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  The Auschwitz Escape

  Copyright © 2014 by Joel C. Rosenberg. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of fence copyright © Stanislav Solntsev/Media Bakery. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of barbed wire copyright © Julian Ward/Media Bakery. All rights reserved.

  Author photo copyright © 2005 by Joel C. Rosenberg. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Dean H. Renninger

  Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible,® copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

  The Auschwitz Escape is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Rosenberg, Joel C., date.

  The Auschwitz escape / Joel C. Rosenberg.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3624-4 (hc)

  1. Holocaust, Jewish (1939-1945)—Fiction. 2. Auschwitz (Concentration camp)—Fiction. 3. Concentration camp inmates—Fiction. 4. Escaped prisoners—Fiction. 5. Jewish fiction. I. Title.

  PS3618.O832A94 2014

  813´.6—dc232013044075

  Build: 2014-04-08 10:45:30

  To the memory of all those who were murdered at Auschwitz and throughout the Holocaust—

  may you never be forgotten.

  To the remarkable spirit of those who survived the Shoah—

  may your lives and your witness be forever honored and blessed.

  To all those unknown souls whose faith compelled them to risk their lives to rescue Jews from a terrible evil—

  may your love be an example followed by others.

  CONTENTS

  Cast of Characters

  Part 1 Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part 2 Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Part 3 Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Part 4 Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Part 5 Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Part 6 Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Preview of The Twelfth Imam

  About the Author

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  GERMAN

  Weisz Family

  Jacob Weisz, young Jewish man originally from Berlin

  Avraham (“Avi”) Weisz, Jacob’s uncle

  Ruthie Weisz, Jacob’s younger sister

  Dr. Reuben Weisz, Jacob’s father

  Sarah Weisz, Jacob’s mother

  Siegen Residents

  Hans Meyer, Jacob’s friend

  Naomi Silver, Jacob’s neighbor

  Herr Berger, tailor

  Eli Berger, his son

  Herr Mueller, baker

  Auschwitz Officers

  Rudolf Hoess, Auschwitz commandant*

  Colonel Klaus Von Strassen, director of security

  Josef Mengele, Auschwitz doctor*

  “Fat Louie,” camp guard

  FRENCH

  Leclerc Family

  Jean-Luc (“Luc”) Leclerc, assistant pastor in Le Chambon

  Claire Leclerc, his wife

  Lilly Leclerc, their elder daughter

  Madeline Leclerc, their younger daughter

  Philippe Leclerc, Jean-Luc’s brother

  Monique, Jean-Luc’s sister

  Nicolas (“Nic”), Monique’s husband

  Jacqueline, their daughter

  Others

  Pastor Chrétien, Jean-Luc’s colleague

  Pastor Émile, Jean-Luc’s colleague

  François d’Astier, former French ambassador to the U.S.

  Camille d’Astier, his wife

  AMERICAN

  Cordell Hull, secretary of state*

  Colonel Jack Dancy, military aide to President Roosevelt

  William Barrett, senior advisor to Secretary Hull

  Sumner Welles, undersecretary of state*

  Henry Stimson, secretary of war*

  Harry Hopkins, secretary of commerce*

  BELGIAN

  Maurice (“Morry”) Tulek, commander of a Resistance cell

  Micah Kahn, Resistance member

  Marc Kahn, Micah’s brother, a Communist

  Henri Germaine, Resistance member

  Jacques Bouquet, Resistance member

  Léon Halévy, Jewish refugee

  AUSCHWITZ PRISONERS

  Jewish Prisoners

  Maximilian (“Max”) Cohen, Romanian, works in “Canada”

  Abigail (“Abby”) Cohen, his sister, works in the clinic

  Lara, woman on the train to Auschwitz

  Mrs. Brenner, woman on the train to Auschwitz

  Marvin Eliezer, man on the train to Auschwitz

  Leonard Eliezer, Marvin’s son

  Josef Starwolski, Polish, works in the records office

  Otto Steinberger, Czechoslovakian, registrar

 
Abraham (“Abe”) Frenkel, Czechoslovakian, registrar

  Others

  Leszek Poczciwinski, kapo in charge of “Canada”

  Gerhard Gruder, block senior

  Stefan, bakery worker

  Andrej, bakery worker

  Janko, bakery worker

  POLISH

  Jedrick, farmer

  Brygita, his wife

  * Real historical figures

  It seemed that a prodigious cloud of toxic, nervous, and paralysing gas had engulfed the country. Everything was unravelling, falling to pieces and being thrown into panic like a machine that was drunk, everything was taking place as if it was part of an indescribable nightmare.

  ANDRÉ MORIZE

  1

  MAY 12, 1940

  SEDAN, FRANCE

  “Evil, unchecked, is the prelude to genocide.”

  It was a phrase Jean-Luc Leclerc had once read in an old book. It had caught his eye, and his subconscious had filed it away. At the moment he could not even remember who had written the book or what its title was, but neither was important. The book was forgettable; the phrase was not. Now, try as he might, he could not get it out of his head.

  He felt as though every molecule in his body were shaking. Evil was on the march, and though everyone around him seemed bound and determined not to believe it, there was no question in his mind the Nazis were coming for them, for the people of France, all of them, with all their murderous fury, and he desperately feared the bloodbath that was coming with the jackboots and the broken cross.

  Not that anyone was listening to him. And who was he, anyway, to think he knew what fate lay in store for his country? He was just a kid, really, only twenty-eight years old, and when he looked in the mirror every morning, he didn’t see anyone special. He didn’t stand out in a crowd. He was of average height and average build, with sandy-blond hair and bluish-green eyes set behind round, gold wire-rimmed glasses that made him look a bit more studious, even intellectual, than he really was. He’d always wanted to grow a beard—a goatee, at least—but even his adorable young wife teased him that his efforts were never quite successful. He had no great office or title or power, no money or fame or renown. He had no direct access to the political class or the media. He was, instead, a nearly penniless son of five generations of farmers. A Protestant in a nation where Catholics were by far the majority, he was a lowly pastor—actually merely an assistant pastor—in a little country church in the little country hamlet of Le Chambon, in the south of France, which no one had heard of nor probably ever would. Why should anyone take him seriously?

  There was no reason, he told himself, but that didn’t mean he was wrong.

  To the north, Winston Churchill was warning that Hitler wanted to take over the world. The new British prime minister had been saying it for years. No one had listened. Now der Führer was on the march, and France was not ready. Not the people. Not the politicians. Not the press. Not even the generals.

  In Paris, they said the Germans would never dare to invade France. They said the Nazis could never penetrate the Maginot Line, the twenty-five-kilometer-thick virtual wall of heavily armed and manned guard posts and bunkers and concrete tank barricades and antiaircraft batteries and minefields and all manner of other military fortifications designed to keep the Germans at bay. They’d convinced themselves Hitler would never try to move his panzer divisions through the forests of the Ardennes. Those forests were too thick, too dense, too foreboding for anyone to move tanks and mobile artillery and armored personnel carriers and other mechanized units through.

  But Jean-Luc Leclerc knew that they were wrong.

  “Luc? Luc, are you listening?”

  No one actually called him Jean-Luc. Not since he was a little boy. His parents, his siblings, his grandparents—they all called him Luc. Now, though he still felt like a kid at times, theoretically he was “all grown up.” Married. Two small daughters. A mortgage. A parish. Ever-growing responsibilities.

  “Luc, are you even hearing a word I’m saying?”

  Suddenly he realized his sister, Monique, was trying to get his attention, and he was embarrassed. “Yes, yes, of course; I’m sorry—what do you need?”

  “Would you turn out the lights and bring those napkins and forks?” she asked with a warm smile as she stood in the center of the cozy kitchen and lit the candles on an exquisitely decorated and no doubt scrumptious homemade birthday cake.

  Luc did as he was asked and followed his sister into the dining room, singing with the others and trying his best not to let his fears show on his face. He was not there to ruin his niece’s birthday party. Little Jacqueline stood there in her pink dress and shiny brown hair and black leather shoes. She didn’t know war was looming. She knew nothing of Herr Hitler’s invasion of Poland the previous September. Nor did she know anything of Hitler’s invasion of the Low Countries—Belgium and the Netherlands—three days earlier. The adults had shielded the children from their worries over their older brother, Philippe, who lived with his family in Brussels, the Belgian capital. Jacqueline didn’t know they had not heard from Philippe since the German invasion, that Luc feared Philippe was dead. All she knew was that she had a houseful of family and friends and a cake with candles and a new doll from her beloved Uncle Luc and Aunt Claire and her cousins Lilly and Madeline. She was so innocent, he thought as he sang, so unaware of the darkness that was settling upon them all. At least she had an excuse. She was only four.

  What was her parents’ excuse? Monique was thirty-two. Her husband, Nicolas, was thirty-six. They were a sharp, attractive couple, well-educated and by all measures worldly-wise. They’d both been to university. She had studied nursing. He had been to the Sorbonne and had become a gifted physician. They were well-read. They had a little money socked away. They had interesting friends in high places all over Europe. How could they not see what had happened to Philippe? How could they not see the grave danger they were in? Why did they not flee while they still could, away from the border, to Le Chambon to be with Luc and Claire?

  “. . . Happy birthday, dear Jacqueline; happy birthday to you!”

  With that, the room erupted in applause and smiles and laughter and great joy. Jacqueline looked radiant, and Luc knew that his wife, Claire, and their two daughters would have loved to be at his side. Claire had made the doll and written the card, and Lilly and Madeline had colored it and made it special for their beloved cousin. But despite their protests, Luc had forbidden them to come. The Belgian border was no place for his family. Certainly not now.

  As Jacqueline made a wish and blew out the candles and Monique cut the cake, Luc dutifully distributed the forks in his hand and then stepped back into the kitchen to get a couple bottles of cold milk.

  Then, without warning, the house was rocked by an enormous, deafening explosion. The blast wave sent everyone crashing to the ground. All the windows shattered. Shards of wood and splinters of glass flew everywhere. Plates and glasses smashed to the floor. Terrified parents grasped their children, trying to shield their small bodies with their own as they covered their heads with their hands and hid under the table and behind overstuffed chairs.

  Before they knew it, smoke and dust filled the room, pouring in through the shattered windows. Luc fully expected to hear people screaming and crying, but for the moment everyone seemed too stunned to do anything but cough and choke.

  “Is everyone okay?” he asked, covering his nose and mouth with his shirt.

  There was a low murmur as parents checked their children and themselves and then indicated that but for a few cuts and scrapes, they were mostly all right.

  Luc checked himself as well. He, too, seemed fine—physically, at least—so he got up, dusted himself off, and moved toward the front door. “Wait here,” he told the others. “I’ll see what’s happening.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Nicolas said, standing and grabbing his leather satchel of medicines and supplies.

  “Nic, what are you doing?” Moni
que asked. “Come back here. You can’t leave us.”

  “People may be hurt, darling,” Nic replied. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I’ll be back soon.”

  It would not be okay, and everyone in the room knew it. Tears streamed down Monique’s face as she clutched their daughter in her arms. Nic leaned down, kissed them both on the forehead, then headed for the door.

  Luc couldn’t help but admire his brother-in-law’s commitment to his oath as a physician. As he went to follow Nic, he heard Monique whimper, “What’s happening? Someone tell me what’s happening.”

  Luc knew full well what was happening. The Nazi attack had begun.

  He was petrified. He had been certain the Germans were coming, but he’d thought it would take at least a week before the invasion of France actually began. That was why he had come. That was why he had driven through the night from his home in Le Chambon to his sister’s home in Sedan. Not for a party. Not for cake. But to implore Monique and Nicolas to pack up their belongings and come with him, away from the border, away from the danger, to Le Chambon, where they would be safe. All day he had made his case. All day he had pleaded with the couple, but they had refused to listen. They had a party to prepare. They had Jacqueline to care for. They had patients to attend to. They couldn’t leave. It was out of the question. Besides, they argued, Hitler would never invade their beloved French Republic. Why would he? It would be an act of suicide, they said.

  Now, as he opened the front door and stepped out of the narrow, three-level house not far from the river Meuse, Luc was horrified by the scene before him. To his left lay a flaming, smoking crater. Moments before, it had been a police barracks. Now the stench of burning human flesh was unbearable. Thick, black smoke billowed into the late-afternoon sky. People were rushing to the scene from all directions. Nicolas sprinted off, helping people carry a few survivors into a nearby church just up the street. The bells in the steeple began ringing furiously, sounding the alarm and calling people to action.