The Division of the Damned (40 page)

"And the other reasons for the number ten?”

Czerolka smiled reflectively. "The Ten Patriarchs is what we’re setting our hopes on. The Sodom and Gomorrah bit was a spur of the moment thing. Soldiers all know and laugh about that story and I thought it may make it more accessible to them. The main thing is that they believe that sordid tale and they unquestionably accept it as true. However, the tenth line of the
Oratio Dominica
was a stroke of genius, don’t you think? They will go to battle with that written on their hearts in fire.”

"I put more trust in them smirking over the sodomite cities than remembering the
Lord’s Prayer
.”

"So do I, actually, but we should preten
d that they’re adults, you know." H
e smiled.

Michael was pouring out two pots of beer when Smith strolled in.

"Ah, the Dracyl
,
” Czerolka observed unpleasantly. Smith gave him a wry smile and turned to Michael. "Rohleder is back. You should see what he’s brought.”

They followed him into the yard where Rohleder stood in the centre of the squad.

"Nice to see you back, Herr Rottenführer. Did all go to plan?”

Inselman answered for him
. "Take a look, brother.” A
nd with a
flourish he whipped off the tarpaulin that covered the back of the lorry.      Inside was crate after crate, s
tacked one on top of the other.

"Is that all ammunition, Inselman?" he gasped.

"Allow me, Heinz.” Rohleder stepped forward offering his MP38 to Michael. "Herr Oberstgruppenführer, this is Helga, my faithful lover and companion since the early days of this God-forsaken war. You can have her. I don’t need her anymore for I have found another.”

Michael took the weapon and, looking puzzled, he slung it over his shoulder. Rohleder walked to the driver’s cab and pulled something long out of it. "Herr von der Heyde, if I may introduce you to my newest flame,
meet
Gert
rude," he said, holding a brand-
new rifle like
a baby. "Isn’t she a beauty?" H
e beamed.

Michael took the weapon in. It was longer than a machine pistol but shorter than a rifle. It had the same lines as a rifle but a large, curved magazine hung below. The barrel ended in an iron sight and the butt was wo
oden. "I give up
—
what is it?" H
e smiled.

"This, comrades," Rohleder t
heatrically turned to the squad
, "t
his is the StG44, the new Sturmgewehr that seems to be all the rage along the Eastern front.” He pulled it to his shoulder and pretended to fire a shot off. "7.92
calibre
, 500 rounds a minute and effective up to 300 meters.” The squad whistled in appreciation but Rohleder recited his tutorial as if they were not there. "Not as far as a rifle but further than a machine
gun,
and it’s the same rate of fire as a machine gun. So it’s a veritable assault rifle in the truest form of the word. It has a gas
-
operated firing mechanism, so there's loads of cleaning after an automatic blast, I’m afraid. It has a wooden butt like a rifle, and because our weapons don’t have the folding stock, we get bayonet attachments on it
,
too. The magazine holds thirty rounds and, at the front, it has a fitting for a small periscope sighting device for shooting around corners. I’ve also got a camera to get it all down on film for posterity.”

"Now the pederast wants to turn us into photo
models," Henning groaned loudly.

"When do we get to test fire it, Herr Oberstgruppenführer?” Nau asked excitedly.

Rohleder butted in
.
"When I’ve finished the lesson, SS Oberschütze Nau, so pay attention. I’ve got a great story about
this gun.” Michael winked good-
naturedly at Nau who smiled ruefully back at him.     "Apparently, so I’ve been reliably informed, Old Adolph didn’t want to adopt this weapon at all and called for the project to be stopped. He didn’t like the idea of a new sort of weapon with new ammunition being introduced to the field. Luckily for us, a couple of the bigwigs with a bit of backbone realised what potential this design had and secretly gave the go-ahead for its production and distribution. This only came to light when
Adolph was holding a meeting with
his top generals and he asked
them what they needed to win in the East. One of them said straight away that he wanted more of these new weapons, and that let the cat out of the bag.”

"So what happened to the bosses who secretly gave the go-ahead?" Smith asked.

"They were chopped up into firewood and used to cook Old Adolph’s milk soup.”

Smith looked aghast.

"How should I know, Tommy? Was I there? I don’t even know if the story is true. It’s probably all lies but who cares
. I
t’s a good story, isn’t it?”

"Not with an ending like that, it isn’t
.
" Smith laughed.

"Rottenführer Rohleder?”

"Yes, Brother Michael,” he shot back farcically.

A hint of a smile flitted across his face before he s
poke. "The ammunition
—
was your contact able to adapt the silver to make the bullets we require?”

Inselman jumped down holding a cartridge for all to see. The casing was brass as normal but the bullet itself, the part that would leave the barrel, was silver.

"As you can see, he managed the order to our requirements. I personally have tested a couple of magazines on their firing range and there is
no difference to a normal round,
and why should there be? It’s only the head itself that is different.”

"Right, Her
r Rottenführer." Michael nodded.
"If you would issue the weapons, we can clean them ready for firing and go down to the range. Do we have normal rounds to practice with? It seems such a shame to use all our silverware up.”

"Yes, we have normal rounds to practice with.”

"Right, well dish them out and show us how to strip and assemble them for cleaning.”

They broke the crates and sorted the weapons out from the ammunition. Rohleder took the class on stripping and assembling and preparing their weapons for firing. It took a long time until all were satisfied with their preparations but finally they were ready.

"Standartenführer, would you accompany the men to the range?” Michael asked. "I have to arrange that our horses will be delivered to us.”

Von Struck nodded and they shambled out of the yard towards the range.

Chapter 50

A Forest Somewhere in Romania

Junior lieutenant Olaf Borkin strode past the gathered troops. "Make way there, make way. What are you al
l looking at? It’s only a woman.
”

Senior Sergeant Leon Saprinskii called the men to attention to give his report. "Comrade Lieutenant, we have successfully apprehended two German spies. The w
oman is unconscious, but the man,
” he
said, indicating Reuben with his head,
"
w
ill now go through a thorough interrogation, with your permission
,
comrade.”

Borkin took in the eager faces of his troop. He had only been a troop leader for two weeks and he knew his authority over the men
lay with the tolerance of the senior s
ergeant in front of him.

"How do you know they’re spies, Senior Sergeant?" he asked as impartially as he could. If it was perceived that he was questioning Saprinskii’s rationalization he would be seen in a bad light with the men. The
senior s
ergeant held an almost cult-like position within the regiment due to his prolonged survival at the front. He had served in the Red Army in 1939 and had taken part in the first advance into Poland, the siege of Leningrad and now the big push through the Balkans. If there was one thing Borkin didn’t need it was to be the target of Saprinskii’s disapproval.

Saprinskii smiled knowingly, a smile that Borkin had come to hate over the past two weeks, and playing to the troops he answered, "Well, Comrade Lieutenant, that’s why we’re going to interrogate them, to see if they really are spies.” 

"And how do you wish to do that, Senior Sergeant Saprinskii
?
Do you speak German?” He knew Saprinskii did not. He also knew that nobody else in the platoon did except for him.

Saprinskii shrugged. "No, so we’ll torture them until they speak Russian to us." He smiled at Borkin and turned to the men. "Start up the fires. A good fire always makes them talk.”

Borkin was too shocked to react as the men all turned away and started to gather wood. Borkin felt miserable. How could he show his leadership over men who treated him like a joke? It was a Herculean task that he suspected would only be lightened by the chance of combat with the enemy. If he could somehow show his mettle against the Fascists, they would listen to him, he was sure. Unfortunately, up to now, all they'd seen of the enemy were cold campfires and the dismembered bodies of their comrades.

"Does anybody speak German here?"

It was
Reuben
,
a
nd Borkin’s ears pricked up.

"Yes, I do. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

"My name is Reuben Stein and the girl on the floor is Stephanie Stern. We’ve escaped from a German camp and we were looking for you, for the Red Army.”

Borkin stayed impassive but he was excited. Soviet soldiers had already liberated a major camp in July at a place called Majdanek. The discovery of another German atrocity camp would surely make his career. "What sort of camp was it?”

"If only you knew. It was hell, a hell o
n earth. I lost my friend and
—
” He broke off as the telling of the loss of Mordechai faltered in his throat.

Borkin felt his excitement fall as his pity rose. He turned to see if anybody was listening and was surprised to find the whole squad was looking at them.

"What does he say, Comrade Lieutenant?" one of the privates asked.

"He say’s they’ve escaped from one of the atrocity camps the Germans use.”

The change in attitude was instantaneous and the whole group dropped what they were doing and gathered in to hear. Saprinskii pushed to the front and stood to the side of Borkin and Reuben to get a ring side view. "Ask him where it is,” he demanded.

"Untie him and get this ridiculous noose off his neck," Borkin ordered. Then, to Reuben, "Tell us everything
. W
e need to know everything.”

Two hours later they were on their way to the headquarters. Stephanie had come out of her faint and, much to Saprinskii’s
anger,
had been told to get in the lorry with them.

"But, Comrade Lieutenant, why can’t you just take the Jew and leave the girl with us, if only to safeguard against a trick? They might well be German spies, Comrade.”

"I’ll take that chance, Senior Sergeant. Tell the men to make camp here for the time being. Set a guard rota, and no fires or vodka. I don’t know how long I’ll be, so I leave them in your capable hands.”

"Yes, Comrade
,
" Saprinskii
said as he
bristled.

Borkin hadn’t really believed everything about the vampires and the
c
ount. However, any special unit that was operating in their area, or along their axis of advance, was important intelligence and he thought it better to let the higher-ups decide what to do. Also he needed to report this camp before anybody else did.

He commandeered a lorry and a driver and it felt good to be away from the troop for a while, to be away from the constant struggle for control of the men’s loyalties.

Headquarters was a farm, or the remains of a farm, on the outskirts of the wood. Th
ey were told to wait until the g
eneral had time, and after a dreadfully torpid hour-long delay, they were finally ushered in.

The g
eneral sat behind what was once a kitchen
table,
immersed in paperwork. He was a large man, head shaved, with large bushy eyebrows. He briefly looked up when they entered, and after eyeing Stephanie up and down, he grunted something that was unintelligible to Reuben. A large map hung on the wall behind him and a framed picture of Stalin hung next to it.

Behind the
g
e
neral was a small, immaculately-
dressed man of indeterminate age. His uniform was pressed to perfection but bulging at the
buttons,
and his peaked cap sat above a large flabby face. He wore small round glasses that pressed into the side of his head and his pointy chin jutted out from his jowls like a knife pushed through butter. His eyes never left the three of them.