of them. I joined in with a few other men and shot the retreating figures. After, we laughed as the relatives, spouses and children, ran over crying. They shouldn't have run. Stupid Jews!
The trucks were loaded up and went on their way to the train station where the units would be sent to Auschwitz. My platoon leader, Eric Maximilian, positioned three squads outside the doors of some buildings. We waited for anybody who was hiding and came out. It was quiet as the sun had gone down and the moon had risen, shining softly upon the ground. Corpses lay scattered around here and there, blood in pools. Gunshots ripped through the night, like a tear in the blanket of quietness.
At about one in the morning, three transport trucks arrived and brought us to the train station, where I stayed in a room with Scharfuhrer Koggell. Our beds were quite comfortable. I fell asleep thinking about how much I hated the Jews for taking me away from my wife and unborn son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
         The second week into camp duty at Auschwitz was the usual: wake up, roll call of the Jews, formation of the work details, work, a meal, work, break, evening roll call a meal, and sleep. During the day, my comrades were given the option to shoot those who did not work or comply with orders.
         One fellow was slow doing his work. He had no hair. He probably was a fresh arrival, because he wasn't as emaciated as many of the inmates were. Therefore, he was a little bit of a rebel. He stared at me one day. I told him to stop and get to work. He didn't. So, I raised my rifle and repeated my orders, giving him a chance. He did not listen. I sent a bullet through his brain. What was left flew out and splattered on another inmate. The body fell and lay there for a few minutes while everything was quiet.
         "Great shot, Fritz! You shot that Jew bastard straight in the head." Scharfuhrer Koggell said, patting my back.
         To this day, I remember his eyes, staring into mine.
         Another day, I was present at the selection, a time when Doctor Mengele and his associates chose subjects to send to the chambers. They were never seen again. It was this one situation that I enjoyed much, as it was hilarious to see these damn fools running around naked.
         Sections of the Jews were told to strip and they complied, after one was shot for being slow. Then, in a frenzy, they were lined up and told to run a lap around the appelplatz. Those who were fit lived; those too weak or sick were sent to the gassing chambers. Music helped calm the participants and some sang once in a while.
         Once an individual had made his run, he walked over to the doctors, who looked him over and sent him one way or another, to life or death. Mengele was commonly known as "The Angel of Death" and we saw it fit to not bother him. He was not bad looking, but he had that look only a Nazi uniform brought out. Normally, one would not see him as a killer, but with the Swastika, he was like a serpent, surreptitiously stinging all who came in contact with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         My favorite memories of my time serving at Auschwitz were none other than not being there. I visited my wife and son as often as possible. We went to a mountain resort, specifically built for the comfort of the SS and their partners. There I could relax and forget all the dog Jews. I hated them so much! They had ruined Germany and were the worst race ever, even more so than the Negroes.
         There, I could laugh. It was there I could sunbathe under a crisp afternoon with just a slight wind so as not to burn; it was there I could lay with my wife under the sheets and rub her stomach; it was there I could look at the green mountains and hear the comedic and romantic singing of some SS at the local tavern; and it was there that I could dine like a king and feel at peace.
         In camp, there was chaos, shouting, jeering, screaming, crying. There was pain and suffering, gunshots and hangings, gassings and death. Depressing! When I came back, things were different. The pace quickened. Selections were gone. Jews were just shoved together and eliminated. The war was coming to a close, though no one wanted to admit it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         I recall waking up this morning, May 8th, 1989, thinking I'm still alive. I lived my life, continually thinking about that time. I regret each second I spent under Herr Fuhrer. I regret each person I insulted, each person I beat, each person I killed. Their Hell was on Earth. One million were dead, and what does one more life mean to God? This soul though, is not going to Heaven, it's going to Hell. Mine
         What could be worse, than the torment of living on and seeing those faces? The faces of the dead. Their sunken eyes, shriveled bodies, and cries in the night haunt me. Even my love and our unborn son, have succumbed to death. I need relief. After writing my last thoughts, this note, I shall get my relief. I have my Luger that I purchased on one of my journeys with my wife. It has been used to kill others and now, I will kill myself. I need relief. I know that my anger has been cooled and my fiery hatred has turned to ice. I am sorry.