"No, we’ll go as soldiers with our weapons, or not at all,” Grand announced.
"Damn right!” Nau echoed, cocking his machine gun. The squad chambered a round as one and faced the two ranks with weapons poised.
Von Struck turned around to face them. "Give them up. We’ll do as he says and you’ll all be out by Christmas.”
However, nobody moved and the moment spanned out into a stand-off.
He tried again, "Henning, Michael, please give them up. It’s out of our hands now and at least this way we can all go home.”
A slight pause followed before Henning slowly placed his weapon on the floor and lifted his hands. Von Struck breathed a sigh of quiet relief as one by one they followed the Oberscharführer’s example.
Only Muschinski held his rifle at the ready. His face a granite mask of rage and confusion, he stood rock still with his weapon pointed at the nearest guard.
"Let it go, Muschi”, Rohleder whispered loudly. "The Boss said it’ll be alright.”
"No!" he shouted, making everyone jump in the stillness. "These fuckers don’t know what we’ve been through these last months, what we’ve done. They think we’re the criminals and we’re bloody not, we’re heroes! We’re the good guys.”
"Muschinski, SS Sturmann Muschinski!" Von Struck shouted. "Put that weapon down now!”
"No sir, I can’t do it," he answered, angling his head slightly towards his superior officer.
A single shot exploded in the silence and Muschinski crumpled to floor. Rohleder gasped in horror as the bullet took the upper half of his friend’s head off, splattering him with blood, bone and brain.
Schmidt barked his orders to the waiting soldiers and the squad was manhandled away to the trucks that had just arrived.
Von Struck, the last one to leave, turned to Schmidt. "No harm, you said. You gave your word. There was no need to kill him, you bastard.”
"If he had obeyed your orders, he would be alive now. Anyway, do you think I really need to keep my word to the son of a traitor? Wake up, Von Struck, the war is over for you and with it perhaps your life.”
The two guards on either arm jerked him away to the truck and Von Struck let himself be led without any commotion.
Stephanie was the last of the group to be dealt with. She stood among the horses looking small and afraid.
"And who might you be, child?” Schmidt leered. She caught the hunger in his tone and involuntarily covered herself with her shawl.
"Stephanie Raabe, ex of Pfatter near Regensburg. My husband, Herr Wolfgang Raabe, was killed by Communist Partisans. My son, Paul Raabe, was killed by vampires. We were given a farm to work in Lemberg in the Ukraine but were forced to leave due to the Russian advance. I’m the only one left of our family. The rest were all killed by either Russians or vampires. The Standartenführer and his men saved me from the vampires.”
"Most gallant of them, and what did you do to thank them for their deed?" He licked his lips and reached an arm out to play with her hair. She took a step back and Schmidt raised an irritated eyebrow.
Rasch, who had all the time stood in the background and said nothing, saw that it was time to step in. "Herr Major, may I remind you that this is a civilian and that you have no jurisdiction over this woman. She can stay here and earn her keep in the kitchens which are now so woefully undermanned thanks to your entourage. Come here, child.” Schmidt looked on, sour faced and impotent, as she walked past him. She stood behind Rasch who attempted one of his ghastly encouraging smiles on her.
Emboldened by his small triumph, the doctor gave some more orders to the guards, "Right, you men, see to it that these horses are taken away and wiped down before they catch something. You,” he turned to Stephanie, "come with me. I’ll show you where the kitchens are.”
Schmidt turned to his second in command. "Come, Meier, let’s get this rabble to Dachau.”
Chapter 37
Berlin
For the fifth time inside of an hour, the tall SS officer showed his identity documents. He was tired and getting impatient with the upgraded security arrangements that had been put in place since the bomb attack at the Wolfschanze.
Finally he arrived at the Reichsführer’s office. He pondered briefly on what he wanted to say. His position gave him a lot of leeway with Himmler but he didn’t want to push it. He decided it was all or nothing just as the secretary opened the door for him to go in.
Himmler was behind his desk but he stood up and walked around to greet him. "Ah, von der Heyde, or should I say Oberstgruppenführer von der Heyde? How is your new rank? Does it sit well?" He took his hand and shook it as hard as his effeminate grip would allow.
"The pay is a lot better," he smiled in response and took his hand back.
"Come now, your family has no need of money,” Himmler laughed before turning serious at the flick of a switch. "Tell me what I want to hear. What is happening in Romania?”
Von der Heyde took a seat, sat back and crossed one leg over the other, "Exactly. That is the reason for my coming here, Herr Reichsführer. We need to speed our plans up there. If we carry on with that idiot Rasch running the show, the Russians will be knocking on our door before we can set everything in motion.”
Himmler steepled his fingers as if in deep contemplation, "Rasch came to me on your recommendation. It was you who pushed him forward. Now you say he’s an idiot. I don’t understand.”
Von der Heyde uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "At that time, Herr Reichsführer, I was of the opinion that we could only affect the change we need with scientific methods. I was wrong and I admit it. It would be wrong of me to prolong his work just to cover my own back.”
"Very noble of you. Carry on, I’m listening.”
"I’ve come across some ancient writings and these writings suggest that the vampire soldiers can influence their own destiny by the use of ancient rituals.” He sat back again and waited for Himmler’s comment.
"If they can do this, why are we waiting? Give them what they need and tell them to get on with it.”
"The problem is that they can only perform this ritual in December and that we have one of the key figures in the ritual incarcerated at Dachau. I need to get him out of there and take him back to Transylvania.”
Himmler nodded his understanding of the problem, "But if it can only be performed in December, why take him out now? Let him stay there a while so that he’s more compliant to our demands. We’ll take him out just before Christmas, send him down and they can do their ritual.”
"Herr Reichsführer, it’s not as easy as that. He’ll have to learn texts, and for that to happen, he’ll have to want to learn the texts. If we keep him where he is, he’ll not be very sympathetic to our cause … ” He let Himmler finish the rest in his head.
"Oh, what the hell, take him out, spoil him and sort it out from there. Rasch can carry on until you are ready. Who knows, he might stumble on something. I want to know as soon as anything happens, do you hear me?”
"Of course, as soon as anything happens, I’ll be in contact.” He stood up and saluted,
"Sieg Heil, Herr Reichsführer!”
"Sieg Heil, my friend." Himmler smiled and stood up once more to shake von der Heyde’s hand in farewell. "Keep me informed. Ivan is getting stronger every day and we need that army to bring us victory in the East:"
"Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer."
Part 3
Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head.
Euripides
We are twice armed if we fight with faith.
Plato
Chapter 38
Dachau
Two weeks later
Inselman dropped the bombshell as casually as a man speaking about the weather, "You’ll be receiving a guest today, and if all goes well, it could mean your release."
Smith looked up from his chair in utter disbelief. "Who?”
"Put it like this, he’s very high up. Apparently he’s on first name terms with Himmler,
so that puts him in a different social echelon to the rest of the minions here, the camp Commandant included. I think it’s probably something to do with your Romanian connections."
Smith shook his head in disbelief. He still didn’t think of himself as being Romanian. He was British and that was final, even at the cost of having to stay incarcerated. Transylvania seemed like a million miles away.
"When is he coming, do you know?”
Inselman nodded, "Today. Make yourself presentable. He’ll be here at four.”
"Four, right.”
Smith walked to his window and looked into the yard where the SS inmates were doing sport. The NCO in charge was beating them indiscriminately with a large cane as they ran sprints from wall to wall.
"It’s a bloody poor system where the sadists and the cowards get to run the show," he stated absently to no-one in particular. He’d listened to the SS inmates being put through their paces all morning and wondered at a society that could punish its own so brutally.
"It starts from the top,” Inselman nodded sagely, "the people in government, and rolls down from there. However, the General who’s coming to see you is not in that mould, I can assure you. Be ready for four sharp. I’ll come and collect you then.”
Smith nodded as he left and turned to watch the NCO thrashing one of his hapless charges. One of the soldiers caught his eye. He wasn’t sure but it looked like the officer who’d accompanied him to the camp. Squinting to see better, he peered through the barred window until he was certain it was him. "What the hell is he doing here?" he pondered.
* * *
Von Struck looked on in impotent rage as the NCO whipped Grand with his cane. Every day was the same: beatings, humiliations and cruelty for cruelty’s sake. He’d made up his mind as to what they should do on the first day - escape. Henning and Rohleder were of the same opinion. If Ivan really was advancing as fast as they’d heard, and if the Allies really had landed at Normandy and were making headway into Europe, what was the point of waiting here to be caught? If the Russians arrived first, they’d be shot on sight anyway, so escape made perfect sense.
Oberscharführer Müller had given his NCOs a free rein with Von Struck’s squad, to do with them as they pleased, and this invariably involved torture and pain. He stayed away, preferring to let his men do the dirty work for him. The rumour was that he had overstepped the mark and was laying low for a while.
Today, watched over by a crowd of jeering, machine-gun toting guards, they had run sprints in the yard. The man who had come last more than ten times was being punished as they all stood to attention. This was, as always, Berndt Grand, owing to his wounded leg, a reminder of the journey from Transylvania. They couldn’t even run to his pace as the NCO in charge insisted on beating them as they ran. Berndt was physically and mentally a giant. He took every beating with granite imperviousness; silent and indestructible. Nevertheless, it still chilled the blood to have to witness every thrashing he was given. Von Struck wondered how long he could take the beatings before he broke.
The journey up had been brutal too. Muschinski’s death had shaken them all but that was only to be the beginning. Grand had taken a bullet to the leg from the senior NCO on their lorry. In the field, if a civilian had been wounded, Von Struck might have shot the man who had done it himself. However, as it was only a prisoner, the guard was only made to do a couple of extra duties as punishment. One of his duties was to take the prisoners for sport, hence the fact that Grand was now taking a thrashing for being last in the sprints again.
Von Struck found it unbelievable the way they’d been handled by the SS, their own brothers in arms.
"The apocalypse is all but upon us and the dogs are turning on themselves," Rohleder had preached his reading of their behaviour in a mock serious voice.
All that they had achieved behind enemy lines counted for nothing with the concentration camp guards. The bravery shown by Von Struck’s troop in the field bore little currency with these rear echelon toughs.
They were disarmed, and when they were manacled, bound and helpless, the beatings began. SS soldiers - German SS soldiers - punched the squad as if they were common criminals. One of the NCOs, laughing maniacally, started shooting near their legs and feet for sport.
Finally, the inevitable happened and a round gouged out a large piece of flesh from Grand’s left leg. This was the source of a lot of amusement for the guards and it was only when Von Struck struggled to his feet and demanded that Grand’s leg be seen to that the laughter stopped.
"And who are you to demand anything?" he looked at Von Struck’s rank and spat, "Standartenführer?”
Controlling his anger, Von Struck spoke low and clear so that only the NCO, a Rottenführer, could hear, "See to that man’s wound or I’ll see to it that when we get back we," and he looked around the truck at the men, "we will kill you the first chance we get. Every time you take a work party out and we’re on it, you won’t be able to turn your back on us as we will be plotting your death.”
The guard’s arrogant smirk transformed to a papery smile and froze like a mud-pack. The doubt in his eye hardened again as he made his decision. He nodded to one of his subordinates. "See to him. Put the weapons down and conserve your ammo." Then he turned to look Von Struck in the eye. "We may need it for when they try to escape. We’ll let Müller deal with them if they all make it back alive.”
However, they were vacant words and the convoy rolled on to Dachau without further upheaval. They arrived at night and the men were woken by whistle blasts and dogs.
"Raus, raus, alle raus … ”
They staggered up from the numbing floorboards and shuffled out, stiff and cold from sleep and inaction. Blinded by searchlights, they jumped down from the truck to be shoved by a waiting NCO in the right direction. Von Struck stumbled away only to be stopped by one of the men in charge.
"You there, stop right where you are.”
He halted and turned to look in the direction of the voice. Looking into the lights, he couldn’t make out who had said what until the disembodied voice approached him,
"Remember me, Standartenführer?”
Von Struck was disconcerted. He knew straightaway who it was. "No, sorry, I don’t.”
"It’s unimportant, Mein Herr. I remember you and that’s all you need to know.”
Von Struck read the malice in his tone and swore inwardly. He remembered alright. It was the NCO whom he had given a rollicking for beating the Englishman, and now he knew he was in trouble.
And so he was.
Chapter 39
Inselman was at his cell five minutes early,
"Ready?” He seemed somewhat uptight and Smith guessed it was the status of the visitor making him jumpy. He idly wondered why a lowly guard, and not the camp commander and all his toadies, was taking him to see one of Himmler’s trusted circle.
"Is it just you taking me to see him?”
”Yes, now come on, he’ll be here soon." They walked the corridor and into the canteen.
"Sit down. Try to be calm. I’ll be outside acting as a guard until he comes. Are you ok?”
”I’m fine, old boy. I think you’re the one who should have a sit down."
"I know," he grinned sheepishly, "it’s a big day for me too. I’ll explain later.”
He closed the door behind him and left Smith to his thoughts. The door opened again. He stood up, as was the drill in the camp when a German entered the room, and gasped as he saw who it was.
Oberstgruppenführer von der Heyde stood framed in the doorway.
"Hello, English, are they treating you well?" he laughed, "You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
"What the hell is going on?" he said as he fell back down into the chair.
Michael turned and nodded for Inselman to close the door. "Is he fit, Heinz?”.
"He’s ready to be moved but he doesn’t know a thing.” Inselman had lost all his earlier nervousness and was talking to the SS General on equal terms.
Michael ignored his shock, "English, are you ready to be told everything? There’s a lot to be said and a lot to take in. Once again I’m going to have to ask you to make a choice. Are you ready for the truth?”
"Try me, I think I’m owed at least an explanation. Where did you go? The last thing I remember was running from the wolf, or whatever it was, and being woken up to come here."
"I promise to tell you everything in good time but you must hear me out first. Can you do that?"
He pulled a chair round in front of Smith to sit with his legs astride and his arms on the backrest.
"Tell me everything," Smith said, shaking his head, "I still can’t get over you in an SS uniform.”
Michael acknowledged the situation with a smile and ploughed straight in. "Heinz here is one of the Brothers in my Order. As soon as I heard you were being sent to Dachau, I called in a few favours to get a man on the inside. Parzich has a terrible morphine problem and his family asked my help to secure his position here so he wouldn’t be sent to the front. I called him and he was only too happy to oblige me. Parzich may be a bullying oaf but he does know when he has to deliver.”
Smith nodded as if impatient to hear the rest.
"So I sent one of the Brothers here as the final part of his initiation." He turned to Inselman, "And I’m very glad to be able to say that you have passed your test, Brother. Welcome to our small but close Brotherhood.”
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