Torture in the Gestapo ov memoirs. Nazi concentration camps, torture. The most terrible concentration camp of the Nazis. The Germans finish off the wounded

These photographs show the life and martyrdom of Nazi concentration camp prisoners. Some of these photos can be traumatic. Therefore, we ask children and mentally unstable people to refrain from viewing these photos.

Prisoners of the Flossenburg death camp after being liberated by the US 97th Infantry Division in May 1945. The emaciated prisoner in the center, a 23-year-old Czech, is sick with dysentery.

Ampfing concentration camp prisoners after their release.

View of the concentration camp at Grini in Norway.

Soviet prisoners in the Lamsdorf concentration camp (Stalag VIII-B, now the Polish village of Lambinovice.

The bodies of the executed SS guards at the observation tower "B" of the Dachau concentration camp.

View of the barracks of the Dachau concentration camp.

Soldiers of the US 45th Infantry Division show the bodies of prisoners in a wagon at the Dachau concentration camp to teenagers from the Hitler Youth.

View of the Buchenwald barracks after the liberation of the camp.

American generals George Patton, Omar Bradley and Dwight Eisenhower in the Ohrdruf concentration camp at the fire, where the Germans burned the bodies of prisoners.

Soviet prisoners of war in the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Soviet prisoners of war eating in the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Soviet prisoners of war near the barbed wire of the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Soviet prisoner of war at the barracks of the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

British prisoners of war on the stage of the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp theater.

Captured British corporal Eric Evans with three comrades at the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Burnt bodies of prisoners of the Ohrdruf concentration camp.

Bodies of prisoners of the Buchenwald concentration camp.

Women from the SS guards of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp unload the corpses of prisoners for burial in a mass grave. They were attracted to these works by the allies who liberated the camp. Around the moat is a convoy of English soldiers. Former guards are banned from wearing gloves as a punishment to put them at risk of contracting typhus.

Six British prisoners in the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Soviet prisoners are talking to a German officer in the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Soviet prisoners of war change clothes in the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Group photo of allied prisoners (British, Australians and New Zealanders) in the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

An orchestra of captured allies (Australians, British and New Zealanders) on the territory of the Stalag XVIIIA concentration camp.

Captured Allied soldiers play the game Two Up for cigarettes in the Stalag 383 concentration camp.

Two British prisoners at the wall of the barracks of the Stalag 383 concentration camp.

A German soldier-escort at the Stalag 383 concentration camp market, surrounded by captured allies.

Group photo of allied prisoners in the Stalag 383 concentration camp on Christmas Day 1943.

The barracks of the Vollan concentration camp in the Norwegian city of Trondheim after liberation.

A group of Soviet prisoners of war outside the gates of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad after liberation.

SS-Oberscharführer Erich Weber on vacation in the commandant's quarters of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad.

Commandant of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad, SS Hauptscharführer Karl Denk (left) and SS Oberscharführer Erich Weber (right) in the commandant's room.

Five released prisoners of the Falstad concentration camp at the gate.

Prisoners of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad (Falstad) on vacation during a break between work in the field.

SS-Oberscharführer Erich Weber, an employee of the Falstadt concentration camp

SS non-commissioned officers K. Denk, E. Weber and Luftwaffe sergeant R. Weber with two women in the commandant's office of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad.

An employee of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad, SS Oberscharführer Erich Weber in the kitchen of the commandant's house.

Soviet, Norwegian and Yugoslav prisoners of the Falstad concentration camp on vacation at the logging site.

The head of the women's block of the Norwegian concentration camp Falstad (Falstad) Maria Robbe (Maria Robbe) with the police at the gates of the camp.

Captured Soviet soldiers in the camp at the beginning of the war.

Six months passed, and the Bolsheviks, having licked their wounds, launched an offensive against Hitler's seemingly invincible army. It became uncomfortable in Nazarov's soul even when he got drunk to insensibility, so as not to remember those innocently killed there, in Belarus. Well, he did not consider the Jews to be reptiles, because the Mikhailovsky doctor who saved Filimon's leg was a real Jew. They are still called with the contemptuous word "intelligentsia". Oksana also drank a lot, and her daring songs were no longer liked by the local head of the commandant's office.
“Oh, Vasilisushka,” Filka wept at night, looking warily at the snoring woman, “to whom did I leave you!”

And in the morning he got up heavily and, not feeling the taste, habitually stuffed his stomach with something insipid, and then, cursing fate, went to the service, because now he was forever tied with the arrogant Germans. Sometimes one of the partisans was brought to him for interrogations, who more and more often spoiled the mood of the police. They did not stand on ceremony: they drove needles under their nails, twisted their joints, dipped their faces into a barrel, but the stubborn people did not want to understand that life, whatever it was, was still better than a death.

- Filimon Vasilyich, are you unscrewing the zenks? - the policeman Vaska Gorbenko once asked his boss during another torture. - Do you sympathize with the lousy Muscovites? - And out of tune, he hummed, as if he was testing his strength, his Khokhlatsky song, allegedly composed by Old Man Shevchenko:
Black-browed, love
Yes, not with Muscovites,
Muscovites are strangers
They sneer at you.

Who this dad was, Filin did not know, but apparently he was a great man, from the noble.
- Conversations! – lazily barked at the subordinate boss. - Do you want a bullet in the forehead?
Barked, but tried not to notice his aversion to the blood of former fellow countrymen.

And once they brought a girl to the commandant's office. Young and beautiful, next to which the tattered Ukrainian Oksana seemed ugly to Filimon.
“What an appetizing, like a bun,” Filimon nervously licked his parched lips, but turned away from the partisan with ostentatious indifference.
- First Name Last Name? Vaska yelled at the outwardly calm girl and slyly winked at Nazarov. Here they say a replacement for you for a night or two. Unless, of course, we cripple the attacker.

But the attacker refused to speak. She arrogantly turned away from her tormentors and shook her dark head familiarly.
Whom Filke reminded at that moment of the newly-appeared proud woman, he could not remember.
- Assignments, appearances? - Showing off in front of the arrogant victim, Gorbenko continued to yell. - Do you want torture?

The girl was silent, and Vasil decided to change tactics.
“I know that you were captive,” he hugged the gloomy stranger. "You're still so young, aren't you?" And in your youth you cannot realize that the Bolsheviks brought terror to our country?
“Damn it,” Nazarov swore indistinctly, turning away, “he knows how to fool the brains of women, he didn’t study at the university for nothing. They say that in the very Mother See of science comprehended. Why does he dislike Moscow so much?

“If you go over to the side of great Germany,” Gorbenko continued to sing affectionately, “you can pick up a bridegroom from such good lads as I am.” Or he, - the policeman nodded at the bewildered chief.
“Leave me alone, I’ll interrogate her myself,” Filka said hastily for some reason.
- Can you? Vasil raised his eyebrows in surprise. - By you…
“I know how,” the head of the commandant’s office interrupted Gorbenko, “I’m also not bad at it.
“Ah, that’s what,” Vaska giggled caustically and cast a regretful glance at the hushed slave. - Breakfast Kurt will arrive, so you talk to her before he arrives.

Kurt Müller, accompanied by an interpreter, visited Nazarov’s possessions every week in order to control the work of the Ural Bear, who himself expressed a desire to serve the Führer and even saved Müller’s best friend, intelligence officer Trukhanov, from the Bolsheviks, whom he met before the start of the war, in Berlin. How then the Spider managed to get out of the iron curtain remained a mystery to Kurt, but a reliable person from the Abwehr recommended Evgeny to him.

Accurately, after getting drunk, he told his boss Gorbenko, who knows English and German very well, and in the morning he asked Filimon for a long time if he had blurted something superfluous yesterday.

“If I didn’t drink heavily,” Nazarov thought hostilely then, “not me, but he would now be in command in the village. And which of the policemen did not drink today? Rabotenka, God forbid everyone.
Whether the former cripple believed in the Almighty, he himself did not know, for the wise and all-powerful Lord could not allow such atrocities that occurred in the territory under his jurisdiction.

- That's it, lad, at least he learned to speak Russian normally, - a former Moscow student praised the Ural peasant. “So the war is good for you. Agree?
“I agree,” his rustic chief obediently nodded, and with longing recalled his native forest, Sorokino and his tender girlfriend, whom he might never see again.
- You'll see, - as if reading his thoughts, Gorbenko mocked Nazarov. - And then you’ll start a new passion, if Oksana is tired.

“I will pass it on by inheritance,” Filimon somehow decided and offered Vasily his mistress. He grimaced at the baked apple and shook his head. Let someone say it will get easier.
But this time, seeing the dark-haired girl, Gorbenko's eyes lit up. For the first time they caught fire, because earlier he had no interest in the female sex.

The girl was silent. Sideways, she threw contemptuous glances at the Russian-speaking men dressed in police uniforms and was sincerely surprised that they were in no hurry to torment her. The partisan was afraid of torture, because she had heard about them from her comrades, but most of all, the unfortunate woman was afraid that she would not be able to withstand the physical pain that she had never experienced in her life.

And late at night, the most important of the policemen came to her basement. He sat down heavily on the floor, on which lay an old sackcloth, and spoke softly, uncertainly. The slave's uncertainty seemed unnatural, and she mentally thanked God for giving her one more night of respite.

- Where are you from? the man asked wearily and butted the musty air thickening over the captive with his black-haired head. “I know you won’t say it’s not like that, but I’m not going to torture you because I don’t like human blood.
- Do not love? - the stranger raised arched eyebrows and smirked sarcastically. - Do not serve in the temple of God!
“Not in the temple,” Filya agreed with the impudent partisan, “If it weren’t for Beria, I would have left the forest long ago.”

What forced Nazarov to be frank with his political opponent, he himself could not understand, but an inner voice pounded annoyingly into his powerful chest and insistently demanded an immediate conversation.
“My father was also repressed by the lackeys of Lavrenty Pavlovich,” the beauty threw up her chin, “but I am a Russian person and do not intend to kowtow to the Nazis.
- And after that you serve the Bolsheviks? - as if Filka woke up from a stupor.

“I serve the Motherland,” the girl smiled bitterly. - She served.
- In exactly - she served, my dear, - Nazarov picked up her mournful confession. - The revolution crushed many families, and even my own sisters fled to different camps. Although I lived in the forest, even there rumors reached me that the Chekists had shot the owner of the younger Ulyanushka, and it was the party man of Matryoshka's older relative who was the culprit of all Morozov's troubles.

- Morozov! the prisoner exclaimed in shock. - What Frosts?
“From the Urals,” the policeman was surprised at the involuntary exclamation of the girl. - They lived in the small town of Mikhailovsk.
- In Mikhailovsk! - turned white as chalk, partisan. - Are you Filimon Nazarov?
“Is this scrawled on my forehead?” Filka whispered in shock.
But the joke did not make the mysterious stranger laugh, and she only clenched her teeth harder. So they creaked.

“I was once in this town,” the captive suddenly blurted out after a long pause. “It was a long time ago, a very long time ago.
- And in Sorokin? - for some reason, without being surprised, the policeman smiled dreamily.
- And in Sorokin, - stealthily watching the fascist hanger-on, as if the girl shed a tear.
“I won’t harm you, dear,” Filka’s gaze caught her, sparkling in the semi-darkness. “Just tell me, who did you go to?”

“To Aunt Natalya,” the captive’s white lips involuntarily whispered. - Baranova.
“There are rumors that this is my average little sister, who somehow became a written beauty,” the police chief raised his shaggy eyebrows. - And who are you to her?
“The eldest niece,” the impudent partisan admitted against her will.
Are you Annushka? - Filimon died of horror. - Ulenka's daughter?
“The same one,” the girl sobbed childishly, losing her feigned independence. - The same one.

“Get up,” Nazarov, abruptly jumping to his feet, painfully grabbed the girl by the hand, “immediately rush off to where you came from, otherwise you will be shot tomorrow, even if you testify.
- What about security? Annushka breathed often. - And the forest ... How will I find mine?
“Still a child,” a previously unknown pity stirred in Filka’s devastated soul, “the milk on the lips has not dried up, but there too ... Tribe” ...

He sniffed and immediately felt how the water that had come from nowhere timidly flowed over his freshly shaven face and, bypassing his plump cheeks, stopped on his upper, stubbornly protruding lip. Having hastily licked off the liquid salted by the war, Nazarov suddenly realized that he would never find peace for himself if he was not saved by what still connected him with his native side, and therefore with his beloved wife Vasilisa.
“The fascists will seize me,” Ulyonka’s daughter wept thinly.
"Wait," the man ordered harshly. “Now I’ll come to you.”

Releasing the shaking hand of a relative, Nazarov hastily went upstairs and growled something angrily at the policemen. And after a while he returned and handed the captive a voluminous knot knitted from a tablecloth.
“Change your clothes,” the chief of police ordered, and turning away, he said sternly. - Now you will become my mistress Oksana for everyone, since she is also dark-haired and about the same height as you, understand? You will snuggle up to me, lower your head and pretend that you are completely drunk. So, bypassing the guard posts, we will get to the forest, and there I will let you go. An attempt is not torture, and it is better than death. Get to your own as you know, in this I am no longer your assistant.

- And you? - Annushka sobbed again, peering inquisitively at her unexpectedly acquired uncle. - You will be shot if they find out that ...
"Shut your mouth," the former Sorokinsk man roughly interrupted the partisan. - If you survive, remember sometimes that you once had an unlucky relative, Filimon Vasilyevich Nazarov. Just don't tell your mother about me.
- Why? squeaked the prisoner.

"If it weren't for Beria," the chief of police responded dully and turned abruptly to the former suicide bomber. "Ready, you little fool?"
“Yes,” the girl whispered, straightening her white blouse embroidered with red flowers on her chest, and, throwing on a short fur coat, plucking up courage, took a decisive step towards her fate.

There was no one upstairs, the street seemed to have died out, but at the end of the village the policemen were standing and smoking German cigarettes, talking among themselves about something.
- Wait, who's going? One of them raised his weapon.
- Heil Hitler! Our own,” the chief of police drunkenly responded. - So Oksanka wanted to take a walk in the grove.
“Are you Etta, Filimon Vassilich?” It’s dark and unsafe now,” the second mercenary warned the love couple.

“And we are mulberries, under the birches,” Nazarov giggled obscenely and hugged the captive tighter. - A bitch - she is always a bitch.
“Just be quieter,” the third guard supported the chief. - When you get bored, will you pass it on to us?
“I’ll pass it on,” Filka laughed benevolently. - Or maybe now in the forest and strangle a woman drunk.
- Wait a minute to kill that, - the mercenaries did not let up, - leave it to have fun.
- So be it, I'll leave it, - Nazarov dismissed his subordinates, - just wait a little, suck German cigarettes.

Gently clutching his trembling niece to his chest, Philemon stomped with drunken steps towards the menacingly darkening forest, and having gone deeper, he stopped and deliberately rudely pushed Anna away from him.
“Go on,” he said hoarsely, and sank heavily onto the alien, hated land that smelled of dampness. “They won’t miss you until morning, and then you’ll be far away.” It may turn out, even with their gullible cockroaches, which, on occasion, will certainly be taken up by the NKVD.
- And you? Anyuta whispered and tried to calm the trembling that had tormented her body ever since she was taken into captivity. - What will happen to you?

“I ran away,” Filka smiled wryly. - I've suffered, it's time to rest.
- Thank you, uncle, - quickly bending down, barely touched the palm of the limp hand of a relative of the fugitive. - I will always remember you.
“Go on,” Filimon pouted menacingly, getting up on his bearish large legs. - Get out of here, bug!
- Goodbye, - was heard somewhere behind the snow-covered trees frozen in surprise. - Bye.
“Goodbye,” Nazarov growled like an animal. "I'll see you in the next world, and the later the better."

He again sank heavily to the ground and clasped his huge gray-haired head with his huge muzhik's palms. So, swaying from side to side, he sat for about an hour, and then abruptly got up and fished out a rope from his bosom.
“Forgive me,” Philemon stroked a large oak tree, “forgive me, brother, but as Judas I am completing my life path. That's where the road is for me. Ah, go to hell!

Having made a loop, he wrapped his arms around a tree that creaked in despair, and, like a monkey, deftly climbed onto it. Somewhere wolves howled, but Filka no longer cared about them, for everything that remained in this terrible and incomprehensible white world ceased to exist for him.

Having reached a thick, strong branch, with trembling hands he tied the end of the rope to it, put on a suicide weapon and jumped from the height of a makeshift scaffold to disappear forever into the darkness.

The rumor that the chief of police had strangled himself spread throughout the district. And people also said that Nazarov fell in love with a young beautiful partisan, and perhaps he loved her earlier, before the war. Khokhlushka Oksana went from hand to hand, and then she caught a bad disease and hanged herself on the same oak tree as her former lover.

And the prisoner sank into the water. They searched for her, searched, but even the dogs could not pick up her trail. It can be seen that the wolves tore her to pieces or she drowned in the ice hole of the not completely frozen river flowing beyond the Devil's Forest, which is notorious among the local old men and old women.

(excerpt from the novel "White Lily")

http://ridero.ru/book/liliya_belaya/

The clatter of many feet, some rustling, as if something had been dragged along the stone floor, muffled exclamations. And suddenly, over all this, a desperate treble cry. It drags on for a long time on one note and finally breaks off unexpectedly.

All clear. Someone is resisting. And yet they drag him to the punishment cell. He screams again. She fell silent. They gagged their mouths.

Just don't go crazy. Anything but this. “God forbid I go crazy. No, it’s better to have a staff and a bag…” But the first sign of impending madness is, probably, precisely the desire to howl like that on one note. This must be overcome. The work of the brain. When the brain is busy, it maintains balance. And I again read by heart and compose poems myself. Then I repeat them many times so as not to forget. And mainly, not to hear, not to hear this cry.

But he keeps going. Penetrating, uterine, almost implausible. It fills everything around, becomes tangible, slippery. Compared to him, the cries of a woman in labor seem like an optimistic melody. Indeed, in the cries of a woman in labor, there is a hope for a happy outcome. And then there is great despair.

I am seized by such fear as I have not yet experienced since the beginning of my wanderings in this underworld. It seems to me - another second, and I will start screaming just like this unknown neighbor in the punishment cell. And then you will surely slip into madness.

But now the monotonous howl begins to be interspersed with some cries. I can't make out the words. I get up from my bed and, dragging huge bast shoes behind me, crawl to the door, put my ear to it. It is necessary to make out what this unfortunate woman is screaming.

– What are you? Fell, right? - distributed from the corridor. Yaroslavsky again opens the door window for a minute. Along with a streak of light, quite clearly spoken words in some foreign language pour into my dungeon. Isn't that Carolla? No, it doesn't sound like German.

Yaroslavsky has an upset face. Oh, what a disgusting burden all this is for a peasant's son with a pig-like blond bristle on his cheeks! I am sure that if he had not been afraid of the damned Satrapuk, he would have helped both me and the screaming one.

At the moment, Satrapyuk is apparently not around, because Yaroslavsky is in no hurry to close the window. He holds her hand and mutters in a whisper:

- Tomorrow is your time. You will go back to the cell. Get through the night. Or maybe take some bread, huh?

I want to thank him for these words, and especially for the expression on his face, but I'm afraid to frighten him off with some unacceptable familiarity. But still I dare to whisper:

- Why is she like that? Scary to hear...

Yaroslavsky waves his hand.

- Their guts are painfully thin, those of these foreign ones! There is no patience at all. After all, just planted, but how ruined. Ours, the Russians, I suppose everything is silent. You’ve been sitting out for five days, but you’re silent after all ...

And at this moment I clearly distinguish the words “communist Italiano”, “communist Italiano…” coming from somewhere along with a drawn-out howl.

So that's who she is! Italian communist. Probably, she fled from her homeland, from Mussolini, just as Klara, one of my Butyrka neighbors, fled from Hitler. Evgenia Ginzburg - "Steep Route" Excerpt.

This small, clean house in Kristiansad next to the road to Stavanger and the port during the war years was the most terrible place in all of southern Norway. "Skrekkens hus" - "House of Horror" - that's what they called it in the city. Since January 1942, the Gestapo headquarters in southern Norway have been located in the city archive building. Arrested people were brought here, torture chambers were equipped here, from here people were sent to concentration camps and to be shot. Now, in the basement of the building where the punishment cells were located and where the prisoners were tortured, there is a museum that tells about what happened during the war years in the building of the state archive.



The layout of the basement corridors has been left unchanged. There were only new lights and doors. The main exposition with archival materials, photographs, posters is arranged in the main corridor.

So the suspended arrested person was beaten with a chain.

So tortured with electric stoves. With the special zeal of the executioners, the hair on the head could catch fire in a person.

In this device, fingers were clamped, nails were pulled out. The machine is authentic - after the liberation of the city from the Germans, all the equipment of the torture chambers remained in its place and was saved.

Nearby - other devices for conducting interrogation with "addiction".

Reconstructions were arranged in several basements - as it looked then, in this very place. This is a cell where especially dangerous arrested persons were kept - members of the Norwegian Resistance who fell into the clutches of the Gestapo.

The torture chamber was located in the next room. Here, a real scene of the torture of a married couple of underground workers taken by the Gestapo in 1943 during a communication session with an intelligence center in London is reproduced. Two Gestapo men torture a wife in front of her husband, who is chained to the wall. In the corner, on an iron beam, another member of the failed underground group is suspended. They say that before interrogations, the Gestapo were pumped up with alcohol and drugs.

Everything was left in the cell, as it was then, in 1943. If you turn over that pink stool at the woman's feet, you can see the mark of Kristiansand's Gestapo.

This is a reconstruction of the interrogation - the Gestapo provocateur (on the left) shows the arrested radio operator of the underground group (he is sitting on the right, in handcuffs) his radio station in a suitcase. In the center sits the chief of the Kristiansand Gestapo, SS-Hauptsturmführer Rudolf Kerner - I will talk about him later.

In this showcase are things and documents of those Norwegian patriots who were sent to the Grini concentration camp near Oslo - the main transit point in Norway, from where prisoners were sent to other concentration camps in Europe.

The system for designating different groups of prisoners in the Auschwitz concentration camp (Auschwitz-Birkenau). Jewish, political, gypsy, Spanish republican, dangerous criminal, felon, war criminal, Jehovah's Witness, homosexual. The letter N was written on the badge of a Norwegian political prisoner.

School tours are given to the museum. I stumbled upon one of these - several local teenagers were walking down the corridors with Ture Robstad, a volunteer from local residents who survived the war. It is said that about 10,000 schoolchildren visit the museum in the Archive every year.

Toure tells the children about Auschwitz. Two boys from the group were there recently on an excursion.

Soviet prisoner of war in a concentration camp. In his hand is a homemade wooden bird.

In a separate display case, things made by Russian prisoners of war in Norwegian concentration camps. These handicrafts were exchanged by Russians for food from local residents. Our neighbor in Kristiansand had a whole collection of such wooden birds - on the way to school she often met groups of our prisoners going to work under escort, and gave them her breakfast in exchange for these carved wooden toys.

Reconstruction of a partisan radio station. Partisans in southern Norway transmitted to London information about the movements of German troops, the deployment of military equipment and ships. In the north, the Norwegians supplied intelligence to the Soviet Northern Fleet.

"Germany is a nation of creators."
Norwegian patriots had to work under the strongest pressure on the local population of Goebbels propaganda. The Germans set themselves the task of the speedy nazification of the country. Quisling's government made efforts for this in the field of education, culture, and sports. Quisling's (Nasjonal Samling) Nazi Party, even before the start of the war, inspired the Norwegians that the main threat to their security was the military power of the Soviet Union. It should be noted that the Finnish campaign of 1940 contributed to the intimidation of the Norwegians about Soviet aggression in the North. With the coming to power, Quisling only stepped up his propaganda with the help of the Goebbels department. The Nazis in Norway convinced the population that only a strong Germany could protect the Norwegians from the Bolsheviks.

Several posters distributed by the Nazis in Norway. "Norges nye nabo" - "The New Norwegian Neighbor", 1940. Pay attention to the now fashionable technique of "reversing" Latin letters to imitate the Cyrillic alphabet.

"Do you want it to be like this?"

The propaganda of the "new Norway" in every possible way emphasized the kinship of the "Nordic" peoples, their unity in the struggle against British imperialism and the "wild Bolshevik hordes". Norwegian patriots responded by using the symbol of King Haakon and his image in their struggle. The king's motto "Alt for Norge" was ridiculed in every possible way by the Nazis, who inspired the Norwegians that military difficulties were temporary and that Vidkun Quisling was the new leader of the nation.

Two walls in the gloomy corridors of the museum are given over to the materials of the criminal case, according to which the seven main Gestapo men were tried in Kristiansand. There have never been such cases in Norwegian judicial practice - the Norwegians tried Germans, citizens of another state, accused of crimes in Norway. Three hundred witnesses, about a dozen lawyers, the Norwegian and foreign press took part in the trial. The Gestapo were tried for torture and humiliation of those arrested, there was a separate episode about the summary execution of 30 Russian and 1 Polish prisoners of war. On June 16, 1947, all were sentenced to death, which for the first time and temporarily was included in the Criminal Code of Norway immediately after the end of the war.

Rudolf Kerner is the chief of the Kristiansand Gestapo. Former shoemaker. A notorious sadist, in Germany he had a criminal past. He sent several hundred members of the Norwegian Resistance to concentration camps, is guilty of the death of an organization of Soviet prisoners of war uncovered by the Gestapo in one of the concentration camps in southern Norway. He was, like the rest of his accomplices, sentenced to death, which was later commuted to life imprisonment. He was released in 1953 under an amnesty declared by the Norwegian government. He went to Germany, where his traces were lost.

Near the building of the Archive there is a modest monument to the Norwegian patriots who died at the hands of the Gestapo. In the local cemetery, not far from this place, the ashes of Soviet prisoners of war and English pilots, shot down by the Germans in the sky over Kristiansand, rest. Every year on May 8, flagpoles next to the graves raise the flags of the USSR, Great Britain and Norway.
In 1997, it was decided to sell the building of the Archive, from which the State Archive moved to another place, into private hands. Local veterans, public organizations strongly opposed, organized themselves into a special committee and ensured that in 1998 the owner of the building, the state concern Statsbygg, transferred the historic building to the veterans' committee. Now here, along with the museum that I told you about, there are offices of Norwegian and international humanitarian organizations - the Red Cross, Amnesty International, the UN

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The story contains scenes of torture, violence, sex. If this offends your tender soul - do not read, but go to x ... from here!

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The plot takes place during the Great Patriotic War. A partisan detachment operates on the territory occupied by the Nazis. The Nazis know that there are many women among the partisans, but how to figure them out. Finally, they managed to catch the girl Katya when she was trying to draw a diagram of the location of German firing points ...

The captive girl was led into a small room at the school, where the Gestapo department was now located. A young officer interrogated Katya. In addition to him, there were several policemen and two vulgar-looking women in the room. Katya knew them, they served the Germans. I just didn't quite know how.

The officer instructed the guards holding the girl to let her go, which they did. He gestured for her to sit down. The girl sat down. The officer ordered one of the girls to bring tea. But Kate refused. The officer took a sip, then lit a cigarette. He offered Katya, but she refused. The officer started the conversation, and he spoke good Russian.

What is your name?

Katerina.

I know that you were engaged in intelligence in favor of the communists. It's true?

But you are so young, so beautiful. You probably fell into their service by accident?

Not! I am a Komsomol member and I want to become a communist, like my father, Hero of the Soviet Union, who died at the front.

I regret that such a young beautiful girl fell for the bait of the red-assed. At one time, my father served in the Russian army in the First World War. He commanded a company. He has many glorious victories and awards to his credit. But when the communists came to power, he was accused of being an enemy of the people for all his services to his homeland and shot. Starvation awaited my mother and me, as children of enemies of the people, but one of the Germans (who was in captivity and whom his father did not allow to be shot) helped us escape to Germany and even enter the service. I always wanted to be a hero like my father. And now I have come to save my homeland from the communists.

You are a fascist bitch, an invader, a murderer of innocent people...

We never kill innocent people. On the contrary, we return to them what the red-assed have taken from them. Yes, we recently hanged two women who set fire to houses where our soldiers temporarily settled. But the soldiers managed to run out, and the owners lost the last thing that the war had not taken away from them.

They fought against...

Your people!

Not true!

Okay, let's say we're invaders. You are now required to answer a few questions. After that, we will determine the punishment for you.

I will not answer your questions!

Okay, then name with whom you are organizing terrorist attacks against German soldiers.

Not true. We have been watching you.

Then why should I answer?

So that the innocent don't get hurt.

I won't name anyone...

Then I will invite the boys to untie your stubborn tongue.

You won't get anything!

And we'll see this. So far, there has not been a single case out of 15 and so that nothing has come of it ... Let's get to work, boys!