Stephen Shooster During one particularly heavy pounding, all of the prisoners, including me, ran towards the mountain of coal. We ran as fast as we could; it was a good distance from the factory. The bombing was directly on top of us. We were running for our lives. We must have looked like a swarm of blue and white ants to those pilots. I reached the coal and hid as best I could. Bombs were falling all around. Prisoners were being killed, the factory pulverized. I was still in the open, but this was the best I could do. The mounds of coal offered some protection, and the brim of the hill kept the huge explosions mostly on the factory side of the spent coal. Watching this scene was at once beautiful, and frightening. The bombs were dropping all over the factory. While I was at a safe distance, or so I thought, the ethanol tanks were hit and a fireball erupted. Just as I predicted, it was followed by secondary explosions. The smoke rose high in the sky. All around the perimeter I heard anti-aircraft guns continuing their volleys. Flak was all over the sky. Aluminum chaff floated down like confetti. The bombers were trying to confuse the anti-aircraft fire. A few of the American planes were caught in their nasty web. They careened out of control and crashed. I hoped to see parachutes but saw none. Even though we were being pounded by them, I wished for their safety. As the grand panorama played out, the Nazis cowered safely in their bunkers. Many of my fellow prisoners would not know what hit them. For those, it was over fast. A few were maimed; of these, the lucky ones were forever scarred, while others died more slowly. That day we took the biggest pounding. This bombing raid turned out to be the final straw. The whole camp was closed down. My fear rose quickly, thinking the rumors were going to be true. We would be shipped to Birkenau and destroyed. There was no factory left. Explosions were everywhere. The sound was deafening, but the concussion of the nearby air was the worst. Everyone on the ground was disoriented, some bleeding from their ears. Near the end of the bombing, one plane found itself directly over the coal moun- tain. Before I could comprehend what was happening, another bomb dropped. The whistle was right above my location. It exploded. I felt something wet on my neck. Instinctively, I put my hand there and realized I was bleeding profusely. A piece of shrapnel or coal must have caught me in the neck. I was hurt and bleeding badly, but the artery was not severed. I never lost consciousness. I knew my wound needed attention, but I was frightened. Under no circumstances did I want to be sent back to Birkenau. I covered the gash as best I could, but there was no way of adequately doing this. At least the artery was not cut, or I would have bled out. Looking around me, others died, red marking their blue and white uniforms. They laid motionless
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