my Odyssey thru Hell

Those of us who survived were put on a truck and driven one hour to an undisclosed location near the outskirts of Novorossiysk. It was close to sundown when we arrived, and from our approaching truck, I could make out the outline of a heavily damaged building enclosed in a double eight-foot high wire fence with rolled barbed wire embroidering its top and bottom. I also noticed the vestiges of stooped, emaciated figures slowly creeping within the compound. Was this the POW camp that I had been promise to wait out the war in? Up to this point, compared to peaceful everyday existence, war had seemed so surreal. I had felt that I was on an extraordinary ongoing adventure where my curiosity was constantly aroused by what might happen next. However, the sight of the stooped figures and their confined surroundings, sent a shiver up my spine with a dose of depressing, serious reality. Now my freedom, if not my life, may have come to a drastic end. Upon arrival, my realization was bolstered even further inside the camp by the dehumanizing affect of having all of my clothing and personal items taken away. Anything of value or importance such as watches, rings, or dog tags were confiscated. Even the letter of protection from my grandfather was seized. This really jolted me into a mental abyss from which I had to somehow get out of, if I wanted to survive. I horrifically witnessed the same state of mind in other prisoners and helplessly stood by as their deteriorating mental condition slowly eroded to the point of affecting their bodily functions. Many died as a result. The camp was occupied by about four hundred and fifty POWs---two hundred Romanians, a few Italians, and the rest Germans and Austrians. We were housed in a building that had served as a brick factory with no windows and a few vent holes in the ceiling. Our accommodations consisted of sleeping on the ground or a makeshift second platform above ground (if you were physically able to climb up to it). The daily routine was simple. Arise at dawn and march to the kitchen to be rationed a single piece of soggy bread and a can of warm water. It was consumed quickly on our way to the gate where all prisoners were assembled five lines deep to be counted. Then four armed guards forced us to march eight kilometers towards Novorossiysk to do what was referred to as reparations. This consisted of carrying rubble and brick from one point to another with a Nassilky (a three-sided wooden platform with wooden handles underneath made from tree branches) to carry the loads. At sundown, after ten hours of grueling work prodded by verbal and physical abuse (rifle butts) from the guards, we were marched back to camp to consume another can of nutrition-less water the Russians liberally termed soup. Needless to say, under those gruesome conditions, life expectancy was short, and indeed, within a few short days some prisoners collapsed on the job and others never woke up in the morning. Starvation awaited the rest of us. One Austrian POW always fantasized about a Turkensterz. I had no idea what a Turkensterz was so I asked another Austrian to explain. He described it simply as a cornmeal porridge with buttermilk poured over it. Fantasizing did little to compensate the pangs of hunger, and even if the hunger pains would temporarily diminish, they would always return with a vengeance after the morning bread was consumed. Worse than the hunger was the constant moaning and hallucinating of the starving prisoners at night as they would recite their favorite food recipes for tortes, venison, etc. I was beginning to understand the concept of cannibalism. As repugnant as it seems, I admit the thought of actually eating another human being did occur to me at times, and it was rumored that in the Romanian quarters it actually did happen. Realization soon set in that under those dire conditions I had no chance of long-term survival. I desperately needed a strategy to circumvent that dismal outcome. Therefore, I pretended to be sick like some others who really were. “Bolnoy” (sick), I shouted to the Russian guard who came with rifle butt in hand to impose the prisoners out to work. It worked at first, but then others got the same idea, and I had to change my approach from crying sick to feigning death. I didn’t move no matter what, and since every morning there were three or four expired bodies, I got away with it. There were a few others that also won Academy Awards. After the work detail left, the Russians on burial patrol needed some extra hands to bury the dead and really didn’t mind our charade since it lessened their own work load. While digging holes for the dead, one could find some grubs or roots. I especially enjoyed a yellow-colored, sweet tasting root that I could chew on for hours. Burial detail also gave us a chance to search for mice or rats within the compound. We considered them delicacies, and they soon became extinct from our menu. Lice took their place. They became plentiful and our constant companions since we were only allowed to bathe with a small dose of water once every four weeks. Our filthy clothes and bodies provided the ideal conditions for their procreation. After ten weeks there were only about 60 prisoners left, some of them beyond help. Others, myself included, were emaciated and hardly able to walk. All of us had lost at least half of our normal weight. The lack of protein, fat, and other proper nutrients caused the inner organs to malfunction producing water retention from the feet extending up to the stomach while the upper torso remained simply skin and bones. Mercifully, relief came one week later from an unexpected source.