This story is a FANTASY. In real world, slavery is never acceptable. Any similarity to actual persons or places is purely coincidental.
I am grateful to Charrla for the wonderful editing.
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There is fierce competition in the common European market. Countries often make it difficult for companies from other Member States to operate, under the guise of protecting either EU law or their own exorbitant standards.
Here is one such case out of hundreds. I have tried to describe it impartially.
Zenek did not hide his anger. When carrying a transport of female slaves through Germany, he had encountered a checkpoint. As a result, the slaves had been confiscated, taken to a special facility, and probably released.
The transport company we were both employed by lost a lot of money because of it.
"The Germans implemented the Long-Distance Directive differently," he said, nervously smoking his cigarette.
I stood at a distance because I hate smoke. "They have stricter requirements."
"Much stricter. They found a whole series of shortcomings: the chains were too short and too heavy, the distance between the slaves was too small, they had no access to water, they were not allowed to pee every four hours."
"Oh crap," I sympathized.
"I am afraid that they will fire me," Zenek continued.
"Mm hmm—maybe it won't be that bad. It's not your fault. Does Germany have the right to demand that such transport meets German requirements, since it goes from Poland to Belgium?"
"Probably not, but this is a matter for lawyers. Does a simple driver like me have to know about it?"
The next day it was my turn. I was supposed to take a truck of slaves to France.
The day was cloudy. After double checking everything, I hit the road. In theory, everything was okay: the chains were longer and lighter, we gave them leather collars instead of steel ones, and there were fewer slaves—only twenty—so each had a lot of space.
None were immobilized in an unnatural position (the directive expressly forbade this). None were gagged (German regulations prohibited this on long journeys). Each had a bottle of water within easy reach. Their hands were handcuffed in the front (it was forbidden to handcuff their hands in back on long journeys, except in exceptional circumstances). They had no face masks or blindfolded eyes (permitted only in the case of extremely problematic slaves, and only for a while). Each wore a diaper (an alternative to having their physiological needs met every four hours).
They really were treated like queens. In my opinion, Germany was excessive with these requirements. Polish regulations—and French ones, too—were more liberal; they referred to common sense.
After all, the carriers knew what to do to ensure that the goods arrived in good condition. There were some female slaves who could stand long journeys with their hands chained behind their backs, chains on their legs, and heavy collars around their necks. They sat, slept, chatted with others, and time passed quickly. And we didn't have to take them to grass every four hours; they peed under themselves and no one got hurt. After they arrived, they were washed.
Of course, there are also more delicate women, and they needed to be handled more carefully. But believe me: carriers were not stupid. They wanted the slave girl to reach her destination physically and mentally healthy. It paid off for them.
Well, we knew what the requirements were for. The Germans weren't satisfied with the fact that so many Polish companies transported goods through their country. That's why they stacked the deck against us. Of course, this didn't only apply to the transport of slaves, but all goods.
And here was the Nysa River. I was already at our western neighbors' border.
Whenever I passed this spot, I thought of the Polish army, which set off across the river here in April 1945, at the side of the "brotherly" Red Army. At the very end of the war, due to the incompetence of their commanders, they were crushed by the German troops, which, from the south, broke through the west to surrender to the Americans. So many people died in the last days of the war ...
Nevermind, that's history. Everyone will die one day. It wasn't cloudy anymore, and I was driving the highway to the west. My hopes of passing through Germany uneventfully turned out to be in vain. About 100 km past the border, the German inspection car overtook me and gave a signal to drive to the parking lot. You know how your heart beats when the inspection stops you?
After stopping, I got out of the cab. It was a pleasant afternoon; the spring breeze was merrily swinging the green branches of trees. There were several cars and two trucks in the parking lot.
Not a fat blonde
Hans
got out of the car, but a young woman in a navy blue uniform. After a short greeting, she started the inspection.
Only one person? Usually they drive in pairs. Maybe the second controller was on vacation or sick.
Good thing I spoke German.
Hmm, this German girl was not ugly at all.
"Does the inspection employ beautiful ladies only?" I asked as I opened the lorry trailer.
She smiled. "I have work to do," she replied evasively. She had black curly hair, black eyes, and pearly teeth, but her skin was fairly bright.
"I am Henryk, Heinrich in German," I continued as the trailer opened. Sometimes even men can't stop talking.
"Selcen," she replied.
"Oh, is that a Turkish name?"
"Yes," she replied quickly and stepped inside.
I followed her in. Twenty faces focused and anxiously looked at us, each on a chain tied to a neck collar and attached to the wall of the trailer.
