Free Cimmerian: A Novel of the Holocaust by Ronald Watkins

problems. Though in fairness, the appetite of most seemed unaffected.
    And headaches. Terrible headaches.
    And rashes. Many of the guards developed skin rashes that no ointment or salve could cure.
    As the winter set in it became worse. Now, when Peter could sleep, he was afraid to.
    At least once a month officers from the Totenkopfverbande Berlin arrived. In the days before their arrival there was a frenzy of activity to put the KZ in order and the guards got almost no sleep. The Kommandant was everywhere shouting orders, pointing at this or that. All the officers, but especially Wolff, became maniacs. Prisoners were shot or sent to the shower for the most trivial offenses. The guards devoted extra effort to their appearance, seeing that even well-worn boots shone with a luster. Everything was to be perfect.
    It was always a relief when the inspection was finished. If it had gone well, and during that winter they rarely did, they received special rations and light duty for a few days. If the inspection went especially poorly they all suffered and passed that suffering on to the prisoners who, after all, were the ones responsible.
    Peter found it was difficult to avoid the majority of the guards. At one time or another he worked or ate with all of them. He was, frankly, afraid of most of them though he took great care for that fear not to show. He worked very hard at maintaining a good front, at being one of the comrades. He was not accepted wholly as he wished since he did not share in the indiscriminate murder of prisoners. His beatings and killings were always for a purpose or part of the general action. And he did not get drunk, as all of them did, or go to the brothel to join in their parties.
    These things kept him apart and made him suspect. Once Karl was gone, the guard’s taunts were directed more at him and he was forced to join in their activities to survive.
    Karl came to his end in the week between Christmas and New Year's. It was bitterly cold. German forces on the Western Front had launched a counteroffensive that, they were told, would roll the Americans and British back into the sea. Wolff and others of his ilk were filled with patriotic ardor.
    Karl was permanently assigned to the shower. This was a duty he found the most repugnant of all and so it was given to him. He was responsible for the SonderKommando that filled the shower, dragged the bodies out, pulled the teeth, and shaved the hair.
    On this day everything had gone wrong. Steiner pulled Peter from his usual place and put him with Karl. He had been working, he said, without sleep for two days because three trains had arrived back to back. The material was freezing standing along the Himmel Weg in sub-zero weather. Many of them had collapsed on the spot and died where they lay. The lines, total strangers many of them, jammed against each other to save what warmth they could. When they exited the Disrobing Block heat rose off their skin in steam and their teeth chattered. Later, they took on a ghostly hue as the cold seeped through them.
    At the shower door the queue at last rioted. The trustees had to fill the shower by beating and pushing the freezing people in. Karl had a ghastly look to him. He was nearly as skinny as the KZ prisoners by then. His eyes were sunken in his skull beneath his helmet.
    At times Karl would go into a frenzy and beat and club everyone he could reach. At other times he lapsed into a trance and did nothing until Wolff goaded him into action. Peter was frightened for Karl but had troubles of his own just being this close to him.
    Peter was exhausted. His hands, even though he wore gloves, were blistered and bloody from the beatings. His gun seemed constantly empty. His voice was hoarse from shouting. His right arm was numb and he could by then scarcely raise it.
    The door jammed and the SonderKommando screamed and killed indiscriminately to goad the material into order. Karl suddenly shouted at Wolff. Though Peter was nearly