The Horse Adjutant The combined bombing and onslaught of the Allied troops were steadily taking a toll upon the Nazis, Buna, and all of the prisoners. The factory was a prime tar- get, so it was bombed regularly. Eventually, its back was broken, and we could no longer work there. In one of the ironies of war, I learned years later that my own cousin, Sam Keen, was a navigator-bombardier in the US 8th Air Force, and it was his group that bombed my camp in Buna. Showing me his actual briefing orders for the bombing of the I.G. Farben, Buna works, I read, ‘Saturate and Destroy at any price.’ As I read this, I imagined him above me as I cowered near the black rocks. Many prisoners died in those air raids. The bombing was successful, and Buna was destroyed. The entire factory in chaos. I had no work assignment and a wounded neck. I stayed in my block for one entire month, lingering with nothing to do. Luck- ily, I was not sent to Birkenau. I’m sure this must have crossed their minds, too. But we were worth three Marks a day and collectively, since there were so many of us, that could be of some value to the SS. It wasn’t going to stay this way; something would have to change soon. A few workgroups were assembled and given jobs. One dug out the bomb that did not detonate. Finally, on January 15, 1945, the whole camp assembled at the appelplatz. All the remaining prisoners were in attendance. Hundreds were missing, presumably killed. I stood at attention for the last time while Captain Rokacz of the SS announced the plans for the camp. Holding up the megaphone he first spoke in German, then again in Polish, “The camp will be closed tomorrow.” I gulped hard. “In the morning you will all assemble here in block formation, then we will walk out to the railroad sta- tion. Anyone who cannot walk will remain here and go to the krankenstube (infir - mary). If you are not hurt and not assembled to walk, you will be executed. Anyone who cannot walk should stay in the camp, by order of the Reich Fuhrer.” I asked my block-elder, Zigfreid, “What should I do?” He said, “You have a fever and an infection from the wound in your neck. You must stay or they will shoot you. Take your portion of bread and wait in the barracks. I will have you taken to the krankenstube.” My friends were pulling me to go with them. I told them, “If they shot me, they shot me here.” The following day, I saw thousands of prisoners march out of camp, my friend, Moshe, among them with his bad leg. I had mixed emotions watching them leave. I knew the German structure was falling apart, but these were my friends and community of prisoners. What would happen to me when they all left? Those that left went on a terrible adventure. It came to be known as, the death
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