After their departure only 250 men remained in camp. We did not know what fate had in store for us, though all of us hoped to be released some day. Near the end of 1947 there was much excitement in camp when somebody learned that our camp would be abandoned soon because we could not meet our expenses. We did believe that we would be repatriated now, but it proved to be only a rumor. Week after week passed with no break in our routine. One day in November we were not made to go to work; the fence was locked, and we were assembled to hear the news from the camp officer, who told us that we could not make as much money as was needed and that therefore this camp would be closed down within a week. He did not tell us what our own fate was to be, but we were issued clean uniforms, boots, and coats which came from the Russian Army, and fed well for almost fourteen days, which we took as a sure sign of impending repatriation. On the last day we marched smiling to the train station, entered the coach, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible, closing the doors and starting a fire in the stoves which were in the middle of each car. Late at night, when the train started to pull out, we were tired from excitement, and every one of us fell asleep. While we could not keep track of the direction in which we were heading, we did not doubt that we were going home. After the fourth day we planned to watch for the names of towns we were passing through, placing one man at a very small window. In the morning of the sixth day he turned from the window, frightened, to tell that we were heading east and right now were crossing the European-Asian border. We could not believe him, rushing to the window to see for ourselves.
It was true; we were going east. Where would be our destination? we asked ourselves. Were we to be made to endure another period of hardship? Lord help us, we thought. Disappointed from many years of captivity, undernourished and ill, it did not seem possible that we could endure further deprivation of a normal life. Five years had passed since I was captured, with no word from my parents and no sign of release. My will to live very nearly left me. My faith and hope wavered as I asked myself whether I could any longer believe in God. My spirit was assailed with doubt, but after a night of silent prayers I was filled with renewed faith. I had to be patient and to believe. I was still alive, and the chance of being released was always present. I strove to fight down my doubts, though I often wondered whether it would not be better if I were dead, for who knew what I would find when I returned to my country, whether I would find my relatives and under what conditions?
Several more days passed before we could see where we were landing: Karpinsk, south of Sverdlovsk in the Ural Mountains. This would be our place to live or to die. The camp itself was bigger than any we had ever seen before. We wondered how many prisoners were here, and whether we would have a chance to be released soon. The more prisoners who were waiting for their return, the smaller our chances would be. To our surprise we found about eighteen hundred men at camp, and our coming brought the total to about two thousand.
As soon as we entered Camp Karpinsk we had to pass all the usual examination and registration. It was a full day before we were divided and placed to our brigades. I found myself in a brigade selected to work in the quarry. It was our job to move the railroad tracks. Every morning when we came to work, a Russian foreman was there handing out shovels, pickaxes, jimmies and jacks; then he gave his instructions to the leader of our brigade. He blew a whistle, at which signal we took up our tools and started our march to the place where we would work, two miles or more from the tool-room. We began work immediately upon arrival, leveling the ground for the new tracks, removing the old tracks from their ties, carrying the tracks on our shoulders as far as one hundred feet, while others dug out the ties preparatory to moving them to the new location. The ties were of oak, weighing up to two hundred pounds, and each tie was carried by two men. Another group had to place the ties, lay and nail down the tracks, level the tracks, and tighten the ties. It was very hard work, especially in winter, we never came close to fulfilling our quota.
We had to work in temperature of thirty-five degrees below zero, and in a section of country which has almost five months of winter. The clothing was entirely inadequate. Many times, when our clothes were wet, we had to dry them inside the barracks. Boots and gloves were of different sizes, and we were forced to exchange them among ourselves in order to achieve a proper fit. Somehow we got through 1948, though we did not count days, months, or years any more. Every morning was a new day, and as long as we were alive we hoped for something unexpected, for some help from the free world. Perhaps America and the Western powers would claim our release, we thought. We knew that the Russians did not care about the opinions of the free world but it was our only hope.
The Russians kept every move a secret, so that no one knew what was going on. They spread some rumors to keep us going, hoping, working. In the spring of 1949 another group was selected to be repatriated. This time only those who would go to East Germany and work there were chosen. Since I had been born in East Prussia, I was on the list to go home. As soon as I entered the ambulance for physical examination, the officer of the state police whispered to the doctor that he believed I was one of Hitler’s SS men, judging by my height and looks. I did not pass the examination, and was forced to return to work. I was bitterly disappointed, having been so near to release, but after a few days I was myself again, hoping for better luck next time. The very same thing happened three times more, and when I was again summoned for the release examination, in October, 1949, I had little hope that I would be chosen. This time, however, my luck seemed to hold; another police officer was on duty, and gave his O.K. for my release. The date for our repatriation was set for November 3, 1949. Excitement was great, for this transport was the fifth to be released, and the departure of this group would leave only five hundred men at Karpinsk. We received new uniforms while waiting for the deadline. The train had been delayed by the deep snow, and, as day after day passed with no word of it, we began to believe that our repatriation was another false alarm. Three more days dragged by in fear, hope, and sorrow, each day seeming to be an eternity. Finally, on November 6, the train arrived, and we breathed freely again. Praise the Lord, we thought, we are finally going home.
As soon as the news was out, we dressed at once and went to the fence. Once more we had to stay in line and wait until our names were called to leave the camp. Outside the fence we had to form groups and wait until the last one had left the camp. One of the Russian officers gave the order, and we marched in silence to the train station, our minds occupied with the future. Each man’s face mirrored his emotion: some were praying, some smiling happily, some fearful as they wondered what they would find at home.
Home. I could not go home, because my hometown was in Russian territory. Where shall I go to look for my relatives? I wondered. But my happiness at leaving this hell on earth was sufficient for the time being, and I knew I would find the strength to look around when I got there.
After an hour’s march we came to the train station; surprisingly, our train was there and waiting. We were counted again, the officer in charge calling the name of each one who was permitted to enter the wagon. This procedure took almost the entire day. Late at night the train pulled out, and we knew we were going home at last. Joy and happiness filled our hearts for the first time in seven years; forgotten were the hardships, fear, and hunger. Thankful for survival, everyone prayed silently and fell asleep smiling happily.