Projekt Regenschirm: A World War II Survival Horror Tale

By Richard Mandel

It is the middle of World War II. America is now in the war on the Allied side; however, the Axis remains strong, and the tide of the war could turn either way. A deep undercover Allied agent working within the German military command structure itself makes what might be one of the biggest discoveries of the war, but her cover is blown, and she is captured before she can get the full details to the Allies. What she has been able to share, as well as information gleaned from other sources, is terrifying. The Nazis have taken their occult science and made it reality under the aegis of Projekt Regenschirm. They can raise the dead to fight for the Nazi cause. They are also creating new supersoldiers, ubermensch, that may very well be unstoppable on the battlefield. One man has been tasked with the impossible job of leading a commando team to penetrate the Nazi's most secure stronghold and render Regenschirm vulnerable to Allied destruction. He has ample motivation for doing so. His sister is the agent who first exposed Regenschirm and is now being subjected to the tender mercies of the SS in her captivity. His former girlfriend, who is another deep undercover Allied agent helping his sister with her work, has also gone missing with his sister's very last data drop on Regenschirm, and no one, not even the Nazis, knows where she is. Thus, Major Jonathan "Jack" Bradshaw has two very personal reasons for taking down Regenschirm for the Allied cause. Can he and his team succeed in their mission, or will the Nazis complete their evil plans and win the war thanks to Regenschirm's horrible progeny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781643508764

Book preview

cover.jpg

Projekt Regenschirm

A World War II Survival Horror Tale

Richard Mandel

Copyright © 2018 Richard Mandel

All rights reserved

Third Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2018

ISBN 978-1-64350-875-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64350-876-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

Kllaaannnnggggg!

The sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut reverberated through the tiny little cell behind it. It also shook the young woman sprawled on the floor, where she had fallen after her guards had hurled her in there. It sounded like the clap of doom. Her doom, she realized.

With an effort, she staggered up and over to the shelf attached to the wall supported by two chains on each end that was the cell’s excuse for a proper bed. She painfully crawled up and onto it and then covered herself with its thin and threadbare blanket as best she could. That, plus her bloodied and much-abused shift, were all the cover she had. Her captors had taken the rest.

Her entire body ached. It hurt the worst in those places where they had done their worst during her interrogation. That had been a farce. They hadn’t even asked her any questions. Instead, they had been given free rein to have their way with her. They had, in every real sense of the word. She hurt in the expected places, and she hurt in places she had never known a woman could hurt before. Such animals . . . and yet despite all that, despite the abuse and torment that her captors had inflicted on her throughout that terrible ordeal, not once had she cried out. She hadn’t even groaned. That had angered them, and she had been given the devil’s due for that. Her bruised face, with its bloodied and swollen lips and the real shiner of a black eye she now sported, along with the other bruises and contusions on other parts of her body, were mute testament to the beating she had been given due to their sheer frustration at not having broken her will. In that, she had bested them. It was her only triumph, to be sure, but the knowledge that she had was one of the few things keeping her going.

Her eyes still worked, despite the one being almost half-swollen shut, and she took in her new surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. The cell was small and made like an almost-perfect cube. The only breaks in its dark and smooth concrete walls were the heavy cell door, a vent hole in the ceiling, a single recessed light bulb that was well out of reach, and a small drain at the back. Next to the drain sat a bucket, a crude-looking brush with thick bristles, and a bar of rough-looking soap. The bucket was full of water, but there was no towel. She guessed that her blanket was going to have to double for that. The water? It was there both for her to drink and to bathe. It was her choice as to which she would do first and how much she would save for the other. As for the drain, that apparently doubled for both bathing water runoff and toilet facilities. So much for SS hospitality, she mused.

Anne Bradshaw was a prisoner of the schutzstaffel, better known as the SS to all those who feared and reviled them. She was at their mercy, and they had none. That she had learned during the past forty-eight hours. She also had a good idea of what to expect in the days to come. More of the same, whenever and however they liked it, and by whatever means of delivery they chose to use, until they either tired of her or she was no longer of use to them. She would die when that happened, but only after they had wrung the last possible bit of torment out of her that they could enjoy and that she could endure. It didn’t matter how they did it. Death by firing squad, death by hanging, death by gas, death by—she would die once they were done with her. She had absolutely no hope of escape. It was how all spies ended who had been caught in the act, especially those who had become prisoners of the SS.

Anne also knew why her captors had done what they had done to her. It had a lot to do with the SS officer who was responsible for her capture and who held her in captivity. He was a sadistic fiend, for starters, but he also had a longstanding grudge against her brother. The fact that she had fallen into his clutches had given him the perfect opportunity to exact his revenge over what had happened between them, and she was the means by which he was achieving it. He was doing a pretty good job too, Anne mused, as she drew herself up on the bunk shelf, trying as best as she could to use the thin blanket in fighting off the clammy cold of her cell. First captured, now captive plaything, and then, when he was done with her, condemned to die as an Allied spy.

With nothing else better to do than stare at the walls, Anne began to reflect on the events that had led to her capture and to her current incarcerated state.

The main train station at Berlin had been packed, as usual. It was the weekend, and those who could afford to do so were leaving the Nazi German capital for some well-earned time in the country. The main concourse was a regular sea of both civilian and military outfits, and Anne fell in with the latter. She was dressed in the full uniform of a lufthelferin communications technician, for she had just gotten off work from her job at Luftwaffe Headquarters in Berlin. She was also on her way to the countryside to enjoy the weekend, just like many of the others thronging the concourse, but Anne’s trip had an ulterior motive. She was about to get in touch with her main undercover contact, who would go with her to a Kraft durch Freude (Strength through Joy) retreat in Bavaria. Once there, Anne would share with her the latest intel she had gathered on what might perhaps be the greatest Nazi secret of the war. That was what Anne believed, anyway, based on what she had already learned and shared, and this weekend’s data drop would be just as portentous.

Even as she came within sight of her contact in the crowd, she saw him. There was a man in a black fedora and black trench coat doing his best to unobtrusively make his way toward her. The fact that he was trying not to be noticed made him stick out like a sore thumb, and everyone around him was doing their best to pretend he wasn’t there. There was a good reason for that, as Anne well knew. He was Gestapo. He had to be. That meant . . .

Anne let out a long breath as she continued walking toward the ticket counter, blowing it upward and making a loose hair dance that was dangling across her forehead. In a perfectly natural motion, she reached up and brushed the hair back into place with the back of her hand. Not once did she break stride, and not once did she give any indication that what she was doing was out of the ordinary. Her contact in the crowd, a fellow female Allied agent whose real name was Faye Richardson immediately recognized Anne’s action for the danger signal that it was. She just as unobtrusively melted away into the throng. As for the Gestapo man, he either didn’t realize what Anne was doing or was pretending not to notice as part of his rather bad act. He intercepted her within a dozen or so feet from the ticket counter, and everyone within arm’s reach immediately shrank away from the pair.

Frau Reiser?

Hilda Reiser was Anne’s cover name. She nodded and tried to look as if what was happening was perfectly normal, which it so obviously wasn’t. Ja? she responded in German and as nonchalantly as she could.

I am Herr Schmidt, Gestapo, the man said, also in German. So sorry to bother you, but a matter has come up that appears to involve you. Would you come with me, please?

Anne’s response was immediate and polite. She smiled broadly, looked Schmidt in the eye, and said, Why, of course. If you would show me the way?

Anne followed the Gestapo man away from the ticket counter and toward a side hallway that was surprisingly clear of all persons. Everyone pretended not to notice or made a show of busying themselves with their own affairs. Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw two other men dressed in similar fashion to Herr Schmidt detach themselves from the crowd and move in her direction. They were probably named Schmidt too, she noted. None of them seemed to have noticed Faye slip away. She had apparently gotten away clean. At least that was something.

Anne came to an abrupt stop as soon as she and Herr Schimdt rounded the corner to the side hallway. There was a man standing in front of her in the middle of the hallway, dressed in the field uniform of a Waffen SS brigadefuhrer, which was roughly analogous to a brigadier general. She knew that man, only she had known him before the war, back when he had worn the uniform of a United States Army Air Force (USAAF) colonel, and he was her brother’s commanding officer. Not anymore. The man regarded Anne, gave her what might be described as a satisfied evil smile, and then spoke in clear English.

Ahhh, Ms. Bradshaw. A pleasure to see you again. I would that it were your brother, but you will do nicely. You wish to know about the project that is under my care for your Allied spymasters? Why not let me show you myself?

The ensuing fight was a brief but violent affair. The other two Gestapo men had closed in behind Anne even as the brigadefuhrer spoke, blocking her path back to the crowded train station foyer. Four men against one woman. She had tried, as was her nature, and she given it her best. She had not won, of course—the odds were simply too high—but one of the Gestapo men was now less one eye, another had a broken wrist, the third was having difficulty breathing and most likely had a bruised rib or two from the fierce kick she had given him, and the brigadefuhrer himself now sported an ugly bite between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. As for Anne, she had been pinned to the floor, and her hands were in the process of being cuffed behind her back. From somewhere behind her, a hand grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled back hard. Anne’s head jerked back with the pull, and she began to cry out in pain. Even as she did, something was stuffed into her mouth that muffled the sound. Something else was quickly tied around her open mouth and neck, and then the gag was complete.

With that, and with her hands now firmly cuffed behind her, the captive Anne was jerked back to her feet. Her clothes and hair were in disarray, and her lufthelferin garrison cap lay on the floor where it had fallen during the scuffle. She glared into the eyes of her chief captor. He glanced back and gave her a wicked half smile, before he took a pair of gray dress gloves out of one pocket and began to carefully fit one over his injured hand. He began to talk to her as he put on first the one glove and then the other, even as two of the Gestapo men held her in place by each arm and prevented any possibility of flight.

Now that was uncalled for, Ms. Bradshaw, the man said, still speaking in English and continuing his overly polite act, only now there was a smirking lilt in his voice. Not to mention quite unnecessary. All I wanted to do was take you where you could see on what we are working, the thing about which you and your Allied friends are so curious, and you have to behave like this when we come to take you there. He shook his head and clucked his tongue, even as he finished with the one glove and began to fit the other on his uninjured hand. "And you are coming with us, Ms. Bradshaw, whether you want to or not, and you will see with your own eyes what we have in store for the Allies. He finished with the last glove, then gave her a hard stare. Not that you will be in any position to tell them about it, will you?"

All Anne could do was glare back. The gag prevented her from uttering whatever it was she might have said.

At that moment, another plainclothes Gestapo man came up. Brigadefuhrer Richter, he said respectfully, addressing Richter in German. We have searched the entire crowd in the station. We found no sign of any contact person.

She must have seen your man coming and given a warning somehow, Richter growled back, also in German. "You dumkopfs! Expand the search! Check out all vehicles that have left here in the past ten minutes, including any trains!"

Ja wohl, brigadefuhurer! the man replied, bowing his head and clicking his heels before he spun about and almost ran away. Anne could have sworn she heard fear in the man’s voice.

Richter turned his attention back to the group. As soon as his eyes fell on the captive Anne, his expression instantly changed from sour frustration to an almost triumphant sneer. Oh, well, he said smugly, and again in English. "We will catch them, you know. Whoever they are . . . but all in good time. In the meantime, and as for you, Ms. Bradshaw, you have quite a long trip to make. However, it will be by plane, and not by train, and not to where you wanted to go, but where we want you to be. He looked away from her to one of the Gestapo men and spoke quickly in German. Take her to my car, and then call ahead to the airfield. Make sure my private transport is ready to take off as soon as we get there."

Ja wohl, Brigadefuhrer.

It was the first time Anne had ever been in a jet airplane. She might have enjoyed the ride but for the fact that she was a prisoner of the Nazis, the interior of the Arado Ar-234T jet transport was crowded by any measure, and she was still gagged and cuffed. More precisely, she had been strapped tightly into her seat by her guards and then left there, with one shoehorned into the seat in front and one behind, and Richter getting the foremost and most comfortable passenger seat. Everything behind him was rather crowded, given the narrowness of the fuselage, with only just enough room for a narrow aisle to starboard running alongside the one aisle of single seats to port. Anne’s cuffed hands dug uncomfortably into the small of her back, and her throat was becoming more dry by the minute due to her gag. There was nothing she could do about it, though. All she could do was look out the window, take in the scenery, and wish to God that she could get a drink of water sometime soon.

The view from outside the small window was breathtaking by any measure. They were below cloud cover now and descending all the while toward a beautiful panoramic view of the Bavarian Alps. The only indication of how fast they were going was the steady thrum of the four massive Jumo turbofan jet engines, two on each wing in paired fairings, driving them along. Anne guessed that the entire plane trip was going to be about two and half hours or so, more or less. That was only half the time it would have taken by train or motorcar. Idly she wondered how such a person as Richter had wound up with his own private jet transport, when not even der Fuhrer had one. She guessed it probably had a lot to do with the importance of the project over which Richter presided. He was, after all, now a member of the Nazi elite, and they had become well-known in Party circles for their various personal perks. This jet was probably one of Richter’s. She took a bit of comfort in the possibility of what might happen to him if the bigger sharks in his tank ever found out about it.

The Arado was now descending even more, and rather sharply at that. The plane was making for the opening of a large box canyon set within the high Alpine walls. As they flew in, Anne saw row after row of flak gun emplacements and gun towers, as well as spotting stations and radar antennas. From those features alone she would have known where she was, even if that bastard Richter had not already told her where she was being taken. This was the main air approach to the Alpenfestung, better known to the Allies as the National Redoubt. It sported a self-defense network and protecting fortifications even more intense than what ringed Berlin itself. The Alpenfestung had once been regarded as nothing more than Gobbels and Himmler’s shared pipe dream, and it was well-known that der Fuhrer had never really supported the project as being his potential bolt-hole if all else failed. It had found new life and a new purpose with the enacting of Project Regenschirm, and it was said he had gladly signed off on it after that, if only to get rid of it as being associated with himself. The resultant flurry of Fuhrer orders and their echo effect down the Nazi and military food chains were what had enabled Anne Bradshaw, a deep undercover Allied mole working in Luftwaffe Headquarters, an opportunity to monitor both the construction of the Alpenfestung and the inception of Project Regenschirm from the start. Now that fortress was all but complete, and now the Allies knew for what purpose its secret labs and underground production facilities were to be used. Her latest intelligence coup for them had been to obtain both an early working document for Regenschirm itself and a complete set of construction plans for the Alpenfestung. The first she had sent off to London as fast as Faye could get them out of the country through their contacts. Faye had urged her to send the plans as well; however, Anne had begged off. She had decided to wait. She was going to get another opportunity for another equally stupendous data grab: the main project documents for Projekt Regenschirm itself. She wanted to send both them and the Alpenfestung plans as one neat and complete package. That was her big mistake, Anne reflected. Had she done as Faye wanted and sent everything she had in at once, neither of them might have wound up in the fix that they were in. Faye had yet to send the Alpenfestung plans to London, and she was on the run from the Gestapo. As for those Regenschirm project documents, those were safe inside Richter’s valise. Anne’s final effort to secure even more information on Regenschirm for the Allies had failed, and now she was paying the price for that failure.

A sudden increase in radio chatter from the Arado’s cockpit caused Anne to look out the window again. The jet was rapidly approaching the end of the box canyon. It looked as if the pilot were going to fly straight into that seemingly solid rock wall and kill them all, but instead the face of the rock wall split and began to slide apart. A massive tunnel entrance was slowly revealed as she felt the Arado’s landing gear drop and lock into place. The window view of the rapidly scrolling and closing canyon wall was replaced by one of steel beams and service gantries, as the transport dropped gently toward the hardened smooth surface beneath it. The wheels squealed as the plane touched down, and almost immediately Anne heard those four Jumo engines switching into full reverse thrust. The flaps and airbrakes were already deployed on the plane, and it soon slowed to taxi speed. They had travelled quite a ways down the tunnel runway, Anne guessed, judging from the speed at which they had entered its mouth. Given the view from outside the cabin window, she also guessed that it was wide enough to comfortably accommodate two of the Luftwaffe’s new Gigant transports side by side, or perhaps even the new Amerika bombers. Anne knew about those, given the job she had held. Had held, that is. She was lufthelferin no more but a traitorous spy, and she had no illusions as to how her chief captor and his SS henchmen would deal with her once they were ready to do so.

The Arado taxied up to a spot in the tunnel runway where several detachments of Waffen SS troops were formed up in ranks. There was a portable ladder there, and it was brought to the rear fuselage door of the Arado as soon as it came to a complete stop. The Jumos powered down even as the ground and cockpit crews went through their final landing checks. Richter got up from his seat and eased his way down the narrow aisle to the rear door. He stopped briefly beside Anne’s seat and smiled maliciously at her. We’re here, he announced in English. "This is what you were so curious about, Ms. Bradshaw. Now you’re about to learn everything there is about this place . . . including its more, uhmm, darker aspects? With that he laughed softly then finished making his way to the back. Shortly thereafter she heard the Arado’s rear door open, followed by the sound of jackboots on metal and a hearty Heil Hitler, Brigadefuhrer! from just outside the plane. It came from the Waffen SS officer closest to the airplane’s rear door, and Anne could almost see him clicking his heels and giving the Nazi stiff-armed salute even as Richter debarked. She was unable to see Richter’s response, although she heard the spoken part. Heil" was all she heard him say. From the way he said it, she could almost imagine him loosely throwing up a hand as he passed the man and moved on down to the more important people waiting for him out there.

Anne’s guards unfolded themselves from their seats. They came to hers and unstrapped her, and then she was unceremoniously yanked to her feet and all but frog-marched to the back of the plane, with many a shove from the guard behind her to encourage her. Anne would have fallen out the door and hit the ground from the latest shove had not the guard in front of her caught her. Quick as thought the one behind her followed her out of the plane. Between the two of them they half-shoved and half-dragged the young woman to where Richter was now standing and then planted her in front of him.

Anne saw that Richter was not alone. He had been joined by two scientists, one male and one female, and both were wearing the traditional long white lab coats of their trade. The female was a middle-aged woman with jet-black hair and brown eyes. She had been quite the looker at one time, but her face now showed the signs of both age and long periods of emotional strain. As for the male, he was a dapper fellow in youthful middle age with close-cropped sandy blond hair and a well-trimmed mustache to match. He seemed to be pleased with himself about something, whereas the woman’s face was set in an emotionless stare. She guessed that the woman’s nationality was Italian, judging from her looks alone, but she couldn’t make a guess at the man’s. He looked too . . . normal. He looked more like somebody who ought to be working as a shoe salesman instead of a Nazi scientist, Anne thought to herself. All three of them started talking. Although the entire conversation was in German, Anne’s fluency with the language allowed her to understand it as clearly as if it had been her native English.

Welcome back from Berlin, Manfred, the woman said, her German laced with an obvious Italian accent. She walked up to Richter and gave him a polite hug.

Dr. Vesducci . . . , Richter said. He returned the hug and then looked at her. It was supposed to be a look of fondness, Anne guessed, but the light in his eyes made it look more sinister than caring. Sofia . . . I see that you missed me.

Dr. Vesducci somehow managed a polite smile, and then offered Richter a hand. He took it in both of his own and kissed it. When that was done, he straightened back up and looked at the male scientist just beyond her. Dr. Rankin? Is the demonstration ready?

Ja, Brigadefuhrer, responded the man named Dr. Rankin in an overly obsequious manner, nodding his head in implied subservience. "However, if I may add, the ubermensch is not yet ready for—"

It is ready enough for what I need now, Richter replied, cutting him off. That is all I require.

Ja wohl, Brigadefuhrer, Dr. Rankin said, still keeping his head down. For that purpose, it is quite ready.

Dr. Vesducci now made a disgusted face at the sight of the gagged and manacled young woman who was being held in place by her guards beside Richter. Who is she? she almost demanded, still staring at Anne, and in a tone that was both half-disgust and half-jealous snarl.

Richter’s eyes twinkled, but he ignored her tone. Do not worry, Sofia, he replied, keeping his tone casual and nonchalant. "She is not competition for you. She is a prisoner I brought back with me from Berlin. A deep undercover Allied mole my men discovered working at the Luftwaffe’s main communications complex. She was apparently trying to find out what we were doing here at the Alpenfestung, and so I decided to show her myself. That is why I called ahead, to arrange Dr. Rankin’s little demonstration. She wanted to know all about Project Regenschirm—and now she’ll know. Not that she’ll be able to do anything with that knowledge, of course. Isn’t that so, young lady?"

Richter took a long, measured, and obviously appreciative look at the captive Anne Bradshaw. She in turn glared back, unable to speak but her eyes screaming volumes. If looks could have killed, then Richter would have fallen dead on the spot. They could not, and he did not, and fortunately for all ears concerned, there was no stream of strongly spoken works laced with the occasional invective to accompany that stare. Bradshaw’s gag was quite effective in that regard.

Dr. Vesducci looked curiously at the young woman’s gag for a moment, and then she noticed Richter’s hands. For the first time, as it seemed, she saw that he was wearing gloves. That was not normal for him save on special occasions. She shot him a raised eyebrow, and he responded with a wry smile. She bit me, he explained coldly.

Oh, Dr. Vesducci said. She gave the hint of her own sly smile in return. Poor Manfred. Did it hurt?

Richter stared at her for a moment and then lowered his hand. Of course it did. And had you bitten me that way, instead of . . . other ways . . . I would have done the same to you. Never forget that.

A scowling Dr. Vesducci stepped back, bowing her head in a failed effort to hide her flushed face. Several of the nearby German onlookers, both officers and common soldiers alike, grinned at each other and exchanged knowing looks. She caught some of these out of the corner of her eye, made the effort to recover, and succeeded. She lifted her head again, took another obviously disgusted look at the captive young woman, and then back at Richter. Does your little trollop of a spy have a name?

Oh, yes, Richter said, and this time, he gave her a full smile—full of hatred and malice long contemplated. Dr. Vesducci wondered at the emotions that were driving that particular look on Richter’s face. It is a name with which I am quite familiar and have been for many years. Not with her, of course. I hardly knew her back when I lived in the States. My familiarity comes from her elder brother, who was one of my chief subordinates back then. He and I have a score long unsettled, and it seems I have been fortunate enough to be granted the chance to settle it, once and for all. Isn’t that right, Ms. Bradshaw? he finished, looking directly at the young woman. Anne Bradshaw glared back at her captor but made not even the slightest sound. Not that she was capable of doing so, but she didn’t have to. The fire in her eyes spoke for her.

Bradshaw? Dr. Vesducci asked, repeating the unfamiliar name.

Anne Bradshaw, Richter said. He was almost gloating now. "Anne Bradshaw, formerly of Allied intelligence, and now a prisoner of the Nazi SS. My prisoner, to do with as I please . . . and I please to use her to settle an old score between myself and her elder brother Jack that goes back many years, even before the war. Yes . . . but that comes later. For now, we will show Ms. Bradshaw what her Allied spymasters wanted her to see. Dr. Rankin?"

Ja, Brigadefuhrer Richter? Rankin responded, proudly stepping forward at the call.

You may bring out the ubermensch.

At once, Brigadefuhrer, Rankin said, bowing and stepping back. He abruptly turned and motioned to an SS soldier who was standing beside the controls of a nearby large loading door. He hit a stud on the panel, and the door began to rapidly slide upward, rumbling on its tracks as it did. As the door moved up, everyone save Richter, Rankin, Vesducci, the captive Anne, and a handful of other notables among the assembled ranks seemed to shrink away from the secret that it was about to uncover. A path opened among those assembled at the terminal portal,