Molding Men: Historian Thriller Series Book One. World War II Germany, #1

By Ray Ronan

An ancient enemy. A debt. For a life.

He does not record history, he creates it.
Austria 1907. An occult sect raised a swastika flag above Castle Burg Werfenstein and called on the 'New Man' to come. 
He answered the call. 
Germany 1942. In a war torn country gripped by an iron fist, Terrell Engels' family are fighting to survive the spiraling insanity. And then arrives the real danger, an entity, darker than the mighty armies intent on slaughter, fiercer than the Gestapo or Secret Police.

That danger is Historian. 

In the fog of war, everyone needs something and Historian can provide. A creature who’s journeyed through the ages manipulating history, his motives are driven by one need. 
From the lowest levels of society to the Fuhrer himself, none can escape when they are in his debt.

Journey with to war torn Dresden. Buy Molding Men today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ray Ronan
• Release date: Sep 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533712899

Ray Ronan

Ray Ronan is author and airline pilot. His first book was co-written with International Bestseller, GLENN MEADE. The book, Seconds To Disaster was backed by CHESLEY SULLY SULLENBERGER, who is portrayed by TOM HANKS in the movie about the 'Miracle On The Hudson', still in filming. His thriller, BOMBAY BLOOD, is a medical legal thriller, MOLDING MEN is an historical thriller set in WWII Dresden Germany. He lives in Dublin with his two young sons

Book preview

MOLDING MEN

Part one of the

HISTORIAN

series

One

Prelude to Death

If your horse broke its leg, what would you do? I ask again, if your horse broke its leg, what would you do? The voice was the psychopathic voice of calm. I forget, Herr Theo Engel, that you come from the city and you never possessed a horse. You had one shit on your doorstep as they delivered coal no doubt. Fortunately, for this discussion my father had a farm so I know about these things. An unfortunate accident befell one of our best animals. A passing vehicle struck it, the driver compensated us of course, but my father told me the horse would never heal, would never work for us again. I was only 8 when he let me shoot it. You remind me of that horse, Herr Engel. Your spirit is gone, your faith, you have lost pride. It’s as though your limbs were broken. You are broken like the horse and nothing we can do will heal you. And so as I did for the horse I must now do for you. I send you on your journey with this last thought…I will see your deserter son, then your wife, but I will save the best till last, your beautiful daughter. You thought you were safe, but see, the chaos gripping the Reich is serving me well.

Theo grit his teeth and choked on his rage. All he could do was deny this leech his screams. He would refuse to allow this….thing…to be his last thought and he pushed desperately at the fear he wrought. He pictured his home, his family. He took one last look at the thug in uniform as he stood over him arm outstretched, the Luger pointed down at his head. He held his breath, clenched his jaw and fed on the ache. He closed his eyes. The darkness frightened him.

Two

Castle Burg Werfenstein,

Austria

25th December 1907

You are late.

The storm kept me. Snowflakes fell from the man’s long cape and settled without thawing on the stone floor of the keep.

The tall white robed man of Austrian noble descent, Aldo Schönhoff, ignored the reply. His gaze followed the rising stair but stopped before the dark balcony above. Change and be quick, he muttered.

You don’t look well.

Nothing is, ‘well’. This is foolishness. He is easier to raise than to lay. Maybe it would have been better for you not to have come at all. Do not linger out here. He pulled the hood up over his head and the oversized white garment flowed about him as he swept away from the main door and passed under wall mounted gas lamps emitting a pale light. Schönhoff had doubt in these intense rituals and as always he merely uttered tonight’s oration. He believed in real political action, not this spiritual voodoo. Still, the castle gave him the creeps.

Torn between haste and fear of what lay ahead, he hurried along the corridor leading from the keep to the main hall. The dark recesses of the corridor amassed behind and followed as his sandals slapped the cold stone.

Stepping into the deceptive safety of the castle proper and the less frigid timber floors, he breathed a sigh and looked toward a radiant circle of pillar candles towering above. He approached the group within, disturbed by the wavering of the flames that moved with the rhythm of the haunting mantra, their bright points of light drew his eyes from the deathly black of the high-vaulted ceiling and the deep crevices of the hall.

With shivers running along his skin, he rejoined the group of men and women as they stood with their heads inclined towards a crest painted on the floor. The emblem mirrored the new flag, raised earlier with great ceremony, atop the tower’s pinnacle. An awe-inspiring moment he would always remember as the commanding pendant fluttered above them. Their leader and owner of the castle, Lanz Von Liebenfels, told them this was a new beginning and it would change history forever.

From the corner of his eye, Schönhoff watched the late arrival slip into the circle. Without faltering, the normally petulant Von Liebenfels, continued the mantra specially written for tonight. Von Liebenfels and his followers were believed true Aryans possessed supernatural powers and this was being diminished by the introduction of foreign lineage. They vowed to halt this tainting, to eliminate the poisonous races and breed pure bloods

Schönhoff was a fervent believer in the movement’s aims, but not it methods. This black magic business was just a distraction…movement above caught his eye. The shadows became fluid in the vaults of the hall’s stretched ceiling. To Schönhoff it did not appear to be a trick of the flickering candlelight but a purposeful slither of darkness moving among the eaves.

He dared not look above as he mouthed the words in fearful silence. No longer feigning the mantra, he felt an icy draft tickle his skin and pulled the hood closer around his neck. A presence sucked the life heat from his bones and in his mind ’s eye he could see the shadow looming over the whole castle. The pace of the chanting increased but sheer terror tempered his jaw. He looked over to Von Liebenfels who locked eyes with him, his face imperious as his words teased the spirits. He had told Schönhoff and the others the one they sought, the Supreme Adept, would lead them in their quest. Tonight they would draw him out.

Von Liebenfels eyes blazed with triumph as he stared at Schönhoff and mouthed the words ‘he is here’.

Insects ran over every inch of Schönhof’s skin. Every fiber of his being told him they had made a catastrophic error. The chanting reduced to a whisper. The candles were no longer emitting light but were points of blackness. The chanting was nothing but a distant mummer and he felt deathly cold. The room began to spin and the floor rose up to meet him. Schönhoff didn't feel his face strike the timber floors.

Above them a bitter wind stretched out the newly raised flag; a yellow and orange standard with a fleur-de-lis in each corner and in the center blazed a swastika.

Three

Oskarstrasse

Dresden

Germany

October 1942

Ida Engel hated the song ‘Lili Marlene’ no matter who was singing it. She strode across the room and turned off the scratchy receiver without bothering to search the mostly vacant radio bands for another station. The soldier’s song was haunting, hollowing out her already empty house, reminding her of the War when she least needed it. She sighed, if it wasn’t state broadcasts it was that damned song. The party had first banned it as foreign muck, then its popularity grew despite them and they had to relent; now it had even gained favor with that same Nazi party.

In the living room, she closed over the heavy curtains and pulled down the green blackout blinds, shutting off the late evening sun. This small but vital act had saved them many times when her husband, Theo, returned late and fatigued from his factory, illuminating the house and completely forgetting the blackout rules. If a Luftshutzwart -Air Raid Warden caught you… well the penalties for showing lights at night were becoming increasingly severe, including detention in a labor camp. Still, it would help keep in some of the heat the weak sunlight had offered during its low autumn arc.

With the hall now in complete darkness and the outside world shut off, she switched on the overhead light, the stark glow softened some by the white silk lampshade. It had the effect of making her want to return to bed instead of facing the night’s work ahead of her.

She ran a hand over her nurses uniform and sighed. The cloth told the story of those men who had had the misfortune, or good luck depending on your view, to leave the front behind and end up in her ward. She was issued one uniform per year and so this was her fourth since the beginning of the war. Yesterday they told her there would be no replacements garments in the near future and to make this one last. Well, if they stopped sending her war wounded…she held up an arm, the sleeves were beginning to wear, permanent bloodstains on the front of her blouse. Thinning aprons offered little protection, the hospital staff had taken to cutting up old sheets and tying them about their waist. Since June of last year and the start of the war with Russia, the hospital was always at full capacity, the flow of wounded not only endless but increasing. Never before had her uniform deteriorated so fast; blood did that.

A year ago, Hitler announced the war in the East was over, yet still the men went and the dying and wounded returned. The bodies of the dead never returned, there were just too many.

A tall woman, she often wore her blond hair pulled tight from her forehead, more for practicality than to conform. She had sultry, brown eyes and soft features, but the years had given her an air of confidence and authority, needed more often than not in the current times. She could deflect the most intent harassments with a glance; most of them.

Ida put on her coat and reached down for the shopping bags; after her night shift she would pass through the market tomorrow morning as the stalls were setting up. She hardly wasted her time on shops anymore; the queues were too much now, especially with the approaching winter chill. At the market they knew her well and traded items with her before officially opening for business; before the hordes of housewives descended and later, grumbling office workers would arrive at the end of their day, to pick up the last of the dregs. Furthermore, going directly to the Altmarkt from the nightshift at the hospital allowed her to take a few medicinal items she could trade at the stalls; strictly with sellers she knew well of course. She risked serious punishment, as her actions verged on black marketing, but she had a family to feed. Although her husband owned his factory, he was not a Nazi party member and so they had none of the benefits his high position would normally command.

There was a shout from out on the street. Ida flinched with fright as she heard more angry shouts. Moving quickly to the dining room that looked out over the corner of Oskarstrasse, she pulled aside the curtain and caught sight of a uniform passing along the short footpath to her house. Other uniformed figures swept along the street out of sight.

Her doorbell rang.

She dropped the curtain back into place as a fist hammered on the door. She looked about the dining room as though there were something she should put away or hide, or even something that she’d put away earlier they’d consider hidden.

She rubbed the side of her head. For God’s sake. Ida straightened herself up and took a deep breath. The hammering continued. Yes I’m coming, she shouted. She closed up the room behind her and moved left towards the front door, the fist thumping impatiently upon it. If it were the Geheime Staatspolizei - the Gestapo, Ida assured herself she could face them alone as she had done at the hospital. She paused and took a deep breath.

The shouting outside stopped as the doorbell rang out again. Expecting a heavy boot to kick the door in her face, she swung it wide and had to look down at the officious young upstart in front of her, no more than fifteen years old, a Hitlerjugend - Hitler Youth. Capable of anything they were excused much. She found her gaze drifting away from his intense blue eyes to his hairline; it was perfect, his blond hair immaculate about the brown field cap glued to his head. His uniform was a hybrid of the adult ones she saw at the hospital every day; a white S on a black patch, half of the Schutzstaffel’s SS symbol, a brown jacket with black trousers. Though half-pints these Hitler Youths were a new breed and far more vicious than the SS themselves; they were literally born into this time of blood and knew no different. The black belt hanging from his shoulder and down to his waist was a new addition though and it stood out on the brown cloth.

Very Nazi, she thought with a chill. The envelope she saw in his hand chilled her further.

Hurry up. The shout came from the other side of a shoulder high fence separating her home from her closest neighbor. The front door of their home was actually to the side of the house and sheltered by a tiled roof canopy. From here, Ida could see across her back garden to the entrance of the house next door, from where another Hitler Youth had yelled across at them. Their neighbor’s house was similar to her own; a square, three-story with arched dormers extending the bedrooms above and in one corner a sloped turret reached sky-wards. Patio doors led out from the main bedroom, to a balcony covering the living room below. Both houses were of Gothic design, with several round windows, their black frames softened by apricot colored masonry.

She turned away from the aggressive boy and with her heart palpitating and her chest heavy, stared down at the envelope. The Hitler Youth’s breath vaporized and drifted up towards the timbers of the canopy. He thrust the envelope towards her, but she couldn't brining herself to take it. Paul was at the front. This was how they told you they’d spent the life of your son, with a piece of paper thanking you for the sacrifice.

Oh and I must give you this also. He pulled out a small booklet from a bag slung over his shoulder, A new ration book. She took it, ignoring the envelope.

Hurry up you arsehole, the Hitler Youth shouted from the other side of the fence. He had received no answer from Ida’s neighbor and appeared eager to move on.

He’ll get no reply from that house, Ida said. The Gestapo took them away last week, the whole family.

He looked across at the empty house. Jews?

Germans. You don’t have to be a Jew to die here.

Yes. I know. He shook the envelope. Come on, I’m in a hurry. Why won’t you take it?

On one corner of the envelope she could see the Iron Cross of the Wehrmacht - German Army, and the Third Reich emblem, Knights Cross on the other. There was only one reason they would send her a letter. Her knees began to buckle and she steadied herself against the door frame.

No, He shook his head. You think it’s a notification of death. No.

Ida’s heart surged with relief and she snatched the letter from his hand. She didn't care what it was.

He straightened the bag on his shoulder and started to walk away, as she quickly read. Wait a minute. He stopped and turned back to face her. This is a draft notice for military service.

The intolerant voice called out again, this time with threats of punishment. The youth threw back curses that would normally have disturbed Ida as he returned to face her with an impatient glare.

So?

So, it’s for my son, Paul.

He is lucky he will get to fight. Better than being stuck here with this stupid job.

She shook her head. I only have one son and he’s already at the front.

Irritated by the error, the Hitler Youth pulled at his uniform. I guess they have to be sure, now that they have called for Total Mobilization.

They are such idiots, he’s already at Stalingrad.

Stalingrad?

Hitler had thrown ninety percent of Germany’s military might into the Eastern Front. The nation was obsessed with it right from the start of the assault on Russia, even more when the Wehrmacht first besieged, then entered the city of Stalingrad. The propaganda minister, Doctor Joseph Goebbels said it was to be the turning point, the Bolsheviks would lose Stalingrad, Moscow would fall and the Bolsheviks would be defeated; this was the true battle against the real enemy, the Communists. Swift, daily reports had filled the newspapers and fed the hunger for information on the battle. However, when events began to turn sour, reports had reduced abruptly to a trickle. Everyone feared, though some denied, that the attack had faltered at Stalingrad.

Ida’s shoulders slumped. She looked out at the red Nazi banners hanging from lamp posts along Oskarstrasse, a colorful addition to the natural beauty of the city. They were everywhere and she hated that even here in the residential areas, those grotesque emblems affronted her.

A heavily burdened Opel-Blitz truck turned off Tiergarten Strasse, its engine straining to pull its own weight along the icy road. The roar hurt Ida’s ears, a plume of smoke hung in the air behind it, partly obscuring other Hitler Youths working the houses opposite where she saw familiar faces, the few neighbors she could call friends. They acknowledged her from across the street as they accepted their new ration books.

You know that he is in Stalingrad for sure? I thought that was top secret.

What? She looked down at the boy.

Your son, are you sure he is with the Sixth Army?

No, he drives a tank with the Fourth Panzer. And isn’t that where they are, Stalingrad?

He frowned. No. They are not, at least I don’t think so. They say the new year will see the Communists defeated.

She was not sure if he was trying to console or fluff her up with ridiculous propaganda. Ida looked down at the letter. Stupid war, she said.

He shuffled his feet, straightened himself up and glanced down the street to his younger colleague who stared back with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Another truck lumbered past, swaying precariously like an old drunk returning from a beer garden.

She waited for the rebuke, but instead there was an uncomfortable silence, the boy seemed to shrink before her eyes and she realized the uniform was a shade too big for him.

You should go home now, give up this Hitler Youth business. The energy faded from his eyes and there was only longing. He flinched and his arms moved briefly away from his side, as though he were about to step forward towards her and her home. Despite his uniform and the oppression it represented, she would have gladly taken him in.

He stopped. My family, they’re all gone. He looked up and gazed at Ida, his mind wandering to a place only he knew, as tears welled up in his eyes. Yes. Stupid war. It wasn’t the enemy that killed them, not the Commies nor the others. The Nazis did it. I hope they lose and pay for taking my family. Politically unreliable they called them. I still don’t even know what that means.

Ida reached out towards him but remembered the Hitler Youth down the road glaring at them. Instead, she raised her hand slightly as though to salute. If you ever need food or somewhere to sleep, you call here and ask for me, Ida or my husband, Theo. Do you hear me? He looked up at her, nodded and then turned away. Ida stepped out onto the top flagstone. He halted and again looked around at her. She nodded towards the Hitler Youth who continued to stare from further down the street. Watch out for that one.

Oh, he’s not the worst.

They died for what they believed in, she said, unsure if he nodded as he swung around on his heel. She watched them for a while and heard raised voices as they continued their delivery of ration books and conscription letters.

She closed the door behind her and walked to the kitchen. The silence of the house was tomblike and claustrophobic. As she put the book in its place, she realized he had not marked her off on his ration book records. With all her heart she hoped he remembered; there were serious reprimands rained down on him for that kind of error.

She would be late for work; hurrying through the hallway she felt the chill again. She thought of her Paul, only eighteen years old and suffering in God only knew what kind of conditions. She yearned for the new year and spring, even though the winter had yet to grip Dresden. She prayed her daughter Erika was in no mortal danger at the Bund Deutscher Mädel - the German Girls League; a female version of the Hitler Youth Camp. She had been due to return home two weeks ago from her compulsory attendance. There was no explanation from the authorities for the extended stay and Ida was distraught with worry. Their inquiries were met with insincere assurances that Erika was fine and this only worried her further. God only knew what rubbish they were filling her head with.

Soldiers at the hospital told her Russian women fought alongside men at the front; her daughter was only sixteen, if the war continued and things got bad would they send German women? Ida looked at the draft notice and tormented herself by imagining it was for Erika. She ripped it up and with a feeling of unease, threw it on the fire.

Four

Castle Burg Werfenstein

25th December 1907

Snow continued to fall outside. Heavy upon the roof of the castle, the trusses protested the burden. Loud creaks and disturbing snapping added a voice to the presence hanging over the gathering, as they continued their séance into the late evening. The tall candles had burned down a foot at least and Schönhoff still lay on the ground, perhaps he was unconscious perhaps not. Several others had joined him but Lanz Von Liebenfels held the others whose chanting was an unintelligible mumble.

A sickly energy festered. A darkness continued to quench the candle flames, until at last the Von Liebenfels held up a hand, signaling to the relieved gathering that the time for chanting was over. Their mouths agape with pain from their endless incantations, they stared up in horrified wonder at the birthing of the malevolence. A towering gloom congealed above them like a thick liquid flowing from the castle walls. Although fearing they had awakened greatness, all but Von Liebenfels suspected they could well be its first fodder.

Five

Oskarstrasse

October 1942

Once again, Uncle Hahn was the source of the problem. Theo Engels stared with a taste of bitterness at the man he once admired; the last of a family that fate had given him no more time to share. Theo stood tall over his uncle, his dark hair and large build dwarfing Hahn, whose thick neck was simply a continuation of his fattened head. Theo rubbed his forehead in frustration. Despite being only forty years of age, the war had added years and with dismay, he saw the telling of it on his own face. This conflict would kill him whether or not he was at the front. The Nazi party had tried to convince the world that Germany had held back during the previous years of war. But now Germany meant business, with the party declaring ‘Total war’ on its enemies. Theo wasn’t sure anyone outside the Reich had noticed any difference, but within the confines of the oppressive state the people were hurting. For his part, the regime had demanded factory owners spend at least sixteen hours a day at their place of work.

Physically exhausted and fed up with not seeing Ida, he had made his excuses and left ‘early’ so he could spend some time with her. He still wore his light brown woolen suit, just having time to remove his tie, when Hahn had arrived unannounced, his bald head swiveling erratically on his thick neck as he informed Ida and Theo of his latest initiative. The three of them stood now, face to face in the kitchen with the table a barrier between them. His uncle had always interfered with the lives of the family, but Theo trembled with rage as Hahn spoke with a guttural voice that made Ida visibly cringe.

Erika is sixteen now, this is her opportunity to do her bit for the Reich. He shuffled about the room searching for something else to disturb. His shoes, buffed to a mirror-like shine, clicked on the tiled floor, his heavy black trousers painfully pressed with his rich jacket and waistcoat straining at the seams.

Theo had to protect his daughter from the rampant danger that was his uncle.

Dear god he missed her. She was the light of his life. She had taken her looks from her mother and what better celebration of the beautiful woman he’d married, than to have her replicated in the young woman that was their daughter. She also possessed her mother’s resoluteness, but the Third Reich was a machine and he feared for the worst, wondering who would return to them from the camp; their daughter, or a product of the Nazis. Theo stared at Hahn, he’d started out as an itch but was fast becoming a life threatening disease, one now endangering Erika.

His uncle continued, After she returns, it would benefit her to spend time on the farms. All the young women are doing it. It would bring out the best in her and ensure she was fit for the future. Hahn’s head bobbed on his neck as though it would unscrew, his eyes searching for the expectant approval.

Dear God, thought Theo, the menace was relentless. He thought of the Nazi appeal for so-called Aryans to have as many children as possible, proclaiming that it was their national duty and if they could not find a suitor, the SS men were fit for the job. Aryan; it was a hypothetical word born several years ago and touted by Lanz Von Liebenfels and his fanatics in Austria as they yearned for a hypothetical race. Theo shook his head and his nostrils flared as he spoke. She’s fit, but not the future your thugs speak of. Erika doesn’t want anything to do with your National Socialism…that tyrannical madness.

Hahn’s face flushed with anger at the insult, Tyrannical madness?

That’s what I said. Are you going to denounce me for seditiousness, Hahn?

If I were to denounce you for every dissident comment… He held his head up high. You might be family but that isn’t an excuse for my failure to uphold the law, it puts me in a difficult position every time you disrespect the party, Theo.

I feel for you, Ida said and threw her dishcloth onto the kitchen worktop; it hit with a wet thud and the impunity of the action was not lost on her but she wasn’t finished. Our son is only eighteen. She walked to a shelf, reached up amongst the half empty biscuit tins and then stormed across the room. Look at this, one letter. He’s been gone six months now fighting your war and one letter’s all I have… Her eyes glistened, Is he still alive, can you tell me that?

Hahn’s smile was an attempt at sympathy but his indifference drew nothing but revulsion in her. You know I only want to help. This is an important time and everyone must do their part.

Our children are not yours to give, Ida shouted. But Hahn didn't even flinch, he was bulletproof.

I want to speak to you, alone, Theo said.

The big head gyrated at this needless distraction and he began to protest but Theo turned away and left the kitchen. He walked the hallway to the living room at the front of their residence and looked out through the picture window. The house sat alone on the corner of Oskar’s and Tiergarten Strasse, bordering Dresden’s main park, the Grosser Garten - the Big Garden. He stared out at the tall poplars, a seemingly endless green boundary on the other side of the road.

The park, commissioned three hundred years before, led to the gates of the city. There were beer gardens there at the northeast end, his favorite section of the park. More famously was the baroque Summer Palace complete with its lake and natural spring fountains. In the southeast was the world famous zoo.

The heavy tires of military car rumbled along the cobbled road. Hahn had yet to appear but Theo knew Ida would ignore him and Hahn would acquiesce.

The treetops glowed chartreuse yellow in the evening sunlight. He was fortunate to live on such a street, close to the park and to the heart of the ‘Florence on the Elbe’. An intricately beautiful metropolis built on the left bank and at the peak of the river’s bow, it had the charm of a fairytale. Cobbled streets and countless wide boulevards swept among tall spires. It was a city devoted to the arts and displayed it proudly. Many of the buildings were from the Renaissance and Baroque period, their intricate, dominating and often bizarre ornamental decorations clinging to the buildings with gravity defying deftness.

Dresden had many personalities each linked by gardens, avenues and squares. Baroque music too, had influenced much of the design as well as money and power. A passage through Dresden played on the eye as much as music did on the ear. Despite growing up here, the familiarity had not blinded Theo and he understood fully the importance of the continuation of this creature; a living, breathing work of art and above all, a statement passed on anxiously to each generation.

Hahn’s voice interrupted his reverie, This will make no difference.

Theo turned to face him. Why do you continue to interfere in the affairs of my family, Erika is not going to the farms.

The German Girls League was good for her.

How do you know that? She hasn’t returned from the camp, she’s gone longer than planned and we don’t know why. God knows what’s happened to her there, Hahn. Look, we’ve both lost almost everyone we loved, isn’t that enough for you? Theo bit his tongue and fought back the fury bursting to get out. He took a deep breath; there was enough hatred and fighting all around them and the last thing he wanted was more of it in his own home. If it were not for the dangerous nature of Hahn’s obsession with the State, he would feel sorry for him. For the ambition of the Party you’re prepared to sacrifice what is not yours. We don’t believe in the same things. This evil government will destroy us all if you let it. Will you let it?

Hahn walked across the living room to stand beside Theo and looked out at the street. Several traders were making their way home as they pushed and pulled handcarts. A black staff car, with swastikas fluttering, weaved dangerously through them without slowing.

I should tell you that Erika had some trouble at the camp; a problem of obedience and conviction I believe.

Theo spun around to face Hahn. Why the hell didn’t you tell us this before?

She is fine and will be home soon.

His uncle’s connections were far more reaching than he had imagined. Is she being punished, is that it? The bittersweet revelation rocked Theo. She was in trouble at the camp, that was a worry, but then again it meant the machine was not finding it easy to convert her either and that was a relief. They had taken away their freedom, but they could at least hold onto their convictions and with it, hope. He wanted to ask Hahn to have her sent home, but then the last thing he wanted was to be in debt to his uncle. Theo refused to be in debt to anyone.

Theo, for the sake of the family I will agree to forget about the farm duty. But in the end commitment is inescapable. The head began to wobble again as he left Theo’s side. He paused at the door of the living room. We have to win this Theo, or we are finished. Right then Theo didn’t care, Hahn was relenting. He saw a flash of gunmetal grey. Hahn?

His uncle stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him.

Is that a gun?

Hahn looked down to where his jacket had slipped aside. Yes, it’s a revolver, he said as though he were telling Theo the time of day.

What do you think you are doing, bringing a gun into our home?

Since April last, all public officials… he pointed at his chest, Were issued with revolvers, I just received mine. As a party member it is necessary for me to have one.

Theo walked across the room, his face flaming now. You are not at the front, you are not a soldier, you’re a party helper. Who are they afraid of us the German people? They are afraid of a revolt aren’t they?

Of course not.

The sooner it happens, the better.

Hahn lowered his voice. You must not talk like that. That’s defeatism, treasonous you know that.

Theo shook his head. They aren’t omnipotent. The Gestapo, the SD, the SiPo, whoever. They’re all bureaucrats and clerical workers who depend, Theo prodded his uncle in the chest with his finger hard enough to bruise him, on people like you for their information. There are no spies hidden in the corner of every room.

With a grunt, Hahn spun around and walked out. Don’t bring that gun into my home again. Theo shouted. He turned to look outside and a chill ran through him. He rubbed his forehead with his hands. What was he going to do; the man was becoming more and more dangerous. Since the start of the war he had changed so much, everyone had. He looked out onto the street at Hahn.

Walking north on Oskarstrasse was a Jewish man with a star on his chest. He stepped aside as Hahn stormed past him. Theo watched his uncle until he disappeared from view and wondered if the icy feeling running through him was just from the unseasonable cold.

Six

Banks of The River Danube

Austria

25th December 1907

The darkness knows the desires of those calling upon it from within the walls of the castle, but it ignores them. The night is deep, moonless and blanketed by a thick overcast. It senses the opportunity festering not far away, along the banks of the Danube. Shadows flow from the castle domain, twisting into a tightening, black cloud. The Snow flurries and coils like snow devils rotating in the dark. The thing is an antonym to life, as night is to day. A void from which all passing light fails to escape, it takes on mass no larger than a man as it rolls along the river’s edge. Perceptive animals flee the banks of the Danube, where the heavy snowfalls and the late hour ensure a clear passage, a combination of luck for the regular users of the river’s footpath. The menace broils in a steady, purposeful movement, towards the town of Lambach.

Seven

Engel Factory

Heidenau

November 1942

This was the coldest winter Theo had experienced, or at least that he could remember. At a temperature of twenty-seven degrees below zero, he felt his very soul was beginning to freeze. Dresden’s location in a valley ensured it experienced colder winters and warmer summers than most of Germany and although his factory was fifteen kilometers southeast of Dresden, it did not escape the worst of the elements.

The exterior of the site was dominated by huge vats that heated brown-coke and extracted oils further refined into fuel oil or synthetic lubricating oil. The interior works of the hydrogenation plant consisted mostly of the final pouring and packing and his elevated office gave Theo a full view of the factory floor. Double glazed windows muffled the noise from the heavy machinery and filters prevented the worst of the fumes. Set back from the windows was his clutter free desk and on it a state of the art multi-line telephone. He had moved most of the paperwork downstairs to facilitate his ancient secretary, who could no longer manage the upward haul which meant the office remained an uncluttered haven. On another small desk was the public address system with its stand up microphone. Fading sepia and black and white photographs ran in a line across one wall: award ceremonies, previous workers and arguably better times. He had worked in this factory since he left school and now he owned it, just. These days it seemed everyone from the workers to the Nazi party believed they could dictate how his business should operate, just as they were now.

A six-place table took up little room in the spacious office and on it, spread out in front of him, were the latest demands of the workers. All three hundred were represented by the government formed Labor Front and the three shop stewards sitting opposite. The oldest of them Theo knew from when they both worked the factory floor, himself as a junior apprentice. Well the former apprentice now boss, held up a paper for the three men to see. He slapped it down on the table in front of Herr Pieter Bauer. Look at this. Have you forgotten the order forbidding any wage increase to workers? That is a Wage Control Law enforced by the Gestapo.

Pieter looked at the paper. He had the skin of a man half his age despite the foul air they breathed in their day to day work. His thick blond hair resisted the call of time on a head he now shook. It’s a prisoner’s salary, how do they expect us to live?

The mine workers have been allowed an increase, the youngest of the men said.

They’re a very powerful group, vital to the war machine. We make aircraft oil and in the great scheme of things, not a lot of it. Theo said, his voice hoarse and fatigued. He leaned forward. Look, there are still ways. I will allocate two hours overtime a week, per worker.

One of the men scoffed. Herr Engel, since the declaration of ‘Total war’ we already work nearly sixteen hours a day already, what you suggest is impossible.

It will come as no surprise to you that with the increase in work hours, production hardly rose at all. Give me a slight increase in output and I will pay the extra two hours without you actually having to work it. Theo could see no other way. They had tried a rent allowance but the authorities had rejected it.

The talking was over and it was time to make a decision. The shop stewards passed each other silent acknowledgments and Pieter grinned at Theo who stood up extending his hand; they shook on it. The office door burst in-wards and crashed against the wall, Theo was afraid the shuddering windows would break loose from their frames. Sulfurous fumes poured into the room, along with four grey-uniformed Gestapo stormtroopers. Theo released Pieter’s hand and stared at the guns now directed at them. The erratic behavior of the Gestapo meant silence and compliance was best. He looked over to the door as a mouse-grey uniformed Gestapo officer strolled in.

I am Hauptsturmführer Hoch, he stared at them one by one. Which one of you is chief Labor Front representative, Herr Pieter Bauer?

Theo saw the armed men tense and his friend’s face visibly whiten at the mention of his name. He stared down at the table his mouth opening and closing without any sound.

The Hauptsturmführer – Captain, pointed at Theo. You are Herr Theo Engel? These three are the shop stewards of the Labor Front? Theo sighed and looked at the other three. Well? Hoch said, obviously accustomed to dealing with the hesitation brought on by sheer terror and enjoying every moment of it. He walked to the table and stared at Theo. An aquiline nose divided his face, the peak of his cap just allowing him to see from under it with small, shifty eyes. They had no color or vitality in them and lacked any character, apart from the dark rings circling them. They betrayed his authoritarian appearance and Theo knew that without that uniform of terror, the man was nothing. Do none of you speak? Did we interrupt something more than a work related meeting, Herr Engel?

We were discussing the factory’s day to day affairs Herr Hauptsturmführer.

He looked down at the documents on the table and picked them up one by one with a sneer. Of course you were. He turned his head. And you are Herr Pieter Bauer. Theo’s old friend