It was a Sunday in May 1942. Struggling through the early morning mist, a fitful spring sun shone on the yard of Block 11 where some 500 prisoners had lined up in rows of ten so that they might enjoy their Sunday rest according to established Auschwitz tradition. The sound of a hoarse voice barking orders rang across the yard: it belonged to Vacek, the block clerk, who was standing at the top flight of stairs. From this vantage point he was able to survey every corner of the yard below and bellow out his commands: 'Shun! Caps on! Caps off! Get a move on!' According to the green triangle on his uniform Vacek was a former professional criminal: in this microcosm of absolute evil he ruled supreme.
With eagle eyes he watched to see that his orders were carried out meticulously. At the command 'Caps off!' we whipped...