The Division of the Damned (53 page)

"Are you alright, Englishma
n?" It was Rohleder and Stephani
e.

He stood up and nodded, wordlessly pushing the leathery scrap into Rohleder’s hand.
"A souvenir, the last fragment of the
Book of Blood
.”

"What do I want with it?" he started, but Stephanie closed her hand around his and he put it in his pocket.

Smith looked back down at Maria and sighed. "Michael, life just isn’t fair.”

"I know
,
James.” Stephanie answered instead. "We all know.”

Von Struck broke their languor. "Right, let’s get out of here before Ivan comes. We haven’t got ten million vampires to protect us anymore. Stephanie, would you go and see to Mordechai? He likes you so I don’t think he’ll bite your head off when you try to wake him.”

They picked up their weapons and s
tarted in the direction of the c
astle.

Von Struck hovered over the scorched residue of what was once the beautiful woman Maria. He thought back to the first time he’d met her all those months ago. He remembered her exquisiteness and a flicker of sorrow momentarily caught up with him.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, thinking he was alone.

"Talking to
yourself
is one of the first signs of cracking up, old man.” It was Smith.

"Would you blame me?"
H
e half-smiled.

Pausing a minute before answering, Smith said, "No, I wouldn’t blame anybody for cracking after what we endured, and we’ve still got to get back to Germany.”

"Are you coming with us to Germany?”

Smith hesitated before answering. "I don’t really see any alternative at the moment. Iullia wants to look after the child so I suppose I may tag along to make sure all is running smoothly.”

"Good, I’m glad there’ll be a good man going with the women. I’ll take my SS men straight up north
;
you head west. That way there’ll be no danger of Ivan thinking you’re with the SS if we’re caught. Keep the women out of Ivan’s path, James. Try to reach the Americans. Michael and Inselman will probably have to go with you
,
too.”

Smith raised his eyebrows but said nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything to add. He nodded and wordlessly turned to walk back to the rest of the squad.

Von Struck looked back down to Maria’s remains as a sudden gust caught the flaked ashes under her ribcage and revealed a sliver of hard, brown leather. He knew instinctively what it was and bent down to scoop it up.

"
The Book of Blood,
” he whispered as he fingered its course texture. It was a splinter of the hide that made the spine of the cover, and a giddy surge of taboo rocked him. Brushing the ash off, he put it in the inside pocket of his tunic and buttoning it up before turning to follow the others.

Borkin went to retrieve his rifle from the tree and his eyes fell on the camera. An idea hit him and he picked it up to take some photos of the charred corpses. He could easily sell a picture of burnt bodies and SS soldiers as the last action of one of the
a
t
rocity
c
amps, or just tell the g
eneral he witnessed a mass execution of a village.

"Please, everybody, look
at me,” he called to the troop
s
’
backs.

They had just reached the sea of corpses as he shouted to them and he caught the mo
ment perfectly as they turned
—
SS soldiers, exhausted and shocked, standing in a field of burnt corpses. Everybody would believe him now.

Michael’s eyes screwed up in shrewd deliberation. "I need a copy of that picture. Can you get one to me?”

"I don’t know, to be honest. I mean, you are the enemy. How would I explain that I’m sending a picture to an officer in the SS?”

Michael i
nclined his head in concurrence.
"What if you just take some more pictures, re
move the film and give it to me? Then you could take some more.
”

"I could. I’ve got more film with me. What do you want to do, take souvenir pictures?”

"No, I just need to send a few snaps to somebody.”

Borkin was intrigued, "Who?” he asked.

"Don’t ask
.
" Michael smiled tiredly.

Von Struck surveyed the field of blackened carcasses and inwardly sighed. Nobody would ever hear of this battle. It would remain an unwritten ch
apter in the annals of history,
forgotten and lost for all eternity.

He looked at the floor, shaking his head in disbelief at what had happened and at what they had achieved. They had wo
n the last battle in a thousand-
year war. They had triumphed against evil and saved mankind, so why did he feel so cheap?

Iullia, with all her blind faith and innocence, had won it for them. They hadn’t won by tactics or bravery, they had been lucky and that seemed a dishonest and hollow type of victory. He felt almost fraudulent. "But aren’t nearly all victories subject to the will of the Gods?" he reasoned to himself and laughed softly as he realised he was, as ever, questioning his own merits and failings. Had he always disliked himself or only since he’d taken on the black uniform of the SS? He’d never know.

Shaking his head, he blinked his suspicions away. He lifted his vision to the dawn-cracked heavens and whispered to the only person he felt he had to answer to. "We beat them, Father, we did it. We kept to the code and we beat them.”

Chapter 67

Lübeck

March, 1945

Heinrich Himmler sat at his desk, broken by the weight of the events of the last four years. All their plans and dreams for the Reich had cras
hed on the rocks of the Allied R
esistance.

They had faced the world alone, fighting for an Aryan utopia fit for every Germanic man to be proud of. Did Europe not realise that only together could they face the Bolshevik menace from the east? Only a Reich made up of the combined powers of Western Europe would be powerful enough to oppose the powers of World Jewry?

However, all was lost.
Destiny had turned her back on the German people and thrown her naked to the wolves.
If only Britain and America had listened to him last year, perhaps all would have been different. "If only, if only," he mused to himself.

He looked down at the pile of mail the secretary had laid on his desk. The majority was internal memos and situation updates on the Allied advance. He placed them to one side, not wanting to think about what was actually happening on the front. He’d lost all interest in military matters when he resigned his command of Army Group Vistula. He’d look at them later
,
he decided.

One of the letters caught his eye. It was marked private and the envelope was handwritten. He picked it up and read the name of the sender, 'von der Heyde'. He breathed. He’d almost forgotten about his mission to Romania.

He paused momentarily before opening it, aware that perhaps this could bring the news he had hoped for. Did this letter hold the key to the A
ryan counter
attack? Would the c
ount side with him to destroy the Bolsheviks in the east and the Capitalists from the west?

He feverishly ripped at the envelope and looked inside. There was no letter, so he frantically upended the sachet and shook it to make sure.

A single photo fluttered down onto his desk and landed face down in front of him. He snatched at it but his moist fingertips could get no grip on the card, and he was forced to slow down to hook it over with his fingernails.

The scene portrayed on the shiny black and white surface told him everything he needed to know.

Heinrich Himmler looked impassively down at the carnage of burnt carcasses and broken souls and closed his eyes in a silent curse. His hopes of an alliance with the Dracyl were now as dead as his dreams
for the Third Reich.

All was lost. He knew now that his only chance lay in turning his back on the Führer to make last ditch negotiations with the Allies.

Epilogue

The Harz Mountains, Germany

Present Day

The priest looked down at the dead man one last time before moving to close the lid of the coffin. The mourning widow standing behind him saw that he was about to do.

"Wait please, Father, I have something I need to do.”

"Of course.
Please, I’ll leave you to say goodbye.” He solemnly left the room. He had performed countless burials in his life but this was the first time he had buried a fellow priest. It brought the whole weight of his own mortality down on him and he realised that one day he too would be put in the last resting place by another member of his vocation.

Alone at last
,
she looked down at her deceased husband. She traced a finger along the fine scars on his face and a last tear squeezed out of one of her eyes.

"Oh Michael" she fondly whispered.

She rummaged quickly in her handbag and pulled out the leathery scrap they had looked after all these years. He had used it as a bookmark for the Bible on the lectern since he took over the small congregation all those years ago. At first she’d thought it blasphemous to even consider having it in the church. However, gradually she realised that such an abomination could only safely be kept confined within the pages of the Bible and that’s where it stayed until his passing. Now Stephanie thought it would be better if it went with him.

"God bless you, Michael Rohleder. Wait for me. It won’t be long until I’m with you,” she said and she bent down to kiss him on the lips.

Just as she closed the coffin lid, a small voice broke the silence. "Grandma, are you ready yet? Can I say goodbye to Grandpa
,
too?”

She turned to see a little girl standing by the door.

"Grandpa is already gone, baby, but he told me to tell you he loves you very much and he’s waiting for us all in heaven."

The End

Dedications

No man is an island and this book has shown me that I'm as landlocked as Lichtenstein.

So I'd like to dedicate it firstly to my family who didn't bat an eyelid when I told them I was going to write a book; and instead boasted to their friends of all my minor achievements.
Steph
, Dan,
Chels
, and both sides of the family in Wales and Germany, I love you all.

Also to all who helped me along the way: Tee, Richard,
Chee
, George, Adam, Vanessa, Dixie, Bob, Chris, Andy, Joey, Gar,
Ange
and last but not least Tim of Night Publishing. When I needed you, you were there for me and I thank you for it.

Also to all my newfound friends at Night.

And finally to the brave lads and lasses of 1st the Queen's Dragoon Guards, both serving and veterans. Pro
rege
et
patria.