“Herr Lagerführer, I take full responsibility and will accept the consequences for both of us.”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll send you both to the gallows.” Fritzsch shoved Father Kolbe back, so he fell into place and remained silent.

Fritzsch waited for me to speak, but I couldn’t. What a stupid, reckless plan this was. I glanced at Father Kolbe, who gave me a small nod, as though assuring me he wouldn’t hold my choice against me.

“The longer you take, the harsher I’m going to require the punishment to be.” Fritzsch moved closer, eyes aglow as if we were in the middle of a chess game and he’d just placed me in check.

How was I supposed to choose? Two weeks of half rations? Our rations were pathetic enough as it was. A week in a standing cell in Block 11? My feet throbbed at the end of every workday, so to lose the chance for relief would have been absolute misery. Twenty-five lashes? I had no idea how painful a flogging would be, but I never wanted to find out. And even if I’d been able to determine which was the most merciful option, I couldn’t force any of them upon Father Kolbe.

“Why aren’t the prisoners with their labor assignments?”

For a moment I thought the dizzying heat and my parched throat had made me imagine the new voice, but I hadn’t. He’d come.

“The prisoners spoke during roll call, Herr Kommandant,” Fritzsch said. “We’re determining punishment.”

“Keeping them from their labor assignments isn’t going to improve their behavior,” Kommandant Höss said, frowning as he joined us. “Your job is to punish them at an appropriate time, not to prevent them from working. All you’ve done is affect the efficiency of my operation.” Höss turned to me and Father Kolbe. “Consider this your warning. You won’t be granted leniency if you disobey again.”

“Yes, Herr Kommandant,” we replied in unison.

After telling Fritzsch to come to his office so they could discuss his trip to Berlin, Kommandant Höss glanced at us one last time. The furrow in his brow deepened when he settled on me. He pressed his lips together and marched away, shouting at a few guards to report to Fritzsch. When the guards obliged, Fritzsch looked to Father Kolbe.

“Prisoner 16670, what’s your assignment?”

“Construction, Herr Lagerführer.”

Fritzsch seemed pleased by this news. He ordered the guards to escort us both to the construction site, even though that wasn’t my kommando, and we followed them from the camp. Construction should have terrified me, but I wasn’t focused on the difficulty of the labor. My strategy had proved successful. I had to persevere to the main goal: I had to prompt Fritzsch into violating protocol when the kommandant was around to catch him. To survive for my family, I had to get Fritzsch transferred.