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

guards were increasingly drunk. Security was still tight, but more astute prisoners, like Aleksander, noticed an increasingly slackening off within the SS guard elite. He thought to himself with some amusement, our Nazi masters are not even immune to the horrors of killing the innocent. May our blood be on their souls for the rest of their lives and, eternity beyond. His thoughts were interrupted as he saw Aaron pass by him on his way to his own barracks.

“Pssssss, hey Aaron, come here,” whispered Aleksander. Aaron walked with his usual cautious demeanor.

“I cannot accept any more notes for a while. I think I am under suspicion, he stated with wide eyed paranoia.

“You’re crazy my friend. If they suspected you, you would already be a cloud of smoke. Now listen carefully, I need Anastazja to meet me tomorrow night at eight O’ Clock outside the sick barracks, number four.”

Aaron waved his hands in front of face and shook his head back and forth, with mouth wide open but not making a sound.

“Now listen to me you fool. You will find a way or I will commit suicide. I will tell the SS guards about our little arrangement. I will die. Anastazja will die, but you will come with us.”

Aaron stared at Aleksander for a few moments as if looking at the final hold out in a poker game. Aleksander’s gamble paid off as Aaron replied,” Ok, but after this our arrangement is finished. You hear me, finished!”

“So how you going to do it, my little messenger boy?” asked Aleksander.

“I am tasked tomorrow with carrying all of the SS uniforms and distributing them throughout the camp and administrative offices. I am also in charge of compiling a list of five girls to help me distribute the uniforms. I will place Anastazja’s name on my list. Sunday is the girl’s day off, and will not look suspicious if I use girls directly responsible for sewing and repair of the very uniforms I distribute.”

Aleksander thought with just a tinge of guilt, he doesn’t even know we are going to escape. He will surely be blamed when Anastazja goes missing. Aleksander stuffed this guilty thought down deep within his subconscious, to be later brought out later when he could afford to feel such luxury as guilt.

“So why are bringing her to the sick barracks,” asked Aaron, as if reading the guilty thoughts on Aleksander’s mind.

“Because this is the safest place on a Sunday evening, and that is all you need to know.”

At eight O’clock the next evening, Anastazja was brought to the sick barracks number four. Aleksander did not give her a time to speak. He quickly wrapped his arms around her and stopped his tears from flowing as he felt her ribs protruding from underneath her tattered dress.

   “No time for talking my dear. Get underneath the bodies quickly.” He grabbed her by the left arm and swiftly walked her to the back of the large open tractor outside the barracks. Piled inside were dozens of skeletonized bodies with slick pale skin and expressionless dead faces.

   “Take off your clothes, hurry.” he commanded. Anastazja was tempted to argue, disgusted at the thought of what must be done, but she knew the reason for Aleksander’s uncharacteristic sternness. If they were caught now, they were sure to die slowly. Anastazja took off her clothes and crawled naked into the back of the truck. The weight of the corpses was crushing her, but she managed to wiggle just enough to the front of the pile to find a small opening for fresh life-giving air. The smell of decay and the feel of the stiff corpses made her vomit several times through the night.

    Aleksander could not use the same truck as Anastazja. His plan was well thought out and he determined that it was safer to use the second truck. He stripped naked himself and threw both sets of clothing underneath the barracks. He heard the familiar footsteps of the standard knee-high Nazi jackboot crunching gravel beneath each heavy step. He quickly ran to the second truck parked next to Anastazja’s and pushed his way underneath the dead. He too would vomit and silently wretch throughout the night.

Onward to Russia

    At six am the next morning, the tractors filled with the corpses of the sick were brought to a large Poppy field just two miles from the camp. Anastazja could feel the back of the tractor being raised on an incline. She took a deep breath filling her lungs one final time with the foul odor of the bodies directly above. With her mind numbed by the horror of spending the night in this condition, she felt her body slide free onto the dew-covered grass below. She braced herself for the impact of dozens of bodies falling on her already fragile form. She waited until the tractor pulled away to drive the two miles back to camp for another load of inanimate ghastly cargo. When she felt safe to emerge, she pushed and squirmed her way from underneath the pile of dead and frantically scanned the area for Aleksander. Almost ready to give up hope that her Aleksander survived the night, she heard grunting from underneath the second pile of bodies dumped by the second tractor.

            “Aleksander. Aleksander,” she repeated, as she crawled through the grass to the location of his gasps. Aleksander slowly crawled from beneath his own burden as Anastazja frantically pulled at the corpses still crushing him from above.

            “I’m ok love. We are Ok,” he whispered between involuntary fits of coughing and gagging from the stench.

            Both lovers rose to their feet and stumbled through the morning fog in silence. That night, just ten miles East of the camp, the lovers found an abandoned farmhouse still standing despite having been set on fire during the early days of the invasion. By a twist of fate, the barn was set on fire by an incendiary shell just before a downpour of rain. Anasytazja and Aleksander were not religious, but could not help wondering if fate provided them this life saving shelter four years before this moment in time.

            That night, both lovers embraced and made love to each other for the first time in four years. For just one night the world of horror and insanity, just outside the door, melted away into obscurity, as both lovers became one again.

 

Undying Love  Book 2(The Pursuit)

   SS Sturmbannfuhrer, Eldric Richter, insisted on driving with the top down of his personal Mercedes Benz 170V staff car. Despite the crisp October German air and the light frozen droplets of mist assaulting his face, he felt quite comfortable. He felt the comfort of a man so lost in thoughts, external inconveniences like weather, or the obvious discomfort of his driver, could not break his concentration. He thought only of the tremendous opportunity of advancement in a Nazi hierarchical system, that only rewarded those with the skill and cunning to climb over the figurative corpses of colleagues and friends. Colleagues and friends, he thought, who would kill their own Mothers for nothing more than scraps from the Fuhrer’s table. Even the vivid emerald and sap green maples and oaks, interlaced with red and orange foliage, could not compete with the type of blind ambition fostered by Hitler’s intentional ruthless system of promotion. To an artist, a poet, or any ordinary German, the landscape of nature bordering the ten-mile winding Horst Wessel road, was enough to make one forget the insanity of a world at war. To Eldric, Richter, such landscapes were neither an inspiration or an annoyance to me, he thought, with a touch of bitterness. The services he performed for the Third Reich over the past four years, since the 1939 invasion of Poland were numerous, and he did not feel compensated for, in his mind, his acts of heroism. As an intelligence investigator for the security section of the SS, he was somewhat protected from the incessant back-stabbing of those around him. His access to personal information, and potentially compromising behaviors of others, made him one of the most feared individuals within then Reich. Wiretaps in seedy hotel rooms, informants in adjoining bathroom stalls, and a free hand at torturing anyone unlucky enough to catch his attention, created an aura of fear and dread, that slowly choked anyone standing long enough in his presence. Even his superiors, such as Eichmann and Hydreich, knew well enough to keep Eldric on a shortened leash. Ambitious members of the SS security services were known to keep intelligence reports of rival colleagues for potential future endeavors such as blackmail, extortion, and elimination of competition for promotion. But this was not on his mind as the black staff car rounded the sharp corners of Horst Wessel road. His thoughts circled around the countless reason he would be summoned to speak to Reichsfuhrer Heinrch Himmler, at his mysterious headquarters of Wewelsburg Castle.

  “Good morning Sturmbannfuhrer, please have a seat,” stated Himmler, extending his hand toward the black leather chair to the front of his Prussian hand crafted oak desk.

    Eldric gave a crisp salute shouting “Heil Hitler,” before taking his seat.

    Himmler sat and opened a green colored file sitting on top of his desk. He read the file in silence, not looking at Elric as he scanned the contents inside.

    No doubt reading my dossier, thought Eldric, with a growing sense of unease. To take his mind off the increasingly fluttering of his stomach, he surveyed the impressiveness of the room. The interior atmosphere mingled together both the rustic feudalism of the seventeenth century castle, and the modern Nazi mysticism of Himmler’s vision. The castle was leased by Himmler in 1934, and was to become the spiritual center of the SS elite. This was the place of power, where Nordic God’s of old would touch the Nazi SS elite with the knowledge and power of ancient times- when Aryan God’s walked the earth. Eldric was forced to hold in his laugh, as he observed the large banners with the SS lightning bolt insignia next to statues of Aryan God’s straight out of Wagner’s fantastical imagination. Eldric was not a follower of such mystical doctrines. He did not share his employer’s enthusiasm for the occult. His was a mission of power through recognition. As any self-admitted narcissist will claim, his mission in life was not to sheepishly follow the rest of the, as he saw most people, mindless herd. His was a mission as real as the dirt under his feet, and the air in his lungs. His was a mission of self-fulfillment through the adoration of another’s eyes. At this moment, that other was Heinrich Himmler, Chief of the terrifying SS apparatus.

  After what seemed to Elric as a lifetime of waiting, Himmler looked at him through his sparkling pez nez glasses. “I see you have done some great service for the Reich, and your fuhrer.”

  “I serve wherever I am needed Reichsfuhrer,” he stated with the commanding voice of a man much practiced at always projecting the proper professional etiquette.

    “I am going to get right to the point. I called you here to my headquarters today because a certain situation has become embarrassing.” Himmler waited for a few seconds for a reply, but Elric knew better to give one. A sensitive mater requiring Himmler’s personal attention was rare, and must be a serious one indeed.

     Himmler continued, “There have been over a dozen escapes from various concentration camps over the past few months. If we cannot control our prisoners, what does this say about our efficiency, and dedication to our mission?”

      This again was a rhetorical question, and giving a reply would do little for Eldric’s prospects.

     “Well I will tell you Major. If we allow prisoners to escape, we are no better than the Western Democracies that allow scum to walk their streets with impunity.” With this last statement,