The Last Sonderkommando

By Stan Farrell

Genocide is complicated and messy and it requires the efforts of many people, some willing some not.

 

Find your victims - not easy without the help of the locals. Transport them in horrible conditions, steal their few belongings, (you have already taken their homes and businesses) then within a few hours of arriving, hungry, and traumatized, you kill them. Of course they were not really human and they did not feel pain, or so you had been told,and it was your duty to remove them from society.

 

However some still had value due to their beauty or strength but as they would all soon die  why not use them first and that is what the Germans and their collaborators did frequently.

 

But someone had to help with the gassings and  for the out of town killings, fill in graves that the victims had already dug for themselves.It was a busy life for a Sonderkommando and for most a short one. For the gassings they would help the unsuspecting victims undress with the promise of a hot shower before leading them into the gas chamber. Later they would remove the bodies and clean up the mess so that the next group would not be 'spooked'.

 

Only people like Carlo new of these and other attrocities so they were kept away from others in the camps.He would definitly have been killed  if fate had not intervened so perhaps he really was the last Sonderkommando. 

 

This is his story and he makes some outragious statements. Was he a canibal and did he together with his mates really save the world? 

 

The last Sonderkommando is not for the squeemish or sensative reader but if you want to understand how ignorance, stupidity and hatred can turn millions of supposedly intelligent human beings into heartless monsters then read this

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stan Farrell
• Release date: Oct 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215975732

Stan Farrell

Stan Farrell was born in Birmingham England during WW11 when Germany was trying to bomb England into submission. His father was in the airforce and his mother worked in an ammunition factory.As a tiny baby with the constant threat of poisonous gasses being used, Stan would be put into a 'baby helmet' which was a small fully enclosed gas mask.His mother wearing an adult version would then take him into their  shelter as the bombs exploded nearby. At fifteen he joined the Merchant Navy before emigrating to South Africa in 1958. A series of jobs followed including working  on a gold mine.He married and had three children two boys and a girl. Seeing the threat to wildlife and the possible extinction of some species he decided to breed crocodiles so he moved his family to a 400 acre pineaple farm near the coast.People wanted to see these creatures so having included snakes and other reptiles a tourist attraction was created. In the early 1900'sviolence in S.A.especialy towards the farmers became a regular thing so the family moved to Canada; Whilst visiting his son in Calgary Stan met Bob (Jack in the story) who told him about a man who claimed to have been the last Sonderkommando. and he had his tapes and notes. Having suggested that Stan examine these and if convinced perhaps he should write a novel.

Book preview

Preface

The late 1930’s Germany had lost the First World War; they were broke, demoralized and angry. Trying to find solutions they turned to the occult, the supernatural, ancient secret organizations, séances and the Ouija board. Even human sacrifices where popular with certain groups and there was no greater human sacrifice than what occurred during the holocaust that followed. After that war there were many orphaned and abandoned children who were supposed to provide the best ‘ Vril magic’. No one would miss them and the energy they produced at death was supposedly concentrated and powerful. During world war two and the so called final solution, limitless numbers of suitable victims were always available as the search for this mysterious power continued.

Goering, Himmler and even Hitler believed that there were civilizations living in the center of the earth that possessed the Vril which gave them God like powers and they wanted it. They were not alone as an American President; John Quincy Adams had already tried to organize an expedition to the North Pole to find the entrance to this subterranean world. Mediums and mystics were everywhere and talking with the dead was something anyone could do. There was even a special substance that was supposed to form when a medium was in touch with the departed. Ectoplasm, some people believed was proof of contact and the more of it the better the connection.

Into this madness came Hitler and suddenly there was food, national pride, fine autobahns and beautiful buildings. Business was good when the anti-Semitic Henry Ford and the equally strange James Mooney from G.M. made cars, trucks and other things to help Hitler take over Europe while Coca Cola provided the refreshing taste. Where did all the money come from and why did everyone want to eliminate the Jews?

Carlo was a seventeen year old kid who awoke to find his world had become almost unrecognizable. Suddenly friends were enemies and people who he and his family had helped wanted to kill them and take all they had. Within weeks things that he could not have imagined were taking place as emotions and all vestiges of civilization were cast aside. He had been in love and content but when the Germans arrived things changed and so did he. This story of lost youth, love and death on a colossal scale is based on the memories of an old man who died in Vancouver in 2011 after trying to keep a promise. He always believed that he had saved the world and if they had not prevented the uranium reaching Germany we would all be speaking German. Is it possible that he was right? And could there have been covert cooperation between certain countries and Hitler based on the promise of more trade and greater profits? We will never know, but if more people are aware of the evil that occurred and understand why, maybe similar things can be prevented in the future.

CHAPTER ONE

Despair

Vancouver, Canada. 22rd December (three days before Christmas). 5-30pm.Temperature -2 Celsius. Conditions: Occasional flurries.

This is the city which claims to be one of the best places in the world to live. West Georgia, the main street is filled with people shopping, eating, talking, laughing and between them a never ending stream of traffic crawls along.

You would need to look carefully to notice the frail old man standing opposite the fine hotel watching intently as fancy cars arrive and well-dressed people hand their keys to the valet then disappear into the warm and brightly lit interior.

Eventually this old man takes his walker and makes his way up the slight hill past all the glittering signs and the enormous Christmas trees. He stops and waits for the sign telling him it is safe to cross and immediately starts moving. The traffic lights are designed for the more active so before he reaches the other side they change. A large car starts honking and someone opens the window, leans out and yells Get off the fucking road you old bastard.

A few blocks further and he turns away from the bright lights heading towards another world close, in reality, but totally different in so many other ways. A person; it is difficult to know if they are male or female, sits in a doorway holding a syringe against their skinny arm. A very young prostitute stands with her legs spread wide as an obese older man presses her small body against the dirty wall as he thrusts violently into her. People nearby are shouting  with every second word an expletive but the old man appears to not see or hear anything.

He heads towards a building that could easily be the setting for a horror movie. Outside the walls are covered in inane graffiti that has no use or purpose. The mail boxes are broken, the floor is filthy and someone had thrown up in the corner. Two used condoms hang on the short wire that holds the one and only Christmas decoration, namely a small sign suggesting peace and love to all men. On the floor are several syringes that had been kicked to the side as people walked through.

None of this appears to worry him as clearly he has other things on his mind.  At last he arrives at his apartment, ground floor second door on the right. He is fortunate; he does not live on another level because that would mean climbing the dirty stairs because as usual, the elevator is out of order.

His apartment is, to put it mildly, dismal.  In the bathroom, which he enters first, only one light works, the same with the living room. If it were not for the reflected light from the tall building opposite it would be almost dark. It is Christmas but not everyone has the feeling of 'goodwill to all men' as the sounds from the apartment above clearly indicate. Shouting and cursing, screaming and the most vile expletives followed by the sound of things being thrown about and glass breaking.

He moves over to the torn sofa and collapses then tries to turn on the small T.V. but nothing happens. He sits up, puts his head in his hands and starts sobbing. It is the end of the line and he knows it. He wants out, but how? In the past there were guns, a hose from the car or medication but not now. Hanging was also something to consider but you needed a rope and the ability to climb.  No gun, no car, no medication and no rope, he was trapped.

He did not want to live, life was too painful, but how could he solve the problem?  His friend had Oxycotolyn, so if he could steal some and with enough time for it to take affect it would not matter if Carlo found out later. It wasn’t one of those spur of the moment decisions like so many he had made in the past, rather something that he had known that he had to do for some time.  In light of this he had made the journey into town.

It had been long, tiring and uncomfortable but he had tried very hard to see them just one last time. Each year awards were given to special people for their achievements and on that night, Sharron, his ex-wife and his childhood sweetheart would be one of the recipients.  Brad, Monica and Cliff, his children would also be there to bask in their mother’s glory together with their new step father François.

He felt certain that the following day there would be a lot of press coverage and Sharron would be, if not on the front page, then certainly well-presented elsewhere. She was very photogenic and enjoyed the attention that fame provided.

He had waited in front of the hotel to hopefully get a glimpse of his old family but had been moved on. Standing across the street he thought he saw them but was not sure. Now he recalled the many occasions in the past when they had stayed in that same hotel to receive an award or attend some celebration. In those days the doorman, Mario, would greet them with a cheery Hello Mr. Tomlinson, How are you today? He would take the keys for the B.M.W. while a bell boy unloaded their luggage and took it up to their penthouse.

How things had changed. Not only the staff but everything from the expensive clothes to the ones he now wore. It was not only the dirty clothes but also the discomfort and smell. He had had prostate surgery and leaked so he was frequently embarrassed and uncomfortable. Right then he had newspapers inside his underpants and because he had been out for so long these had become saturated and the front of his pants were wet. Add to this the fact that it was well below freezing and you can see why he felt as he did.

Life was too painful and he intended to end it tonight but he needed the means. As he sat in the old chair his mind started to wander and he wondered what Carlo would do if he found out about the theft. It was only a few days previously that he had seen how easily his moods could change from calm and reasonable to violent. On that occasion it was early evening when he had returned from the store and met Carlo who suggested a game of chess. It sounded like a good idea for chess with Carlo was always a challenge. They had walked into the foyer where a new poster had been put up and as soon as Carlo saw it he stopped talking and looked intently at the picture. For a long time he just stood in silence then asked Jack if he thought that the girl in the picture was attractive. She was. The details below described her as sixteen, five foot two, one hundred and ten pounds and last seen in their area two weeks ago. Her long black hair, pretty smile and lovely teeth meant that she was indeed very attractive but as neither of them had seen her, what did it matter? Carlo had studied the picture for some time and his demeanor had changed. His face became softer, his tone gentle and he began muttering in his native tongue saying over and over Bohdanna.

Jack had expected to accompany him to his apartment but instead he walked ahead and closed the door in Jack’s face. What was going on? Carlo was always strange and he could be nice and the following evening he was. Come on my friend he said Tonight I want to celebrate and I want you to join me. It is my treat and we will do it in style at the best hotel. Carlo was dressed in his finest suite, dentures in place and a hairpiece that he only wore on special occasions. Put on your best clothes and let’s go he said and when Carlo said do it, you did.

In the taxi on the way to the hotel Carlo had brought up the subject of the missing girl several times and kept asking if he really thought she was attractive. Jack agreed saying that she was indeed very beautiful, at which point Carlo smiled and admitted that he had known someone just like her years previously and tonight they were celebrating her birthday. In the restaurant he got drunk, but in a friendly way and as they walked unsteadily back he was singing in Ukrainian with the word Bohdanna mentioned frequently.

They had about one hundred yards to go to the next corner around which was a taxi rank and on the way a car pulled up next to the curb just as Carlo was walking, or should that be staggering along singing in Ukrainian. Without checking first the car door opened and a young woman emerged. Carlo was in the wrong place at the wrong time and being drunk he fell towards her and they both ended up on the ground. Seeing this her male companion rushed over from the other side of the car. Carlo slowly stood up and immediately apologized, but the young man swore calling him a drunken old Russia. Apparently Ukrainian and Russian sound similar. With Carlo in a good mood, as he was then, it may have been O.K. to swear, but to call him a Russian, a nation he hated, was not a good idea.

Suddenly Carlo was sober. As the young man knelt to help his female companion he grabbed him by his hair, pulled him to his feet and hit him twice in the gut and then in the face. The fellow fell back against the car and slowly slid to the ground moaning. His female companion screamed, jumped to her feet and ran away as Carlo picked her companion up walked across the path and threw him over the hedge. It looked for a while as though he had finished when he began singing, but after walking a few paces he returned to the car and punched out the widows on both sides. While Carlo muttered something about not being a Russian the two men walked around the corner and tried to hail a taxi. The first driver saw a couple of old men who seemed drunk and one had a hand covered in blood, so he drove past. Realizing that they had a problem Carlo took his jacket off, tied the sleeve, put his bloody hand inside and wrapped the rest of the jacket around his arm so eventually they were able to get a taxi.

Reality slowly returned. Enough procrastination, there was something he had to do and the sooner the better.

Previously he had done things quickly and efficiently but now everything was slow including the trip from his apartment to #12 where Carlo lived. He knocked and as expected there was no reply so he tried the door handle and it opened easily. It was rare for anyone to leave their door unlocked, but this lock, like so many things in the building, was broken. Carlo had recently lost his key so he did what he was good at, he broke the lock, but it would be a brave man who stole anything from Carlo.

It was like walking into a different world. On the one side was dirt and disorder but on the other it was clean and organized. Expensive rugs covered the floor; two leather sofas were set at right angles to each other, fine paintings hung on the wall and a large T.V. rested on an ornate stand. Cautiously Jack walked into the bedroom to the cabinet where he knew the tablets would be and opened the drawer. As he did he felt, more than heard, something breaking, but he was not sure exactly what. With two bottles of tablets in his pocket he closed the drawer and having looked around to see that nothing else had been disturbed, left.

As usual he had been impressed by how well organized Carlo was. Everything in its right place, including his clothes and shoes. Separated into different groups were suits, trousers and shirts, with all the hangers facing the same way. His shoes took up two shelves arrange in pairs varying from black to brown with some lighter shades in between. There was another unusual thing about Carlo and that was his one and only tattoo. Virtually everyone, including the