The Division of the Damned

by Richard Rhys Jones

  In his anger at the rebuke, Von Struck completely forgot his earlier anxiety about the vampires. He also forgot to call Arak Jurgen.

  "I am in charge here, Arak. Your master gave you very clear direction in that regard. The civilians are German and therefore on our side, and not to be touched.” He pointed his finger into Arak’s chest as he spoke. "Do you understand me?”

  The naked hostility in Arak’s expression almost made Von Struck take a step back, but he managed to brace himself to back up his demand. Arak said nothing and Von Struck swallowed his fear to meet the vampire's gaze full on. The stand-off dragged on for a good twenty seconds, neither willing to give ground and look away. Von Struck only hoped that Arak was as obedient to the Count’s will as he had been led to believe. He was in command and Arak knew this, but did he accept it? Without moving his gaze from the vampire’s, Von Struck asked him again, "Do you understand me Arak?”

  Silence and malice met him. Finally, after what seemed like an hour to Von Struck, but was in fact only a couple of seconds, Arak answered him. "The cattle are safe, for now. You are in command but when you are gone, I will say what is to be done with … " He paused and smiled again, and drool slithered off from one of his fangs and fell onto his tunic. He ignored it. " …the supplies.” Then he turned and was gone, back into the mine.

  A weak, sickly feeling churned in his stomach. They had escaped the nightmare of the Russian front only to be tossed into a new, even worse, nightmare.

  Later he told Rohleder and Henning what had happened, leaving the bit about him being nearly scared out of his wits to their imagination. As he spoke, Rohleder turned and looked at the boy and his mother whilst listening with one ear. "If they are harmed," he said after Von Struck had finished, "I’ll kill them all. God knows how but I’ll kill them or die trying." He looked defiantly at the other two who nodded their understanding.

  Henning placed his hand on Rohleder’s shoulder. "Michael, you won’t be alone if that happens.”

  Arak had heard them. They were at the other end of the camp but he had heard every hushed whisper. He smiled to himself and settled down to wait for the night.

  Chapter 30

  Transylvania

  Rasch could not fathom it. It should have been a simple case of refining the dosage, for he was sure that the serum he’d created worked, but it wasn’t. He paced the laboratory and worried at the problem. He had imported the best laboratory equipment the Reich could provide. His patented machinery and devices had been shipped from Heidelberg, along with his entire library, and built in direct copy of his set-up in Germany. He had personally picked his two assistants. From the extensive pool of learned men that languished in the concentration camp system, he had found three brilliant Jewish scientists to help him in his quest.

  However, his initial confidence that he could provide a working serum for the Count was rapidly dwindling and his nervousness at the realisation of impending failure clouded his thoughts. Scenes of the Count’s rampant anger plagued him in the night and sleep was nigh on impossible. Only the saccharine succour of his newest ally helped keep him on the right side of sanity.

  He looked up at the clock - an hour still to go. The waiting seemed interminable and he knew he would never get anything done here until she came for her daily visit. Every day at eleven o’clock precisely, Iullia visited him at the laboratory. He had come to depend on her visits and he knew, on a different level of consciousness, her importance to him had grown out of all proportion to the depth of their relationship.

  He stalked past one of his assistants, a small, elderly professor of chemistry who tended to cower in Rasch’s presence and rub his hands, and casually batted him with the riding crop he had taken to carrying.

  "Get on with it … " He struggled to remember his name. It was something horribly Jewish, he was sure of it. He carried on pacing.

  The three assistants Rasch had selected couldn’t believe their luck when they were told they had been chosen to perform important research for the Reich. Two of them had spent the last year in the quarry at Mauthausen Concentration camp. Eleven hour shifts, minimum rations and beatings on a regular basis had taken their toll on the pair and they both knew that an invalid transport to one of the death camps they weren’t supposed to know about was looming on the horizon.

  The third had found a comfortable niche for himself in the warehouse known as Canada at Birkenau, the second camp at Auschwitz. The valuables, clothing and possessions of the gassed victims were brought here to be sorted and then either sent to Germany or issued to the camp inmates. Amongst the valuables and clothing were also glasses, false teeth, false limbs and a whole array of medical equipment. It was his job to sort out what was good and what was not.

  The name of the lager, Canada, had puzzled them all. Why Canada? Nobody knew for sure but he had a theory, and as morbid and ghoulish as it was, his associates had all agreed with him. He surmised that the word Canada was a bastardisation of the German phrase, Keine Da - nobody there. The property of the victims was all that remained of them. As loosely fitting and as wrong as the theory was, it summarized for him the tragedy of Canada and the horror of Auschwitz.

  The timely transfer from the back-breaking quarry work, and the heartbreak of the warehouse, to the sedate laboratory had saved their lives. However they were now sure it hadn’t saved their souls.

  Rasch had them lined up in front of his desk to welcome them and inform them of his plans. He spoke at length and omitted nothing. It didn’t matter if they knew everything because the plan was to shoot them after the work was completed anyway. When Rasch finished apprising them of their task, they all steadfastly refused to cooperate. Despite their medical and scientific background they were all religiously devout men. This, to them, was a crime against God and Heaven that would be paid for in the next life, not in this.

  Rasch, however, had anticipated this would happen and had made plans accordingly. He nodded to one of the guards who, without uttering a word, shot the most voluble of the three.

  His weapon was already cocked and he shot from behind so there was no warning. The blast was unexpected, and in the close confines of Rasch’s office, unsurprisingly loud. It had the same effect as a stun grenade and even Rasch, who had expected the discharge, found his heart racing and a warning spasm flitting through his sphincter.

  He coughed and rubbed at his ringing ears before continuing. Affecting a nonchalant air, he asked them if they were still of the same opinion, adding that he only had to make a phone call and they would be replaced by another two professors on the next train. He left the fact that he hadn’t mentioned their fate, if and when another two came to replace them, hanging in the air.

  Mordechai Bluhm, one-time professor and one-time rock-breaker, shuffled his feet. Did he really believe in God nowadays anyway? Somehow he now identified the Synagogue, the observance of the Sabbath and all the trappings of his belief as a representation of the good old times, his life before the Germans. Was there really a place left in his soul for his old religion, now that he had been so long under the Nazi yolk?

  It was true, his faith had fortified him through the early years in captivity. Nevertheless, as time had dragged on, his convictions had withered and were now merely a warm and distant nostalgia for an earlier, much different life. And that was the crux of the matter, it was no longer his life, it was a memory.

  He decided there and then that he had laboured under the Nazi whip for too long to die here, in this God-forsaken place, for some remote notion of good over evil. He was vaguely aware of the foetus of guilt forming in the back of his mind but it was being quietly eaten by a very predatory survival instinct. He opened his mouth to acquiesce and was taken aback as the man next to him answered for them both,

  "Herr Doctor, we will of course assist you in your program.”

  Rasch smiled his best gloating smile and knowingly shook his head. "Typical Jews," he said aloud. "Take them out and feed them. I want them back here in one
hour, ready for work." He dismissed them with a shooing motion and returned behind his desk.

  Whilst they were eating, Mordecha's new partner introduced himself. The guard had left them alone to eat and Mordechai felt as if they’d been given the keys to leave the building. For the first time in four years he was left in peace to eat. No weapons were pointed in his direction and nobody screamed insults into his ear. The calm was heavenly and he felt an insane happiness creeping through his bones. He actually began to enjoy his meal, as revolting as it was, and he smiled to himself. Perhaps all would be well now … perhaps.

  Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, his compatriot theatrically whispered, "Professor Reuben Stein at your service. Professor of Biology and Typical Jew.” Mordechai found it hard to suppress his shock at the comedic introduction and his grin. "And you might be?”

  "Professor of Chemistry, Doctor Mordechai Bluhm, at your service, sir.”

  "Have you any idea of what he was talking about back there? Vampires? Day-walking? What on earth have we got ourselves into here? If Rabbi Neumann knew I was here, he would throw a fit!”

  Mordechai couldn’t believe his ears. Was he making jokes about this?

  "I have no idea, " he smiled shyly and added, "and I’ve no idea who Rabbi Neumann is either. What a Mishagoss. I can’t believe that I‘ve said yes to do this devils work. What are we doing here?”

  Reuben Stein, one-time professor and one-time Auschwitz survivor let the smile fall and nodded sagely, "We’re surviving, my friend. We’re surviving.”

  Mordechai wordlessly concurred before asking, "Why did you change your mind? You were just as vehement against the idea as Peter."

  "I was just following you two.” He changed his tone and put on a simple-minded smile, "After all, I’m only a Typical Jew.”

  "So am I.” Mordechai sniggered at the memory of the phrase and the laughably arrogant way it had been used. "A Typical Jew.” He started to giggle and, by force of habit, he put his fist into his mouth to stifle the sound. Reuben started as well and they noiselessly snorted their amusement into their fists until the tears ran into their cabbage soup and their pact with the devil was forgotten.

  This first cynical exchange set the tone for their working relationship with Doctor Ernst Rasch. In a cold and damp baroque laboratory at the foot of the ancient and mysterious Carpathian Mountains, Reuben and Mordechai cultivated a new daring in their 'Typical Jew' character.

  Rasch’s entrance into the laboratory would be the catalyst for an ever more ridiculous pantomime. Bending over in a hunchbacked manner, they would rub their hands greedily and show Rasch as much servile timidity as they could before he left the room in disgust. Rasch never thought for a minute that there was anything wrong in their manner and this emboldened them to ever more ridiculous caricatures.

  The food was good, the work was easy and their superior was a Shmuck; what could be better?

  It was Iullia who put the vinegar to their cream. "Why do you behave like that in front of the Doctor, Jew?” she had pleasantly asked. She came with a summons for Rasch from the Count and had watched their charade in bemused silence. Rasch went pale when Iullia conveyed the Counts’ instructions and had wordlessly stalked out.

  "What ... what do ... what do you mean, Ma’am?" Reuben was mortified by his exposure, stuttering in fear as he tried to answer.

  "You know exactly what I mean. What’s your name, Jew?” She was smiling as she spoke but somehow the smile stayed rooted to her lips and never reached her eyes.

  He subconsciously reached for a cap to doff, but he had none and, in his terror, he started to babble, "Stein, Reuben Stein, Ma’am. I work here and … ”

  He was cut off by an abrupt slap in the face. The violence flicked an old switch and he automatically stood to attention, eyes staring at a point above her head. The most awful scars of the camps were not those worn on the outside.

  "Reuben, don’t be afraid. I need your help," she whispered.

  The words sank in and Reuben cautiously let his eyes drop down from the ceiling.

  "I’m sorry I hit you," she continued, "but you were babbling and I don’t want the Doctor to hear us.”

  His bewilderment intensified and he now looked into her eyes.

  "Get your friend. We need to talk about stopping this. You know that what you are helping to achieve is wrong, don’t you?”

  He nodded, finally comprehending that she meant no harm. "I’ll go and get Mordechai.”

  They stood in front of her in Rasch’s office. Mordechai had been almost speechless in his fear but Reuben had reassured him and now he seemed to be the one most at ease with the situation. Reuben still could not bring himself to trust that soulless smile.

  "So all I need of you two is to make sure that no serum is made. I don’t know how but you have to do it.”

  Mordechai was nodding. He felt better about the whole project now he was being asked to sabotage it.

  "He’ll find out.” It was Reuben who was worried, "It won’t take long and then what will happen to us? Will you be able to help us? Where will you be when they line us up on the wall?”

  "Professor Stein,” Iullia looked him in the eye, "what do you think will happen to you both when your role here is finished. Do you think you will be sent back to Germany for a teaching post in Heidelberg?" She let that sink in before continuing, "You know this is wrong. I know this is wrong but I cannot do anything about it. You two can and I think you should. In the name of all that is holy, you must do something to stop this madness.” She almost convinced herself and one look at Mordechai showed her how good her acting had been.

  Mordechai, who up to this point hadn’t been one hundred percent committed, was violently nodding his approval at the plan and was unswerving in his desire to sabotage the program. He had inwardly shunned his God but recognised this chance as his way back to salvation. God had tested him and he had failed him. However, he finally had the means and the will to see it through and he would pass this trial of faith.

  "Reuben, we must help, if it’s the last thing we do. This could be our redemption. This might save our souls.”

  Reuben knew the situation they were in; he wasn’t blind and he definitely wasn’t stupid, but he wanted to delay any decisions that could rock the boat. For the first time in years he had felt relatively safe and now she had come along and threatened to wreck everything. Was that fair? Why must they put everything on the line? Why was it down to them to save the Germans? They hated them so. Why?

  "I know what’s going on in your mind, Reuben," she said. "You’re asking why it must be you, why must you save Germany from this evil, this plague?”

  Reuben said nothing. On another level he knew this woman could read minds. He didn’t question it and he didn’t follow the thought further, he just knew.

  "Do you really want to go to your God knowing that you helped cause this? I am German, this is true, but I’m not a devil and I know wrong when I see it. Reuben, do you really want to be a 'shabbes goy' for the Nazis? "

  They were both taken aback by her use of the Yiddish tongue and Mordechai found himself nodding accusingly at Reuben. A 'shabbes goy' was a gentile who performed labour forbidden to observing Jews on the Sabbath. It was also used for someone who did the dirty work for another person.

  Reuben paused and looked at his feet, "No, you are right, we must help. I will do what I can to hinder production." He looked back up at Mordechai and smiled determinedly. "We will do what we can.” He held out his hand to his friend and now brother in arms, who took it and shook it in agreement.

  Iullia smiled up at the scene of the two men assenting to die for a cause and inwardly she shrieked her triumph, "Why is it the good are always so easy to deceive?” she asked herself.

  * * *

  Rasch walked slowly to the Counts’ library. He had managed to avoid the Count recently but he had been summoned and had no option but to obey. He felt like a man walking to his execution.

  How
had it all gone so horribly wrong? He wasn’t sure, but the lack of positive results was something that he hadn’t had to deal with before, and it was hurting his sense of self. It was as if the Gods themselves were interfering and trying to sabotage his progress. The building of the laboratory had taken a lot of time; the transport alone had taken four weeks. So it stood to reason that he would need more time than the Count had given him. "Science cannot be rushed," he told himself. "He’ll just have to be patient.”

  However he knew that patience was not on the agenda with the Count. The Count demanded results straightaway and the penalty for failure didn’t bear thinking about. If only he hadn’t been as cock-sure and positive before they had conducted the final test, then the Count wouldn’t have expected so much and perhaps that might have tempered his haste. He was sure the two new Jews would be of help, they were willing and industrious, but he needed more time. That was what he would now ask for, more time.

  He knocked on the library door and waited for the call to enter. Normally he would have marched in but he subconsciously valued every second of postponement, so he knocked and waited.

  "Come in, Doctor, please come in." The Count sounded jovial but Rasch knew that that was no guarantee of safety.

  The door opened before him and Rasch steeled himself to walk in.

  "You wanted top see me, your Excellency?”

  "Yes, yes I did.” The Count got up and walked around his desk. He put his arm around Rasch’s shoulder and guided him to a chair.

  "Tell me, Doctor, please be as candid as you can be, tell me how far off we are from a serum?” He sat down opposite Rasch and gravely waited for an answer.

  Rasch coughed into his hand to gather his thoughts. "How do you want me to answer, with a date or are we talking in the abstract?" Buoyed by the Counts’ air of benevolence, Rasch tried to assume a tone of confidence.

  "Could you give me a date?" the Count asked almost hopefully and Rasch found himself forgetting his earlier fear.