The Orphans of Dachau

By Anthony Hulse

Young RAF bomb aimer, Flight Sergeant Danny Wilkinson panics when his aircraft encounters heavy flak over Germany. He prematurely orders the release of the bombs, hoping his skipper orders the aircraft to return to England. When the Lancaster bomber is hit, he bails out and discovers that the bombs intended for a munitions factory had in fact struck a concentration camp for women and children. As he descends, he views the horrific sight of the victims, some mutilated, others burnt alive. The self-confessed coward at first refuses to help the woman and children he encounters, but later reconsiders, his conscience troubling him. He agrees to lead them to Switzerland, but sadistic Jew hater, SS Major Richter, The Black Hawk, employs extreme and brutal methods to hunt down the escapees. A sad, harrowing and sometimes disturbing account of bravery and heroism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291755930

Book preview

The Orphans of Dachau

The Orphans of Dachau

Anthony Hulse

Copyright @ Anthony Hulse 2015

ISBN: 978-1-291-75593-0

Cover design: marcusbrown@ iStock.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the author, except for the quotations in a review.

Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to all those victims of the holocaust; those who were unjustly murdered and those who suffered. Even today it is difficult to believe that such a horrific episode occurred, and we must learn from this. For the six million victims, RIP.

Prologue

July 1944. Bavaria.

He showed no fear when he looked into the eyes of his executioners. His steely stare unnerved his adversaries. So, this is how it is to end, facing a German firing squad, accused of spying.

Danny Wilkinson’s short life was about to come to a bloody conclusion. All he ever wanted is to fly planes, watch his beloved Liverpool play football, and to run. Running is in his blood; his athletic prowess passed down to him from generations of his family.  How he loved those early morning runs, just him and the twittering birds to keep him company.

Danny had joined the RAF three years ago. He chose his vocation over the army. His fear of water dismissed any notion of joining the navy.. Flying had a sort of mysterious aura about it; man defying the laws of gravity. Danny acknowledged the comparisons between his love of running and flying; both offering him a sense of freedom.

He watched the soldiers cock their weapons. Against the background of the magnificent Alps, the clicks of the bolts seemed so out of place in this beautiful terrain of Bavaria.

Danny did not deem himself to be a brave man. Accustomed to waking up in a cold sweat; the thought of facing a man in open combat troubled him greatly. The RAF had provided him with his safe haven. As a bomb aimer, Danny did not have to look into the eyes of his faceless victims, and that suited him fine.

At the age of twenty, Danny had been on three bombing missions. Shortage of numbers ordained his destiny, with young men drafted in to fight the mighty Luftwaffe. He felt the cool breeze caress his face, and his nostrils welcomed the aroma of the scented, pine trees. He looked up to the sky to see the sun vanish behind a cluster of clouds; the sudden greyness apt for such a tragic day.

He heard the order, Betriebereit, and looked towards the grey-uniformed officer, whose long scar ran from his left eye to his chin.    Danny smiled at his executioner, and held his stare before he burst into song. "The old Grey Duke of York, he had ten thousand men, he marched them up to the top of the hill and marched them down again."

Ziel, yelled the officer.

Danny sang louder, and watched the grey-attired soldiers as they raised their rifles to the aim position. 

And when they’re up they’re up, and when they’re down..."

Feuer!

The squawking of the fleeing birds filled the air and silence followed.

Before Danny died, he saw each of the children’s faces… His children.

Chapter One

June 1944. 

The low droning of the Lancaster bomber drowned out Danny’s prayers. The deafening flak, he hated, and realised at any moment he could be dispatched to the sky with only his parachute to save him. So many times in his nightmares he had experienced the scenario, only his parachute malfunctioned and he dropped like a stone towards the earth. He felt so lonely as he lined up the bombsight, the mass of grey clouds making his chore all the more difficult.

Danny, can you make out the factory yet?was the cry.

No, Skipper. My visibility’s almost zero, he said, glad to hear the voice from the radio to confirm he was not alone.

What about you, Mick? Any sighting yet?

Negative, Skipper. We ought to turn back. We’re pissing against the wind here.

Flying Officer Richard Foley looked across at his co-pilot. How much fuel have we left, Don?

Just about enough to get us home, Skip.

Damn! We should be right over Munich now. ..The munitions factory has to be taken out.

The co-pilot seemed concerned. Skip, we’ve lost contact with C Flight.

Shit! I’m going in one more time.

The Lancaster banked back towards Munich and Danny kissed his St Christopher, his hands trembling uncontrollably. The flak appeared to be more intense as he looked through his bombsight.

Anything, Danny? asked Foley.

No.... Wait… it’s clearing.

Can you see the factory? We haven’t much time.

Danny rubbed his watery eyes, strained them, and scanned the landscape.

Flying Officer Foley displayed his impatience. I’m going around again. It’s imperative we take out the factory.

Danny squinted. No, wait! I think I see it.

You think? Is it the bloody factory or not?

Danny hesitated. His throat dried and the perspiration ran down his face and into his mouth. Yes, it’s the factory. Hold your course! Danny lined up the building against his sight. It has to be it… it’s just has to be.

What’s it look like, Danny?

Bombs away, Skip. It’s the factory alright.

Danny watched the bombs plummet towards their target, the shrill whistles seemingly introducing their presence. He smiled when he observed the brilliant explosions as the bombs made contact. He had become immune against the carnage and refused to imagine the poor victims of their destructive barrage.  

Fucking ace! screamed the rear gunner. It’s a direct hit, Skip.

Okay, let’s go home.

As the aircraft turned, a loud explosion rocked the fuselage. Danny heard the agonising screams. He put his hands to his ears and whimpered.

Flying Officer Foley fought for control of the aircraft as it went into a dive. Is everyone all right? Speak to me.

A hysterical voice relayed back to him. I think Pete’s been hit, Skip.

Danny, are you receiving?

Y-y-yes, Skip.

Go and see if Pete’s okay, and prepare to bail out.

Danny whimpered; his mind addled. The magnitude of the situation rendered him speechless and he shamefully passed wind, his stomach unsettled.

Do you hear me, Danny? See to Pete, damn it!

Danny scrambled to the rear of the aircraft, the reek of gasoline strong. When he reached his destination, he discovered the rear turret missing. The strong wind violently rushed into his face and took his breath away. Blood and entrails desecrated the rear of the aircraft.

Pete’s gone, Skip, yelled Danny, who tried hard to regulate his breathing and to control his bowel movement.

The skipper struggled to fly the disabled aircraft. What do you mean, he’s gone?

He’s fucking gone! There’s no rear gun turret, Skip.

The Flying Office made his decision. Right, bail out. I’ll try to stabilise the aircraft until you’re all clear.

Don looked across at his superior.

You too, Don. Jump, for God’s sake, before it’s too late.

No bloody way. I’m with you all the way, Skip.

Danny stared at the yawning gap where Pete lay just moments before. He edged towards the rear, whimpered, and looked out into the nothingness. He catapulted himself forward and felt the cold air push against his body as he fell towards the earth. He pulled the cord and his body jerked back towards the heavens, thankful his recurring nightmare had not materialised. He watched the Lancaster splutter, and noticed a plume of smoke coming from the tail section as it plummeted towards the ground.

Jump! Jump darn you, pleaded Danny.

The aircraft exploded into a huge, orange fireball.

Danny drifted towards the earth and looked about him for his companions. He saw nobody. The crosswind blew him towards a forest and he fought for control of the chute. He had visions of landing in the trees, and wrestled aggressively against the wind. He drifted to the side of the forest and saw the blazing factory, before he prepared for the impact of the landing. He hit the ground forcefully and rolled over. The relief appeased him, but only for a moment.

When he released his harness, he looked towards the fire and stood mouth agape. He watched the devastation unfold before his disbelieving eyes. Frail women and children wearing blue-striped uniforms fled the flames. Some of them were not so fortunate. Children were burnt alive, and some of them rolled about on the ground, unable to dowse their burning bodies. He watched with horror as an emaciated teenage girl wandered about aimlessly, minus her right arm.

The smoke cleared to unveil the carnage. Numerous women and children lay either dead or dying on the ground. The flames licked at their wasted bodies, the acrid stench of burning flesh all around.      Danny slowly walked backwards and hoped this nightmare would quickly be over. He reached the forest and stepped behind a pine tree.

A young girl walked towards him and reached out to touch him. Death had already marked her. Like the others, her head was shaved. Pathetic figures of the carnage emerged from the smoke, their screams disturbing the distraught airman. Some of the children wore tattered rags and their ribs protruded through their delicate torsos.

The reality hit Danny like a slap in the face. This was no munitions factory. They had bombed a concentration camp. He had heard of rumours back home about such camps, but had dismissed the stories as wild ranting of scaremongers.

Helfen sie mir bitte, bitte helfen sie mir.

Danny turned and looked into the eyes of a dark girl, whose sad, almond eyes seemingly pleaded with him. I’m sorry, I don’t understand, he said in a strong Merseyside accent.

The girl now fell to her knees. P-please, help us… Please!

Danny stuttered. I-I’m sorry, I cannot.

The girl, probably in her twenties, sobbed uncontrollably and kissed Danny’s feet.

I’m sorry, he said, and walked into the forest, as his eyes welled up with tears.

He heard the pleas and cries from the girl. He covered his ears, hummed loudly, and attempted to drown out the voice. He told himself he was an airman, a simple bomb aimer, not a hero. He had followed orders and released the bombs on the factory, his conscience clear. However, a sensation of guilt overcame him.   

Danny now breathed hard. He had dropped the bombs on these people. He had killed innocent women and children in his rashness. Danny, in his desperation had rid himself of his deadly cargo in order to return home safely. He took responsibility for what lay behind him. Those poor children. How could anyone who possessed an ounce of human compassion have treated them so? 

He hummed louder, in an attempt to block the carnage from his confused mind. He stopped when out of earshot and removed his water bottle. He drank sparingly. The lukewarm liquid soothed his dry throat. He looked over his shoulder to see the girl, standing with a multitude of children, and each one of them looking towards him. Perhaps they felt security in seeing a uniform not associated with their captors. Their sad gazes touched his heart, and he felt both guilt and sympathy.

Danny invitingly held out the water bottle to the victims of his bombs. They shuffled towards him slowly, suspicious of him.

The girl led the children, before she halted close to him. Danny examined her frail features; her dark eyes and hollow cheeks that once portrayed beauty. He felt a surge of shame come over when he cast his eyes over the children.

Here, drink…. Understand? Drink? he offered

The girl reluctantly took the bottle from him and placed it against every one of the children’s mouths. Each one savoured the refreshing liquid. There were nine children in all; each wearing a tattered, blue-striped outfit.

The girl held the water bottle out for Danny. He pointed at her and indicated for her to drink. He watched when she tasted the water, closed her eyes, and smiled, as though she was in a far off place, away from this horror.

Thank you, she said in a broken English accent.

Danny addressed the girl. Who are you? I mean, where are you from?

We’re from Kaufering concentration camp… That is our home. She pointed towards the flames.

Your home?

It has been for the last three years.

Why were you there? quizzed Danny.

The thin girl fingered her badge. Do you see this? It’s the Star of David. We’re Jews, and that is our crime.

Danny appeared confused. Where will you go?

Who knows? Far away from here if possible… The Nazis will be looking for us.

I don’t understand… You’re German, aren’t you?

The girl smiled. You’re so young and have a lot to learn… Who are you?

He looked into the eyes of the children and saw such sadness, such desperation. How could he tell them he is the one that killed their friends and loved ones? How could he confess that he is the reason for their current predicament?

I’m an English pilot. I crash landed a few miles away and walked here.

Will you help us?

How? I cannot take you with me… It would be impossible.

The girl studied Danny’s face, his curly brown hair and his baby face. With his blue eyes and button nose, he looked not much older than the children he had shared his water with.

I understand.

Danny seemed unsatisfied with the response. No, really, I cannot take you with me… It’s my duty to try and make it back to England, and with you and the children in tow, it would be impossible. You must understand… It’s my duty.

The girl scowled. I said, I understand, didn’t’ I?

A tiny, pale, thin boy stepped forward and seized Danny’s leg. The child placed his head against it before he looked up at Danny. His prematurely, wrinkled, brown eyes pleaded for help.

Danny reached into his pack for his biscuits. They were part of his ration, but this small boy had touched his heart. He broke the biscuit in half, gave it to the boy, and then offered the rest of his pack to the stricken victims. He watched as the children ate them greedily, ignoring the protests of the girl to eat slowly.

She touched Danny’s arm. Thank you. You’re a good man. I know what it must mean to give up your rations.

Danny, embarrassed by the unjustified praise, made a decision.    Listen, I’ll take you to the end of the forest, but that’s as far as we go together… okay?

The girl smiled. Okay.

Danny looked up through the tall trees to see the sun low in the sky. It would soon be nightfall. He walked slowly through the forest, and the children shuffled slowly behind, as if following the pied piper.

Chapter Two

Paul Scholten lit a cigarette and eyed the breathtaking countryside as he was driven towards Dachau, the notorious concentration camp. Once used to confine political prisoners, it now confined Jews, gypsies, criminals, and people of many nations. Dachau had fifteen smaller sub-camps, one of these being Kaufering, situated about 25 miles southeast of Munich.

Scholten served as a Second Lieutenant, or an Obersturmfuehrer with the Waffen SS. He had ascended the ranks rapidly, winning many admirers, his Hitler Youth days long gone. Many great things were expected of the much revered officer.

Scholten’s parents resented him being a Nazi. They had not brought him up to follow an insane dictator such as Adolf Hitler, his father would say. Scholten, as much as he loved his parents, found them to be an embarrassment; his attempts to isolate them from his fellow officers and friends so far successful. He beseeched them to remain tight-lipped, and especially pleaded with them not to advertise their loathing of the Nazi party. He repeatedly warned them to keep quiet about their politics. They were living in dangerous times he had told them.

His posting to Berlin relieved Scholten of his initial worries. His duties now far away from his hometown of Hamburg. During his journey to Dachau, he deliberated why he had been summoned. Although married with two young daughters, his wife never allowed him to bring politics into their home. She had once asked him if it was true about the Jews. There were so many rumours about their plight. Scholten had replied that it was for the good of the Fatherland and the Fuehrer.

Scholten, of course acknowledged the situation; but so far had not been involved with the extermination and deployment of the Jews. That was all about to change.

He looked up to the tall spruce trees and noticed an eerie silence envelope the camp. Not a bird sang when the gates to Dachau opened. It seemed an evil smelling place, and the dreary surroundings befitted this wicked establishment. He ogled the Jews with disgust. They were so filthy and pathetic. Their hollow eyes followed