Undying Love Books 1 and 2 - Brian Hesse (books on motivation .TXT) 📗

Himmler threw his hands in the air, in what Eldric thought, a comical over exaggerated expression.

    Himmler continued, “the last escapes were perhaps the worst. After investigation, I learned that a female not only escaped Auschwitz, but she also killed one of my SS in the Lodz ghetto. His name was, let me see.”

      Himmler ruffled some papers lying on his desk, and read the name written on the paper.

    “His name was SS Hans Gruber, a guard overseeing the work groups. The other escapee was male. He was a resident of the Warsaw ghetto before being sent to Auschwitz. They apparently hid under dozens of bodies taken from the sick ward section of the camp.”

     Eldric looked closer at Himmler without being too obvious. He thought that he noticed Himmler turn a weak shade of green in his round face when describing both escapees hiding under piles of rotting corpses.

     “I want you to find these two prisoners, and return them to Auschwitz for execution, but not before Goebbels has his chance to make some good propaganda of the capture.”

  “Yes, my Reichsfuhrer, I will find both at any cost.”

  Eldric stood swiftly from his chair and raised his hand in the familiar Nazi salute.

“Heil Hitler,” he stated with characteristic SS discipline.

“Heil Hitler, replied Himmler, quickly lowering his head toward the pile of papers on his desk, as if completely forgetting the conversation to attend to other pressing matters.

Leaving the castle to return to the awaiting car, he felt small compared to the man he just received orders from. While most mortals would leave the castle feeling the slight sting of intimidation born from being impressed with a role model, his stabbing pain of intimidation was born from his hatred for anyone who achieved higher status than himself. This, he readily understood, was also a symptom of his narcissism.

The Old Farm House

 Anastazja and Aleksander awoke to the cocking of the old crow they have become so accustomed to hearing every morning. It has been one month since their escape from Auschwitz. After surviving the hell on earth of the Nazi Jewish ghettos and finding each other at Auschwitz, both lovers escaped to what they now referred to as, their fragile place freedom. Their freedom was as fragile as the charred roof of the barn they now occupied. Both lovers lay naked covered by blankets generously given by a few peasants of the bomb cratered area just ten miles from Auschwitz. Thousands of inhabitants of the area have either perished in the bombing of 1939, or were forced to evacuate further East in a tireless effort to outrun the Nazi blitzkrieg. Others, the unlucky ones, found themselves within the tight clutches of the SS special action squads, spreading across Poland on a mission of racial cleansing. Some peasants returned to the only place they have ever called home to rebuild and pray for a time when the world may be at peace once again. It is out of this minority of returning broken souls, attracted to their birthplace like moths to a flame, where Anastasja and Aleksander received lifesaving aid.

   Anastazja rolled onto her left side and placed her head on Aleksander’s chest. He could feel her warm breath gently touching his chest each time she exhaled. He closed his eyes and remained silent just for a few moments trapped in their imaginary world of safety. A world where no danger existed outside the fragile walls of their refuge.

   “We have to talk my sweet,” he finally whispered, into the brisk October night air of the barn.

  Anastazja could hear the concern in his voice. She knew that the time had come to face reality. There is nothing more dangerous than complacency, she thought, as she gathered the courage to reply, “I know, Aleksander, we have to leave this place.”

   “We have no choice,” he replied. “We are only ten miles from the camp.”

     As if reading her mind, he continued, “we have become complacent here.”

     “Where can we go, and why do we have to leave?” she asked, but knowing full well the answer.

Both have been receiving reports concerning the German advance into Russia. With each weekly drop off bread, and if lucky enough, cheese or goat meat, local peasants would give the latest gossip traveling throughout each village throughout the occupied areas. Grapevine information is always sketchy at best, but enough bits and pieces of accurate intelligence would filter down to help those in the various resistance movements in operation behind the lines. The Germans did not come as good will ambassadors with a mission to win the hearts and minds of the conquered peoples. The Germans brought a scorched earth policy. Like hungry locusts of a biblical plague, the German army consumed everything in their path to sustain their military operations. This policy of economic rape, only encouraged starving inhabitants to arm themselves and commit acts of sabotage behind German lines.

“You know my dear, the latest news from the front,” he answered. He rolled onto his right side and was just inches from her, as he observed, still beautiful full soft lips. “The Germans attacked Stalingrad just two months ago. Already they are meeting fierce Russian resistance. Their supply lines are overstretched, and this mild October weather will soon turn to a blizzard of death for the German soldier.”

“Then why can’t we just stay here in safety?”

“Anastazja, we are not safe. Do you think they will allow escapees to just go about their lives as if nothing happened?”

Anastasja felt a flash of anger rise within her. She felt the blood warm her half-frozen cheeks as he spoke to her as if she were a child. But before pushing him away, and breaking their bond of comfort and warmth, she realized that he was right. The area was still active with random SS commando patrols, looking for Jews and partisans living in the woods and marshes. She did not think it possible that the SS would target two escapees, but their luck was soon to run out eventually.

Aleksander continued, “If the Germans are forced back, which I hope they are, we will find ourselves under the rollers of a vast retreating army. We would never be safe here in this old broken barn. Besides, the peasants of this area have been so generous. Starving broken people giving us clothes, blankets, and food. I could not possibly accept any more charity.”

“I agree with that my sweet, but your notion that we may be personally targeted for our escape is just silly.” She laughed, kissed him tenderly on his dry cracked lips and rolled him over on his back with a force he did not know she still possessed in her thin frame. She gently climbed on top of his muscle strained body, and both lovers made love for the last time in the fairy tale world of the old farm house.

Back to the Start

 By October 1942, a large portion of the Lodz ghetto were deported to the Chelmno death camp, with many designated as slave laborers sent to Auschwitz. Since the ghettos establishment, shortly after the invasion of Poland, tens of thousands of ghetto inhabitants perished by slow starvation, disease, and executions by SS and local police actions.

   SS Sturmbannfuhrer, Eldric Richter, walked into the office of SS Grupennfuhrer, Fritz Weber, expecting his full cooperation. He reached into his right coat pocket one last time and touched his orders written by Heinrich Himmler himself, authorizing Eldric to collect information on Anastazjas escape, by any means necessary. He knew that the probability of finding any useful information, information he didn’t already know, was slim. But he was thorough in his investigations, and running the risk of not crossing every T was incomprehensible.

  “Heil Hitler!” he exclaimed, stepping forward to the chipped coffee stained desk of Lieutenant Weber. He thought to himself with disgust, what a disorganized pig sty. Every desk should be as orderly and presentable as the Reichsfuhrers. He sat down without permission, since Fritz Weber, continued to write correspondence without returning Eldric’s salute.

   Eldric was not shocked at his superior’s behavior. He has encountered burned out officers within the SS and Wehrmacht ranks before. He recalled his time in Russia in 1941, attached temporarily to Einstangruppen Special Action Squad D, operating out of the Ukraine area of operations. He could still see the look in several of the executioners and officer’s eyes within just a few months of killing women and young children. He could not help comparing their eyes to those of a doll, large, black, and drained of life. He did not look at these men full of contempt or loathing for displaying human weakness. He did not look at anyone with contempt, or awe, for all people were neutral in his eyes. People were mere puppets, existing only to satisfy his colossal ego.

   “I didn’t ask you to sit Sturmbannfuhrer,” stated Fritz, with a tired monotone voice.

    Willing to stir the pot, but smart enough not to spill the contents, Eldric stood at attention and waited patiently for the command to sit.

    “Sit!” commanded Fritz, still not giving the courtesy of looking Eldric in the eye.

    He continued, “so, you are the golden child of Himmler. Well I’m not very impressed, but I am not one to disobey orders. The Reichsfuhrer called me himself, and informed me of the purpose of your visit. I have to say, I do not expect you to find any useful information here. Thirty ghetto inhabitants were killed upon discovery of Hans Grubers body. Now what do you require of me Major?”

     Eldric considered the question for just a second or two. He was experienced in matters of interrogation, and knew well that in the confines of the ghetto everyone knows everyone, even if by simple rumors, or hearsay.

    “I only need five random inhabitants brought to the basement of this structure. I will proceed with the interrogations myself.”

Interrogation

  “Hello, Helen Kline. Please sit in the chair across from me.” Eldric extended a hand to the wooden chair directly in front of his own.

     The interrogation room in the basement of the Lodz ghetto headquarters was designed to appear as intimidating as possible. The moss covered stone walls, dimly lit hanging bulb from the wooden ceiling, and the dried bloodstained cement floor, screamed of unimaginable pain to the hapless victim of the interrogations.

     Helen slowly walked to the chair and sat with her hands folded between her legs. It was apparent to Eldric that she was afraid of sexual assault, and probably a victim of such practices in the past. She was nervously guarding her womanhood, but he decided not to take advantage of this weakness.

    Just a little bit of pain, and this one will talk, he thought, with the cold calculating confidence of a shark smelling blood in the water. She was the third interrogation of the day. The first two were not even meant to give any useful information. He simply needed their screams to be overheard by Helen, sitting in the hallway, awaiting her turn. Eldric, unknowingly to the other victims, already discovered that Helen would have the information he needed. She was Anastazja’s work mate on the artillery shell line outside the camp. Both women spent no less than three hours each day in close enough contact to communicate. He knew that the temptation to communicate would be too hard to resist for two women trapped in such brutal oppressive conditions. The screams, the blood on the floor, and the lightning pain of a broken finger would be more than enough to get her talking.

   “Hello Helen, my name is Eldric, it is nice to meet you,” he stated, extending his hand toward hers.

    Helen extended a shaking hand to the smiling Eldric. He could see that she was more at ease and her defenses crumbled by his pleasant