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The Interrogation
A Story by ROMMEL

Kommandant of Auschwitz Rudolph Hoess, sat at his desk and frowned at the communique in his hand. It was from Berlin and was signed by no less a personage than the Reichsfuhrer SS himself, Heinrich Himmler. It was, therefore, not to be taken lightly. It advised the Kommandant of Auschwitz 1 Main Camp, that a special interrogator would be arriving very shortly, to take in hand the questioning of a certain Major Nabukov, currently held in Block 11 of the camp, and until such time as the interrogator arrived, all further questioning of the prisoner would cease. Every assistance was to be given the interrogator, simply named as Frau Holstein, and all results extracted by her were to be communicated to Berlin immediately.
Hoess ruminated. "A woman interrogator?" he thought, such things weren't unheard of, but most unusual in a case such as this. This man Nabukov had been captured on the Kursk Salient front only forty- eight hours previously. He was a political commissar who probably had information vital to the Wehrmacht General Staff regarding the imminent German offensive to reduce the Russian salient. Time was of such essence that he had been transported to Auschwitz in Upper Silesia instead of shipping him all the way back to Germany for questioning. His own staff had been working him over for twelve hours now, trying to learn the dispositions of the Russian tank brigades, and the depth of fortifications behind the Russian lines. All to no avail. The man was tough and remained close-mouthed. His own men weren't exactly slouches when it came to the art of extracting information, but Nabukov remained stubborn. And now they were sending a WOMAN? What could she do that his own men couldn't? And why no rank? Hoess found that the simple reference to Frau Holstein was decidedly ominous. Any female operative in the echelons of the Gestapo usually had a rank, but this lady didn't. He concluded that she must be someone very special indeed. Whatever, he would give all the assistance she needed, and bloody good luck to her. At least it removed the pressure from him. If she failed, then, as Berlin's operative, they were responsible, not him.
He glanced out of the office window of his bungalow. In the distance, a plume of black smoke curled vapidly out of the chimney of Crematory 1. It hung in the still air, dispersing very slowly in the faint breeze. He could actually smell it from here. The smell from the ovens permeated the whole camp on windless days, but there was no help for it. That was where HIS work lay. Ridding the Reich of its enemies. Work them to death and then out through the chimney. Highly delicate prisoner interrogation was best left to other, more experienced hands. He heard the sounds of his children's voices, laughing as they played in the garden. He was making sure that THEIR future was safe. That was his job and he had no regrets. Of course, he occasionally felt a twinge of doubt when he paid a visit to Birkenau, three kilometres down the road, to watch an arriving transport. The sight of all the women and children being herded together on their last walk to Crematory 2 and its gas chamber, always made him feel a little uneasy. Gas chambers 3 and 4 were almost ready for operation and that would, of course, increase the daily totals significantly. Obviously it was all part of a master plan, and he was but a small cog in the machine; a vital cog to be sure, but a cog just the same. He had complete faith in the reasoning of his masters in Berlin. They knew the necessity for all this, and he just followed orders.
His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.
The door opened to reveal his adjutant, ushering in a good- looking woman of about forty years. She wore a smart but plain grey tweed suit with a knee length skirt. Silky grey stockings disappeared into knee length black jackboots. A pair of rimless spectacles did nothing to mar her somewhat severe beauty.
"Frau Holstein," said his adjutant, "Reporting from Krakow as ordered by the Reich security office."
Hoess stood and gestured to a chair in front of his desk.
"Please sit down Frau Holstein. It is good to have you here."
The woman gave him a somewhat bleak smile and sat down, crossing her legs to reveal a little more of her silken legs.
"So this is Auschwitz Herr Kommandant. I've heard the rumours of course, but never thought I would see it at first hand. Apparently you are doing valuable work here. I hear good things about you on the grapevine. You are to be commended I think."
Hoess preened a little. He was never impervious to praise, and coming from a woman such as this, it did his ego no harm at all.
"Thank you for saying so Frau Holstein. We all serve in whatever way we can. I think you must have special talents yourself to be sent on such a delicate mission as this. You've been briefed, I assume, on the situation?"
"Yes Herr Kommandant, I know the information required by Berlin. The main stipulation is speed. The offensive at Kursk is imminent, so I would like to make a start as soon as possible. Can I see the prisoner immediately?"
"Of course," said Hoess, standing up. "We have him in a cell in Block 11 - that's the punishment and interrogation block; a sort of prison within a prison if you like. Under ordinary circumstances, no one who goes in there ever comes out alive, except to face the firing wall outside in the courtyard. Can I assume that that is where our Russian friend is headed for once you have extracted his information?"
"Apparently so." Replied Frau Holstein as she also rose; " Our leaders have no further use for him afterwards. Just another useless mouth to feed."
Hoess led her out of the house and towards a side gate leading into the camp proper. He saw her glance at the crematory chimney and wrinkle her nose at the tainted air.
"Does it always smell like this?" she said. "It really is quite objectionable. I don't know how you live with it."
Hoess smiled grimly. "One gets used to it. That's actually a very small crematorium, the main ones are down the road at Birkenau. On a hot day down there it's murder. The smell permeates the countryside for miles around. However, there's no option I'm afraid. Disposal is our biggest headache."
Frau Holstein nodded sympathetically. "It takes devotion to duty to do what you are doing Herr Kommandant. I'm sure you will get your just reward some day. The Reich will not forget."
From a distance came the faint strains of music, a string orchestra playing a Strauss waltz.
"Music, in a place like this?" said Frau Holstein, "That really is the last thing I would expect to hear."
"Oh yes, that's the camp orchestra, Jewish musicians in the main. A few gypsies," replied Hoess, "They play the prisoners off to work every morning, and greet them when they return. They also give recitals for the camp staff from time to time. They're actually very good, some of them even played in the Berlin Philharmonic you know."
"I'm truly amazed, it seems it is very hard to restrain the German love of culture, even in time of war and sacrifice.. Again, you are to be commended Herr Kommandant." Hoess preened a little, he found he loved to hear praise from this enigmatic woman.
"We have a women's orchestra down the road in Birkenau. They perform a similar function. There, of course, things are a bit different." He hesitated. How much did this woman know of Birkenau's main function? He decided it might be best to restrain his natural pride in the job he was doing in ridding the Reich of its enemies. Frau Holstein, however, left him in no doubt as to her depth of knowledge regarding KL Auschwitz and its place in the thousand year Reich.
"Birkenau, that's where you dispose of the new arrivals, is it not? I understand you have a selection process, separating the capable workers from the useless mouths. I think our masters refer to it as the Final Solution of the Jewish problem. A nice turn of phrase that, sums it up completely."
Hoess was dumbfounded. If she knew that, this lady was very much in the know, and someone to be treated with the utmost respect. Not that he had ever contemplated differently; he was, after all, a gentleman, but even so, watch it Hoess old son, this lady carries weight!
They entered Block 11, its windows boarded up to the outside world. No eyes must catch even a glimpse of what went on here. They descended steps to a lower level, all around the sounds of misery filling the oppressive air. Muted screams and moans came from behind closed iron doors, and the unmistakeable sound of a beating emanated from more than one location. Holstein glanced briefly at the "Standing" cells; 3 x 3 ft enclosures that ensured a man stayed on his feet at all times. Some held men in the last stages of exhaustion; others held men who were obviously dead, simply waiting for removal to crematory 1. She made no comment. The accompanying guard stopped at a steel door and inserted his key. Hoess thought of something.
"What about an interpreter, do you require one?"
"Not necessary" smiled Holstein, "I speak fluent Russian. At this point I just want to get a first appraisal of Nabukov, and then I'll decide how to proceed. He is tethered I take it?"
"Oh yes, he's manacled, but the guard will remain in the cell with you of course."
Frau Holstein smiled again. "Not necessary. I'll be out in a short while, and then I may have a requirement. I prefer to inspect him alone."
"As you wish," shrugged Hoess, and ushered her into the cell, closing the door behind her.
Nabukov sat on a low bare bunk, his hands and feet manacled together. His eyes widened as he saw his visitor. This made a change from the brutal visages of his previous visitors. Frau Holstein studied him silently. His face was bruised badly and his fingertips were bloody from having their nails removed forcibly with pliers. His torso was streaked in blood, and blisters stood out from numerous cigarette burns. This was a tough man who had not given in to the most violent assault on his body. She produced a 9mm Walther from her pocket and held it casually.
"We're not going to have any trouble are we?" she said in Russian, and Nabukov's eyes opened even wider. Somehow he raised a smile.
"I shouldn't think so. My hands aren't exactly my own at the moment, as you can see. Why don't you sit down?" He gestured towards a rickety wooden chair standing by the door.
"Well well, a gentleman, and in such ignominious surroundings. You know why I'm here of course."
"Of course, you want to know what I know about the Russian positions at Kursk, AND, of course, I won't tell you."
Frau Holstein sat down on the chair, directly in front of Nabukov, who never moved. His eyes did though, drawn down to her knees as she crossed her legs in that seductive little gesture of hers. She rustled her legs together, the silky stockings making a sensuous sound as she adjusted her legs to her liking, her eyes never leaving Nabukov's face.
"Then I must shoot you," she murmured, raising the gun and pointing it at his stomach. Nabukov licked his lips, his body tensing.
"Do what you must Madam. I tell you nothing."
Frau Holstein studied him a little longer before smiling gently and standing up,
"No, not right now I think. Let's try something else." She walked forward to stand directly in front of the manacled man. She slowly raised her booted foot and placed it in Nabukov's groin. He tensed, his whole body stiffening as she gently ground the sole of her boot into his genital area. All the time she watched him intently. Nabukov groaned, and even through the sole of her boot, Holstein was aware of his growing erection. She nodded slightly to herself and lowered her foot.
""I'll be back shortly Comrade Nabukov. We'll talk more then."
With that, she arose and went to bang on the cell door. Outside, Hoess looked at her in amazement.
"That didn't take long"
"Long enough, I think I know what I need to know. I will need the assistance of a female guard. I want someone young, attractive and smartly turned out. Can you provide that Herr Kommandant?"
Hoess frowned in concentration, and then a look of enlightenment dawned.
"I think I have the very person. A young woman serving under Kramer down at Birkenau. Her name is er�. Grese, yes, that's it, Irma Grese. She's about twenty years old, attractive, and Kramer, he's in charge down there, speaks very highly of her. Totally motivated apparently. She should do."
Frau Holstein smiled. "Excellent, can you have her brought here straight away? The clock's ticking and we need that information."
Hoess frowned at her, his face a study in consternation.
"Wouldn't you be better off with one of my male interrogators? What exactly was the point of that short visit? What did you learn in such a short time?" Frau Holstein regarded him coldly over the top of her rimless glasses.
"I learned enough I think. I have a degree in psychology, and I am very adept in summing up character, even in so short a time as that. Fraulein Grese should suit my purposes very nicely thank you."
Hoess shrugged.
"As you wish Frau Holstein, I'll have her sent for immediately. Can I offer you coffee in the meantime? Nothing ersatz I assure you. This is stuff taken from the new arrivals. It's quite amazing what some of the Dutch Jews bring in with them."
"That would be very nice, but please have her report to me the moment she arrives. We don't have much time as you well know."
Irma Grese arrived about thirty minutes later, and Frau Holstein took her into a small annexe, to give her a private briefing out of earshot of everyone in Block 11. Grese emerged from it with a slight smile on her face and an obvious impatience to begin. The two women made their way down to the lower level, and Hoess returned to his bungalow to await developments. They entered Nabukov's cell, and found him lying full stretch on his bare bunk. On seeing his visitors he shot upright, his eyes widening once again on seeing Irma Grese. She was, indeed, attractive. Shoulder length blonde hair framing a typically Aryan face, but a beautiful one nevertheless. She wore her uniform well, the skirt creased with precision, and her shapely legs encased in slightly coarser stockings than her companion's. Like her companion, she wore jackboots that shone with a high gloss.
"We meet again major. I would like to introduce my assistant Fraulein Grese. I think she is going to be a great help in our discussions. This is major Nabukov Irma." The young woman smiled coldly.
"I think we're going to get along just fine major. I'm looking forward to our conversation." Nabukov remained impassive, but his eyes strayed all over the form of his new young visitor, lingering, Holstein noted, on her legs and boots. She decided to put her theory into practise immediately.
"I shall require you to kneel in front of me major, and I will ask some relevant questions. If you know what's good for you, you will answer them truthfully. Lying will not avail you. Our intelligence service already has a well- formed idea of the Russian dispositions, and this session is more in the nature of a confirmation exercise. So, if your answers do not correspond with what I already know, your lying will be obvious to me. Now, kneel down facing me." She watched Nabukov keenly, and was not surprised when he obediently did as she commanded. She gave a small nod to Grese who immediately stepped behind the kneeling major and stood waiting.
"Now major, how many Russian divisions do you estimate are currently present in the salient?" Nabukov looked up at her.
"You know I will not tell you. You are wasting your time Frau�whatever your name is."
Holstein gave a brief nod to Grese, who immediately launched a heavy kick into the small of the major's back. He yelped in surprise and fell forward on his face, his nose actually banging against Holstein's boots. She swiftly raised her foot and brought it down sharply on the back of the major's head, pressing his face into the dank concrete floor.
"My name is Holstein major, and I think you WILL tell me what I want to know. Fraulein Grese is a very energetic young woman, and she can keep up this sort of thing for a long time. Show him Irma."
Smiling slightly, the young woman began methodically kicking the major's body, her heavy jackboots thudding into his ribcage with almost clockwise precision. He grunted in pain and writhed slightly, but with his manacles restricting him, and his face still pushed into the floor by Holstein's boot, the movements were miniscule.
"I ask you again Major, Russian divisions, how many?" Nabukov spoke thickly, his words muffled by the concrete.
"I will not tell you madam, you know that. In my place you would do the same as me. You would not betray your country, patently obnoxious though it is in its present conduct." His words were punctuated with small gasps as Grese's boots thudded into his ribcage. Holstein nodded slightly and removed her boot from the back of his head. She gave another small nod to her assistant who immediately produced a knife and sliced it through Nabukov's shirt before ripping it away from his body. Frau Holstein stepped to one side and levered the major over on to his back with her foot. Then she placed one foot on his windpipe and casually lit a cigarette. Without saying a word, she suddenly squatted above his chest, her thighs and groin area close to his face.
"Divisions Major, how many?"
Nabukov's eyes were glued to the shadowed area beneath her skirt. Her stocking tops brushed the sides of his face. He said nothing, but his breathing became noticeably more laboured. Holstein moved again, shifting her weight forward until she rested fully on the major's face. Her silk French knickers enveloped his features, restricting his breathing considerably.
"Divisions major." she said curtly, at the same time pressing her glowing cigarette end onto his bare midriff. Nabukov's whole body lurched, his face thrusting even deeper into her genital area. Still he remained silent. She repeated the process several times, creating a small circle of burned blisters around his navel. His body writhed beneath her with each new burn but he attempted no words. Finally she arose.
"I see we are getting nowhere. Let's try something else. Irma, take off his handcuffs, I don't think the major is going to give us any trouble, but just in case.." She took out her Walther again and held it loosely pointed at the major as Grese removed his handcuffs.
"Major, go over to the bed and kneel before it. Lay your head down and ruminate on what is happening to you. Your turn now Irma, the leather switch I think."
Nabukov crawled over to the bed obediently and did as instructed. Grese watched with no little surprise. Where had all the arrogance of this proud Russian vanished to? She removed a leather riding switch from her left boot and flexed it in her hands. It was an implement she was totally familiar with, something she carried every day on her rounds at Birkenau. The women inmates there had learned to dread her dexterity with it. She was capable of beating for the smallest infraction of the rules, and sometimes she beat to death! She walked over to where the major knelt before the bunk, his upper torso and face pressed against the wooden bed boards. Frau Holstein straddled Nabukov again, facing Irma, and sank down on to his head, her weight restricting all movement. She nodded, and Irma began to beat. She beat his buttocks, his back, his thighs and even the soles of his feet. Nabukov began whimpering from beneath the encompassing weight of Holstein's hindquarters. She said nothing, just smoked another cigarette and watched complacently as Grese reduced her victim's body to a livid mass of welts. Early in the beating, Nabukov's hands stole upwards to grip her thighs, stroking and tensing against her silky hosiery. This action caused another little smile to play around her lips, but she said nothing, just registered his hand movements on her legs that almost constituted an act of worship. Finally, after about five minutes, she motioned for Grese to stop. The young woman backed away breathing heavily, and wiped some streaks of blood from the crop, on the major's discarded shirt.
Holstein stood up and looked down at the prostrate form.
"Will you talk now major? Is giving up just a few details of confirmation worth all this agony?"
Nabukov shook his head weakly and managed a guttural "No talk."
"Very well major, you are undoubtedly a brave man. I shall inform my superiors that you couldn't be broken. Now, of course, you will have to face the consequences. Shortly after we leave I have no doubt they will drag you out to be shot at the firing wall. A pity, you deserve a better fate than that. I'll say my goodbyes now. Come along Irma, we'll leave the good major in peace for his last few minutes."
The two women walked towards the door and Holstein rapped on it sharply for the guard's attention. She did not give the major a backward glance. As the door opened, a cracked voice spoke from behind them.
A smile of satisfaction appeared on Frau Holstein's lips. She turned casually.
"Yes major, you wanted something?"
The beaten figure of Major Nabukov crawled slowly towards her and his head lowered. His lips found the toe of her boot and his tongue lapped it in a complete gesture of adoration.
"Well now, apparently you do!"
Approximately two hours later, Frau Holstein sat in the office of Kommandant Hoess. Before her on the table was an extensive list of information concerning Russian dispositions at Kursk. Hoess regarded her with something approaching awe.
"You did it. And in such a short time too. I would have bet my rank that torture could not break that man."
Frau Holstein allowed herself a small grin.
"it wasn't quite how you mean Herr Kommandant. It wasn't torture, or the threat of torture that broke Nabukov. It was the threat of NOT torturing him that did the trick."
Hoess looked totally bewildered.
"NOT torturing him? I don't understand what you're saying Frau Holstein."
"Let me explain Herr Hoess. On my first assessment of the good major, I thought I recognized all the signs of a dedicated masochist. I told you I had the ability to read character, and once again I was proved right."
"A masochist?"
"Indeed yes, one who desperately yearned for the attention of a truly dominant female. You see, Nabukov undoubtedly had these feelings from a very early age, but it is highly unlikely that he ever had the opportunity of realising his fantasies in this respect. There are many men in the same boat so to speak. As the major rose through the ranks of the NKVD, his chances of practising his desires became even less. The Soviet Union is a very strait laced society anyway, and if his predilections ever became known to his political masters, his career would be finished, and almost certainly his life. Moscow was never like Berlin in the twenties and thirties. That was a very decadent society until the Fuhrer put a stop to it. Here in the camp for instance, I have no doubt you have many homosexuals. Am I right?"
Hoess nodded, fascinated
Yes, we have many. We even give them a pink coloured triangle to wear on their prison jacket. It denotes their status."
"Exactly. So, here we have a man who, all his life, has suppressed his sexual desires. Suddenly, one day he finds himself in Auschwitz. He is determined not to talk, and has the stamina to resist. THEN, his cell door opens and he is confronted with a woman, a woman he finds attractive. She is to take over his interrogation. A little later, his door opens again and there are TWO women, who immediately begin to chastise and humiliate him. Can you imagine what is going through his mind? His dreams over the years appear to have been realised. He submits to the torture willingly because it is something he has always wanted. I have no doubt at all that we could have beaten and tortured him to death and he wouldn't have said a word. Then, however, the beating stops, and his two dominant females, who, I might add, he has given himself to completely, prepare to walk away. He faces death. He knows that. He also knows that he doesn't want this�this..experience to end. Not yet. He has waited all his life for something like this and he cannot relinquish it so soon. So, in the end, his sexual libido triumphed over his sense of duty. It's always the same I'm afraid. Sex overcomes everything, and he simply gave in to his urges. In return for more chastisement at our hands he gave up everything. I've seen it before, and I've no doubt I'll see it again. The male of the species is a weak animal when it comes to willpower. That organ between your legs Herr Hoess, has seen the downfall of many a man, most of them a lot stronger and more motivated than our good major."
Hoess digested this in silence. He regarded the woman with a new sense of understanding. She made sense to him and he was in awe of her. He spoke up.
"I suppose the major's value is now obsolete. I'll arrange for a firing party first thing tomorrow. The Fuhrer's orders are that all commissars are to be shot on capture."
Frau Holstein waved a hand dismissively.
"No need Herr Hoess, the major is dead. I killed him. In fact, the most vital part of his information he gave up literally within seconds of his demise."
Hoess sat frozen. He was certainly no stranger to death, had, in fact, arranged thousands of them. However, this woman's casual offhand attitude came as a surprise to him. It was only one death, but somehow it seemed to take on a massive significance, out of all proportion to the circumstances.
"Might I ask how you killed him?" he asked tentatively.
Frau Holstein looked him right in the eye.
"Are you sure you want to know?" she said.
Hoess stared back.
"Yes, Frau Holstein, I would like to know."
The woman regarded him impassively.
"Very well, I'll tell you. I knelt on his chest and slowly strangled him with one of Fraulein Grese's stockings. Every few seconds I released the pressure and he gave up another nugget of information. When I was certain he was dry of all worthwhile facts, I stared into his eyes and tightened the stocking until he died. I can assure you it was the death he wanted. His erection, Herr Kommandant, was fierce!"
She arose from her chair.
"Now I must leave you. I have other duties in Krakow. Please feel free to call on me any time if you have any other thorny little problems you want solved. Goodbye Herr Hoess, it has truly been a pleasure."
Frau Holstein walked to the door and with a backward wave of her hand vanished from site.
Hoess watched her go without even remembering to stand. His mind was in turmoil. He realised he believed everything she had said. In his mind's eye he saw her legs again, those shapely silken stems vanishing into those black boots. He saw the severe cut of her jacket, unsuccessfully hiding the thrust of her breasts. He heard her soft cultured voice, and in a moment of prescience, just a moment, he found he envied major Nabukov!
The End
Author's note
With the exception of major Nabukov and Frau Holstein, all other characters in this story are real. Hoess was captured after the war and gave evidence for the prosecution at the Nuremburg War Crimes trial. He was then deported to Poland where he was tried for his role as Kommandant of Auschwitz. He was sentenced to death, and a special gallows was constructed in the camp not far from Gas Chamber/Crematory No 1. He was the only person ever to be hung from it. The gallows is still there today.
Fraulein Irma Grese went to Bergen/Belsen with her boss from Birkenau - Josef Kramer. They were arrested by the British and tried, along with other guards, for crimes against humanity. Both were hung.
Regardless of German intelligence regarding Russian dispositions at Kursk, the battle was a disaster for the Germans. It was the greatest tank battle in history, but the German advance ground to a halt after seven days. The Russians suffered overwhelming casualties, but the German tank divisions were also decimated and from there on it was one long slow retreat back to Berlin.
Auschwitz was liberated by the Russians in Jan. 1945
Only approx. 5000 inmates remained in the camp, the rest being sent on the notorious death marches back to Germany.
In all, it is estimated that upwards of one and a half million people died in the Auschwitz/Birkenau complex.

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