It came to pass that the hiding place for everything was under the chair, desk and floor of the S.S. doctor, a Bavarian in the "Ranken-Revier", the small row of first aid barracks stretched alongside near the fence on the left side on entering the camp.
The doctor had been playing a double role all along; from sending us on death transports to participating in single and multiple murders. He was as culpable as any other S.S. and at the same time tried to save his own skin. He had been taken into complete confidence by the camp elders, the all German seniors. I don't know exactly when but I do know it was before my entry into Buchenwald.
The radio must have been there all along too and I can honestly say that most of us didn't know about it. We couldn't even look the fellow straight in the eyes - it was best we didn't know him at all and vice versa but it is certain that quite a few prisoners were saved from the worst transports by his intervention.
After all the events that had just occurred, as before, we kept to our Commando's again. For a time, we held our respective old positions and collected screws and bolts to pile in heaps, moved bricks and planks back and forward and sometimes went to sit, for a while, on unexploded bombs to be left alone or have a tranquil rest.
Tom Mix continued to play homage to his nickname while doing his rounds with his whiplash. One day, we noticed, a proud S.S., now walking past the smoldering covers of the Jewish shoes stacked up on the road. At this moment, everything around us was just getting revived by a breeze which was just reaching an incendiary stick still hidden in the damp earth. The incendiary stick suddenly went off!
The proud S.S. guard walking in front of us went flat in the mud right in front of us and his pride went flat too. As he was aware of our presence we went deeper into the bomb pits - all he could do was try to gather himself together.
Suddenly, we heard the gradual noise of shouting and the hollow sound of prisoners hammering on anything they could see to warn us of danger.
It was Tom Mix in all his glory, he had unexpectedly disappeared in front of us and fallen crosswise, now stuck firmly and wedged in an open crevasse not too far from our position. Nobody dared to go anywhere near him! He had managed to get his luger loose and screamed the more for it, announcing, "Vervloechte Franszosen, all French for us too. The row of bullets were for them and the last one was for himself - if it came to it!
He kept us at bay as he was drunk and likely afraid as he was in a very awkward position. He eventually got out without help! In the evening, after his laughable debacle, he was again, wielding his whip before the signal came for stopping and entering the camp. After a while, we got used to his capers although he was still very dangerous and to be taken very seriously, better safe than sorry!
As winter approached we managed to gather enough planks from the debris to make fires - nobody stopped us anymore. One day, I had the opportunity to have a good warm up and explore into the ruins and places never seen before - so secret were they! I now came to a big heap, emitting a lot of simmering heat and so had a good warm up, turning my body on all sides to get the best of the warmth.
While I was doing this my eyes noticed giant cylinders laying flat on the ground and I started to count them. As I was counting some inmates from this department told me that there were eight obsolete and useless rockets without parts to complete their assembly. Also, that the transportation had been completely disrupted.
When repairs had been completed these rockets would be gradually removed but they were definitely out of the war at this moment. These were the latest secret weapons, namely the V2's, in all their past glory - now just scrap.
To be continued ...
The doctor had been playing a double role all along; from sending us on death transports to participating in single and multiple murders. He was as culpable as any other S.S. and at the same time tried to save his own skin. He had been taken into complete confidence by the camp elders, the all German seniors. I don't know exactly when but I do know it was before my entry into Buchenwald.
The radio must have been there all along too and I can honestly say that most of us didn't know about it. We couldn't even look the fellow straight in the eyes - it was best we didn't know him at all and vice versa but it is certain that quite a few prisoners were saved from the worst transports by his intervention.
After all the events that had just occurred, as before, we kept to our Commando's again. For a time, we held our respective old positions and collected screws and bolts to pile in heaps, moved bricks and planks back and forward and sometimes went to sit, for a while, on unexploded bombs to be left alone or have a tranquil rest.
Tom Mix continued to play homage to his nickname while doing his rounds with his whiplash. One day, we noticed, a proud S.S., now walking past the smoldering covers of the Jewish shoes stacked up on the road. At this moment, everything around us was just getting revived by a breeze which was just reaching an incendiary stick still hidden in the damp earth. The incendiary stick suddenly went off!
The proud S.S. guard walking in front of us went flat in the mud right in front of us and his pride went flat too. As he was aware of our presence we went deeper into the bomb pits - all he could do was try to gather himself together.
Suddenly, we heard the gradual noise of shouting and the hollow sound of prisoners hammering on anything they could see to warn us of danger.
It was Tom Mix in all his glory, he had unexpectedly disappeared in front of us and fallen crosswise, now stuck firmly and wedged in an open crevasse not too far from our position. Nobody dared to go anywhere near him! He had managed to get his luger loose and screamed the more for it, announcing, "Vervloechte Franszosen, all French for us too. The row of bullets were for them and the last one was for himself - if it came to it!
He kept us at bay as he was drunk and likely afraid as he was in a very awkward position. He eventually got out without help! In the evening, after his laughable debacle, he was again, wielding his whip before the signal came for stopping and entering the camp. After a while, we got used to his capers although he was still very dangerous and to be taken very seriously, better safe than sorry!
As winter approached we managed to gather enough planks from the debris to make fires - nobody stopped us anymore. One day, I had the opportunity to have a good warm up and explore into the ruins and places never seen before - so secret were they! I now came to a big heap, emitting a lot of simmering heat and so had a good warm up, turning my body on all sides to get the best of the warmth.
While I was doing this my eyes noticed giant cylinders laying flat on the ground and I started to count them. As I was counting some inmates from this department told me that there were eight obsolete and useless rockets without parts to complete their assembly. Also, that the transportation had been completely disrupted.
When repairs had been completed these rockets would be gradually removed but they were definitely out of the war at this moment. These were the latest secret weapons, namely the V2's, in all their past glory - now just scrap.
To be continued ...
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