The Division of the Damned

by Richard Rhys Jones

  But proficiency brings confidence and confidence incites questions,

  "Why do we have to use swords to kill the vampires?" Rohleder asked after a few weeks. They were eating, having just completed the twenty mile course in record time, and the mood around the table was good.

  Michael paused for a moment to put together his answer. "Simply put, there are twelve silver swords here at Wewelsburg, one sword for each of Himmler’s knights. They’re strong, specially made to be used in battle if need be, and they’re silver, reinforced with some composite metal that is beyond my knowledge. I planned to steal them and take them with us to Transylvania. Silver is the only metal that will kill the vampires, hence the sword training.”

  "Why don’t we just melt them down and make bullets out of them?" Rohleder openly puzzled to himself.

  Michael put down his fork and looked around the table at the expectant expressions. "Ok," he started, "there are a number of good reasons, so I’ll go through them so there is no doubt." He stood up. "Firstly, who will make them for us? Every arms manufacturing plant in the Reich is run and owned by men who are true to the Party. If I send off for a couple of thousand silver bullets, somewhere along the line it will definitely reach Himmler’s ears, and that’s not good for our plans to kill his pet project. Secondly, the vampires themselves are not good swordsmen. They can chop and swing but their skill with a sword is miserable. The tree will negate any physical advantage they have over us and I hope our ability with the blade will carry the day. Thirdly, it’s a question of logistics. How do we carry so many rounds of ammunition? We have our horses but I want us to travel light and fast. Pack horses could slow us down, add to our rationing and we don’t know how they will react when they smell a vampire.”

  The answer was long and comprehensive and Michael was satisfied that he’d put his point across until Rohleder put his hand up.

  "Need the toilet, Rottenführer?" he smiled.

  "Not yet, Herr Oberstgruppenführer,” he deadpanned, "but I do have something I need to get out.” He waited until they stopped laughing to ask his question. "Why don’t we melt down the two swords left over to make into rounds?”

  Michael shook his head. "Because who will make them for us without telling tales on us?”

  "Well, I have a friend in Prague. He owes me a lot of favours and he also owns an arms factory. I don’t know if he’s still there, we’ve been out of contact, but if he is, and Ivan hasn’t taken Prague yet, we’ll be in business.”

  "And how many rounds do you think you’ll get out of two swords?”

  Henning leaned forward and held up his fork, "Well, if we’re going to steal the swords, why not steal the rest of the family silverware?”

  "I’m not sure the silver will withstand the heat involved. I think swords are our best bet.”

  "Fine, we’ll keep with the swords. I just think it would be worth trying to find out what the form is. We can ask him if it is possible. Extra firepower is always a positive thing in war. I’ll feel naked without my Helga."

  Michael weighed up the situation in his head. If they could make a round with a silver bullet, it could tip the scales to their advantage. However, it would require that they send Rohleder down to Prague and that along with the production of the cartridge could take weeks. He looked around at the expectant faces at the table. He saw they all wanted it so he nodded to Rohleder. "Right, get on it straightaway. There is a phone here but let me talk with the operator first because it will be tapped. However, I suspect the use of Heinrich’s name will soon sort that out.”

  "He’s more of a business associate,” Rohleder explained to Michael as they waited for a clear line. "He likes cards and betting large sums. I like winning, so I let him bet his factory. And I cheated. Now he owes me.”

  "You cheated?” Michael asked quizzically. "And what would have happened if he’d caught you?”

  "The stakes were big but my balls are bigger. It was after the flame thrower attack; my wife had left me and I felt like I had nothing left to live for. The military wouldn’t take me back and I went on a self-destructive spree, whoring, gambling and drinking. I got caught up in all kinds of crazy stuff, stuff you would never believe. I sorted out women and booze for Party members, boys too sometimes. It was at that time that I saw the true face of the Party. Then it hit me: all those young men dead, civilians murdered, women widowed and children orphaned for these sick degenerates, not to mention the Jews and what we did to them. We must have been really desperate to have believed them in the thirties. Anyway, he bet the factory, lost it and I gave it him back. He won’t say a word to anybody because I’ve got the deeds to the works and if the Party gets a whiff that he used the Reich’s factory to gamble with, he’ll be in deep shit.”

  As planned the call went as expected. Rohleder and Inselman left the next day for Prague. Inselman’s advanced ability with the sword made him the ideal and only candidate to partner Rohleder for the journey down. They set off armed with enough petrol to make it to Prague and back, as much silver as they could find and a forged letter from Himmler.

  Chapter 45

  Transylvania

  Reuben checked through his things again. He knew everything was there but he couldn’t just sit around and wait, so he checked it all to kill time. They had decided to go east and try to meet the Red Army as it advanced.

  The plan was to leave just before dawn which gave them a whole day to get away before the night came with its marauding vampires. They would steal the horses, provisions and tools that they might need along the way. Mordechai wasn’t happy about the stealing part but they had searched the entire area for money and valuables but had found nothing.

  "Well, at least we can’t be robbed of anything important. That would just be our mazel,” Reuben had laughed.

  "They could rob us of our food and then we’d be in trouble" Mordechai answered gravely.

  "Nobody is going to rob anybody, Mordi,” he smiled. "The vampires have sucked dry everybody that lives for miles around. We’re probably the only humans here for the next fifty miles.”

  "Us and the whole Russian army … " he answered and Reuben laughed. It had been Mordechai who had pushed for the move towards the Russians and now he was the nervous one.

  It was 0500 hours when they met at the foot of the stairs by the main door. The candles that lit the hall were quietly dying their private deaths and the dark was oppressive and sepulchral.

  "Have we got everything?" Mordechai fussed.

  "If we haven’t, it’s too late now.”

  "We’ll be fine, Mordi. It’ll all be alright," Stephanie soothed. The door loomed before them and all three were aware of the change crossing its threshold would signify. Within the castle walls they were mere prisoners, but on the other side they would be renegades. They waited in the dimness of the wax-splattered hall while Mordechai made up his mind.

  Reuben saw the worry that lined his friend’s brow. "Mordi, it’s now or never. Let’s make a move before the day runs out on us.”

  Mordechai looked at them both and then, as if reaching an inner agreement, he nodded and set off for the door.

  He hadn’t moved five paces when a low growl came from the shadows. The sound echoed around the hall but in the gloom there was nothing to see. They froze, not even blinking, as another growl rumbled through the hall.

  "What the hell is that?" Reuben muttered to himself.

  "Shtum!” Mordechai impulsively admonished, making more noise than Reuben’s exclamation. The silence ate the dark and the weak light from the waning candles gave no clue as to what had made the noise.

  They felt rather than heard the movement. It started in the shadows to the right of the main door and circled behind them. As one they turned and followed its invisible progress. Reuben slowly pulled out a knife while Stephanie picked up an empty candle holder. They still couldn’t see anything but the threat was real and present.

  "Who are you?” Reuben’s voice was steady but his knees trembled
like a child’s bottom lip. "Is that you, Doctor Rasch?” Mordechai feebly ventured as Reuben shot him a questioning glance. Mordechai shrugged contritely.

  The spectre carried on circling and they continued to follow the path they felt it was taking. Mordechai’s mouth was dry and the urge to run pounded through him, blocking out all thought. He took a step back behind Stephanie, who ignored him, and he began to edge towards the door. A movement stopped him in his tracks.

  Like the prow of a ship cutting through a black ocean, the long, whiskered snout of a wolf poked out of the shadows. Two intense, glowing eyes followed and Marik stepped into view.

  "Ay ay ay … " Reuben muttered.

  Standing upright, Marik drooled like a rabid hound as he growled menacingly at them. His long, knife-like talons opened and closed as if grasping an unseen prey and he panted in between growls like an excited dog.

  "Oh my God, a werewolf … " was all Stephanie could say.

  Before Reuben could voice an idea, Mordechai gave a strangled cry and bolted for the door. Marik, seeing his prey running away, bounded after him, ignoring Reuben and Stephanie.

  As they looked on in horror, the werewolf pounced and landed on Mordechai’s back. Without thinking, Reuben pulled his knife and ran towards the werewolf to jump on him.

  The beast’s fur was matted and hard with dirt and Reuben could smell the rank gust of its breath as he put his arm around its neck to pull it off his friend. The monster’s muscles bunched like stones and Reuben immediately realised the futility of his attack.

  The creature lost interest in Mordechai and rose effortlessly on its back legs to grasp at Reuben. Reuben made ready to stab but the impetus of the werewolf standing up nearly threw him off. He felt the claws closing on his arm and the power in that grip confirmed that his only chance was to get in a position to strike with his knife.

  The wolf turned his head and Reuben, to his horror, saw that the beast was now looking him in the eye. Unadulterated rage daggered from its feral eyes and Reuben felt the cold hand of death pulling his arm away from the werewolf’s throat.

  They wrestled, Reuben endeavouring to hold onto the wolf while the monster slowly prized his arm away, and he felt a tide of panic rise at the solidity of the beast’s power. Every vein popped in his arm as he fought to keep hold of the monster’s neck but slowly, inch by inch, he was forced to let go.

  Then, just as he felt his strength slipping away, the wolf gave a startled yelp. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stephanie armed with a heavily waxed candleholder as she prepared to strike again. The wolf’s snout looked broken.

  Reuben laboured back into position and struck with the knife, plunging it deep into the beast’s eye. There was an audible pop as the knife sank in and Reuben stood as fast as he could looking on in disbelief as the monster, its muzzle bent from Stephanie’s assault, whimpered as it removed the knife slowly from its eye socket.

  Blood poured out of the wound, splashing the floor crimson as the wolfman stood whining in pain. Mordechai, obeying a primeval instinct, fled out of the main door into the cold morning. Stephanie and Reuben, now also armed with a candleholder, stood watching the wolf, neither willing to move in case they incited it to attack.

  It stood opposite them breathing heavily, its massive shoulders moving in time with each breath, and the raw malice it radiated cowed them both to raise their candleholders in wretched defiance.

  Then as slowly as it had arrived, it edged out of the pool of light and stepped back into the darkness until only the tip of its bent snout was showing and, in an almost audible snap, it was gone.

  They stood rooted for over a minute until Reuben whispered, "I think it’s gone. I can’t feel it.”

  Stephanie knew what he meant. "I can’t either. Let’s go find Mordi.”

  They backed towards the door, not taking their eyes off their surroundings until they were outside.

  Mordechai was in the stables trembling and weeping in shock, blindly going through the motions of saddling his horse when they found him. Reuben and Stephanie soothed him but it was plain to them both that he was on the verge of a breakdown.

  "We can’t go on with Mordi like this. It’s plain Goyisher Kop.”

  "What do you want to do then, stay here and wait for another encounter with the wolfman?” Stephanie challenged him.

  "No, yes.” He paused to gather his wits. His knees were weak and he wasn’t in control of his hands. He hauntedly raked his hand through his hair and used the moment to marvel at the composure and nerve of the woman before him. "You’re right. We’re ready to go now so let’s just do it and hope that Mordi gets better." Stephanie nodded and turned to help Mordechai.

  They were so preoccupied with their preparations that neither of them noticed the small scratch on Mordechai’s neck.

  * * *

  In the library the Count wasn’t pleased. "You let the Israelites see you?” he roared. Marik was curled in a corner, halfway through his transition. He was naked and his nose, mouth and right eye were covered in dried blood. Nevertheless, the wounds were already healing. "What in the name of Insangerata made you do that?”

  “Master … " he whined. Iullia, who stood next to the count, sneered at his whimpering, "I was hungry and there are no prisoners now. I needed food.”

  A whip lashed out from the Count’s side and cracked against his naked ribs. Marik howled in pain and humiliation as once again the leather kissed and ripped his exposed skin.

  "Now you will pay for your greed, beast.” The count snarled as lash after lash fell on his bloodied servant.

  The Lilith in Iullia soon lost interest in the whipping and turned to look through a window. She had witnessed a million thrashings and the sight of a man screaming in pain like a woman no longer appealed to her. Only power appealed to her now.

  The whip fell time and time again until she turned around and addressed the Count, "Why is it so bad if the Jews see the wolf?”

  He stopped in mid-stroke and turned to her. "The Jews are immaterial, it’s the greed that infuriates me. He must know his place.”

  Lilith saw through the flimsy excuse. He needed to take his worries out on something. The mere ripping of nameless Russian soldiers didn’t sate his desire for power any more. He needed to apply it on something more personal and Marik fitted the bill perfectly.

  Marik, pitiable and broken, crawled to the Count's boots and curled up around them in unspoken supplication.

  "Get out, worm," the Count spat and kicked him in the ribs. Marik yelped and, hunched up double, he ran out. He turned to Iullia. "How long until the birth?” he demanded.

  "Not long now, Master” She stroked her stomach. "All is going as planned.”

  "What is your other body doing now, Demon? I haven’t seen her in a long time:”

  Maria’s shell was laid out on her bed, wasted and husked like an ancient Egyptian queen. The book that had fed her for so long was gone and death lingered at her door like a covetous relation.

  "When the time comes it will be there,” Lilith answered. "In the meantime I think it better that I concentrate on this vessel so the child will be strong when it’s born, don’t you?”

  The Count grunted and smiled. "The child is important but the woman’s body is not. Don’t forget that the girl dies after the birth or the prophesy will be blighted.”

  "I know, Master. Before the cord is cut, the mother must die so that he truly will be the tenth in line. When that time comes, I will slip into Maria’s body so that the child can be blessed by its mother’s death.”

  The Count nodded, "Good. I prefer that body to this one. This one is too skinny." He looked Iullia's body up and down and wordlessly stalked out. "When the night comes, I will hunt the Israelites in case they decide to tell the Russians of our whereabouts.” His voice carried through the walls.

  Lilith spat and smiled to herself. "Idiot!”

  Chapter 46

  Wewelsburg Castle

  The old man hobbled up the hil
l towards the main gate. His journey had taken him from the east of the Reich to the west, and his worn-out frame was screaming for rest. Nevertheless, respite was the last thing he had in mind. The satchel he carried contained something that he had guarded with his life and now that the journey was close to its end. There was no way on God’s earth he would rest until he was finished.

  His walking staff clicked out the pace and he let its steady beat carry him along. He knew that the weight of the world and the future of mankind were in question, and as he saw the looming citadel rise before him, his pace quickened a jot as the excitement of completion sparked him on.

  * * *

  They were at sword practise when Michael interrupted them. He waited for them to complete their moves before instructing them to follow him to the main hall.

  "What’s going on, Boss?” Matheus asked.

  "I don’t know, Matze,” Von Struck shrugged. "We’ll find out in a minute, though.”

  Michael led them into the main hall and bid them all to take a seat. Already seated at the round table was an old man in a monk’s habit. In front of him was a satchel which he was nervously fingering as if wishing to unload it.

  “Gentlemen, it is my great honour to introduce to you one of the oldest, and the certainly the most respected, members of the Order of Dobrzyn, Brother Raphael Czerolka.”

  They all looked at the old man who scowled at the attention, "What are you all gawping at. Haven’t you seen an old man before?”