What the Nazis did to the prisoners AFTERWARDS is unbearable…

Among these missing documents were Ernst Fulker's notebooks. Officially, they had never existed. But twenty years after the discovery of the sealed cellar, a Munich antique dealer put a collection of historical documents from the Second World War up for sale. Among them were three black hardcover notebooks, handwritten in German, containing detailed notes on medical experiments conducted between 1943 and 1944.

The buyer was a French historian named Laurent Morau, a specialist in war crimes. Upon beginning to read, he realized he held an explosive document in his hands. The notebooks contained meticulous records, dates, code names, descriptions of procedures and outcomes. Fulker had noted everything with a clinical detachment that made reading it all the more disturbing. Subject 7.

Woman, estimated age 28, experienced. Immersion in water at 4°C. Duration: 22 minutes. Result: loss of consciousness after 18 minutes. Final body temperature: 30°C. The subject died during the night. Page after page, the same annotations were repeated: figures, data, deaths, as if these were statistics from an agricultural study, and not a torture journal.

Morau spent weeks locked in his office, reading and rereading every page. He took notes, compared dates with other historical documents. He did research. There were inconsistencies, but everything seemed authentic. The writing was coherent, the medical vocabulary precise, the anatomical details accurate, and, even more disturbingly, the tone.

Fulker didn't write like a criminal trying to cover up his actions. He wrote like a researcher documenting a scientific experiment. No trace of guilt, no euphemisms, no attempt at moral justification, only facts, observations, and conclusions. But the most shocking thing wasn't the experiments themselves, but the casual way in which they were described.

Fulker showed no guilt. He used no euphemisms. He simply reported the facts, like a scientist observing the reaction of a chemical substance. And this revealed a terrifying truth. In his eyes, these women were not truly human beings. They were reduced to biological matter, and this dehumanization was not the product of hatred or sadism, but of a cold, rational, almost bureaucratic logic.

It was a common evil, as the philosopher Anna Harent would describe it years later in her analysis of Nazi crimes. Morau knew he had to verify the notebooks' authenticity before making them public. He consulted graphologists who confirmed the handwriting dated from the 1940s. He also consulted historians specializing in Vermarthe who recognized the codes and terminology used.

He sent paper samples to a Swiss laboratory, which confirmed that the paper and ink matched the materials used in Germany during the war. Everything fit. The notebooks were authentic. Morau became obsessed with these notebooks. He spent years comparing the information with other documents, trying to confirm their authenticity, and uncovered clues.

German military reports mentioned an experimental medical unit in northern France, without providing further details. Testimonies from former soldiers confirmed the existence of interrogation centers where civilian prisoners were held and where, in 1978, human remains matching the descriptions in the diaries were discovered.

Everything fit together, but one crucial element was still missing: eyewitnesses. He consulted French military archives, contacted associations of former resistance fighters, and placed advertisements in the regional press. But for years,

She received no reply. Many of the women who survived the camp had since died.

Others had emigrated, changed their names, severed all ties with their past, and those who were still alive often preferred to remain silent, because speaking out would only reopen old wounds, and reliving them was too painful. In 1989, Mora placed an advertisement in French newspapers, inviting anyone who had been detained in German concentration camps in northern France between 1943 and 1944 to contact her.