CodeName: Snake

By MM Rumberg

CodeName: Snake is the dramatic story of an assassin who vows revenge for the murder of his family. As Nazi Germany plunges the world into war, Stefan Hirsch escapes from Germany and is trained to be an assassin by the SAS – the most elite fighting force in the world. His mission: kill Nazi officers and assassinate the man responsible for sending thousands of people to their deaths.

A massive search is undertaken to discover the man called Snake, and when Stefan's identity is finally discovered, he finds himself in a final confrontation with his family’s killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MM Rumberg
• Release date: May 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458125507

MM Rumberg

Mort is a retired U.S. Air Force Officer who served as a Rescue and Survival technician teaching escape and evasion and survival techniques to air crew members; survived a tour of duty in Vietnam and barely survived two tours in the Pentagon as a computer systems action officer.Mort was also an information technology consultant and a manager with a large international health care insurance company. He earned a Doctorate in Education at The Catholic University of America, received his Masters degree from National College of Education, and his Bachelor of Science degree from Arizona State University. He has been an adjunct professor of computer sciences for several universities in the Washington, DC area.For 10 years, Mort and his wife, Susan, lived aboard "Irish Gold," a motor yacht berthed on the Potomac River. Mort was a volunteer with the Alexandria, Virginia Police Department and the Animal Welfare League of Alexandria.Mort’s novel, CodeName: Snake, The Evil We Kill, a novel of revenge that takes place during WWII, won third prize in a national competition, and many of his short stories have won awards in national competitions. He has produced three more novels: Sting of the Geisha, an erotic story about a female serial killer; Retirement Policy, about the CIA, drugs, and murder; and Attack on Camp David, about terrorists attacking Camp David to kidnap the President's daughter and stop the peace process.Now residing in Gold River, California, with their American Eskimo dogs, Yuki and Kori, he is busy working on several new novels and lots of short stories.His hobbies include magic, painting, genealogy and traveling.

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CodeName: Snake,

The Evil We Kill

M. M. Rumberg

Copyright © 2005 by Morton M. Rumberg

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing by the author.

Web site address: mmrumberg.com

CodeName: Snake, The Evil We Kill: A Jewish assassin operating in Berlin during World War II / M. M. Rumberg

Cataloging Publication Data:

Rumberg, Morton M., 2005

CodeName: Snake, The Evil We Kill / M. M. Rumberg

World War II—Berlin—Fiction.

Assassin—Fiction.

Revenge—Fiction.

Jewish—Fiction.

Special Air Service—Fiction. I. Title

Cover Design by Tinhorn Dixie Press

October 2005

Smashwords Edition: May 2011

CONTENTS

Author’s note

Acknowledgments

1: Summer 1937

2: 1932, Five Years Earlier

3

4

5

6: 1939

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16: January, 1942

17

18

19

20

21

22

23: Early Fall, 1943

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41: One Year Later, 1946

42: Five Years Later, 1951

About the Author

Author’s note

The Special Air Service (SAS) as described in this novel is a real organization made up of an incredible group of dedicated people. They are a superior fighting force, perhaps unequaled anywhere in the world. Any inaccuracies in my description of them are mine alone and I apologize for them. Everyone else in this novel is a creation of my imagination. Any resemblance to living persons is unintentional.

Acknowledgments

With grateful thanks to the wonderful people who made important contributions and helped me complete this novel: Iris Bachman, Norma Jean Thornton, Wayne Thornton, Westley Turner, Sheila Budman, Phillip Miller, my brother Alan, and my wife Susan.

I extend my deep appreciation to members of the Sacramento Writer’s Group for their unwavering support. I couldn’t have found a more knowledgeable group of colleagues.

M.M.R.

August, 2005

1

Summer 1937

Morris Hirsch watched, horrified, as six gray canvas-covered trucks drove into a quiet street in northwest Berlin, stopping in front of a nondescript five-story brick apartment building. The tailgate of each truck dropped, and armed German soldiers jumped out and spread across the street forming a cordon, their rifles at the ready. At their officer’s command, twenty soldiers rushed into the building.

A few lights were on in the apartment building — early risers preparing for a new day as the sky turned light with the first signs of blue showing. Morris had an early morning meeting with his friend, Simon Saltzmann, a member of the synagogue and treasurer on the Board of Directors of the Jewish Community Center.

With Morris was his younger son, Stefan. Stefan was seventeen, and Simon’s daughter, Sarah, also seventeen, was his girlfriend. He was eagerly looking forward to an early morning breakfast with her.

A lone officer stood off to the side, supervising, occasionally pointing or shouting an order. The officer, Morris knew, was Lieutenant Colonel Heinrich Schmidt, responsible for security in the western sector of Berlin and responsible for sending thousands of Jews to concentration camps. Morris stood next to his car keeping Stefan from running to Sarah, and shocked and helpless, watched as his dear friend Simon was pushed into a truck along with dozens of others. Simon’s wife and their daughter, Sarah, were forced into a different truck. Within minutes, the trucks drove off, the street once again quiet. Curtains in apartments across the street were drawn closed, no one daring to watch.

Morris felt sick, a metallic taste rose in his throat and he vomited. Pale and shaken, he quickly drove home. Stefan was crying.

Escape. We must somehow escape from this madness, thought Morris. It’s only going to get worse. It’s one thing after another and soon they’ll kill us all. Hirsch thought of his family — his wife Miriam and his sons Johann and Stefan, and his eyes teared. All he worked for, all he loved could soon be destroyed, but whenever he discussed leaving Germany, Miriam would not hear of it.

This is our home, Morris. Our country. How can you think of leaving? The problems will eventually go away. Things will return to normal. Wait and see.

But Miriam, what if they don’t?

Is it even possible to escape from Nazi Germany? he thought. Where would we go? How would we live?

Morris, Why are you home so early? asked a worried Miriam as Morris and Stefan returned home. I thought you were meeting with Simon. What is it? What’s wrong? She looked at Stefan, his face streaked with tears.

He told her what he had just seen. It was that devil, Schmidt. Miriam, we must escape. It’s our only option.

Miriam’s eyes went wide. Greatly distressed, she nodded.

Schmidt’s name was burned into Stefan’s brain and his eyes flashed with hatred when he heard it.

2

1932

Five Years Earlier

In 1932, Morris’ youngest son, Stefan, turned twelve years old. On the skinny side, his blondish hair and blue eyes were picture perfect, as his mother, Miriam, liked to say. Stefan’s older brother, Johann, was studying for his bar mitzvah, and Stefan looked forward to that day too, because soon after, it would be his turn to become a man. Well, not a man precisely, but a man in the eyes of the religious community and expected to participate in the men’s events at the synagogue.

Germany celebrated the selection of Berlin to host the next Olympic Games to be held in 1936. Stefan wasn’t sure just what that meant, but Father said it was a very big thing for Germany and Berlin in particular.

Father, tell me about the Olympics, asked Stefan.

Ah, the Olympics. The Olympics is a wonderful spectacle of the best amateur athletes from all over the world. Every four years they get together for great contests. All the countries compete.

Have you seen the Olympics before?

No, but I’ve read about them and heard them on the radio. It’s exciting to listen to the contests.

Stefan didn’t understand much about it but with all the adult enthusiasm, knew it must be important. He was glad that Berlin won the honor of being host city, but was confused because Jews weren’t allowed to participate in athletic events.

What is the Nazi Party? We talked about it in school and my teacher said the Nazi Party would be what saves Germany from the Jews and communists. What did she mean?

Ach, the Nazis. Father had a sour look. Nazi stands for the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. The Nazis are growing in strength and beginning to wield a lot of power.

Is that bad? he asked.

Power by itself isn’t bad. But it could be if the Nazis get too much of it. Any time power is concentrated in just a few hands, it can be bad. There are no controls and in this case, the Nazis are anti-Semites, so it’s doubly bad.

Why don’t they like the Jews?

Who knows? It’s easier to blame someone else rather than take responsibility for your own shortcomings, so they blame the Jews. We’re one percent of the population, yet we’re guilty of one hundred percent of the troubles the government has. Idiots. They need a scapegoat.

What’s a scapegoat?

Well, he said, a scapegoat is someone you blame for what goes wrong. That way you’re in the right, and they’re in the wrong. Throughout history the Jews have always been the scapegoats. It never seems to end. Sometimes I think that’s what God put us on earth for.

But what does National Social…You know, that Nazi thing you said.

National Socialism. Well, I have to admit I don’t know what it means other than it’s against the current political party. I really don’t think anyone knows what it is other than what Hitler wants. It’s kind of an obedient, think German, act German, be German ideal as long as you’re not a Jewish or communist German.

Sounds kind of stupid.

Father smiled. Yes, it is. It’s as stupid as the parents of the little boy I saw the other day. He shook his head.

What was he doing?

He was about four or five years old. He was marching down the street and everyone stopped to look at him. He carried a German flag and was singing, ‘Deutschland Uber Alles’. Everyone stepped aside for him and smiled.

But why are his parents stupid? All the children sing that.

Because they let him parade naked. Such stupid people. They must have thought it wonderful. Anything is okay as long as it extols the virtues of Germany, even walking around naked. Tch, tch. He shook his head. What people do.

In Morris Hirsch’s mind, small things like this indicated things to come. If only Miriam would heed his warnings… Anything the Nazis did scared him.

Later that year, in August, 1932, Johann became bar mitzvah. He was now a man and continually reminded Stefan of that fact.

Now I’m a man, pip-squeak. You’re only 12. I don’t have to put up with you anymore. Hahaha.

Well, maybe a man in the eyes of the rabbi, thought Stefan, certainly not in mine.

In synagogue, people came up to Johann when the Bar Mitzvah ceremony ended and told him he read from the Torah very well.

Like a rabbi, one said.

I really liked your speech, said another.

I hope you’ll continue with your studies, said a third.

Johann nodded. Oh, yes, he said. I intend to become a rabbi or a scholar in university.

I guess no one noticed all his mistakes when he was reading from the Torah, thought Stefan, but I did.

Johann smiled and thanked them for the gift envelopes they handed him. All of them patted him on the back and shook his hand.

Mazel-tov, they said. Congratulations.

It feels so good to be finished with studying for my bar mitzvah, Johann said. Now I can accelerate my studies since I’ll have more free time available after school.

Mother was radiant. Her brown hair was brushed back and clipped.

Makes her look younger, said Morris.

We need to keep the momentum going, she said to Johann. Someday, you’ll be a great rabbi.

Or a scholar, Mother, said Johann.

She smiled. Try for rabbi first.

Suddenly, Stefan felt a heavy weight on him. Was this also for me? he thought. Momentum? A rabbi? Was that my future?

After services, Stefan overheard some of the men talking about the latest thing the Nazis had done. He hung to the side of the group of men, each dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, just as he too was dressed. Most held a small glass of schnapps from which they sipped.

One of them saw him and said in a friendly voice, You want to join us, Stefan? You think you are a man now? I thought it was Johann who was bar mitzvah.

Everyone laughed, and Stefan, embarrassed by the sudden attention, was pleased to be included. The man made room, and Stefan sat down next to him.

What about the boycott of Jewish businesses? asked one man. They stuck a sign on my grocery store. It said, ‘German People, Defend Yourselves. Do Not Buy From Jews.’ It’s government policy.

My non-Jewish friends are being pressured to send their children to special Nazi schools.

You still have non-Jewish friends?

What kind of schools?

The man shook his head. The schools are designed to create future Nazi Party members. They specialize in sports and military activities to train children to become soldiers in the Reich. Can you imagine? Training children to be soldiers.

Stefan knew about these special schools. Although his circle of non-Jewish friends had quickly diminished, he was still friends with Josef Klaus, his neighbor. Josef had trouble understanding why everyone was supposed to hate the Jews and remained friends with Stefan against his father’s wishes. They met in one or the other’s basement and shared what was happening.

Josef was slight, unathletic, with dark hair and dark eyes. He preferred books and liked nothing more than to curl up and read all weekend. His father, a burly man who bullied him, resented Josef’s unmanly attitude and love of academics. Stefan thought this probably drove Josef further away from his father, pushing him closer to his mother, which helped explain Josef’s bookish ways. Stefan didn’t mind since Josef helped him study.

Josef was under pressure to join the Hitler Youth and attend the special Nazi school.

Most boys were swayed by the promise of the Nazi movement to join. The pressure increased as April 20th, Hitler’s birthday, approached.

People said, When Hitler becomes Chancellor of Germany, his birthday will be declared a national holiday.

It got especially frenzied when attendance at these schools became almost mandatory. Many youths who would have preferred the Boy Scouts or the Catholic Youth Club, were forced to attend.

Finally, Josef went, dragging his feet all the way. We get a special lanyard or pendant and a shirt when we finish training, he said, only training never ends. They yell at me all the time. I’ll never get my lanyard but that’s okay, I don’t want it. I don’t want to be in their stupid school.

I don’t blame you, said Stefan. What do they make you do?

"It’s not very nice. We have to recite, ‘I promise to always do my duty to Hitler Youth,’ and this is the one that gets me: ‘In the presence of this blood banner which represents our F?hrer, I swear to devote all my energies and my strength to the savior of our country, Adolf Hitler. I am willing and ready to give up my life for him, so help me God.’ Stefan, it’s awful. I don’t believe that stuff. We also have to recite the stupid sacred oath at meetings: ‘I swear this sacred oath. I will be loyal. I will be loyal and obedient to Hitler at all times.’ And if I don’t go, my parents will be blamed. They could be sent to prison as enemies of the state. It’s crazy.

They always beat me because I’m smaller and won’t fight. Everybody laughs at me, but I don’t care. We’re supposed to have a mission, he said. You want to know what it is?

Sure.

It’s to hang the Jews. We go camping and sing songs about killing Jews. Doesn’t that sound like fun? he asked sarcastically, near tears. I hate that place. They laugh at me. They tore up my books, threw them into a pile, and everyone peed on them. Then they pushed me into the mess they made. I hate them! I hate them! I’m not going back!

***

The closer Chanukah came, the happier Stefan became because it meant he was that much nearer his thirteenth birthday and his own bar mitzvah. While Christians anticipated Christmas, Stefan eagerly looked forward to Chanukah.

Mother, when is Chanukah?

Next week, Stefan,

I wish it was tomorrow.

Why tomorrow?

So we can play spin-the-dreidel.

Oh, all you want to do is play games.

Well, I know about the other stuff.

Stuff? You call Chanukah, ‘stuff’?

You know what I mean.

Come here, Stefan, and tell me about Chanukah.

Aw, ma. Do I have to?

Anybody who calls such a happy holiday ‘stuff’ has to tell me about it. She pulled him on her lap. So, my little one, what is Chanukah?

It’s the Festival of Lights.

But what does it mean? Why is it called the Festival of Lights?

"The rabbi said it’s because the Maccabees defeated the Syrians, and when they went to the temple it was dirty and defiled. Mama, what’s defiled?

Defiled is very dirty, much more than just dirty.

Oh. Well, the Jews cleaned it up and when they found the oil, it wasn’t enough to light the candles for more than one day, but it lasted eight days. The rabbi said it was a miracle.

That’s right. And what happened then?

Then the Jews rededicated the temple.

Very good. You’ve learned your lessons well. Stefan hadn’t noticed, but Father was listening at the doorway. Your Father is standing right there, listening to your story. Perhaps he will tell you another one.

Father had a smile on his face.

Tell me, Father, tell me a story.

"Well, since we’re talking about Chanukah, I’ll tell you a story about the dreidel you like so much. Do you know what the letters on the dreidel stand for?"

I forget, said Stefan, but Johann, standing next to Father said, "I know. It’s Nes Gadol Hayah Sham."

Very good, Johann, but what does it mean?

It’s Hebrew for a great miracle happened there.

Where?

In Palestine.

"Good. And what else is the dreidel used for?"

I know, said Johann. It’s used to spin for a game.

That’s right. How do you play it?

"Everyone puts a coin in the middle and takes a turn to spin the dreidel. If the ‘N’ comes on top, the spinner gets nothing. The next person spins, and if it comes up ‘G,’ it means he gets all of it. Then the next spinner does it and if it’s ‘H,’ he gets half."

And what’s the last letter?

That’s the one I hate. If it comes up ‘S,’ he has to put coins in for everyone.

That’s right. I just want to say that we don’t encourage you to make bets with money. You can play just as well with pieces of candy. He looked at them with a raised eyebrow. Right?

Right. They laughed.

You know what part of Chanukah I like the best? asked Father.

What part is that?

The potato latkes. Mmm, they’re so delicious the way your Mother makes them.

Father walked up behind Mother and put his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. Mother was smiling.

Morris, she said, the children.

Stefan cherished those memories.

***

By the end of 1932, the Nazi Party was the largest political party in Germany, controlling the Reichstag, and on January 30, 1933, Adolph Hitler was appointed Chancellor of Germany. Hitler’s opponents, liberals, socialists, communists, trade unionists, and intellectuals were arrested and sent away. The slightest infraction was justification for imprisonment and forced labor at Dachau, the first concentration camp, located outside of Munich.

In public school, animosity toward Stefan grew. Many previous friends simply shunned him while others called him Jew bastard. One bully tried to pick a fight but the teacher stopped him.

Leave the Jew alone, she said. No fighting in school.

Yeah, well you just wait until after school, Jew bastard, he taunted. The teacher smiled.

Stefan avoided those bullies by making his way home or to Hebrew school with his Jewish friends. Most bullies would not risk a fight with a group.

Finally, his thirteenth birthday and bar mitzvah arrived. The family was excited as they left for synagogue early on a wintry day. Snow flurries danced in the wind. By leaving early they hoped to avoid anyone bent on making trouble. On the synagogue’s outside walls, someone had painted a swastika and the words Die Jews.

Why do they hate us so much? he asked, but did not receive an answer.

Stefan was called to the bima and read from the Torah. When he finished, the rabbi said a few words and called him to the podium to deliver his speech. He was nervous, of course, but recited it without a mistake. I promise Mother and Father that I will be a good student and complete my studies. You should not worry. I also promise Johann that I will be a good brother to him. He noticed everyone smiling as he continued his speech.

After thanking everyone, the rest of the day was a blur. He remembered Johann hugging him. My brother actually hugged me, he thought. Was that a tear in his eye? Could he actually be proud of me? Mother was dabbing her eyes, and Father quickly wiped his. Stefan’s pocket filled with envelopes, and his hand grew tired from everyone’s handshakes. His cheeks hurt from constantly smiling and so many kisses and pinches. But today he was a man.

After the ceremony, the reception was held in the large indoor assembly area. Everyone brought strudels, the delicious tasting pastries made with dried fruit, and fluden, the wonderful pudding, and kugel, the sweet noodle dish.

Oy, said Mother, such a wonderful smell in the air.

Mother prepared a large batch of cheese blintzes and potato knishes as well as breads and cole slaw and potato salad. The rabbi said the blessings for the bread and wine. Stefan sat at the table with his parents, the rabbi and his wife, and felt proud when the rabbi looked at him, smiled and nodded. Years later Stefan reflected on how difficult it must have been for everyone to bring such sumptuous food to the reception.

Later that summer the family spent several weeks at a friend’s cabin in the country.

It’s easier if we stayed home, Mother complained. I’m used to our own kitchen. This one is so primitive. We even have to pump water. How can you call this a vacation? For you, maybe it’s a vacation, for me, it’s more work. Imagine, Mother continued, we go on vacation and we have to pump our own water. Oy!

Father usually disappeared for several hours when Mother started complaining about the cabin. Father, Johann and Stefan took long hikes into the forest or went to the lake to fish, first digging up worms, then sitting on the dock or on the small rocky beach waiting for a fish to take the hook.

After hours with no results, Father put yet another worm on the hook and said, What we’re doing is not fishing. What we’re doing is feeding the fish.

Father would roll his sleeves up and not even wear a tie. Every now and then they’d catch one or two fish and Mother would make them do the cleaning.

You want to eat them, you clean them, she said.

Cleaning the fish is our punishment for catching it, said Father, passing the chore to Johann and Stefan. He’d slice the belly, remove its guts and chop off its head and tail. The boys would scrape the scales, cut it, and clean up.

Father loved to talk about the developing politics.

At least you don’t have to join the Hitler Youth, he said. The Jewish Wandervogel group is a good one for you but I fear the Nazis will soon ban that too.

The Wandervogel was devoted to boys who enjoyed a back-to-nature mission. They wore hiking boots and shorts, camped, and slept under the stars. They’d greet each other by saying Heil, sing old German folk songs and roast marshmallows over the campfire. But Father was right; soon that too was banned.

Ach, what is Germany coming to? bemoaned Father, distressed over the continual attacks against Jews. It’s such a terrible time for us. It’s literally a crime to be Jewish.

In school, all students had to learn the Nazi salute. Everyone had to do it, but the next day, Stefan’s teacher told him, You are not allowed to do the salute because you’re Jewish. If you do it, she said, you can go to jail.

Mother was shocked. You are not to do the salute. The Nazis are up to no good. You should not be a part of them.

When Miriam told Morris what happened, he spoke with Stefan. You must not use the salute. It’s not a good thing. In school no less. Ach. Remember, you are German, you are not a Nazi.

The next day in class, Stefan was called to the front of the room. His teacher put calipers on his head and measured him.

She said, Class, with these calipers we can tell who is a Jew. All of you will be measured, weighed and examined. You need to make a family tree back to 1800 to prove you have no Jewish blood in you and are 100 percent Aryan. Otherwise you are a filthy Jew.

After school, three boys tried to beat him up. He told his mother, They pushed me around, called me names and tried to bully me.

Oh, my God, what happened?

I kicked one and he started to cry, so they left me alone.

Are you all right?

Yes, I’m fine. They didn’t do anything to me.

Before they sat down to dinner, Father took him into the living room and said, After dinner I will show you how to fight these bullies. You did well this afternoon, but you need to know more.

Stefan was excited about the coming lesson. Dinner was a time of relaxed reflection, a time for the family to talk about their day, ask questions, make comments, not rush through, but tonight Stefan wanted dinner to go faster. Tonight he would learn to fight.

So, Stefan, here’s what we need to do, said Father, once the table was cleared. We need to practice punching. Not only how to punch, but where and when. Also kicking. He took off his tie and rolled up his sleeves, and made a fist. Not a tall man, Morris had a protruding stomach, a receding hairline and a round face with a big smile, but he was strong. The first thing is to strike first and strike fast. Pick your fights. You can’t win them all, so try to fight when you have a chance of winning, and try to avoid those you can’t. So, let’s begin.

Will you teach me to fight like Eric Seelig? asked Stefan, excited over what he was about to learn.

Seelig was the German Boxing Association amateur champion, and Jewish. Father smiled. First let’s learn the fundamentals, then we’ll see about becoming champion. What Father didn’t say was that Seelig had been expelled from the German Boxing Association because he was Jewish.

Father began by showing how to make a fist and how to hit with it. He held up his open hand and had Stefan swing at it. Aim at what you want to hit, then punch it.

When he moved his hand, Stefan took his time and, SMACK! hit it solidly.

Ah, very good, said Father. Now let’s decide what to hit.

Father said the nose is the most sensitive, then the throat, then the stomach. Those are the places to try to hit first. After that you can hit any place on the face, or even a chop to the back of the neck.

Practice continued every day for a week. The brothers sparred with Father and, wearing heavy winter gloves, sparred with each other. Every time they practiced, Stefan felt stronger and more powerful, Johann much less so.

***

That summer, in 1933, Adolph Hitler assumed absolute control of Germany. He was president, chancellor of Germany, and commander-in-chief of the armed forces.

He now has all the power, said Morris.

As conditions worsened for the Jews, the men in