Dawn
by Monnie
Omigod. You people are the coolest. Thanks a million for all the reviews, especially to Melanie Geller, who is one smart crayon. That didn't work right... okay, anyway, Mel, girl, you made me smile so hard my face hurt, and you figured out my secret plan. You get a cookie ;) Another note goes to Annie O Mouse – you mentioned the different backgrounds of people in the camps. I did know that there were other populations included in Auschwitz, and I looked into it, actually, because I thought about making Phoebe and Rachel Romas (Gypsies), but in my research, I found out that the Jews were placed all in their own separate camp from the others. But thank you for the helpful information; it was really thoughtful of you :)
As far as this chapter's concerned, well, if I played this out right, the other characters should be coming in soon. Read onward! Thanks again for the reviews, could we have a repeat of that this time around? Pwease? HAPPY NEW YEAR! xx
PS – Yen, dear, Orlando Bloom is not "fine". He's "fiiiiiiiiine". Just thought I'd clear that up ;)
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Chapter Three – A New Schutzstaffel
"Move it!" The SS officer called across the campground at the two girls who had fallen over in the mud, shaking under the weight of the crates they were carrying. He hit them both over the head with his cane, and one of them screamed, receiving another blow. She whimpered again, and he swore loudly, before turning around and continuing his rounds. Meanwhile, across the grounds, three women hunched themselves over, hoisting up their fourth crate of ammunition, and attempted to blend back in with the crowd of people.
"Shhh, keep your head down," Phoebe whispered, and Rachel obeyed, frightened as ever. Monica smiled grimly, and her face contorted as her knees tried to buckle under the mass of metal. She fought against it, and reestablished a base under her bare feet, slipping and sliding in the mud.
The rain poured down harder than ever, but they persevered, squinting through the fog to find their destination: a shabby, broken down goods truck. Rachel shivered in the cold, damp air, and shook her head, the water on her bare scalp flying in every direction. Work was becoming increasingly difficult for her, because of how little food she'd been eating, and she closed her eyes in the hazy dusk that had settled in, resurfacing the smiling face of her first friend. Monica Geller had cared for her, before she even knew her friend's name. She had held Rachel's hand, when Rachel was feeling the most scared, yet didn't say a word. Even now, after they had become friends, Rachel was still astonished at how much love that woman had. It was as if she radiated strength and kindness, the two things Rachel herself had tried to find within her own consciousness.
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"You up?"
Rachel Green opened her eyes again, and found herself looking up into the caring face of the one she'd been thinking about. She blinked several times, and attempted to shift her weight, only to find herself positioned in her small bed in such a way that weight wasn't to be shifted without causing distress to the rest of her bunkmates. She yawned, and rolled over, nearly falling out of her sleeping berth, and tried to look Monica in the eye.
"Huh?" Rachel drawled, still half asleep.
"You have to hurry, Rach! The SS will be here any minute! It's time for roll call! You don't wanna get deported, do you?"
"De-deported?" Rachel mumbled again, and Monica tapped her on the nose.
"Just get up, Phoebe will explain later. C'mon! It's four o'clock! Time for Bettenbau!"
Rachel stood up, unaware of what was going on. "Bettenbau?"
"Shh! It's the procedure for making your bed!" Phoebe hissed, approaching them, and demonstrating. She pulled the tattered blanket taut against the straw of her bed, and instructed the other two to do the same. They complied, keeping their berths perpendicular and militant. Several SS officers came storming into their barracks, their faces cold and unfeeling, and poked and prodded around the block, examining every bed and bunk. When the search had finished, they left without another word, and muffled German could be heard from outside the cabin.
"We must've passed," Monica whispered to Rachel out of the corner of her mouth, her body staying rigid. A whistle blew, ringing across the grounds, and all the inhabitants of the shabby cabin scrambled to get outside, their nightclothes barely covering their sticklike figures. Mouth agape, Rachel found herself being pushed out of the door by Phoebe, whose face was frightened and unsure. Monica was close behind, and the three of them jumped into line with the other inmates, standing at attention, as several SS officers circled them, observing their every move. Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to take her to a happier place, and her hands clenched into fists as she found her thoughts taking her eyes to the place of her sister's death, and her fist to the jaw of the man who killed her. The next thing she heard was the sound of a man shouting in a language she didn't understand. Her eyes snapped open, and she remembered where she was. She was no longer in a cold, empty room, but outside, in formation, where Monica and Rachel were standing, eyes wide, waiting for her to instruct them silently. She blinked, and glanced over at them, putting her finger to her lips. They nodded slightly, and looked forward, as an SS officer took broader strides around the congregation of women.
A large SS suddenly made his presence known, approaching the trembling group with a clipboard in hand. He read down a list, addressing each and every number, seeing that each individual person was present. The prisoners unable to respond when their number was called, were immediately beaten with a cane, and sent with another officer to a caravan of goods trucks. There they were loaded, and shipped off to places unknown. Little did these people know that they were boarding a one way train to extermination. Phoebe drew in a shuddering breath and licked her lips, listening intently to the shouts of the men so far away. Monica put one foot over the other, warming her toes, and shot Rachel a worried glance. She returned the gesture, and rocked back on her heels, her knees beginning to lock.
For a single moment, silence captured Auschwitz.
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It was over three hours until the SS dismissed the prisoners for breakfast, and the girls sat on the kitchen's wooden bench gratefully, the lukewarm mug of bitter tea a blessing to their parched lips. They received no food with their small rations, and they were permitted meager time to finish it. As soon as breakfast was over, the inmates were sent to work. Some moved boxes, some hauled wood, and others were confined to small spaces, doing pointless tasks for the busying scientists. Those were the lucky ones. Several prisoners a day were sent to the "hospital" – only to find that they were to be the next test subjects for lethal injections.
And the sun rose and set over the life of a victim.
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"So, did they teach you anything about this place before you came?" The thick, German voice of a gruff old man rang in his ears, as the new recruit blinked and stared at the scene before him.
"Yes sir," he said, quietly, looking intently at his feet. He didn't want to be here. In fact, he wanted to be anywhere but here, but now that he was...
"Well, that settles it, then. Do you have any questions?"
He shook his head. "No sir."
"Very well. I'll show you to your cabin. You have two bunkmates, but they're out and about much of the time. I'm sure they'll explain anything else you need to know while you're over there." The old man started out into the darkness of the grounds, and the younger man followed as closely as he could. "Oh, yes," the gray-haired man stopped abruptly, causing the one pursuing him to trip over his own feet in an attempt to keep his distance. The elder continued, "you'll be working in the women's camp. I'm sure you'll find several of its inhabitants to your liking, and you can do with them as you please. Your inmates will explain the rest. Step lively." He added, picking up his pace again. They arrived at a shabby old cabin after a moment of quiet travel, and the old man swung open the door to let the other in. He shot a grim smile towards the recruit, then vanished in the fog as suddenly as he'd come. The young man let out a heaving sigh, and collapsed on his firm mattress, wanting nothing more than for night to rescue him from his living nightmare. He'd never thought he'd be recruited by the Schutzstaffel, especially considering his family wasn't entirely German, but nonetheless, he wasn't surprised. All his life, he'd been waiting for something to corrupt the pleasant shell he'd enclosed himself in, and it was the "Final Solution" that had pierced its exterior. Shutting his eyes for a brief moment, his thoughts took him to better days; the days when he could still hear his mother yelling at the butler, the days when he thought that a change in his life would be for the better. It was only now, sitting on the cold, damp fabric that would become his bed for the rest of his conceived future, that he finally understood why the world feared change.
The cabin door swung open.
Two men entered, one of them short, with scraggly blonde hair, the other only slightly taller, with the darkest brown hair he'd ever seen on a German. The blonde raised his eyebrow.
"You Chandler?" He asked.
The man on the bed nodded. "Last time I checked," he scoffed. This clearly wasn't a time for jokes, but he wasn't planning on taking these two very seriously. The dark haired man chortled, but didn't make eye contact.
"I'm Lieutenant Maurer," the blonde said, quite loudly, his husky voice cutting through the bittersweet silence of the dank air, "but you can call me Kip. And this is Second Lieutenant Tribbiani; Joey, to the rest of us. We're your inmates." He jabbed his thumb at the disgruntled man behind him, who finally locked eyes with his new acquaintance. Chandler smiled out of the corner of his mouth, and casually waved in their direction.
"Nice to meet you."
"So, d'you know much about this place?" Kip asked, sitting down on the mattress next to Chandler. Joey silently took his place on the nearby bed, resting his head in his hands, and taking in the appearance of his bunkmates.
"I know a thing or two."
"Did Himmler tell you about the women's camp specifically?"
Chandler vaguely recalled the old man's words. "Well, he said that I'd find some of them to my liking, and that I could –"
"'Do with them as you please'?" Kip finished.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Yeah, that's what he says to all of them. Basically, he means the womenfolk. Like, if you see some pretty Jewess in fairly good shape, you can take her right back here and –"
"Okay, I understand," Chandler interrupted, not wanting to think about it. Imagine, taking advantage of some woman like that! It was unthinkable. He'd never do such a thing, no matter how much his hormones demanded it.
"What, like you'd never do that?" Kip asked, pulling a face when Chandler flinched.
"I wouldn't," Joey said, quietly, catching the others' attention.
"You wouldn't, huh?" Kip accused, "then what do you call taking a woman back to the cabin and shutting yourself up in there all day with her, then?"
"She was sick. I was taking care of her."
Kip's eyes grew wide. "You know you're not supposed to do that. You could get us killed!"
"I don't care. She needed my help, and I helped her. That's all that matters to me anymore. I don't give a flying rat's ass if Himmler doesn't approve of it. He can come tell me himself. I care about 'em, unlike all these other shit-for-brains officers I see abusing these innocent young girls."
"You're bluffing." Kip huffed.
"I'm not. If I can help it, I'll see to it that each and every one of the women in my block stays healthy. I don't want some SS comin' round here deporting MY girls."
"Your girls, huh?" Kip accused again.
"Damn straight. I thought you'd figured that out, when you'd seen the way I acted towards them all this time. Hell, I've even talked to some of them on a regular basis."
"That's completely illegal, Joe. I should deport your ass right now."
"Then do it. I don't care. I'll find someone with a conscience to fill my shoes, just you wait." Joey challenged, as Chandler looked on, stunned.
"Well, I'm not gonna, but I am gonna tell you that you need to stop with that. It doesn't matter if you care for 'em or not, you gotta understand that if you wanna keep your bunkmates alive, you can't be associatin' with the prisoners. Damn, man, you're gonna get us all killed one of these days. I just don't understand your head. You're nothing like the rest of us. Those Jewesses are nothing to me, and they should be nothing to you. You get attached to 'em, and that ain't right. Everyone else gets it, why don't you? You call 'em 'your girls'. Well, maybe I ought a tell you that 'your girls' make a mighty fine fuck now and then."
"Don't you EVER say that again."
With each second he sat there, Chandler's respect for Joey grew like a kindled flame.
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