Hate

The train stopped and the doors opened.  We were ordered out.  We stood on a platform, a platform at a regular passenger stop, actually the first I’d seen in this country.  We were made to line up.  Guards were everywhere and had their rifles drawn and ready with bayonets.  An officer was running up and down the platform shouting in German.  He looked wild, and his shouting was violent.  It took us a little time to understand him.  We had been prisoners long enough to begin to understand German.  He was yelling, “These are the men who have killed your women and children.”  And much more that we didn’t get, but he seemed to be making an effect on the guards.  They were rough getting us in a line they wanted.

Suddenly, without warning, guards came up behind us, and I was handcuffed to a fellow standing next to me, my right hand to his left.  I had been holding my case in my right hand and transferred it to my left.  We stood still.  I didn’t think, just watched and wondered.  We were all handcuffed in pairs.

With guns we were prodded off the platform and pushed to a country road with the officer still screaming his anger, shouting orders, evidently, between screams.  We were ordered to start up the road and with cries of “Rausch, Rausch” we were forced by the guards to start running.  Not only guards with guns and drawn bayonets were forcing us to run, but there were big dogs barking at our heels.

At first, I didn’t know, but I became aware there were people along the side of the road throwing things and screaming at us.  Now that I think of it, I never once looked at the guy I was handcuffed to, but I am thankful for his cooperation.  We ran well together.  We seemed equal in our efforts, but I never knew who he was, and I don’t think he ever looked at me.  At least no one ever told me who he was nor did anyone come to me later and tell me.

We couldn’t talk, it wasn’t allowed, and to tell the truth, I didn’t want to talk.  It was a long run; it seemed forever.  The things people were throwing at us seemed heavier and more deadly.  The run became a hurdle race as gradually more things were dropped by men reaching the limit of their endurance.  Cases were dropped and even the musical instruments that the Red Cross had sent us.  The run was harder and harder as I had to jump over things in the road, even a man lying on the road.

At about the same time my fellow runner on the other end of our handcuffs and I threw our cases away.  I could no longer run, jump over things, keep ahead of the dogs and bayonets and still carry my case.  With a great effort I threw it to the side of the road.  I wanted to hit someone on the side of the road.  I was angry, I hated them.

There went my food, and the only things I owned.  I still had my letters and my pictures in my pockets, but I didn’t think of that then.  All I thought of was to keep running.  I didn’t even think of where and what was at the end of this run.  I didn’t have time to think of that or even the energy for anything else but this run.  I hoped my suitcase broke when it hit someone so the stuff would be ruined.

When we had come to a point where I didn’t think I could run anymore, we stopped.  I was dizzy.  I threw up, but I didn’t sit down.  I stood there as did my partner.  Some guard came up behind us and took off the handcuffs.  I finally looked around and could see we were in a fenced enclosure with a barracks at the side.  A short distance away I could see the prison camp.  Prisoners were being taken into the barracks in small groups.  This was the vor lager just like the last camp, and like the last camp we had to be searched and checked before being passed into the comparative safety of the prison camp.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999