The Shadowboxer (32 page)

Tolan and the subcooks were among the last to arrive. They were processed and changed quickly.

Klempf arrived, and all turned to listen to him.

“In approximately forty-five minutes this building will be raided by members of my Secret Security detachment,” he told his audience. “You will be summarily tried, within a matter of minutes, for your various mistreatments of two prisoners, and then marched directly to Crematorium Two.”

There was slight murmuring.

“As you all know,” Klempf continued, unconcerned, “Crematorium Two is rather defective and is usually breaking down. I made certain that such a breakdown occurred earlier today. The trouble happens to be in the rear of the building—beside the fence. Trucks and repairmen are already there. A great many trucks. This is only natural, since the shipments have been so sharply increased and the crematorium must be repaired as quickly as possible. We have torn down the fence directly behind it so that the trucks can get in. We have even torn a hole in the rear wall inside the gas chamber itself to get to the trouble.

“So you can see, that is our plan. You line up in front of Crematorium Two like any other group of prisoners. You go right in—and then out through the back and onto the trucks. The wall will be quickly repaired, and the next group of prisoners—bona-fide prisoners—will be processed as usual, without anyone realizing what has happened. The trouble will have been corrected and the repair trucks will drive off.”

Klempf ordered Spangler and four others to the side.

“To minimize the chance of interference with our schedule,” he told the small gathering, “diversionary tactics must be employed. The air alarm system is our most obvious target. When the sirens sound, the blue lights automatically go off. Processing at the gas chamber, as you know, does not stop. Processing
never
stops, no matter what the circumstances. Therefore,” Klempf concluded, “the escape will take place in darkness.

“The air alarm system is comprised of two separate systems, manual and automatic. Manual alerts are controlled from observation points beyond the camp perimeter. The automatic network is set up within the camp and is by far the largest. It works on the premise of interrupted circuits: once a circuit is broken, the alarm sounds.”

Each man was given a diversionary assignment. Spangler was given a handwritten chart. He was to strangle the guard at the railroad fence, Klempf instructed—the guard he had become friendly with—then move down the fence and cut the wire leading to alarm sirens in the ramp area. He was to return through the compound to the main road, where he would be “arrested” and brought to the gas chamber.

“How do I get through the electrified wire?” Spangler asked.

“You already know it
isn't
electrified during a semi-blackout,” Klempf replied softly. “Or have you forgotten Vassili—and passing milk to the sentry? But that isn't my main concern. The important question is: Will you kill the guard?”

“If you're not certain, send someone else.”

“I'm only asking. After all, you refused to get rid of the Habes in your compound.”

“They were fellow prisoners, not guards.”

“Then you'll take the assignment?”

“Why not?”

Spangler left the building as the SS of the Secret Security unit began leisurely getting off their trucks and strolling inside for the raid.

56

Spangler showed his pass, and the Ukrainian guard opened the gate. No one was left in the cooks' barracks. He crossed behind the kitchen, entered the potato shed and climbed down the ladder. He pulled Vassili's locker from the wall and stared at the SS uniform, the maps and the Luger. The uniform was slightly too large, but wearable. Kuprov had obviously stolen it for himself, only to find it too small. Spangler took out the gun, replaced the uniform, pushed back the locker and climbed out of the room.

He waited at the back fence, smoking. Another train was being unloaded in the pale-blue light. The two metal passenger cars stood in the darkness down the nearest spur. Spangler studied them carefully as the guard approached.

“What are the rumors?” he asked the boy.

“The Russians have been stopped outside Cracow,” the guard said with relief.

“What about the Gestapo and SD?”

“They're still everywhere, but we think they're moving out soon.”

“Why?”

“My sergeant says that once the German counteroffensive pushes back the Russians, there's no need for them.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“See those SD command cars down there?” The boy indicated the pair of metal passenger cars. “Well, an engine is already waiting outside the gate to take them out.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. My bunkmate is on the detail watching the locomotive. The cars go out later tonight.”

“I brought you something,” Spangler said, holding out his hand.

“What?”

“Look for yourself.”

Spangler moved to the fence. The boy stepped closer on his side.

“I can't see anything.”

“Look closer,” Spangler suggested, lowering his hand slightly. “It's very small.”

The boy leaned down, and Spangler's Luger pressed against his forehead. “Stay exactly as you are and do what I say—and nothing will happen to you, understand?”

The young guard tried to say yes.

“Now ease up the bottom wire with your rifle butt—and remember, my pistol is on you.”

The strand was propped up and Spangler slid under on his back.

“Now come here.”

The boy stepped forward, trembling.

Spangler put a hand on his neck. “Now hold your breath and count to fifty. When you gain consciousness lie as you are for at least half an hour, don't move for half an hour, or I'll come back and kill you. Trust me. I could kill you now, but I'm not going to,” he said as two of his fingers began pinching the boy's windpipe. “Start counting, and remember what I told you.”

The boy's legs buckled and he fell forward unconscious into Spangler's arms. Spangler laid him on his back and knelt down. The breathing was easy. No damage had been done. The youth would come around shortly.

Spangler moved up the fence, found the lead wire, took out his knife and cut it with one stroke. Sirens began to moan. The yard was plunged into darkness.

He moved back to where the boy lay, started back under the fence, suddenly changed his mind and made for the near railway spur in a crouched run. He reached the first of the two metal railroad cars. A low constant hum was heard from within. The faint odor of burnt rubber was obvious. Spangler moved along to the second car. Like the first, the windows were blacked out. Unlike the first, a strand of telephone cable stretched from its roof to a nearby connection terminal.

There was an explosion in a distant part of the camp, then another. More sirens began wailing. Emergency SS patrols could be seen running along the outer roads. Three more explosions reverberated from distant points. Birkenau was in total darkness.

Spangler moved forward, crossed the tracks, moved between the boxcars and slid under the ramp. He inched forward under the walkway until he had a view of Crematorium Two. A group of new arrivals waited in the darkness at one end. Other new arrivals lined the road leading to the gate.

Tramping was heard and then commands. The column of captured Finishing School Kapos marched up the road under heavy guard and turned into the crematorium compound. He looked for Tolan, but in the darkness it was impossible to single out anyone. He counted the white armbands of the “escapees.” Some were missing. Spangler squinted at his watch. They were five minutes ahead of schedule.

An order was shouted. The Kapos, Klempf's SS aides, the guards, the cooks and all the other leaders of the camp's illicit activities formed into two lines.

Spangler knew that the low building along the fence housed the gas chambers and that the large lateral building with the chimney was the crematorium.

Klempf called an order. The four lines merged into one. The single column moved until it was directly in front of the gas chamber. The door was thrown open. On command, the line pressed forward in double time. The column was two-thirds in before the shouting and screaming broke out. The bogus prisoners surged back out of the building; those still outside turned to flee. A wave of hidden SS rushed out from behind the two waiting lines of new arrivals. The flanks of SS merged, formed an arc and slowly and bloodily began forcing the battling men of the illegal industries back into the gas chamber. The arc grew smaller, the number of visible white armbands fewer. The SS gave a final surge and pushed in behind them, kicking and clubbing. A few minutes later the SS came out alone. Then two officers climbed the outside ladder, carrying a canister. They crossed to the center of the roof, pulled up the hatch and carefully poured the Zyklon-B pellets through. There was no hole in the rear of the building, no gap in the fence.

Spangler ripped the white cloth from his sleeve, stuffed it into his pocket and quickly cut back across the railroad yard. He stopped behind the metal passenger cars. A phone was ringing inside as he surveyed the terrain. Lines of SS guards began forming in the area he had just fled. They linked arms and started slowly forward in their search.

Spangler dashed along the fence. The young guard lay motionless in the dark, his knees drawn up under him. Spangler knelt and rolled the boy onto his back. The youth's neck had been broken. Spangler glanced down the track. A dim line of SS could be seen walking forward from the tower at the railroad gate.

He slid under the wire and hurried back into the compound. He was halfway across the roll-call area when the all-clear began to sound. Spangler doubled his pace.

The bunker was dark. He didn't light the lamp. It was twenty minutes before Prague or Cracow would be broadcasting. He pulled Vassili's locker away from the wall so he could crawl in behind if he had to.

Spangler stood in the darkness waiting and thinking. Why had the men of the Bourse and the other exchanges been tricked and murdered? Why had Klempf gone through such acrobatics to do it? Why had they arrived at the gas chamber five minutes ahead of schedule? Everything was worked out to the second; why had they changed the plan? One hundred and twenty men had been assembled at the Finishing School, but he had counted only one hundred and eighteen waiting in line. Who were the men not accounted for? Unless he had been mistaken. Spangler thought he had had a clear view, but maybe he was wrong. Who had killed the fence guard, and why?

The sound of the shifting potato sacks was heard overhead. Spangler squeezed into the hole and pulled the locker back in place.

Footsteps descended the ladder.

“No one's here,” he heard Anvil's voice call.

“Is the radio warm? Has it been used recently?” Klempf's voice shouted from above. “Has the lamp been used?”

“No,” Anvil announced after a few seconds. “No one's been here.”

“Are you sure he came back into the compound? Did you actually
see
him?”

“I saw him come back to the fence. Then he stopped and looked across in my direction. I had to duck so he wouldn't notice me. When I looked up he was gone. He wouldn't have had time to go anywhere else.”

“What did you do after killing the boy?”

“I told you—I came through the next compound and waited for him on the road. He never appeared.”

“All right, come out of there.”

“Shall I bring the radio?”

“No, he may return. Where else can he go? Make sure he isn't scared off. Watch the bunker—from a distance. I'll have the guards sweep the railroad yard just in case he's still out there.”

“But we've just searched the yard.”

“They may have missed him. Now get a move on.”

Spangler heard Anvil climb the ladder and drop the trapdoor after him. He waited a full ten minutes before pushing out the locker and climbing from the cubbyhole. He lit a match and checked his watch. He turned on the radio. Neither Cracow nor Prague was heard from. He waited another hour before trying again. Both cities remained silent.

57

Spangler slept in the bunker through most of the day. He did not expect any air attacks. In the past, they had come at night, around roll-call time. He checked the early-evening radio schedule. Cracow and Prague remained silent. Bits of the Lone Ranger and a medley of Benny Goodman were all that came across.

He opened Vassili's locker and changed into the SS uniform. He dug up his homemade bombs, stripped the batteries from the shortwave set and the repair kit and connected the explosives. He took the trousers of his prisoner uniform, fashioned them into a crude knapsack and placed the bombs inside.

Spangler gave himself another two hours before he slipped on the knapsack, climbed the ladder and put his shoulder against the trapdoor. He rose slowly into the potato shed, got to his feet and peered out. The compound was bathed in dim blue light.

He stepped through the door and out behind the rear of the kitchen. Two Ukrainian SS guards lolled at the front gate. The usual road patrol was absent. Spangler moved into the shadows and waited.

Fifteen minutes passed before he heard a noise. Spangler moved along the building, silently turned the corner, slipped up behind the officer, clamped him around the neck and dragged him back into the darkness. He spun his captive around, shoved him against the wall and pressed the Luger under his chin.

“Anvil, what a pleasant surprise,” Spangler said quietly. “It's always a pleasure running into old prison chums unexpectedly. Tell me, which branch of the Secret Police are you with?”

“Spe—Special Security.”

“How long have they had you undercover in the compound?”

“Th-three weeks.”

“You're answering very well, Anvil. Now let's try a harder question or two. Why were the Finishing School men murdered?”