23. Emilie

TWENTY-THREE

Dachau, Germany

Otto is immersed in the paperwork, taking his job more seriously than I can stomach. “We need several subjects for this first round,” he says, his voice monotone, emotionless.

“So you’re responsible for choosing the subjects?” I ask.

“Yes. I have a list in front of me to choose from. What makes for the best specimen for this test? Is it someone with more body fat? Is there an age range we should begin with? What about a certain pulse rate range?”

My heart drops when I realize we haven’t chosen people for this test yet, which means Danner’s number must have been called for a different reason.In truth, the selection should be varied to get valid data to cover a broader range, but if Danner wasn’t being called for this particular study, he could be put into one much worse—one I can’t control. I should request vitals that likely would match up to Danner’s just in case he’s still in the running as a candidate. That way I can make sure he remains safe.

“I would start with an age range of eighteen to twenty-five. All body weights should be considered, but they all seem fairly consistent in their state of frailty.” Danner is twenty-three and though he’s thin as a rail, he’s not as emaciated as some of the others I saw out in the corridor. It’s clear none of the prisoners here are eating well, and not for a while. God only knows what Danner has been through over the last few years.

Otto peers up at me over the folder, narrowing an eye as if questioning my decision to be purposeful rather than logical.

“The general age of air force crew is eighteen to twenty-five. Someone with a greater body mass will have a wider time range of how long it takes to warm and cool. A lean person will reach a level of hypothermia faster than someone obese so I’d like to start with the leaner people and shorter time periods before testing too closely to a degree of risk. I’m trying to preserve our subjects as there will be further requests for additional data.”

Otto clears his throat. “You’re right. I’ll inform the administration of what we need. I’ll be requesting twelve subjects to start, which is in accordance with the first test we need to complete.”

“I didn’t see any paperwork requesting particular data sets…”

“I was informed of what we need,” he continues, avoiding eye contact.

“By whom?”

“Dietrich. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, holding up the folder and heading for the door.

Left with nothing to review, I decide to join the servicemen in the room next door.

My heart rate increases as I reach for the doorknob, again unsure of what I’ll be facing even though I know there are no subjects in the room yet. I spent a considerable number of days observing operation theaters and taking notes, but that was different. I wish I could tell myself it wasn’t, but we were watching experienced surgeons do what they do best.

I push the door open, my heartbeat pulses in my head as I step into the open space to find two large submersion tubs on opposite sides of the room beneath hanging spotlights. The assistant servicemen handle the hoses as gurgling water fills each tub, the pressure becoming muffled the closer the water level rises to a thick black strip of tape adhered to the inside.

I’m out of my element, standing here clueless. Everyone seems to have direction except me and I’m still wondering what I’m doing here if I’m not being given any information. I’ve only been asked simple questions that surely Otto could have answered himself.

“Welcome,” one of the servicemen says. I nod, not wanting to converse. “You’ll get used to all of this.”

“Really?” I ask, sharply. “Have you been here long?” I seem to have interrupted their task of watching the tubs fill with water.God only knows how many innocent inmates have come in and out of these rooms.

The three of them share a look, followed by a pause. One of them bursts into laughter. “We were all prisoners here once, then sent to the front to train as soldiers. Our petty crimes could be paid for with our service. Since we were familiar with the camp, we were sent back here to work.”

“Shut up,” one of them snaps. “You run your mouth like a little girl. You’ll get us killed.”

“I won’t say a word,” I promise, desperately trying to protect myself from becoming one of the loose ends Otto was talking about.

“He’s lonely. Forgive him,” the other soldier says.

I fidget with my wedding band, hoping the lonely one will notice so I don’t have to share anything about myself.

“Just to confirm…what temperatures will you be setting the water to?” I ask.

“34°C/93°F, as mentioned earlier, Fr?ulein,” the lonely soldier says.

“Frau,” I reply. “Frau Berger.”

“My apologies.”

Otto bursts into the room, his expression intense, his arms wrapped tightly around a mess of supplies. My throat tightens and the muscles in my limbs lock as the reality of what’s about to happen crawls in closer. With a trembling hand I can’t conceal, I reach over to take something from his full arms, finding the supplies to be life vests and uniforms. “What—wh—what are these for?”

“We will be testing the difference between summer air force uniforms and the winter ones, with and without life vests,” he says, a grimness lining his voice.

Twelve subjects won’t be enough to gather sufficient data, but I’m not going to be the one to suggest we bring in more people. “I see.”

“Emilie, could you prepare the notes for data collection?” Otto asks, with a flashing plea in his eyes.

He needs a transcriber. That’s why I’m here.

“Yes,” I say, trying to keep myself composed though my insides are shattering like fragile glass. I clutch the notebook and a mess of life vests against my stomach, pressing against the never-ending nausea that started when this situation began, and has yet to dissipate.

“We need to know the water temperatures, Herr Berger,” the lonely soldier says.

“Yes. The freezing water should be set to 16°C /60°F and the hot water should be 40°C/104°F.”I’m thankful Otto didn’t question my numbers, but this experiment could result in significant damage if not properly monitored.

“Are we planning to warm them in blankets in between immersions?” I ask, worried about the sudden shock a person would experience with exposure to extreme temperature changes.

“No, we’re to move them straight from one tub to the other,” Otto says, firmly.

“And for how long?” I continue, shivering as I stare at the water.

“Until their body temperature reaches 26.5°C/79.7°F.”

“How will we monitor their body temperatures?” I press, noticing there’s nothing around us that could give us that reading from inside the tub.

“We’ll get thermometers,” he says.

There’s no proper equipment and there’s no in-between life and death. I can only stand here, watching helplessly as we attempt to freeze a bunch of men only to then try and warm them back up without an ounce of science behind this theoretic remedy. We aren’t trained to be doing this. We could cause serious damage, or worse, and that’s not why I’m here. I came to help, but I’m not. I might as well be restrained to a wall with what little control and power I have.

“Go on, bring the first twelve in,” Otto tells the lonely soldier.

In the moment I have before I need to find a way to lock all my emotions inside, I scan the room, taking note of how sterile the environment is. The door opens and twelve men shuffle in, still clothed in their prison attire, all disheveled, bald, weak, thin, hollow eyes, with frail frames. Each one of them has a Jude patch sewn to their shirts. These men aren’t prisoners. Danner is not in this group and at the moment I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I’m sure each of these men has someone who loves them dearly, who would do anything to help them get as far away from here as possible.

Otto won’t look at them. He keeps his head down, buried in the folder. The man I know…the man I’ve always known is hiding inside the cloudy soul that has taken over. His ability to shut out emotional ties to humanity must be genetic. I didn’t think he would become like this. This is my fault for assuming wrong.

“Look at them, Otto. You have no choice but to look at your subjects. You should be studying them so you know every single detail for each one of them before you go any further,” I whisper to my husband.

“Emilie, please,” he replies, “I’m trying to read something.”

“The water is set to the requested temperature,” one of the soldiers says. “Would you like us to immerse the first prisoner?”

“Yes, with the winter air force uniform and the life vest,” Otto says.

Dr. Dietrich enters the room, scuffs the heels of his shoes one by one as he meanders in, weaving in and out of the men in line. “Are the temperatures set?” he asks.

“Heil Hitler,” everyone but the Jewish prisoners shouts in unison.

“Yes, both,” Otto answers.

“Yes, both,” Dietrich says, repeating Otto’s words in a whisper. “Good.”

The first man in line is stripping out of his uniform to switch into the air force uniform, complete with the life vest.

“Are we immersing the first subject entirely?” Dietrich asks.

“Yes,” Otto says.

“Yes. Good. As a reminder to your prior instructions,” Dietrich says, facing the men in line, “You are not to move from the position you are placed into. Do not fight against the water or anyone measuring your vitals. If you try to stand up, you will be removed from this trial as you will no longer be needed here. Or anywhere, for that matter…”

He’s going to threaten their lives if they attempt to fight for survival?This is abhorrent and inhumane. I clench my fists by my sides, trying to find my voice. “Are you planning to fully immerse this man?” I snap. “He’ll drown, and you know so.” I can’t control the growl beneath my breath.

“Is there a problem, Frau Berger?” Dietrich asks.

“Doctors are aware of the brain stem and how fragile the head and neck can be. Surely, a crew member’s winter gear would include a head cover and scarf, yes?”

Dietrich makes his way over to me, leaving little space between us, making me uncomfortable. There’s nowhere for me to go if I were to run away. “Doctors are aware of…” he repeats. “Frau Berger, seeing as you seem to have the most medical knowledge aside from myself…” He pauses his statement to raise a brow at Otto, obviously displeased. “…please come with me—let’s discuss more of this knowledge you’re hiding in that beautiful head of yours.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, urging me toward the lab next door, where we started.

I doubt Dietrich’s medical degree would have left him with so little knowledge. It’s maddening to watch lives rest in the hands of people who don’t know what they’re doing. It’s as if life is worth nothing to these people, reminding me I’m no different.

He closes the door, isolating us in this awful room. “What you said about the brain stem, tell me more…” he says, pulling out a small notepad and pen from his pocket.

“Aren’t there more qualified people to help with this research? There must be doctors with degrees who are willing to contribute to the importance of this data.” A true doctor wouldn’t willingly put someone’s life in jeopardy. Except for Dietrich.

“More. Qualified. People,” he repeats, airing out the words. “Many doctors who were experts in this field of study are or were Jewish, dear, and they are of no use to us here or anywhere in Germany. Germany is suffering from a shortage of medical professionals so we’re making do with what we have, and what we have here is my intelligence and yours, yes?”

We are likely going to freeze and boil Jewish doctors among the subjects. There are so many people trapped within this godforsaken camp who would be an asset to our scientific and medical knowledge, but anyone who holds a handful of power in this country is apparently blind to common sense. “I’m not confident?—”

“Not confident—Nonsense. You are, and we’re relying on you, and me, of course.”

I can hardly conjure a clear thought. I can’t argue with him, and if I make myself out to be any less knowledgeable than what he has been told, he’ll consider us to be liars, pushing us back to those loose ends we can’t end up as. My chest aches as I plead with my mind to process the thoughts I need to express but the pressure will break me.

I close my eyes, recalling the information about temperatures affecting the head and neck region. A nervous gurgle in my throat reinforces my lack of ease and comfort around this man, but I need to spit out what I know so he leaves me alone.

“Studies have shown that autopsies of diseased people who died from immersion hypothermia had extra blood flowing through the cavity of the cranium, thus causing intracranial pressure which can quickly damage the brain tissue, resulting in a stroke or brain damage. Any man or woman traveling as crew aboard a mission over the Black Sea should take caution in keeping their head and neck covered in case they are shot down.”

As if he’s taking oral notes, repeating my every word to himself, he stares up at the ceiling seemingly baffled.

“That’s quite fascinating, young lady. I earned my medical degree not too long ago, but I don’t recall this. You learned all this from a book?”

“Yes,” I say, trying not to let a cry shoot out of my throat.

An ear-piercing scream gushes through the cracks of the adjoining door before the sound becomes muffled—suffocated. I stare past Dr. Dietrich, lost in thought, trying to shut off my imagination that is gathering an image to fit the awful, tormented sound. The scream returns, but after a loud gasp of inhalation. I lunge for the door, my hands are ice cold as I grip the knob tightly.

“This is part of the trial. They’ll be all right,” Dietrich says, following me to the door.

I shake my head as the sensation of pins and needles rushes through the flesh of my face. “No. This isn’t the way. They are drowning him and freezing his brain, Dr. Dietrich,” I grunt, attempting to tear open the door Dietrich has his foot pressed up against. “Stop, stop! This isn’t the way! Can you hear me in there?”

Dietrich places his hand on my shoulder, a gentle touch that feels more like a knife piercing my skin. “Stop, stop! No, no. We need the data, Frau Berger. I can’t draft a complete report unless I have complete data. You understand this, don’t you?”

If I say no, he will send me away. I won’t have to stand by and listen to more torture, but I’ll have no chance of saving anyone, including myself.

“Don’t you see—this is inhumane, it’s torture,” I cry out. “They’re people like us. They don’t deserve this.”

“Don’t you see—Frau Berger.” He waves my pleas aside, “I’m pleased with your astounding amount of knowledge. You will be quite an asset to us here. I know it.” He finally moves his foot and I tear the door open, making my way back into the experimental room, spotting a man submerged in the tub. Not one of the assistants is within reach to help the drowning man. I run to the metal tub and pull the man up by his arm. He is heavy, even with his body floating in the water. I press my hand under his chin to keep his neck above the water line but he isn’t breathing.

“Emilie,” Otto calls out, his voice deflated.

“Get him out of the water,” I shout, tossing my hard gaze toward the three assistants standing around me.

I try to pull him out myself, but I can only get him to the lip of the tub when he begins to slip back out of my arms.

“Cardiac arrest,” Otto says. “He’s gone.”

“You can’t declare him dead until you’ve warmed his body temperature back up to normal. Get him out and warm him up now!” I shout. My body is shivering just from submerging my wrists into the water—water that must be colder than freezing. Otto is the first to step up to my side and help me pull the man from the tub. The other three men follow Otto’s lead, lifting the man up and out, then immersing him in the heated tub.

I pace the room, catching the terror-filled eyes of the eleven other victims waiting to meet their assumable demise. At first glance, they all appear to be the same person—bald, tired eyes, and skin and bones, but just a second later, I see freckles, scars, and sprigs of facial hair in various colors. They’re people just like us but the assisting servicemen are acting as if the inmates are already dead. The worry lines are prominent between many of the men’s brows, chins are trembling, bodies are shivering even though they haven’t yet touched the water. I want to help them. I have to put a stop to this.

“How warm is the water now?” I ask, pivoting around to face the pale man with blue lips draped over the side of the tub like a doll stuffed with hay.

“38°C/100°F with the body temperature being 27°C/80°F,” Otto says, his words barely forming completely. I check my watch, noting it’s been seven minutes since the man was removed from the cold. “There’s still no pulse.”

I drop to my knees next to the tub and place my hands behind the man’s lifeless neck, rubbing tersely to create more heat. I’m holding his head up like an infant’s but there’s no hint of movement. I continue my efforts for several more minutes. “What’s his body temperature?” I utter.

Otto shakes his head. “It hasn’t changed much.”

I rest my arm, the man’s head still in the crook of my arm. His eyes are open wide, his shock apparent as he stares into another world that I’m not a part of. My stomach coils and my lungs struggle to take in a breath, grieving for a man I didn’t know but who probably had a significant life story to share. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“I’m so sorry,”Dietrich mocks me. “Take him out.” He shouts the command to an assistant.

My eyes burn, staring at this helpless person, knowing I’ve been convincing myself I can stop this, but I’m nowhere close.

My blood freezes in my veins. Is it my fault we ended up here, like this? I battled the societal changes affecting my life internally, but now I’m not sure I ever fought hard enough to make a difference.