The Division of the Damned (14 page)

Smith started. "Not yet!” he spluttered
.
"What the hell does that mean, ‘not yet'?”

"I’m sorry, James, but it’s in your blood. It just hasn’t been aroused yet. At some time or other you will change and I think it will probably be at some sort of initiation ceremony. It’s latent within you but, because you haven’t accepted it yet, it will just lie dormant until it’s called forth.”

"I am not a bloody vampire!”

"Not now, you’re not, but soon it could all c
hange
—
or it might not. I'm not sure.” He paused and leant forward. "But all is not lost. It doesn’t have to be like that. The onus is on you, English. Do you want to join them or do you wish to fight for humankind?”

There was no question of joining them. Though he wasn’t sure if he believed everything he’d heard, he knew instinctively that he stood on the brink of the void and the hurricane was at his back pushing him over.

"I am not a vampire," was all he said by way of an answer.

"Not yet, not yet.”

"Never!
Can we fight this?"

"That’s why I’m here. This has been a fight that has lasted hundreds of years. Up until now, they’ve always won. There is a way but it’s not all that clear what we have to do, and I was hoping that you might have an idea.”

"Me?" Smith exclaimed. "How the hell would I know what to do? I’ve only just found out. I was hoping you’d know what to do.”

"It’s not that easy,” Michael admitted with some embarrassment. “The signs are there and I think the tools, weapons, or whatever you want to call them, are to hand. The trick
is knowing
how to use it all. I’m pretty sure the tree in the village, as Maria calls it, is involved but otherwise I don’t know. We have
to get our hands on the 'Book.'
It’s as simple as that.”

"Oh my God
,
" whispered Smith. "What the hell are we going to do? We’ve got to do something now. We haven’t got the time to puzzle it out first. Did you just turn up here hoping to be able to work it all out in time or do you have a definite plan of attack?”

"Look, this is no time for recriminations. We’ve got to work together to try and find out if we can do something. If not now, then we’ll have to leave and come back when we know what to do. My task, first and foremost, was to contact you and inform you of the situation. That I’ve done already. As long as you don’t go hopping into bed with Lilith, which you’ve already halfway done, we’ve got a chance. Luckily we know Iullia is the one to be, er, impregnated. You’ve just got to stay away from her and keep your trousers on. Should be a snap if you’re as British as I think you are.”

Smith remained serious. "I’m glad you find it all so amusing. So what exactly are the signs, tools, weapons?”

A sharp rap on the door startled the pair of them. Without waiting, Maria stormed in. There was a second’s pause and Michael stood up. She barked something at him in Romanian as Smith wordlessly looked on.

Michael nodded and left the room.

"Come, James, we need to talk." Maria's tone accepted no refusal
and she was visibly shocked when Smith declined.

"Actually, old girl, I’m whacked, what with hiding from the Germans all night.”

"The Germans are Rom
ania’s allies or don’t you know
that?" she countered.

"Don’t give me that. You know exactly what I mean. What is going on here, Maria? Why is it that one day after my arrival a squad of Germans, SS if I’m not mistaken, turn up? If it hadn’t been for Michael, I would have been long gone now.”

"You’re in no danger, James,
believe
me. You’re under your brother’s protection.”

"Whatever, I’m jiggered, so if you don’t mind, I’ll turn in for the day, which seems to be the done thing in my family."

Smith walked past her and left for his room.

Michael smiled secretly to himself.

Chapter 18

Von Struck’s men spent an easy day cleaning weapons and patching uniforms. They ate in the stables, swapping stories about their individual and shared experiences. From the safety of reflection, events that had been dreadful and grotesque were now vaguely amusing or downright hilarious.

Rohleder, as was his style, had started the ball rolling with an anecdote about the patient in the bed next to him in hospital. He always looked over to Rohleder in pity as he surveyed the Rottenführer's scarred and melted flesh. However, Rohleder had felt even more pity for his neighbour who had been neatly castrated by a stray piece of shrapnel.

Only Henning and Rohleder had been in long enough to remember the advance into Russia that had faltered and then been turned on the banks of the Volga. Henning had taken part in the attempt to seize Stalingrad and Rohleder had lost his brother, the last remaining member of his family, there. The newer recruits listened silently as they heard about the triumphant advances into the Eastern territories and of how entire villages had greeted them in the Ukraine as deliverers from the hated Russian Communists.

In the eyes of the Ukrainians, they had invaded as benevolent liberators. However, the truth of their situation turned out to be as sour as milk left out in the sun. The Germans had come as conquerors and benevolence had no place in their conquest. Henning had seen the look of betrayal in the eyes of the 'delivered' women and children, and had felt ashamed, ashamed at the round-ups of suspected Communists who always turned out to be old men over sixty, ashamed at the naked fear the young women showed when they marched into a village or town, ashamed at the sight of desperately hungry children scrabbling for scraps because the German army had confiscated the village’s food for the Third Reich. It was shame that struck the death knell of his love affair with National Socialism.

He looked around at the young faces of Rohleder’s squad. They were all under twenty and yet had the air of men who knew the world. They squabbled and argued, and yet he knew they would gladly lay down their lives for each other. They were Rohleder’s Boys and they were proud of the fact that they had been taken into his care.

There was also an irony to Rohleder’s situation that was not lost on Henning. Michael Rohleder would, in a National Socialist environment, normally have been an outcast. In a society that hated the ugly, shunned the disrespectful, and locked up the cynical; Rohleder should have been a prime candidate for the camps. And yet, perversely, all these young soldiers would, without question or thought, willingly give
their lives for their scarred and sarcastic Rottenführer. They looked at him and saw through the scar tissue. They only saw the experienced veteran who had taken them under his wing and moulded them to be the hardy, battle-tried, professional brotherhood that they were.

Henning examined them one by one as they bantered with each other. He hadn’t known them before but, from the first, he’d felt as at ease with them as had they with him. Rohleder’s recommendation had been enough for them all to know that everyone was of the same mind-set. They were all tall, a pre-requisite for joining the Waffen SS, and gaunt and pale from their exertions in the East. Otherwise they looked like just another rabble of young soldiers.

Nils Muschinski, the Bavarian, was the loudest and the youngest. Fast-tracked for promotion after numerous feats of bravery, he’d been the rising star of the company. However, the jealousy of his comrades caught up with him and he was reported for telling jokes about a certain failed chicken farmer who was now the head of the SS. He had kept the rank of Sturmann in recognition of his bravery, but knew that he had now ceilinged at that grade.

The other Bavarian, Jurgen Muntner, was one of the oldest of the squad. Scornful of officialdom and rank, he had consistently turned down promotions since joining four years before. The only authority he recognised was that of SS Rottenführer, Michael Rohleder, who had more than proven himself worthy to lead. Von Struck and Henning were approved of but, in his eyes, still on probation, not that they knew it.

In direct contrast to the good-natured Paderborner, Andreas Schneiderat, was the dour and serious Leipziger, Bernd Grand. Solid as a rock, and twice as hard to move, SS Oberschütze Grand was the strong silent one in the squad. He was as big as Henning but seldom gave comment and, when he did, it was always measured and mainly negative. He was the best machine gunner in the troop and, if it were not for the persistent questioning of his superiors, he too would have been put on accelerated promotion.

Matheus Nau and Thorsten Gruhn came in a double pack. Rohleder had been given them straight from training and had consequently moulded them to his form. Fearlessly brave but irreverent, corrupt and yet doggedly loyal, they were both brother and competitor to each other. Nau hailed from Soltau and Gruhn from the Baltic island of Fehmarn. They both spoke the Northern German dialect called Platt-Deutsch as their first language and had been warned on many occasions about cursing officers in a foreign tongue.

All looked up to their Rottenführer as their true leader, a man who, had they all been true-to-the-party civilians back in Germany, they would have ignored and even despised.

"Such are the turns of fate,” Henning pondered to himself.

The afternoon dragged on. They slept, ate, washed and generally lounged around until the evening. Henning was just counting his winnings from a game of cards with Rohleder and Muschinski as Von Struck walked in. "Gambling is the Devil’s game, Herr Oberscharführer."

Von Struck smiled.

"I’ll play with him when I see him.
‘Ti
l then I’ll make do with his apprentice,” Henning absently replied without looking up.

"That’s rich coming from you. Even Old Nick would have a hard job keeping up with your cheating," growled Rohleder.

Muschinski grunted in agreement.

"We’re out tonight. The good d
octor has just told me we’re to march to the ba
rracks to meet the legendary v
ampyrs
." A
nd then, as an aside to Henning, "They’ll have to send a guide. I hope they do anyway. This area is not on the map and I don’t have a clue where the barracks are.”

Henning shrugged. "That’s not our problem, Boss. If they need us, they’ll come for us."

"Is that coffee I smell, Michael, my old and trusted friend?" Von Struck sniffed.

"Ersatz, but you’re more than welcome to try out
our new improved Romanian blend.
” Rohleder grinned, offering a tin mug filled with a steaming liquid the colour of tar.

*  *  *

It was just before four when Maria came for them. She strode into the stables to find them sleeping but dressed ready for movement.

"Standartenführer?" she queried through the gloom.

"Here. Are you the guide?” He stood up and stepped forward to look at her in the light of the doorway.

She was beautiful. He could almost hear his heart pounding as he stared like a breathless adolescent at her. His tongue seemed too large for his mouth and he didn’t trust himself to speak. She awoke long forgotten stirrings in him that the East had all but buried. Desires he thought had been sated in the field brothels came back with a voracity that broke all barriers. The sexual awakening drowned out all other thoughts and he had to physically shake his head to gather his wits.

She smiled demurely at his obvious discomfort. "I’m to take you to the barracks.”

"Fall in outside, lads," Henning ordered, kicking them awake. They filed out, each one eyeing her as they passed. She relished the attention but didn’t acknowledge it, and Von Struck felt vaguely resentful.

They marched around the building and into the wood. The way was dark and the only light was Maria’s torch. Luckily, the path was free of
debris and seemed well used.

The ring of cottages was deserted, lit by small fires that cast eerie shadows into the wood surrounding it. Maria followed a route around the edge of the buildings, on the periphery of the light thrown out by the fires.

The great oak in the middle dominated the circle like an all-seeing entity. Its immense presence seemed to bear down on them and the vast branches reached out like clawing arms. The mood of the squad darkened and tensed. Nobody articulated the oak's existence but all felt it as they passed. The only sound to be heard was the crunch of snow under their boots as each wrapped himself in his own thoughts and reservations.

Bef
ore long they reached the meter-
high wall that surrounded the barracks. The building looked completely out o
f place in the wood. Three stories
high, with white walls and a slate roof, it resembled a German barrack block and the men found an indistinct comfort in the recognition.

Von Struck saw the
count and the d
octor waiting for them at the main door to the building which they reached and stood round in a circle.
The men ignored Rasch and the c
ount as they leered at Maria in the raw light of her torch. She seemed unaware of their attention.

"Standartenführer, can’t the men fall in so they resemble a military unit and not a crowd of sightseers?" quibbled Rasch in a loud whisper.