by Paula Wynne
Wilhelm now became an unpleasant mix of conspiratorial and boastful. ‘You know, different solutions were tested in various concentration camps, but I wanted something more. Something to make a name for myself.’
‘I think you have achieved that,’ Steffan muttered, barely able to hide the sarcasm, but Wilhelm simply smiled in appreciation of the praise.
‘I also wanted these thieves who would dare pilfer from the Reich to feel its wrath, to be aware before they perish. This was why we tested for so long on so many prisoners, and the result is my legacy. We found a specific combination of nodes, particular frequencies and amplitudes of radiation, that truly appeared to suck all of the energy out of a person.’ His eyes were far away. ‘I suppose you could call it a vampire! But instead of blood-sucking, it sucks the force…the very life out of the intruder.’
Steffan’s face was like stone. ‘Or in the case of your tests, the very life out of the prisoners.’
‘Oh, ja! We have been so fortunate to have such a good supply. We have really been able to learn so much. We observed that the rays can also cause cancer or fertility problems, or birth defects. And as we found out by testing the Jews, this combination of radiation waves we have here deforms the body. Some came out with very impressively grotesque features. Even worse than they went in with!’ Wilhelm added, laughing. ‘It is funny, this learning how to destroy Jews from the inside out, it has also taught us much about very fast ways to cook food. But so much, so very much we have learned about how to incapacitate a person…’ his words faded.
Steffan waited, wondering at the cunning expression that had come over his cousin’s face.
After a moment, Wilhelm said, ‘This I should not tell you, but…well, let’s just say that the Americans are very interested in my technology. Unlike the heaving, peasant rabble of the Russians, the USA houses some fine minds appreciative of our struggle. Indeed, many are of Aryan descent themselves. It is there that the flame of the Reich must remain tended until the Fatherland can rise again and reclaim its legacy. They will not have the force and will of the Führer, but who cares about that? If they keep me away from the Nazi hunters until we are ready to recreate The Third Reich,’ he shrugged, ‘that is all a man on the run can ask for.’
Looking away, Steffan forced a chortle. So, his cousin had sold himself to the Americans. How and at what price, he could only guess.
‘They know the war is won now, so their spies are running desperately, trying to pick up the best pieces of the Reich. In fact they have―’
Steffan waited for him to continue, but Wilhelm shook his head, frowning as if regretting his disclosure. ‘We have work to do here. You’d better go back to the truck.’
He turned away and shouted up the ladder to a group of men finishing adjustments in the bunker outside the vault. After a few minutes, he turned back to where Steffan still lingered inside the room with its giant, surrounding cage and looked around.
‘Where is Bletch?’
‘I don’t know. He went off somewhere. One thing that strikes me, Willy, could your cage not be easily dismantled by a modern technician? Surely it’s just a case of locating and disabling either the control mechanism or the power source?’
‘Ah, that is a clever question. I didn’t know you had such technical ability, cousin. You talk of the intruders disabling the system, but there is no way they can. The system is activated by a very long, very specific code sequence sent as a radio transmission. It is unbreakable. Apart from that one external link, every component of the system, including its power source, is contained within the vault, in the centre of the very trap itself. To attempt to disarm it is a suicide mission. And because the whole vault has been blasted out of the rock of the mountain, there is no way to go round or below it. The only entrance is through the shaft, and to enter that way is to be assured of a painful death, or an even worse living hell.’
Wilhelm pointed to where Steffan stood. ‘Had you been where you are now just a few minutes ago, when Bletch made a test activation of the system, you would now be little better than dead and would not have been able to do anything to disarm the system.’
‘But, Willy, I was here then, and nothing happened to me.’
Wilhelm stared at Steffan with cold eyes. ‘What?! You mean you were here? Just now? You did not exit with Bletch?’
‘No, I was here all along.’
Wilhelm barked, ‘Bletch! Where are you?’
The young officer appeared instantly and scrambled down the ladder to join them.
Wilhelm pointed at him, ‘What happened? My cousin was here during the test but is unharmed. You must have done something wrong.’
Bletch stared at Steffan as if he were a ghost. Eventually, he muttered, ‘I tested each circuit, and all were correct, and then I armed the system and it achieved activation. But still you stand here.’ He reached out and pinched Steffan’s cheek as if to prove he was indeed still alive.
Steffan tried to hide his sudden amusement.
Moving his head in slow motion, Bletch glanced at every part of Steffan’s body. ‘You look normal.’
Wilhelm stammered, spitting out his anger, ‘Check…check all the circuits again. Redo them. This shoddy work is not good enough for The Third Reich!’
Bletch muttered, ‘I have checked, Oberbefehlsleiter Sommer. The circuits are all set correctly and working. Maybe because there was no water in here it…’
‘Nein! The water is, if anything, somewhat protective. What I wish you to tell me, Bletch, is why wasn’t my cousin burnt and fried like a roast dinner? He should cook as well as any Jew.’
The young soldier waved his arm at Steffan, ‘Are you a devil?’
From the corner of his eye Steffan saw several other men had descended the ladder and gathered behind him, all stony faced.
The young soldier, still squinting at the fuse, spoke in almost a whisper to himself. ‘Maybe you did some of those supernatural things we have heard gossip about.’
The group of soldiers glanced nervously at each other but then bellowed with laughter. They started taking bets on why Steffan wasn’t harmed.
Bletch shook his head, seemingly looking for explanations but finding none. ‘It was working properly.’ He raised his eyes to Steffan. ‘You should be half dead.’
One soldier shouted out from the group behind Steffan, ‘Maybe you practised the occult with the Führer.’
‘Ja, and the devil protects you.’
‘No!’ Shouted another voice, ‘he is the devil.’
There were loud guffaws.
Wilhelm stamped his feet and his voice was almost a shriek. ‘Such insolence would have seen you shot, were the situation not as it is now! Out! Everyone, out! Check it all again!’ he commanded.
As the soldiers fell silent and started to file out Wilhelm, hands on hips glared around him. ‘Scheiße! Why is this still here? I am surrounded by incompetents and fools!’ He snatched up the briefcase Steffan had taken the map from. ‘Out! Now!’
They all clambered up the ladder and stood in an awkward group outside the door. While Steffan watched the soldier pressing buttons on some kind of radio control unit, there was only one thing on his mind: Willy had cut a deal with the Americans. He seemed to be running away, but really he would be whisked to safety under their net. Were the documents in the briefcase his passport to a comfortable life in the USA? He heard his cousin’s boots clanking up and down the ladder as he marched around furiously giving orders. He would be livid when he discovered that one paper, the map that was now tucked in Steffan’s pocket, was missing.
Wilhelm returned a few minutes later and bellowed even though Bletch had also just returned and was standing only a few feet away by the door to the shaft, ‘What is happening?’
‘The circuits are primed again, Oberbefehlsleiter Sommer. This place will sizzle anyone who sets foot in the chamber again.’
A snigger came from one of the soldiers. ‘Except the devil.’
Bletch stammere
d, ‘I…think…I must have forgotten to activate full power in the circuits, but I have done it now, and it is working properly.’
‘You have tested all circuits and sent the radio signal to arm the system?’
‘Ja, Oberbefehlsleiter. It is all done.’
Wilhelm suddenly pulled out his pistol from its holster and placed it at Bletch’s temple. ‘Stupid mistakes are not welcome in my company.’ He pulled the trigger and Bletch toppled backwards, through the open door and down the shaft.
Steffan heard the muffled thump as the young man’s body landed on the floor of the vault far below. In that moment, his disgust and hatred for Wilhelm exploded. He wanted to shout out and grab Wilhelm by the neck, hammer him against the wall, but he was surrounded by men who respected and admired his cousin, or who would at least obey his orders even if they didn’t. Men who would kill him without hesitation.
Instead, he said quietly, ‘Why take the boy’s life? It was only a simple mistake.’
‘We are building the new Reich here! It is through slovenliness and the acceptance of failure that the fatherland finds itself where it is today. Nobody makes a mistake around me. Come on, let’s go!’ Wilhelm stalked back and forth, shouting at everyone to leave the bunker and regroup outside.
As Steffan waited at the back of the line for the exit shaft, two of the men pushed a long handle into a hidden slot near the hatch. As they turned it, valves opened inside the shaft and water sprayed in, flooding the vault below. Steffan glanced back inside and caught a glimpse of Bletch’s form floating past in the churning, rising water. In a way it was apt that this vault containing the Nazis’ legacy also included the body of a slain innocent.
Then the access door was slammed shut and two more men slathered concrete mix into the gaps around its frame. When they had finished, it looked no different from any of the other sections of wall. Wilhelm nodded his approval and the last men filed out of the narrow entrance to the bunker and stood outside, blinking in the bright sunlight. The same two who had disguised the vault door now closed the entrance to the bunker, worked soil over it, and finally pushed in the selection of fast growing seedlings plucked from the surrounding woodlands. With just a little time, nature would complete their work for them, and the bunker would be invisible to anyone who did not already know it was there.
Whether because of Bletch’s fate or the reminder that what they served was dying, the mood was sombre as they hiked back to the truck. Once inside, the men settled down for the long drive back to Germany.
Along the route, Wilhelm was dropped off. There was only time for a quick goodbye between the cousins. As he pumped Steffan’s hand, Wilhelm whispered, ‘Don’t forget my advice, Steffan. Get out while you can.’
Steffan nodded. A resolution had formed in his mind. ‘Someone in Rita’s family often used to fly into Bremen, to the abandoned airfield near our old hometown, to pick up people and drop off supplies. I shall go there and see if I can hook up with him. He will take me with him to England.’ Even as he spoke he wondered why he was telling his cousin this. Wilhelm represented everything he was running from.
‘Then good luck and be safe, cousin,‘ Wilhelm muttered, clapping Steffan on the back and turning to disappear into the woodland, the briefcase still clasped firmly in his grip.
As he slouched back in his hard metal seat, Steffan wondered if he would ever see his cousin again.
He hoped not, because he now realised that the man he had once looked up to had become a monster.
He wondered how that monster would react when he discovered that the Nazi blueprint map was no longer inside his precious briefcase of secrets. He hoped he would never find out.
30
June 1945, Bremen Airfield, Germany
Hitler was dead, by his own hand. Whether the Führer’s end had been brave or cowardly, Steffan neither knew nor cared.
With a snide smirk, Steffan wondered if the gossip was a last piece of propaganda. Perhaps their glorious leader had done exactly as Wilhelm and many others had and escaped. He thought not, though. Hitler was the world’s most wanted man, and unlike Wilhelm, he was of no use to the Americans and British beyond being put on trial and humbled.
But Steffan didn’t waste time on gossip and speculation like almost everyone else he now came across.
They talked in conspiratorial whispers of the high-profile Nazis who were already in hiding using false names. And of the others who had taken their lives along with their Führer. And, of course, there were rumours that some had negotiated deals with other countries to give them refuge in exchange for their knowledge and skills.
Instead of returning to Berlin, Steffan had hugged the French and Belgian borders, finally scouting through the Netherlands and back into northern Germany.
Seeing Bremen had shocked him to his core. The grand city he remembered from his youth had been reduced to piles of rubble among which only the blasted skeletons of some of the buildings survived. What people still lived were broken and seemed almost feral, their days consumed with the search for food and warmth. A quick visit to the ruins of his family home had proved pointless. Everyone was gone. Making enquiries as to their whereabouts would have been fruitless and would also have revealed his own presence in the area.
The British soldiers had captured the city the previous month but then had moved on. Even so, guards had been left for anything of strategic importance, and behind the frontline troops, the people who asked questions and checked papers were beginning to arrive. Hiding out over the following week cleared Steffan’s head. He needed to get out of Germany fast. He had multiple passports and identities that he had used to get in and out of countries across Europe during his SS operations.
They would aid him in the future.
He had managed to get to Bremen without too much trouble, his knack for dialects and accents allowing him to stay undercover and disguised as locals along the way.
The husband of Rita's distant aunt in England had been a pilot during the war, but not for the army. Instead, he had flown supplies in and out of remote airfields, getting food and medicines to villages cut off by advancing armies or crippled by bombing. He had managed to do this by taking his tiny plane to old airfields that had been abandoned as too small for modern planes and therefore lacked any military value. The Bremen runway was now potholed with bomb blast craters and destroyed buildings from the British attack just before Germany surrendered. The hangar on the south side was the only building near which a small plane could land and thankfully, there was no sign of English troops. In case they turned up, Steffan had a story planned which he would give them in an English accent.
Rita had said that her aunt’s husband also flew in products that were rationed, such as meat, vegetables, bread, butter, jams, biscuits, canned fruit and rice. He did this for special people within his network of government connections, and his payment was favours in other ways. No wonder, would anyone in their right mind risk their life just to help starving people? Steffan realised that he himself might have done, but for the risk of harming his wife.
Briefly, he wondered if the pilot had also supplemented the favours by trading in contraband items, but who was he to speculate when his own past was riddled with bullet holes.
He was relying on the information still being valid and correct, despite the end of the war. He had made discreet enquiries in the nearby towns and it seemed an English pilot did come and go at least twice most months, from the abandoned airfield.
Now, having received a tip that the next visit was imminent, and hoping the pilot would land soon, Steffan sat in the woodlands surrounding the abandoned airfield near Bremen.
Several concrete buildings lay in ruins before a single runway.
Steffan ventured into one of the buildings and gazed out through a shattered window. Weeds and brambles grew up the sides of the building as if nature, too, was determined to claw away all trace of the Nazis. The wind crawled through missing doors and slid over peeling roofs.
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br /> The airfield looked more like a salvage yard. From what Steffan had been able to learn, it had been decommissioned as obsolete near the start of the war, then used for vehicle parking and repair, and most recently arranged to try and look like a functioning airfield in order to distract bombers away from Bremen. Hundreds of broken trucks and burnt-out war vehicles, with wires and hoses bleeding out of their engines, lay scattered between the runway and the ruined camouflaged buildings. Exploded engines with oil-leaking guts hung limp from the carriages. A few trucks had their hoods raised, and they now saluted the harsh sun.
Large craters in the earth showed the ferocity of the Allies’ attack. Barrels leaking oil into the ground lay on their side. An armoured tank on its side lay in a ditch, its gun barrel pointing aimlessly.
The acrid stench of burning rubber floated in on the breeze. As did the distant drone of a light aeroplane. An abrupt flush warmed Steffan's cheeks.
At last.
He tipped his head back, turning his face to the sun streaming in through the bombed ceiling. Rita’s name would be his passport out of here. The drumming in his chest was a mixture of relief and elation, to be safe from the Nazi hunters, yet sadness at leaving his war-damaged country.
Instead of shouting out, he bottled up his breath to try and stay calm.
At that moment, a voice broke through his euphoria.
‘You don’t really think you’re escaping on your own?’
Steffan swung around. A tall, thin man leaned against the doorframe, smoking a cigarette.
Friedrich Wollner.
31
Blinking with shock to see Friedrich, Steffan remained dead still.