“No.Hmm,” he grunts.
“It’s become clear that patient recovery depends on whether a person is clothed or bare skinned. Therefore, improvements in aviator uniforms, which could include headgear and neck protectors with a foam insulation could prove to have a dramatic lifesaving result.”
“Clothed or bare skinned.Compelling,” Dietrich says. “I would like you to prove your theory on the choice of subjects we will have lined up for you shortly. If you’re correct, they should all be alive when you’re through, yes?”
“Yes, Dr. Dietrich,” I reply, feeling the tightening knot grow in my stomach.
To be a nurse is to save patients from pain and sickness, not to deliberately inflict pain.
TWENTY-EIGHT
EMILIE
SEPTEMBER 1942
Dachau, Germany
I’ve been focusing on my notes, ensuring that whatever I do today won’t result in even a chance of injury to anyone.The others have been preparing the subjects and are waiting for me in the next room over where the tubs are set up. I lift my belongings to my chest and hold them tightly as I make my way across the empty lab into the adjoining room, finding a line of twelve prisoner volunteers, the three soldier assistants, Dietrich, and Otto.
Among the prisoners is Danner. My stomach burns and acid rises into my throat. I’ve treated every volunteer with the same level of respect as the next, doing everything in my power to ensure we spare them from torture. However, I’m aware of the continuation of testing after I’ve left for the day, which has resulted in deaths. I can’t let that happen to him.
Each of the men are already dressed in air force uniforms, but not the proper headgear and neck covering, which are critical to this part of the trial. “Do we have the additional protective layering?” I ask.
“Additional protective layering,” Dietrich utters. “Yes.” It’s clear he’s shooing off the question. His focus frozen on Danner as if he’s trying to place the recognition. He’s met Danner before, in a lifetime where Danner could still walk around with some freedom. I would think it would make him feel something. Anything. But Dietrich’s mind belongs to the SS now.
“What temperature are the tubs set to now?” They’ve added three more testing tubs to this room to save time.
“Station one is set to -12°C/10°F, station two is set to -7°C/20°F, and the third is set to 2.5°C/36.5°F.”
“No, no, that’s an unnecessary range. The average North Sea temperatures range from 2.5°C/36.5°F to 12°C/53.6°F depending on the depth and seasonal climate. We should be testing between that range. There’s no need for minus figures.” If someone sinks to a level below these temperatures, revival won’t be possible. Therefore, there’s no need to prove that theory here, now.
“Unnecessary range. The North Sea,” Dietrich mumbles. “Except, just two years ago, we hit record low temperatures that reached far into the negative temperatures, so it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that we could see those temperatures return.”
“Those temperatures were a direct result of the number of battleships and torpedo blasts stirring up the unreached depths of the sea with surface temperature water. Ice formed, making the sea unnavigable, much like what’s still occurring now. No matter the clothing a person wears, no one will survive in temperatures below 2.5°C/36.5°F for more than a few moments, which has already been determined,” I argue.
I notice Danner staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes. I’m not sure if he’s surprised to hear these numbers, or fearful I’m going to lose this argument. Maybe both.
“If there’s no chance of survival below 0°C/32°F there’s no purpose of testing below that range,” Otto says, supporting my theory. To hear him agree comes as a shock and I peer over my shoulder at him, noting his downward gaze to avoid eye contact with anyone in this room.
Dietrich throws his arms up in the air. “If there’s no chance…there’s no purpose,” Dietrich whispers, chewing on the words.“Nonsense. Whatever you do, however you get the data, just get me the numbers by the end of the day.”
“We will,” Otto replies. “Change the water temperatures of the two tubs with temperatures below zero up to 4°C/40°F and 12°C/53.6°F.” The assistants jump to his command, altering the temperatures. Otto steps up beside me and peers at my notepad. “We’ll need three volunteers to step forward.”
I drop my gaze to my notepad, praying Danner doesn’t step forward. One set of clogs steps out of line and a cold sweat covers the back of my neck as I glance up, finding him standing directly across from me. It takes everything in me not to shake my head at him.
Otto clears his throat and takes a step forward. “We need two more. Come on now.”
One of the soldier assistants ignores Otto’s request for volunteers and pulls two men out of the line, tossing them toward Danner. “Done,” the soldier says.
“I’ll go into the lowest temperature tub,” Danner says.
The same soldier who grabbed the two volunteers shoves each of them in front of a tub.
All I can do is the one thing Otto told me not to do—stare at Danner. I want to scream at him, ask him why he would volunteer for the more dangerous of the three tests. Is it to make a point to me or Otto? What if my calculations were off? I’ve been under so much pressure and I’m not a scientist. All of my studying has been out of my area of knowledge and it’s all new.
I grind my teeth, clamping my tongue between them so I don’t do something I’ll regret.
“What are the durations for each?” one of the assistants asks.
