About six names in, curiosity got the best of Martin. He wanted to see how it was being done. With an empty threat to the prisoners who would've been too frightened to do anything anyway, he left the waiting room and slipped after the name he'd called. He entered the lab.
Professor Hirt looked up at him and, although he couldn't smile, Martin knew that he was. "You can watch if you'd like." He offered. "Dr. Wimmer hand me the - thank you."
The man whose name Martin had called out only moments before but had already forgotten had stripped completely naked and was standing next to Ferdinand Holl. The Kapo held his forearm tightly.
August Hirt was very focused. He carefully dropped several drops of the poison onto the man's arm. Then he stood back. The Kapo hadn't let go of the wide-eyed prisoner's arm yet. "Wait in the room next to this one. Stand with your arm outstretched. Don't move it," Hirt said gruffly. The man nodded, and Holl let go of his arm. He made his way into the other room where the other five men stood, all with their arms held straight.
"That's it," Hirt said with an unsettling chuckle. "We won't see results for a while. Herr Reißer, who you've met, will take the pictures we need to document the experiment." So that's who he was - Martin had been unsure of Reißers function, but now it made sense why he'd traveled here with them. He was the photographer.
Martin hesitated then spoke. He was surprised at how quickly it had been over. He'd thought there was more to it than just...that.
"I'm going to go back and call the next one, alright?"
Hirt nodded. Martin forced a smile at Dr. Wimmer and the professor and quickly scuttled back to the room, where he sent another one of the men off.
Martin was thankful to be in the waiting room again. The men looked up at him expectantly. Martin looked away. He couldn't meet their gaze. And he wasn't about to warn them - what good would it do apart from getting him into trouble?
***
The experiment was over, the men were back in their bunks, the mustard gas safely tucked away and Hirt, Wimmer, Weiher, and the Kapo all left Block 5 to go back up to the front of the Lager. The Abendappell (evening roll call) had just finished, and streams of men all with their heads bowed returned to their assigned sleeping areas. The Kapo dodged away from the group after being dismissed by Dr. Wimmer and joined his peers in one of the other blocks. Kramer met them halfway to the entry gate, and politely inquired about the cooperation of the prisoners.
"It all went very well," Hirt said, "I'll be back tomorrow with Jan Reißer and Franz Weiher of course," he nodded at Martin with a smile. "If I understood correctly one of the Lagerärzte (camp doctors) will be there with them all night, to make sure everything goes smoothly."
"Yes, exactly."
"Wonderful."
"Are you headed back to Strassburg or are you staying in town for the night?"
"We're staying in town," Hirt said, "it should only take about ten hours for...it...to start. I don't want to lose time through travel."
"Well, if you're staying in town may I invite you all to drinks tonight? There's a lovely little tavern that has very good beer. I'm good friends with the owner and he even has Erdinger!" Josef Kramer beamed at the thought of the German Weizen.
It was at that moment that Reißer popped up and he raised his eyebrows. The only word he'd caught was Erdinger. "Did somebody say they had Erdinger?"
"I was asking Professor Hirt and his assistant Herr Weiher if they'd like to join me for a drink in the Wirtshaus, you can join if you'd like."
"I need it," Reißer said and eagerly agreed. "After the drive from Strassburg...and I only arrived at Strassburg from Berlin a fortnight ago."
"That's a lot of traveling!" Hirt said with a small smile that Martin finally was able to recognize, "I'd love to come. Herr Weiher?"
"Count me in," Martin said.
He told himself that he so desperately wanted to forget what he'd seen today. But he hadn't seen much, had he? Of course, there was a very uncomfortable energy in the Natzweiler camp, and he'd felt a lot of pity for the men who'd had to strip and then hold their arm out for the doctors, but nothing 'terrible' had happened. Nobody had cried or lost it. Nobody had gotten hurt.
A small thought surfaced in Martin's mind. Maybe he liked Kramer and Hirt, and maybe he wanted to drink a beer with them just for - well, not for old time's sake, he didn't know them enough for that - but for camaraderie. Their good mood was contagious.
Martin Weiher swallowed the thought. No, he didn't like them. He couldn't. They were Nazis - and not just the kind of men who sympathized with a strong leader during hard times - they were members of the SS. They were a good handful of some of the darkest minds in the 20th century.
Little did Martin know that in a matter of only a few weeks all feelings of camaraderie and friendship he felt toward August Hirt or Josef Kramer would be erased after he'd witnessed first-hand what the mustard gas did to the prisoners in the Natzweiler Struthof.