The Austrian: Book Two

by Ellie Midwood

  I don’t remember too much of what I did to him, only how someone in the Gestapo crew warily offered me a towel later on, to clean my hands which were covered with blood, as I sat on the floor, breathing heavily, opposite the communist still handcuffed to the overthrown chair. His chest wasn’t moving anymore. I killed him with my bare hands. The Gestapo started fearing me even more from that day on, and rumors of my ferocity, that they happened to witness, reached Berlin soon after.

  Heydrich was gloating of course, jestingly congratulating me on becoming a part of the circle, and even agreed to take his agents back, leaving the Austrian Gestapo in my hands. I decided to use everyone’s fear my own way. With Otto’s help I came up with the idea of first sending my deputy to the people being interrogated to tell them all kinds of stories about me and what I supposedly did during an interrogation. Usually, my deputies’ imagination and the horrifying pictures they generously presented before the arrested people did the trick, and they would confess to whatever they were guilty of and sign the papers without me even showing up in the cell.

  Sometimes the interrogated person would continue to be stubborn, but only till the moment when I would show my six foot seven frame in the door, to sit nose to nose with them so they could see all my ‘beautiful’ scars and my menacing black eyes, before waving my service dagger in front of their faces. After my short description of how I was going to cut their ears off first, stub my cigarette in one of their eyes and finish with pouring some gasoline on their toes to set them on fire for about ten seconds, they always started speaking. Not that I would ever do any of the above, but they didn’t have to know about that. People in Berlin’s RSHA were very much convinced that I was indeed practicing that routine quite often, and even found pleasure in inventing new ways of ‘making people talk.’ Little did they know that I was simply a great actor.

  Heydrich was one of those ‘convinced’ people, and that was the reason for his call. Even though he founded the SD, and later the RSHA, as early as 1932, it was interesting that my rate of successful interrogations was much higher than his. He wanted me to instruct his people on my methods. Needless to say, I was trying to get myself out of the trip by any possible means.

  “Kaltenbrunner? Are you still there?” Heydrich’s voice made me pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. Very well, I’ll come. Next week though; I’m working overtime with the intelligence here almost without any days off as it is.”

  “Whenever suits you,” he replied coldly. “Heil Hitler.”

  “Heil.”

  Preoccupied with my unhappy thoughts I didn’t even notice how my hand reached for the bottle. I drank right from it, not even appreciating the exquisiteness of it. Many of my subordinates and people who just needed a favor generously supplied me with the best wines from Italy, Spain and France. If they knew that I drank it just to get drunk, without paying any attention to what special year it was produced, they would probably burst into tears.

  Chapter 2

  Nuremberg prison, April 1946

  “Well, at least they’re paying big attention to your trial.”

  I shot the former Reichsmarschall Göring a glare.

  “It’s good to see that you finally started snapping back at them,” he continued, as we strolled in the courtyard during our usual scheduled walk time. He had decided to join me, even though normally he wouldn’t give me the time of the day. “There’s only so much bullshit one can take from their lot.”

  I contemplated his words for some time, before answering. “They’re not that wrong in their assumptions, on my account. I only fight back because the trial is a game, and I hate losing.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Göring retorted back, chuckling.

  “My attorney,” I grumbled bitterly. The son of a bitch had decided to interrogate me harder than the Prosecutor himself earlier that day. The Prosecutor had nothing else to do but sit back with a big smile to watch my dearest Dr. Kauffmann do his job. Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best mood.

  “He’s doing it on purpose. The fellow isn’t too fond of you, is he?”

  “That was my first guess, after he refused to shake hands with me on the first day of the trial.”

  “Who does want to shake hands with us now?” Göring laughed all of a sudden. “We are the vilest of murderers that ever walked the earth. They shake hands with comrade Stalin, though, that they do. Because he, most certainly, would never do what Hitler did. He would never set a wide net of concentration camps throughout Siberia. Oh, wait, pardon me, he did! But he would never physically eliminate the political opposition like we did with the SA in 1933… Oh, wait, he did, in 1937, when he shot several thousand of his own army commanders! Well, then he would most certainly never gas people in specially constructed vans, would he? Oh, wait! He constructed and put to use those damn vans three years prior to when we adopted them in 1940! Let’s shake his hand, because at least he never organized purges against his own Jews… oh, wait…”

  Göring stopped and crossed his arms on his chest defiantly. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “What do you want me to say, Reichsmarschall?”

  “Nothing. Just sick to my stomach from their hypocrisy, that’s all. Making another pointless conversation with you. I’m a little bored because my trial has ended. Then I at least had a chance to entertain myself with word-fencing with them. Not that they would admit that there was any truth to what I said.”

  “It’s a good thing that we’re still allowed to talk to each other then.”

  “Yes. That’s a good thing.”

  _______________

  Berlin, February 1939

  “It’s a good thing that no one sees us taking them out.” My Berlin Gestapo guide, agent Kuntz, motioned his hand to another exit, leading from the basement of the RSHA building to the hidden garage, from where the cars with prisoners would leave to go to the camps, away from anybody’s eyes. The prisoners who survived the interrogation, that is.

  “Most certainly. You don’t want to traumatize your innocent fellow Berliners with their battered faces,” I said, having my turn.

  I guessed that Kuntz didn’t detect the sarcasm in my words, because he only nodded gleefully and continued. “It’s our first and foremost duty – to serve and protect our lawful citizens from all that scum. As you have so wisely noted, Herr Gruppenführer, they don’t need to see that.”

  I started heading to the exit, satisfied with the outcome of the visit. They only had several people currently incarcerated here, in the RSHA basement. I thought that Heydrich had likely warned them about my upcoming visit to ensure that they doubled their efforts in presenting everything to me in the best possible light. I breathed out in relief, as soon as Kuntz apologetically informed me that there weren’t any interrogations scheduled for the night since they had already taken care of everything the day before.

  “Well, you don’t need me anymore then.” I even smiled at the bald man, who was going out of his way to make the best impression on me. “I see that you have everything under control and don’t need any of my advice. Keep up the good work, agent Kuntz.”

  He saluted me, and I started ascending the stairs, picturing Melita’s surprised face when I showed up at her door in less than half an hour. I had been dreading this inspection, and it turned out to be just a quick harmless tour. I stopped for a moment to light a cigarette, and to my major disappointment heard Kuntz’s voice behind my back.

  “Herr Gruppenführer! Please, wait!”

  I turned around, not hiding my irritation. The Gestapo agent was a little out of breath from running up the stairs trying to catch up with me.

  “Herr Gruppenführer, I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but they just gave me a new file, those morons! They were afraid to interrupt us, they said.” He offered me another apologetic smile. “Quite an interesting case, too. A young woman is accused of falsifying her papers and hiding her Jewish identity…”

  “I wou
ldn’t call it unusual. Who doesn’t do it now?” I chuckled, trying to get rid of Heydrich’s pestersome man, and gave him a pat on his shoulder. “You don’t need me for this. Besides, women are not really my specialty. Not in regards to interrogation at least.”

  He laughed together with me politely, but still held the file in front of me, clearly in the hope that he’d see at least one ‘master class’ interrogation from the ‘most feared interrogator in the Reich.’

  “The case is unusual because she’s married to an SS officer, Herr Gruppenführer,” Kuntz said, hoping to inspire my interest. I hated to admit that he actually succeeded.

  “How come he didn’t find out about her? It’s next to impossible to falsify an Aryan certificate.”

  “I don’t really know, Herr Gruppenführer. Allow me to go interrogate her first? And I’ll order my people to make you coffee while you wait in my office in the meantime.”

  I looked at my watch, mentally cursing Kuntz, his Jew-girl and Heydrich, and motioned the agent back to the basement. He escorted me to his office, which was without windows, and prior to disappearing behind the doors he inquired, “In case she refuses to speak, can I tell her… about you and your methods? You know, to frighten her a little.”

  “Absolutely.” I gladly agreed, hoping that the terrified girl would sign the confession without me having to go there and frighten her myself. “And don’t restrain your fantasy, Kuntz. The more gruesome details, the better.”

  He beamed at me and almost ran off to his awaiting victim. The coffee that they had served me in the finest porcelain cup just a moment later was of exceptionally good quality, but I still fell asleep right at Kuntz’s desk. When I woke up with him carefully shaking my shoulder, I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” I asked Kuntz, who seemed to be at a loss with my question. I wondered why, since he left me sleeping for over two hours.

  “I’m sorry, Herr Gruppenführer. I thought you were tired from the trip. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  I stretched my back which ached from the uncomfortable sleeping position, and moved my stiff neck from side to side until it made a cracking noise. What was the point in yelling at the poor man? They were all constantly terrorized by Heydrich, so it was no wonder that he was afraid to bother the ‘Austrian Heydrich,’ or whatever it was that they imagined me to be.

  “So? Did you get a confession? Can I go now?”

  Kuntz lowered his eyes and shifted from one foot to another. I knew the answer just from his shuffling, and rolled my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Herr Gruppenführer. I tried my best to influence her without… any physical action, but she keeps insisting her papers are real, and that the report someone made on her is fake.”

  “How do you know it isn’t?” I asked him tiredly.

  “Because making a fake report is a crime, Herr Gruppenführer. I doubt that the other girl, who made it, would risk being sentenced for it.”

  I looked inside the cup in the hope to find some coffee left, even if it was cold. Kuntz ran to the door and ordered a fresh drink before I even uttered a word.

  “So, what’s the story?” I asked without any enthusiasm.

  “Apparently our suspect was wearing a pendant with a Star of David when her colleague noticed it—”

  “Wait, wait, what?” I interrupted him with my hand. “She was wearing a pendant on her? With the star? The girl who’s married to an SS man?”

  “Yes.”

  I wasn’t sure if such cases were normal in Berlin, but I’d never came across a single Jew in hiding in Austria who would be stupid enough to proudly parade around with religious jewelry around their necks. It seemed like Kuntz wasn’t as surprised as I was.

  “All right, go on,” I finally muttered.

  “That’s pretty much it, Herr Gruppenführer. Her colleague noticed it and yanked it off her neck, a fight started apparently, and our suspect escaped with the pendant in her hand.”

  “So you don’t even have any physical proof of that colleague’s statement?”

  “No, Herr Gruppenführer.” Kuntz lowered his eyes again.

  I took a deep breath, thinking that it was going to be a long night. I got up from Kuntz’s chair and took the file from his hands.

  “Let’s go see your Jew-girl then.”

  He rushed to open the door for me and bowed slightly, inviting me to follow him along the corridor. I was thinking of Melita, and silently cursing out Heydrich, his idea of this damn inspection, and Kuntz even more.

  The latter stopped at one of the doors, opened it and went inside. I went in right after him and stopped in the middle of the room, not believing my eyes. By the big metal table, on a metal chair, hugging herself with both arms and looking at me with her frozen eyes full of terror, sat Frau Annalise Friedmann. This is the strangest coincidence, I thought, frowning. But it can’t be… What is she doing here? It must be an awful mistake…

  “Well, you saw the file, Herr Gruppenführer,” Kuntz addressed me in an official manner, definitely to make an impression on his prisoner. “It’s all here, but she’s still being stubborn. So… whatever you want to do.”

  She did not blink once from the moment we locked eyes, and for some reason I remembered my grandfather’s farm and how I went to get a rabbit from the trap that they always had set up in the field. The poor animal looked at me the same way Annalise did now, his black eyes full of fear and despair. Why is she looking at me like that, though? She knows me, we’ve met before, and as I recall I was very nice to her. She was smiling at me…

  “Herr Gruppenführer?” As Kuntz’s voice penetrated my mind, it suddenly hit me: the horrifying realization of what he must had told her about me. The more gruesome details, the better. Oh God, the things he must have told her!

  “That’ll be all, Kuntz. You can go now.” I threw the file on the table without looking at him.

  “But I thought you wanted me to be present during the interrogations so later I would be able to perform the suggested—”

  “I said, that will be all,” I repeated in my sternest and coldest voice, which made everything even worse. The poor girl was visibly shaking now.

  Kuntz quickly left the cell at last, leaving me one on one with the petrified girl. I studied her expression for some time, going through my options. I was certain that she was innocent, of course; there was no doubt about it in my mind. She? A Jew? Ridiculous. What was this idiot Kuntz even thinking?

  I had to be very careful not to frighten her any more than she already was. Moving with intention slowness, so as not to scare her with any threatening motions, I took my cigarette case out and flickered the lighter.

  “I didn’t expect us to meet so soon, Frau Friedmann.” I tried a neutral phrase and gave her a little smile. She kept staring at me as if waiting for me to start burning her with the goddamn cigarette. Kuntz, the moron, I cursed out once again inside my mind. Probably told her that I do that.

  “Why are you shivering?” I asked, trying to get at least some words out of her. “Are you cold or are you afraid?”

  “Both.” She barely moved her lips in response. At least it’s something, I noted with relief.

  She’ll feel better if I give her my jacket, the thought came to my mind, and I, still with intentional slowness, removed my service dagger and my belt with its holster. She kept following my hands with her eyes, looking more and more nervous. When I started unbuttoning my jacket, she clearly interpreted my actions in her own way, and looked at me with even more terror that was already shining in her teary eyes. I walked over to her to put my jacket on her shoulders, and saw how she lowered her head instinctually and shut her eyes closed, as if expecting me to hit her. At that point, I wanted to murder Kuntz for the tales he must have told.

  In the gentlest way possible I covered the girl with the jacket and sat on the edge of the table in front of her, waiting for her reaction. She looked at me inquisitively, but st
ill with mistrust. I smiled when she wrapped herself in my jacket, with only the tips of her little fingers showing from under it.

  “That’s better, right?” I smiled at her encouragingly. “It gets cold here sometimes, especially at nights.”

  She whispered a wary “thank you, Herr Gruppenführer,” and I breathed out with relief. She was slowly coming around.

  The whole story turned out to be complete ungrounded nonsense, just like I had thought in the beginning. Some envious girl from her theatre threw a fit after Frau Friedmann was promoted to be a prima ballerina’s substitute, and decided to make up some unbelievable story to get her pretty rival arrested, and maybe even sentenced to hard labor in one of the camps. I thanked God in my thoughts that I happened to be here to help her out, because with people like Kuntz she would have probably been on her way to Dachau, physical proof or no proof at all.

  Ignorant morons, I kept thinking, listening to her voice with that distinctive northern accent, and studying her face up close. How could a girl with her face possibly be a Jew? Just look at her; what an untouched, natural beauty. I was studying her blue, expressive eyes, with their long lashes which were a little darker than her hair and wet from the recent tears. She still wore her ballerina bun on top of her head, and only several loose strands framed her face, which showed off her sophisticated features, like that of the finest china doll. She was still a little too pale from the distress she was currently feeling.

  I couldn’t help myself and reached out to touch one of those silky strands, letting it through my fingers. A natural blonde, never touched by that ugly yellowish hair dye that had become so popular amongst the female population of the Reich recently. I noticed how she stiffened under my touch, observing my movements suspiciously. I quickly moved my hand away, afraid to break her newly gained trust.