Beyond the Shadow of Night(70)

Stefan swung his head left and right to meet the faces of all the men. When his glare settled on Asher, the iron resolve in the man’s eyes was clear.

“I’m completely with you,” someone said.

“Me too,” another said. “You’re right, Stefan; it’s for the best.”

Seconds later, every man had agreed.

“A question,” one said. “You say secrecy is our main weapon. But surely we need more powerful weapons?”

“We do,” Stefan said. “And I promise you shall have some. Not necessarily a gun each, but something. Please remember that this revolt is being planned with precision, and that our plan is to destroy the camp and get every prisoner out of this wretched hellhole. Every last man. Any more questions?”

“What do we do in the meantime?” someone asked.

“I’ll tell you what you do. You go back to bed. You were never awake. I never spoke to you. You know nothing of any plan. You do what the guards tell you to do. Everything is normal.”

The men all nodded and returned to their bunks.



For days there had been a calm atmosphere—unnervingly calm, with even the guards appearing more relaxed. Deliveries of new prisoners had all but stopped, and the Totenjuden had been gathered together and told there would follow an exercise to dismantle the site.

They’ve finally done it, Asher thought. They’ve bled Europe dry of Jews, bar the odd few specks such as the Totenjuden. And what will happen when those specks have served their purpose?

It was no idle thought. Asher knew—they all did—that their lives were more at risk now than ever before. Was the dismantling plan merely a ruse? Would they all simply be led to a ditch and disposed of?

And then there was the revolt plan—the plan nobody talked of, but also one that was in everyone’s thoughts all day, if Asher’s own mind was anything to go by. They all waited and expected. Asher knew that the longer he stayed at the camp, the more likely he was to be killed. If he escaped, either he would be captured and killed, or he would evade capture and need to find his way to a safe country.

Between the site-dismantling plan and the revolt plan, it was clear that his life was on a knife edge.



In deference to Stefan’s request there were no furtive speculations as to when the plan might be put into action, no whispered guesses in quiet corners. Few words at all were spoken in the cabin. The days were hot, the mood calm, the undercurrent tense. The end of July came, and still there was no word from Stefan.

And then, late one night, Asher was woken up again for another meeting.

“It’s set for tomorrow,” Stefan told the gathered men. “I know you’ve been ready for a long time, and I’m sorry, but now it looks good. As far as we can tell, the authorities don’t suspect a thing. It’s set for late in the afternoon, so we have the maximum time of darkness on our side when we escape.”

“What about guns?” a man said.

“All planned. In the afternoon we’ll distribute money, guns, and grenades to various people. You’ll be told individually where yours are—perhaps in a bucket, in a sack, or under a pile of potatoes. You’ll be allocated areas to go to, where you’ll pick the guards off in ones and twos, however you can, but as quietly as you can. When you hear the explosion, that’s the signal to storm the gates. Is everybody clear on this?”

They all nodded.

“So sleep well,” Stefan said. “Sleep well in the knowledge that, one way or another, this will be your final night in this cabin.”

All the men shook hands with one another, wished each other good luck, and said they would miss each other’s company, but nothing else.

Asher slept well.



Asher tried his best to treat the next day like any other. When he started chopping wood soon after dawn, it seemed that the morning would last a lifetime. He kept looking beyond the fence, dreaming, imagining himself sprinting through the forest, effortlessly evading the gunfire from the watchtowers.

At one point he noticed a guard looking in his direction. The guard walked over, stood a few yards from Asher, and peered through the forest to where Asher had been looking.

Asher promised himself he would not look again. What would happen would happen. He would deal with it at the time.

And the morning flew by.

Bread and cheese were brought out for the midday meal, and they were told to stop chopping. There was other work to do, and Asher found himself sweeping storage cabins clean.

It was only early afternoon, but there were no clocks, and he could do no more than wait, his senses heightened to hang on to every voice and every set of footsteps.

A guard sauntered along in front of him. He glanced at the area Asher had swept and nodded approvingly. Then Asher gulped. Behind the guard, in the far doorway, he saw Stefan. Stefan was agitated, eyes darting left and right. When the guard sauntered away, Stefan ran in.

“It’s now,” he said. “Follow me.”

Asher followed without speaking, and a short dash later they entered their cabin, where four other men came out of hiding from behind the farthest bed. “What’s happening?” one of them said. “You said late afternoon.”

Stefan shook his head. “There’s been a change. The guards found money on one of the men. They’re talking to him.”