by Luis Samways
Noam Chomsky….
“In nuclear war all men are cremated equal.”
Dexter Gordon….
To Be Continued in 2014
Season two commences in spring 2014 with episode six.
Luis Samways
Das Death:
I
Author’s note:
Das Death is a fictional series based in an alternate universe where the Germans won the Second World War. It contains subject matter that some readers may find objectionable. In no way is this book an endorsement of any of its content — it is merely a fictional story like any other form of entertainment, i.e., movies and TV shows. It has been written in a way that may seem direct, and doesn’t shy away from political correctness, because if the Germans did win World War II, political correctness wouldn’t exist. This book contains references to Nazis and Jews. Again, in no way does this book condone any of the acts described herein. It is just a story. If you as a reader do not feel comfortable with such a storyline, then please feel free to not buy this book. As a writer, I don’t want to offend anyone. Thank you for reading, and if you do purchase this book (you may be reading the sample, or you may have already bought it), then thank you. I wanted to try something different. I hope you enjoy it.
Luis
The year is 2013. The month is September. The date is the second. It’s been sixty-eight years since the end of World War II, or, how it is known now, as the day the Germans came.
The Germans won on that fateful September day. Sixty-eight years later, they still hold the world to rights. All the Jews have been exterminated…. Well, nearly all of them….
Prologue
My name is Abel Brewer. I am the last Jew, the last living Jew in the world. Over the past sixty-eight years, the Germans have confiscated our freedom and our lives, taking both our blood and our souls. My mom and dad died a long time ago — about thirty years, if my memory still serves me. I myself am forty-six. I turned forty-six yesterday. Before, I used to celebrate my birthday with my wife, Diana. Now that she is dead, and has been for ten years, all that remains is me. There used to be more of us. Many more, to be precise. We used to live in the turned-out trenches of Maryland. Maryland itself used to be a state that was in the United States of America. Now, however, like the entire world, it’s collectively known as New-Germania. I find myself writing this memoir to correct some wrongs that have taken place. Being the last Jew on earth makes me certain that the world needs to know what happened. Even if the world we live in now is a world that is one-dimensional, I believe that one day the world will be full and free — 3D, if you will.
You may ask yourself, how do I know I am the last Jew in the world? The sheer fact that my whole family is dead and the community I used to live in is extinct isn’t really enough to justify such a moniker. I am not big-headed enough to assume that there aren’t more of my people out there. I certainly am not big-headed enough to assume that I am the only one to survive, the only one who managed to escape the German claw of death. I know that I am the last Jew on earth because the Germans broadcast the last execution of said Jew. They thought that the person they were feeding to the dogs was the last Jew. So much so that they actually called it “the last execution.” I, of sound mind, know that the person they killed on live TV wasn’t the last Jew, for I knew that he was the second. It was my brother Jacob, and I certainly know that I am the last, for it is only right that I should be the last to die. The last Jew to live and the last to fight….
Signed
Abel Brewer
I miss you, brother…I will see you soon.
Jacob’s Last Rites
Jacob had no last rites. He was dragged into his cell for his last beating. He was stripped naked and violated with all sorts of sharp instruments. He was torn up and lacerated. He was urinated on. Defecated on, and then he was sodomized. These were his last rites. Those moments were his call to grace. His last intake of air. His last boot to the ribs. He earned his beating. In the eyes of the Germans, being the last Jew alive was an honor, an honor that he would pay for with humiliation and blood. They wanted him to feel the wrath of all the Germans who had lost their lives in the war. They wanted him to feel the searing heat of defeat that they were going to lay down on him.
The Germans didn’t get their hands dirty. They had people for that, people who would gladly do their dirty work for them. These were the people who violated Jacob’s last moments on earth. They were the non-Jewish inferiors. Not quite dirty enough for the Germans to kill, useful enough to have them live and serve under them. You would call them Hispanic, but the Germans called them “Lappermen.” These so-called Lappermen were of mixed white and black race, but had the working skills to build great wonders of the world. It was this that saved them, that and the fact that the Germans didn’t feel comfortable going into another war. They had already wiped out the Middle East by the nineties, and all that remained was the west. Japan and China grew into a super-power that was a subdivision of New-Germania. They didn’t fight Germany, nor did they support them, but they stayed out of the way. Russia supported and still supports the Germans. That was probably why the rest of the world knelt down to Germania. That was why the whole world tuned in to watch the execution of Jacob. That was why no one opposed it, and that was why my brother died a death only the most barbaric could conjure up.
“You filthy pig, you are sentenced to die the death only a Jew can die. You shall be put into the dog pen and on the command of the mighty state of New-Germania, you shall be ripped into shreds and the dirty substance that runs through your veins will spill onto the great plains of this new world we live in. Bring the prisoner out!” the voice on the television had bellowed as I sat down in my trench and watched in horror as the crowds had cheered for the execution of Jacob.
I managed to get my hands on some spare parts and constructed a mini TV set a few years back. My brother and I used to watch the propaganda flowing through it in our safe haven. We’d stay up for hours and wonder when our time would come. When would we be next? We had watched many of these executions before. It was merely through curiosity that we sat through the blood-fests. But it was more of a way to accept our fate. It was a way we could see what lay in our future. As I mentioned, most of our people were dead. We knew there were some who remained, many of whom we’d never met. It was evident through the weekly executions on TV. But we gathered that the Jewish population was thinning out, because the rate of televised executions was getting lower.
It was a year and a half ago that the Germans stated they had reason to believe that they were close to ridding the world of “the plight,” as they called it. They had announced, later to their embarrassment, that there were no more Jews. I remember that both of us were shocked at such news. We knew that they would only announce such a thing if they had solid proof. It made us nervous, because it meant that we could possibly be the last Jews.
For years, ever since the Germans won, they had gone out on patrols everywhere in the world, and captured Jews. For years, some escaped, some were killed, and some went missing. Our mother and father had been two of those Jews who went missing. Later we found out they were shot by panicked settlers who didn’t want to be associated with the Jews in any way. For if you were found in the vicinity of any Jews, you, too, would be shot, even if you were of a “superior race.” That rule had helped the extinction of my people. It put the fear of death in every living person. It meant that civilians could do the Germans’ work for them. It was a clever tactic. It worked. For now they had my brother.
I remember the day my brother went out and scavenged for some food. We took it in turns. He went one day, and I went the next. It was how we survived. It was how we made it to be thirty and forty-six years old. He went over our abandoned trench, which was hidden under two tons of refuse. The old war site had been turned into a dump. It was where the state of New-Germania sent its rubbish. It was unmanned and unworked. It was also a place we managed to scavenge food and
remain unfound. We had built an underground tunnel leading above ground. We would go out of our trench and look for whatever unspoiled trash was available. It was as routine as sleeping at night. It would usually only take a few hours, but when my brother didn’t come back, I knew he’d been captured.
I feared for my life, yet I stayed in the pit, and remain there now, for I won’t move until I know it’s safe. And I know it will be safe soon, for the TV reassures me.
As I watched my brother being escorted out and into the dog pen, I tried to hold my emotions in the pit of my stomach. I felt the cold run through my torso as a draft of wind made its way down the tunnel to the outside. It was a cold night, but I felt warm inside. Hot sweats had begun running from my brow. My heart had begun to race. I knew that I was about to see my brother die on TV, and sure enough, the moment had come.
“Release the dogs,” the husky voice had shouted. My brother was too weak to even put up a fight. Covered in dirt and blood, and as naked as the day he was born, he dropped to his knees as four dogs surrounded him. The crowd of spectators started to rumble with anticipation as Jacob looked up to the sky and closed his eyes. Immediately, all four chains keeping the dogs at bay were unclasped, and the dogs all pounced on my brother. The first dog went for his neck. He bit hard and broke Jacob’s windpipe. The dog shook his mane and parted my brother’s head from his shoulders in a matter of seconds. The other three tore into him in as little time. After a few more minutes, my brother was gone, and all that remained was an untouched organ in the middle of a bloody pool. I shut my eyes long before seeing that.
Chapter One
My eyes rarely deceive me. If only I had seen it coming, then maybe I wouldn’t be writing this. You would be surprised at just how hard it was to arrange clean writing paper. It is even harder to arrange such writing implements as well. No longer is it possible for me to stroll down the street and go into a shop. To be honest, it has never been that way. But being underground for thirty years and living in the shadows of society has made me realize that life isn’t anything more than extended heartbeats and inconsiderate bowl movements. You’d also be surprised at how literal the saying “scared shitless” is. I had managed to shit myself plenty of times in the face of danger. No matter how recognizable the face of danger is, I still manage to buckle at the knees and cry out for my lord.
They have taken that away from me. They have taken everything away from me. And now I sit here in my trench, knees covered in mud, hair matted in dirt, sweat sticking to my forehead, crying, alone and cold. I remember calling out for Jacob. It wasn’t loud enough to blow my position, but hopefully it was loud enough for him to hear me. I do miss him. It’s hard to get him off my mind. Near impossible, in fact. Never have I longed for the touch of my brother before. After caring for him after my mother and father died when he was a baby, I always felt a special bond with him. He was a little tearaway as a baby. He would scream and shout day and night. But somehow we never got discovered. We moved countless times, setting up shelter in rundown buildings, disused places, and abandoned trenches. We never stayed in the same place for more than a week. Before he died, we had only been in this trench for two weeks. Granted, it was longer than the usual safe period of time between such moves, but I just felt it was safe here. I must have been wrong, seeing it was only me now.
It had been three hours since my brother was executed when I heard him. My neck stiffened up at the sound of the approaching automobile. It was one of those Land Rover vehicles. It looked like a World War II relic, but was just designed that way. I saw it coming through the crack in the trench. The headlight beam found its way into my little hole, into my little world. I immediately heard my heart beating its beat of fear.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.
I could feel it pound in every artery in my body. My limbs were numb. My body heat had elevated. It was no longer cold in the trench. It was as hot as the motherland. It was searing. I was wobbly. Then I was quiet. I had come close to situations like this before. A hairbreadth away from being found. Many times, too many times. I saw the big car stop dead in front of my trench. I had never seen something like this before. Something told me by the way the car had pulled in, the person driving knew I was here, that somebody was here.
I decided to duck and scrunch myself into as small a figure as I could. In doing so, I could now hear all manner of my body’s functions. My breathing sounded as if I had a megaphone out and was broadcasting my position as carefree as the next. It was then I wished I was dead. I was being hysterical. I couldn’t believe how much noise I was making. I might as well just scream, “I’m here! I’m here!”
I didn’t. I just remained scrunched up like a baby in the fetal position. I was playing dead. For all I cared, I was as good as. There was no way the approaching vehicle wouldn’t recognize that someone was in the trench if whoever was driving the thing got out and investigated.
And then he did. I could hear the door of the SUV open. The mechanical-sounding lock on the vehicle unlocked, and some heavy feet landed in the marsh that surrounded the trench. I heard a yawn. Not from me, but from whoever had gotten out of the Land Rover. And then I heard something that would change my life forever. I heard him call my name.
“Abel? You there, buddy?!” the mysterious voice called out.
I couldn’t believe it. Someone knew my damn name! What the hell was going on? Was I hallucinating? Sure, I hadn’t had a drink for a while. Maybe eighteen hours. I had gone two whole days before. I had never witnessed someone calling my name before…unless there was actually someone shouting for me. Whatever was going on, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Abel?” the voice outside the trench said.
The man didn’t sound intimidating. He sounded scared. Unnerved. He sounded as if he was just as scared, just as frightened as I was in the trench. All that separated me from him was a wall of rubbish. It covered the trench walls. Anyone looking at it would think there was nothing but solid ground, or more trash under the wall. No one would ever think there was something of any interest underneath it, let alone anybody of interest. It was then I started to panic. The man walked closer to the trench. I could hear him breathing as if he was just above me.
“Abel? Abel Brewer?” he said, just above me.
I didn’t say anything. I just remained silent, waiting for whatever was coming.
“I’m here to rescue you. Your brother Jacob told me where you were. He told me to look after you.”
“What?” I had said quietly, or so I thought. “Abel, is that you?”
I had been sussed. He knew I was there. And somehow he knew my brother’s name. Was this guy for real? Was I being rescued? I didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. I just remained as quiet as I could, even if my heart and lungs were giving my position away.
“Come on, we don’t have much time. I will leave you here if you don’t show yourself. We need to get going. They are tailing me. I was a prisoner, too. I managed to hatch an escape plan. I wanted to take your brother, but he refused. They were all over him anyway. There was no way I could take him without being shot dead myself. That’s why I am here. I owe it to Jacob. I made a promise.”
Tears started forming in my eyes. Seconds later, I was wailing. My position was blown. I heard some sacks being moved above my head. I then saw a beam of light. I looked up and saw his face. He smiled at me. I shook my head. He put out his hand and gestured upward.
Chapter Two
“So what’s your name?” I asked after being silent in the car for an hour. I didn’t want to say anything at first. He had tried at least ten times since we left the trench to make conversation. But I figured that if I was going to die, and this was a trap, I might as well just savor my last breaths. I guess I was feeling intrigued. Maybe this wasn’t a capture. Maybe his story checked out. Maybe my brother trusted this man. I looked at him and wondered. I saw he was a big guy. He had tattoos. He was an American, or at least one of the last. He was around fo
rty, I guessed. He had big arms. The type of arms someone who worked in an industry of sweat and tears would have. He had blond hair and blue eyes. He was definitely safe in this world we lived in. He looked German, or at least Nordic. And then he spoke. And now I was paying attention; I knew I was safe.
“The name is Jerry. I’m from the Midwest — well, I was from the Midwest.”
I relaxed a little. The moon in the sky was bouncing off our headlights. The black finish on the car was blanketing us in the dark. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. For years I had been waiting to meet a rebel. I had heard about them. I knew they existed because the news would broadcast the executions of the “traitors,” much like they did with the Jews.
The rebels were in favor of freedom. They stood against the Germans. They fought for the idea of overthrowing them. The Germans had played down their numbers for years. They said there were only a few hundred of them in the world. Jacob and I believed that one day we would meet them, and fight with them. It was a childhood dream. A dream that we carried with us into adulthood. A dream that maybe was in reach.
“Are you a rebel?” I asked, unsure of how to word it, not wanting to jump the gun.
“I am a freedom fighter. If you want to call me a rebel, that’s fine. But where we are going, those sorts of accusations aren’t favored,” said Jerry.
My eyes widened a little. What did he mean? Where were we going?
“And where exactly are we going, Jerry?” I asked.
He just turned his head a little and winked at me. “Get some sleep, Abel. You’re going to need it.”
I just sat there and stared out the window. I wasn’t going to sleep. I wanted to know where he was taking me.