Stephen Shooster caps back on. The assistant to the Striben officer would report how many prisoners each kapo had as they were leaving. On the way back, he would do the same, the number was expected to match. If these numbers did not match, there would be hell to pay. As we walked by I heard the kapo report 87 hâftlinge and two jugendlitche. The walk to the factory was about a half-mile uphill. I did not mind the incline. The factory grounds were well maintained, and my shoes felt like heaven. Even if there was a big rain, it would not result in flooding or muddy grounds near the barracks at the bottom of the hill. But, we would get soaked and stay that way for hours. The entire barracks area was built on asphalt and it had adequate storm drainage. A special kommando unit was assigned to work on drains. About 10,000 or as many as 15,000 prisoners lived in our camp. All of us appeared for roll call each morn- ing and then walked along this route. It must have looked like a giant blue and white snake slithering along towards the factory in the morning. Then around 6 PM, it was the same routine in reverse, and just like as on the way out, the prison musicians welcomed us back, and we took off our caps in obedience to our self- proclaimed masters. When we arrived at the factory, I would see other workers, not just hâftlinge. Both Germans and Polish civilians worked side-by-side with us. I even saw a few dis- abled German veterans, hobbling around. But the thing that stood out the most, besides the giant factory, was hundreds of British prisoners of war. This was the first time I would be among them up close. Many Brits were assigned to work at my kommando. The first time I entered the workplace, everyone went directly to their stations ex - cept me. I was not yet assigned to a specific task, so I waited a moment to let the shuffle subside and approached the man in charge and introduced myself, “Sir, I am here to help you.” Looking at me, a teen, for the first time, he said, “Hello, I am Walter, the chief engi - neer.” Obviously German, he was wearing overalls and a medal of honor around his neck, The Iron Cross. Walter was in charge of this project and me. It’s funny what you remember about people. I’ll never forget him wearing that medal every day. As much as he was proud of it, I think, for him, it was a kind of talisman to ward off the Gestapo. He glanced at my record and my broken smile and decided he would call me by a familiar name, Junge. I hadn’t heard that since Tarnow, and I wasn’t about to connect those horrible thoughts with the man standing right in front of me. He seemed to have kind eyes. Walter turned out to be a decent person. He did not talk much, preferring to remain focused on his work, but he did things to make me
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