The Commandant of Lubizec: A Novel of the Holocaust and Operation Reinhard by Patrick Hicks Page B

rain came down harder and harder, faster and faster. The huge steel door on Chamber #4 slammed shut. A moment passed, then another. The flowers outside the gas chamber quivered as the rain pelted them. There was the sound of a prayer being sung in the gas chamber but when the engine revved into a higher gear the singing turned into screaming. At first it sounded like they were all going down a roller coaster together, but then it turned into absolute terror. It was like a breaking wave of screams. Above it, a man shouted out words of love.
    “I’m here, boys! I’m here!”
    Hans-Peter Guth looked at the sandy path covered in little footprints. The rain began to fill them in.
    More trains would be arriving tomorrow and he needed to send the weekly numbers to Berlin. He walked across camp, opened the door of his office, and leaned his umbrella against the wall. Thunder crackled across the sky, booming and rumbling. It madethe windowpanes shake. Guth sat down in front of his typewriter and consulted the train schedules.
    They came from towns with names like Zakrzówek, Bilgoraj, Szczebrzeszyn, Sokal, and Sambor. Turka, Kolomyya, Wlodawa, Zamosc, and Sasów. Kielce and Grabow. Kraków and Lublin. Two came from Paris. One came from London. Two hundred and twenty-three from Berlin.
    Hans-Peter Guth rolled in a sheet of paper. He began to type.
    21.8.1942
–
3,837
22.8.1942
–
3,914
23.8.1942
–
3,966
24.8.1942
–
3,801
25.8.1942
–
3,972
26.8.1942
–
3,999
27.8.1942
–
4,152
    They were just numbers to him. Just numbers.

7
TROUBLE AT HOME
    O n the same day the boys were all murdered, Guth went home early to be with his own children. The rain had slowed and he cantered up the cinder driveway on his horse. He went into the house, where he took off his dripping woolen coat. He hung it on a peg and placed his SS hat, which was sodden with water, onto a section of newspaper. Splats wrinkled the front page. The headline was about the war in the east—the Battle of Stalingrad was underway. Everyone expected an easy victory because the city had been pounded for weeks from the air. A thousand tons of bombs had rained down and there was nothing left but vast fields of rubble and burnt rafters. Resistance should be light. The war would soon be over and Germany would control all of Europe. Victory was inevitable.
    Sigi and Karl were surprised to find their father home so early. Rain streaked down the patio door in thick veins of running water as Guth unbuttoned his charcoal-gray uniform and kicked off his jackboots.
    “How are my darlings? Give me hugs.”
    They whined about being bored and about how the rain was keeping them inside. It’s not fair, they pouted. There’s nothing to do. Even the radio didn’t have anything decent on and they were tired of their toys. They wanted some excitement. Some fun.
    Guth gave them his full attention. He touched their heads and got down on the carpet to play “tanks and soldiers” with his son. Together they picked up Panzer tanks and crawled towards Stalingrad. Gunfire came from their mouths as they inched towards a shoebox that was supposed to represent the city, and that’s when Guth, getting into the spirit of the game, held up a finger as if topause the war. He got out matchboxes and lined them up around the shoebox.
    “There’s the enemy. Go get him.”
    Woompf, woompf, woompf
went the mortars.
Boom!
    Guth reached over to the Soviet line and threw the matchboxes high into the air. He pointed at a small opening and yelled, “Get in there. Go, go, go! There’s the enemy’s weakness.”
    Karl plowed his tank into the shoebox and threw the remaining matchboxes up towards the ceiling. Hundreds of wooden match-sticks rained down onto the floor and Karl stomped on the shoebox while yelling out a language of explosives.
    “Boom, boom, boom!”
    He picked up his tank and did a victory lap around the room.
    “Down with the Soviet Union!
Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil
.”
    Guth put