‘Fischer isn’t even working today. What’s your prisoner number?’
Marc wondered if the guard had made a mistake about Fischer having a day off, or if Fischer’s idea of him being his snitch was just an extra way to put the frighteners on him.
He got his answer after several minutes of being yanked around the dockside by his collar, jabbed in the back and shouted at by two different guards until someone found some paperwork with Marc’s new work assignment on it.
‘Gang sixty-two,’ the guard read. ‘Get moving.’
The guard who’d been shoving Marc about broke into a high-pitched laugh,
‘I don’t think Fischer likes you,’ he explained, in broken French. ‘And such a shame to spoil those nice shoes.’
Before Marc grasped what was being asked, he got smacked up the side of the head.
‘Give us your shoes,’ the guard shouted. ‘How stupid can you bloody French be?’
After handing his shoes to the guard, Marc was dragged over the quayside in socked feet to join up with a dozen wretched-looking prisoners standing under a dock crane. Their clothes were no filthier than any of the construction workers, but the smell of sewage hung over them, even in open air. Worse, many had chunks of missing hair and sores on their skin.
The men began shaking their heads with disgust when they saw Marc. They were mostly Polish, but a couple spoke French, including a red-haired fellow.
‘Leonard,’ he said, by way of introduction. ‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen,’ Marc said, figuring it best to stick to his official age.
Leonard translated into Polish and the other men groaned with disgust.
‘I can pull my weight,’ Marc said defensively.
‘It’s not that,’ Leonard explained. ‘We don’t like the fact you’re so young. Our line of work isn’t good for your health.’
CHAPTER NINE
War production put Frankfurt’s industry at full stretch. Factories worked 24/7. New facilities opened all the time, staffed by slave labourers living in hastily built camps. This all-out effort led to water shortages and a sewage system on the verge of collapse.
Gang sixty-two weren’t trusted to walk the streets in prisoner jackets. They got an armed escort on an uncomfortably brisk three-kilometre walk from the dockside to a Frankfurt Water Company maintenance depot.
Leonard stuck close to Marc as they were assigned a job list and sent out with two other prisoners and a pistol-toting supervisor. Their open-backed cart was packed with shovels, rakes, pipes, hoses and tubs of chemicals.
Marc’s first taste of his new job was an open sewer run-off at a women’s prison camp. The stench was familiar from every toilet he’d encountered since being taken prisoner, but rolling up trouser legs and wading into a rat-infested lagoon of human waste was all new.
Marc fought dry heaves as he joined the other three prisoners on his team, using rakes and shovels to dig out a soggy blockage made up of newspaper and card that the women had used to wipe themselves.
The next two jobs on the work list were similar. Marc felt sick most of the time and was terrified by the obvious risk of disease, standing barefoot in open sewage. The fourth and final job of the day was a factory, where instead of dealing with sewage they had to clamber into a fume-filled outlet pipe and shovel a build up of toffee-like sludge into wheelbarrows.
There was a disinfectant hose down when they arrived back at the water department at the end of their shift, but it was nowhere near enough to get the stench off clothes and skin.
Marc’s second day on the job began well enough when his German supervisor dug out a pair of rubber boots for him, but by afternoon he had a fever and was doubled over with stomach cramps.
Leonard said everyone got sick in this job. He reckoned the first few weeks were worst for picking up infections because you gradually built up immunity. The big long-term danger was exposure to chemicals in the factory run off.
‘Losing
Marc wondered if the guard had made a mistake about Fischer having a day off, or if Fischer’s idea of him being his snitch was just an extra way to put the frighteners on him.
He got his answer after several minutes of being yanked around the dockside by his collar, jabbed in the back and shouted at by two different guards until someone found some paperwork with Marc’s new work assignment on it.
‘Gang sixty-two,’ the guard read. ‘Get moving.’
The guard who’d been shoving Marc about broke into a high-pitched laugh,
‘I don’t think Fischer likes you,’ he explained, in broken French. ‘And such a shame to spoil those nice shoes.’
Before Marc grasped what was being asked, he got smacked up the side of the head.
‘Give us your shoes,’ the guard shouted. ‘How stupid can you bloody French be?’
After handing his shoes to the guard, Marc was dragged over the quayside in socked feet to join up with a dozen wretched-looking prisoners standing under a dock crane. Their clothes were no filthier than any of the construction workers, but the smell of sewage hung over them, even in open air. Worse, many had chunks of missing hair and sores on their skin.
The men began shaking their heads with disgust when they saw Marc. They were mostly Polish, but a couple spoke French, including a red-haired fellow.
‘Leonard,’ he said, by way of introduction. ‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen,’ Marc said, figuring it best to stick to his official age.
Leonard translated into Polish and the other men groaned with disgust.
‘I can pull my weight,’ Marc said defensively.
‘It’s not that,’ Leonard explained. ‘We don’t like the fact you’re so young. Our line of work isn’t good for your health.’
CHAPTER NINE
War production put Frankfurt’s industry at full stretch. Factories worked 24/7. New facilities opened all the time, staffed by slave labourers living in hastily built camps. This all-out effort led to water shortages and a sewage system on the verge of collapse.
Gang sixty-two weren’t trusted to walk the streets in prisoner jackets. They got an armed escort on an uncomfortably brisk three-kilometre walk from the dockside to a Frankfurt Water Company maintenance depot.
Leonard stuck close to Marc as they were assigned a job list and sent out with two other prisoners and a pistol-toting supervisor. Their open-backed cart was packed with shovels, rakes, pipes, hoses and tubs of chemicals.
Marc’s first taste of his new job was an open sewer run-off at a women’s prison camp. The stench was familiar from every toilet he’d encountered since being taken prisoner, but rolling up trouser legs and wading into a rat-infested lagoon of human waste was all new.
Marc fought dry heaves as he joined the other three prisoners on his team, using rakes and shovels to dig out a soggy blockage made up of newspaper and card that the women had used to wipe themselves.
The next two jobs on the work list were similar. Marc felt sick most of the time and was terrified by the obvious risk of disease, standing barefoot in open sewage. The fourth and final job of the day was a factory, where instead of dealing with sewage they had to clamber into a fume-filled outlet pipe and shovel a build up of toffee-like sludge into wheelbarrows.
There was a disinfectant hose down when they arrived back at the water department at the end of their shift, but it was nowhere near enough to get the stench off clothes and skin.
Marc’s second day on the job began well enough when his German supervisor dug out a pair of rubber boots for him, but by afternoon he had a fever and was doubled over with stomach cramps.
Leonard said everyone got sick in this job. He reckoned the first few weeks were worst for picking up infections because you gradually built up immunity. The big long-term danger was exposure to chemicals in the factory run off.
‘Losing
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