RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century (21 page)

“What’s that Nick?”

“Nothing sir, just something of casual interest.”

“I see! Jeanette, we have definitely clarified all the criminal IDs haven’t we?”

“Yes sir, there’s still nothing to go on, certainly as far as I’m concerned.”

Silence enveloped the room. Already further scenes of unrest, small, but intense riots, led by young white males against local immigrants, had been televised on various news channels. Governments across Europe were now becoming increasingly concerned, and so too, were many local Muslim communities. The situation was definitely developing into what Jeanette Descard had previously called ‘a tinderbox scenario’.

“Right everyone, keep looking at those records, our friends at Interpol, Europol etcetera are doing the same. Damn it all! If we just had something else to go on!” Maurice Hertschell sighed. Like all around him, he knew the terrorists held the upper hand, with CEATA being currently helpless in halting further atrocities.

But what frustrated Ash Piper the most was that unbeknown to his colleagues, he had a suspicion his nightmares were linked to the terrorists, but just how…he wasn’t sure!

But one thing was for certain…deep inside his subconscious; the wolf had been talking to him again!

“Hey Ash…Ash, c’mon man, wake up!” Nick Lucas was on the verge of shouting. “C’MON, WAKE UP ASH!”

Ash Piper turned over and lazily looked up at the bespectacled young man shaking his shoulders. “Nick, this had better be good!”

“Good, GOOD! Ash, you’ve gotta see what I’ve just found out!”

Piper looked at the clock. Four fourteen a.m., he had slept for just over three hours, but strangely did not feel tired. Perhaps it was seeing Nick so thoroughly excited, he thought.

“C’mon, quickly. I’ll meet you back at my desk.” Nick vanished out into the corridor.

Within seconds, Piper hurriedly got dressed, left his bedroom and followed his friend. He was intrigued.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Excitedly slurping a mouthful of Coke through a straw, Nick looked up at Piper. “Right, here’s the deal. You know this Oratz guy we’ve been talking about?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s the Sales Director and one of the board members of Von Kurst Electronics, right?”

Piper sighed. “Nick, I don’t mean to sound rude, but we all know that, will you please get to the point!”

“Okay, okay, right,” the young Canadian could hardly control himself, his arms moving frantically whilst he spoke, “yeah…right, so we have Von Kurst Electronics, who, because of their microchip manufacturing background, are big in the world of computers, right?”  Nick grinned, “and you know me Ash, I’ve always had a very ‘unhealthy’ interest in computer technology, so I decided to check these guys out.”

“Yes, go on.”

“Okay, okay…”

Piper sighed again.

“Now then, Von Kurst Electronics are giants in the microchip processing industry. They manufacture and supply microchips for mobile phones, computers and in some cases even satellites, you get my drift?”

“Yes Nick…please, get to the point!”

“Right, VKE, as I shall call them from now on, have offices and factories in Dusseldorf, Munich, Zurich, and Rome.”

“Okay, fine!” Piper graciously nodded in acceptance of Nick’s ‘miraculous revelations’. For God’s sake Nick, get on with it, he thought.

“Now, they also have their main warehouse facility, which is the size of four American football pitches, just fourteen kilometres east of the city of Aachen, near the Belgian border and the Ardennes.”

Piper was suddenly becoming more than a little intrigued. “Fine Nick, what are you getting at?”

“C’mon Ash, what does the City of Aachen mean to you, of all people?”

Piper rubbed his left hand under his chin. Yes, there was something about Aachen and its recent history, he thought.

“I’m disappointed in you Ash, c’mon, Aachen, THINK!” Nick typed at his keyboard and pressed the return key. A website featuring the history of the city came into view.

“Near the end of the Second World War,” Nick’s voice was quivering with excitement, “the Americans appointed a new Lord Mayor in the city, once the Nazi’s had left.”

Piper continued to nod his head, his hand still very slowly rubbing his chin.

“Ash, don’t you remember, the Lord Mayor was assassinated the night before his first major speech to the people of the city. His speech was to bring them hope for the future.”

Piper said nothing, his memory flashing back to his days at college and his World War Two studies.

“Ash, the assassins were a group of Nazi Partisans, known as…” Nick paused, his eyes bright, mischievous, “THE WEREWOLVES! I watched a documentary about this on TV just a few months ago! It just clicked man, when I saw where VKE’s warehouse was located.”

“Yes, I remember, all hell had broken loose in Germany and the Werewolves numbered approximately five thousand strong, including members of the Hitler Youth.”

“Correct! Nice to see the old grey matter whirling back into action Ash!”

“Nick,” said Piper, “this is just coincidence!”

“Coincidence my ass Sergeant, now, here’s the real icing on the cake.” Nick typed again at his keyboard, “take a look at this!”

“Nick…this is archived information, where did you…oh shit! What have you been doing?”

The happy faced Canadian flexed his fingers, his knuckles cracking as he did so. “You know me Ash, ‘Mister Computer Hacker Extraordinaire’. I ran checks on various archival museums in Germany and managed to hack into this one! Now then, where was I, oh yeah, Otto Von Kurst’s father, the founder of VKE, was Karl Von Kurst, right?”

“Fine!”

“He was born in Dortmund, on the fourteenth of July, 1912.”

“Keep going!”

“Karl Von Kurst died suddenly just over two years ago. No one knows how, in fact, there was a rumour going around that he had apparently committed suicide. He was one of Europe’s richest men and a very influential businessman.”

“Okay, so the poor bloke committed suicide, caused probably by stress and pressure from everything he had created with VKE, or he quite simply died of old age.”

“No chance my friend! No way! This man was either hiding from, or was frightened of something.”

“Nick,” Piper sighed a little hint of frustration, “the man was in his nineties for god’s sake!”

“Yeah, fine, but why did Karl Von Kurst never allow his photograph to be taken by any newspapers and magazines during the last thirty odd years or so of his life?”

Piper nodded his head thoughtfully, recognising Nick had so far made some sense, but now he was lost! “Sorry Nick, I’m not with you!”

“He became a recluse. There is something wrong here Ash, I know it!” Nick tapped again at his keyboard as further archived information appeared on his monitor. “I’ve also found out that during the Second World War, Karl Von Kurst served as a Sturmbannfuhrer on the Russian Front.”

“A Major.”

“Correct, a Major… with the Totenkopf Division!”

“SHIT!” Piper’s heart started to race, “the Death’s Head Division.”

“Now, you’re getting my drift Ash! The Death’s Head Division… of the Waffen SS! That division was notorious for its brutality during the Second World War”.

“Yes,” replied Piper, thoughtfully, “the Totenkopf were originally formed from former concentration camp guards.”  In some ways thought Piper, Nick’s revelations were starting to make sense! They had a photo identity of a key player within Von Kurst Electronics, who matched that of the description given by the informer at the Safehouse and the Werewolf connection to the city of Aachen made Piper’s skin crawl, let alone the Von Kurst connection to Nazi Germany’s Waffen SS. “You know something Mister Lucas; you might just be onto something! Anyway, it’s the best lead we’ve had so far.” Piper patted Nick on his back, “well done,” he said, “WELL BLOODY DONE!” Piper’s mind raced into overdrive, “so how long will it take for you to position a Recon Satellite over the VKE warehouse facility?”

“Oh! Err…I don’t know! I’ll have to ask permission from the Commander first, we may have to ask the Langley guys for help, but probably about five to six hours I should think.”

“Don’t worry about the Commander, I’ll ask him right now, you just get the nearest satellite moving my friend, and fast.” Briskly, Piper walked out of the Communications Room towards Commander Hertschell’s Office. All of a sudden, he thought, I’m becoming very interested in Mister Wilhelm Oratz and Von Kurst Electronics!”

13

BLACK CAMELOT

Dateline: 02 March 1945 - 10.40 Hours

Location: Wewelsburg Castle, the Teutoburg Forest, Germany

The dirt track would have been inaccessible if the snow had not thawed, but thankfully the three cars and their passengers had nearly arrived at their destination.

“At least the snow is thawing, that is something to be thankful for Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.” The driver of the black Mercedes Benz saloon glanced into his rear view mirror. There was no sign of a pleasant smile and no hint of humour, his conversation as always being flat and singular. That was the way it should be when chauffeuring senior staff of the SS, never try to be too friendly. That was always the best way…to stay alive.

“How long now, Rottenfuhrer Meinze?” The two senior officers of the three shadowy figures in the rear of the saloon wore the peaks of their regulation Waffen SS caps lowered neatly over their foreheads.

“Not long now sir, another ten minutes or so and we will be there.”

The tallest of the three passengers turned his head and stared out of the rear window at the Mercedes Benz driving close behind them.  There were three saloons in total, all in perfect formation, one in front and one at the back. Bodyguards thought the tall man, ha, why the hell do we need bodyguards? Cynically, he smiled to himself.

 “If you look to your right Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, you will see the castle.”

The three men took it in turns to peer out of the dirt-encrusted window. Sure enough, there it was, Wewelsburg Castle, the so-called Camelot of the SS, set on top of the hill, its triangular form seemingly magnificent against the winter backdrop of the forest.

It had always been Reichsfuhrer Himmler’s dream to have a shrine dedicated to the new world order, to represent the greatness of the Thousand Year Reich and to house the finest of the SS in their final slumber. For years Himmler had dreamt how the SS elite would all sit in their greatness and their power at the castle’s Round Table.

The most supreme of soldiers, the true ‘Aryans’.

In the Castle itself, there would be meetings to discuss, including future strategies and the way forward for the greater Germany, and there would also be time for meditation, to instil new meaning to the SS warrior’s lives, once the war was over.

But at present, the war was far from over.

“So, we get to meet the great man at last, hey Karl?” Waffen SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Jurgen Falck wore a broad smile on his face as he spoke to the man who had led both himself and Scharfuhrer Fritz Kempler through the most harrowing of times on the Russian Front.

“Yes, Reichfuhrer Himmler says he is greatly looking forward to meeting the three of us. I just hope he is prepared!” The three men laughed, the Mercedes Benz driving slowly onward.

He was the second most powerful man in the Fuhrer’s Third Reich, the now crumbling and decaying Third Reich. But he still retained his power, and he knew it! Dipping his fountain pen into the small pot of ink, Reichsfuhrer SS, Heinrich Himmler continued to write a report after having already prepared for the meeting with his three guests, who were due at any time. His headache still remained. It had started just before eight a.m. and as usual, would probably last through most of the day.

These blasted headaches: they had plagued him for years! Adjusting his fragile round-lensed spectacles, Reichsfuhrer Himmler glanced at his watch. He did not like being kept waiting! Still, he thought, these three men are important. I shall be patient. Thoughtfully, he replaced the fountain pen into a small drawer on the right side of his large desk and turned to face the roaring fire. Holding his hands out, he smugly revelled in the luscious heat from the flames. It was pleasant to be warm, very pleasant. Briskly, as the heat from the log fire embraced his thin, jet black uniformed form, his thoughts raced back to the last damning report from SS intelligence. The Russians were already inside the Reich’s borders, so too, the Americans and British. The Siegfried Line was under siege and if his latest intelligence reports were correct, the Bolshevik hordes would be in Berlin within the next two months. Reichsfuhrer Himmler sighed and slowly shook his head, his thoughts scrambled. There was much on his mind. I just hope they bring good news, he could hear himself saying, for we need to fight back. This new weapon will bring terror and fear to the allies! Yes he thought, I require good news, and quickly.

There was a knock at his door. “Come!”

The young, fresh faced SS Sturmmann marched keenly into the large office, turned to the Reichsfuhrer, clicked the back of his black booted heels and bowed his head.

“Herr Reichsfuhrer, your guests have arrived.”

“Good, show them in, oh and Sturmmann…”

“Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer.”

“Once our meeting is finished, bring refreshments.” The young man clicked his heels again and rapidly departed the room. Silently, with a slight trace of trepidation weaving its way through his thoughts, Himmler stood by the glowing fire. He looked resplendent in his black SS uniform, or so he thought. He started to shake, just a little. Nerves he thought, yes, nerves. Then he heard them, their voices becoming louder, and so too, their booted footsteps, now just outside the office door.

Again, another knock at the door! “Come!”

The young man walked back into the office, this time with a sense of pride radiating from his glowing cheeks. “Herr Reichsfuhrer, may I present to you, from the Waffen SS Totenkopf Division, Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Von Kurst, Hauptsturmfuhrer Jurgen Falck and Scharfuhrer Fritz Kempler, gentlemen, if you please…” Graciously, the Sturmmann beckoned the three rugged, battle hardened soldiers into the office.

Heinrich Himmler, standing by the radiant, glowing embers of the fire, wore a welcoming smile on his face as the three tall figures entered the room, all dressed smartly in Black Waffen SS ‘Special Dress’. Rigidly, their booted heels clicked together as their right hands levelled to the front of them, all three speaking as one!

“Heil Hitler, Herr Reichsfuhrer!”

With an arrogant smile, Heinrich Himmler walked forward and returned the loyal Nazi salute, the Sturmmann quietly placing a tray of hot, steaming coffee and utensils on the Reichsfuhrer’s desk. “Heil Hitler! Gentlemen may I say what an honour it is to meet the three of you. Not only are you the key to our future victory, but you are also heroes of the German people. The Fuhrer himself wishes to pass to you his warmest regards.” After a brisk shaking of hands, Himmler beckoned to three large wooden chairs situated by his desk. “Please gentlemen, sit down.” As they did so, the Reichsfuhrer walked steadfastly back to his desk, sitting somewhat pompously in his own luxurious, Nordic, hand carved chair. “I have ordered refreshments for a little later, including plenty of hot coffee as you can see,” he paused, his steely, bespectacled gaze seemingly scanning the three men sat in front of him. My Teutonic Knights, he thought, welcome to my Black Camelot!

“Herr Reichsfuhrer,” the most senior of Himmler’s guests spoke with a hardened edge, his tone of voice, slightly menacing, “as you have already been informed, the situation on both fronts is rapidly deteriorating.” Karl Von Kurst picked up the newly arrived cup of hot coffee and sipped at it, the taste seemingly bitter, but refreshing.

“Yes, yes, I know, but as you are all well aware, we must keep fighting, we cannot allow the Red scum, let alone the Americans and British, to infest our Fatherland.”

“But resources are depleted Herr Reichsfuhrer,” the others watched intently as Jurgen Falck put his points of view forward, “the Liebstandarte, Das Reich, Totenkopf and Wiking are taking great losses, let alone our other divisions.” Himmler nodded his head in quiet anticipation of what was to come, his gaze crossing to Karl Von Kurst, whose steely, but somewhat bloodshot eyes never left the Reichsfuhrer’s, making the leader of the SS shiver slightly. “Our other divisions are nearly wiped out,” Falck continued, “Hohenstaufen has taken serious losses just over the last two weeks. IT IS PITIFUL!”

The embers from the fire crackled as the meeting continued. “So, what are you telling me?” Himmler’s tone of voice became intimidating, but also inquisitive.

Was he angry thought Von Kurst? No, just frightened, for what does this former poultry farmer know of war, of carnage…of the need to survive? It was obvious to Von Kurst and his two friends; the man in front of them was no strategist, no saviour of the Reich and certainly no Waffen SS soldier. No, it would be up to them, the three of them, to take the war back to the enemy.

Quietly holding back his rising temper, Himmler rose from his chair and walked slowly up and down his office, his left hand gently rubbing his chin as sweat lay mottled across his receding hairline. He turned quickly, looking directly at Von Kurst as he spoke, “the time has come my friends to take the fight back to our wretched enemies, and the three of you, as you are only too aware, are the weapons we require, the weapons for our victory.”

Karl Von Kurst glanced sideways at Falck and Kempler then back at Himmler. “The project was a success Herr Reichsfuhrer, at least for us!”

“Yes…I know, I have read the reports. It was just a pity I could not watch the Jews suffering when they started this experiment.” Himmler laughed sadistically as he remembered the initial reports from the doctors at the Nazi medical research facility, known quite simply as ‘Camp 1’. The patients had suffered terribly during the initial stages of ‘Project Were’, but so what! Jews, gypsies, peasants, they were all stinking Untermenschen, and all guinea pigs for the greater good of the Reich. “It is time gentlemen, time to show me your, how shall I say…inner selves.”

Sudden apprehension showed in the face of Heinrich Himmler as the three Waffen SS veterans left their seats and moved to the centre of the room. Karl Von Kurst spoke again, his eyes radiating a subtle hint of menace. “Steel yourself Herr Reichsfuhrer, for what you are about to witness, is truly remarkable.” Already Himmler had noticed the men’s eyes becoming heavily bloodshot and Von Kurst’s voice becoming deep and resonant as the three men stripped themselves naked. He shivered!

Then it began…the transformation, the Waffen SS veteran’s voices becoming roars, their hair laden bodies growing and rearing up in size, their jaws protruding to dog like snouts and their fearsome teeth enlarging into lethal, razor sharp weapons.

Shuddering incessantly, Himmler backed away as fear urged him to run and hide, for never in all his life had he witnessed anything so horrifying.

With what seemed to be unearthly power surging through their muscular, dog like bodies, the three wolves stood on their hind legs, their tails swishing slowly from side to side, their blood red eyes focusing forebodingly on the one ‘human’ left in the room. Suddenly, the beast’s powerful canid bodies bent backwards as they threw back their fur-laden heads and howled…loud, deep, haunting howls.

Heinrich Himmler covered his ears, his eyes squinting in fear! The howling was terrifying. Control your bladder he thought. Control it! Don’t show them you’re frightened!

Snarling, growling, the wolves walked across the room on their hind legs. All were just over seven feet tall, muscular and deadly. The lead wolf, known as Karl Von Kurst snarled at the ‘so called’ leader of the SS. The others joined in, saliva dripping from their jaws, their dark red tongues running across lethal canine teeth, their triangular, thick, furred ears twitching incessantly. The lead wolf tilted its head slightly as it gazed at the Reichsfuhrer. It was as if the animal was scanning him with its blood red eyes, testing him, focusing on possible prey. Karl Von Kurst growled again, his dark snout peeling back, revealing his own deadly array of razor sharp teeth, the weapons with which to tear their enemies apart!

“W…w…wonderful Herr Sturmbanfuhrer, truly amazing.” Heinrich Himmler was terrified, and about to wet himself.

Still snarling, the beasts circled him: their saliva continuing to drip onto the floor, their fearsome claws ready to tear, to eviscerate. They howled again, an ethereal tone, telling of human kind being at one with true predatory power.

“Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,” Himmler muttered, then yelled fearfully, “THAT IS ENOUGH!”

The howling ceased. The three wolves understood their leader’s order and began to change form once again, their bones and joints cracking under the strain of transformation. In just over a minute, three naked men with blood red eyes stood in front of the now speechless leader of the SS.

Karl Von Kurst spoke, his voice still menacing. “We are the new soldiers for the Waffen SS Herr Reichsfuhrer. The three of us are now your Wolf Soldiers, a new breed of human being. We will take the fight back to the invaders who dare to enter our Fatherland.” A look of wild, savage, untamed fury etched its way across Von Kurst’s, Falck’s and Kempler’s faces.

“Yes, yes…good…yes.” SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler never drank alcohol, but he quickly poured himself a large glass of cognac as the three men looked on. Shaking uncontrollably he raised it to his lips and drained the warming liquid. “Very good,” he said weakly, “very good.”

“Herr Reichsfuhrer,” this time Falck spoke, “the first of The Were, are ready for combat!”