The German Half-Bloods (The Half-Bloods Trilogy Book 1)

by Jana Petken

  Paul contemplated Chalky’s statement and smothered an involuntary snigger. The Nazis were on an even lower level of the evolutionary ladder than the beasts that killed the weakest in their group. A frail animal that passed on its genetics would weaken the herd if the weakness was inheritable. They were useless if they couldn’t hunt for food, contribute strength, or lagged when the pack was on the move, making the other animals targets for predators. Human beings, however, should accentuate the strengths of those who were weaker, or promote empathy towards the handicapped to distinguish themselves from lesser species. He sighed. What was the point of even thinking about it? Until these particular human beings admitted that their intended behaviour was worse than animals’, they would continue to do so.

  Before the meeting was adjourned, a one-page signed document was passed around the table for everyone to look at. When Paul received it, he didn’t first read the contents, only Adolf Hitler’s signature at the bottom. Once upon a time he’d have been excited to have this in his possession, but now, he wanted to rip it up and erase the entire meeting from his mind.

  “Read it carefully, Doctors,” Rudolph said.

  “Reichsleiter Bouhler and Dr. med. Brand are hereby ordered to enlarge the authority of certain physicians, whose names are to be specified, to include the granting of assistance to death to patients who are incurably diseased, after a most thorough evaluation of their condition.”

  So, there it was in black and white. Paul passed the document to the doctor sitting next to him while glaring at Rudolph. To hell with your threats, to hell with my father, I’m not staying. Paul’s anger rose like vomit in his throat. He opened his mouth to offer his resignation but was beaten to the punch by another first-year resident called Engel Aust.

  “If you’ll excuse me, sirs, I have ... I would like to ask a question,” Engel stuttered.

  “Yes?” Herr Pfannmüller said.

  Engel’s lip trembled, as did his hands, which he quickly hid under the table. “I am a resident. I am entitled to do a rotation to truly understand the different medical fields. I feel I would learn more if I joined the Wehrmacht. I believe that treating wounded soldiers at the front would stand me in better stead than killing those deemed unworthy of life by men who see themselves worthy of living to old age.”

  Paul gulped. If Engel were permitted to leave, they would all be eligible to offer their resignations. Silence prevailed for a few seconds during which time Engel’s face turned puce.

  Lammers stood up. “What is your name?”

  “Doctor Engel Aust.”

  “Stay where you are, Doctor Aust, the rest of you can go.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  November 1939

  Paul placed his stethoscope on the little boy’s chest and heard the crackling sound of fluid in the base of the child’s lungs. His glazed eyes were trusting, gentle but unseeing, for he was totally blind, as were many of the children in the basement wards. “There, Simon, you’re all done,” said Paul, stroking the boy’s hand. He turned to the nurse. “Make sure he sits up as much as possible. I’ll be back soon with some sulphonamide medication for him.”

  The nurse followed Paul out of the ward. “Doctor Vogel, I shouldn’t bother with the sulfa medication. He’s been selected for special treatment.” The nurse’s eyes were moist. She swiped furtively at her tears, and checking that the coast was clear, she whispered, “I thought you should know.”

  In the corridor, Paul’s feet slammed into the floor with every furious step he took. “What’s the bloody point of trying to heal these people?” he mumbled. Since the important meeting with ministers Lammers and Pfannmüller two weeks earlier, Brandenburg had become a charnel house in which patients were selected through a system devised by so-called experts who sat in the Tiergartenstraße offices in Berlin. Most children were taken from their beds in the morning and were dead within the hour.

  The SS doctors who had recently joined the staff, had been instructed to deal with the patients in the basement first. The children and adolescents down there were predominately Jewish, although a few beds were occupied by non-Ayran, half-Ayran, and Eastern European people. Paul, who had worked in the Jewish section since his arrival at the centre, had not yet been asked to administer the lethal injection containing the Phenobarbital derivative, Luminal, but he had been present at two killings.

  For weeks, he had asked himself a single question: what would he do should he be ordered to hold the needle in his hand, to push it into a child’s arm and deliver the drug? He’d like to think that he was man enough to look his superiors in the eye and say, ‘No, I won’t do it,’ but he’d seen what had happened to his friend and colleague, Engel Aust after he’d tried to resign at the end of the important meeting. On that day, Engel had spoken up with the courage that every other person in the room had lacked. But what had his courage to stand by his principles done for him after he was taken away by Gestapo officers? He’d not been seen or heard from since.

  Paul had learnt that the Nazis didn’t make idle threats or tolerate any dissension within its ranks. Loyalty was everything. The minute a person pinned his or her Nazi badge on their lapels, they lost their souls.

  Deliberately crafted rumours suggested that Engel had been transported to Dachau concentration camp. Paul couldn’t decide whether to believe the story or not, for he suspected that Rudolph was encouraging the gossip to prevent other doctors from following Engel’s lead. As for Paul, he hadn’t discounted the story as nonsense, for had he done so, he’d have resigned by now and got the hell out of Brandenburg.

  He stepped aside to let a trolley pass. It had come from where the mysterious laboratories were situated. He had no idea what went on in there. The doors were guarded day and night, and the SS soldiers wouldn’t give him access.

  He stopped walking to watch a patient being lifted from her bed. The orderly strapped the child onto a gurney, and again Paul sidestepped out of its way. That little girl won’t be back, he thought. She was paraplegic, and thus, going to her death. His stomach lurched as he walked on. How easily he’d dismissed that thought and in doing so, had normalised the murder of sick children.

  He recalled the first euthanasia procedure he’d witnessed. It had happened only four days earlier when a lethal injection had been used on a four-year-old girl with Downs Syndrome. He could still picture her bright smile, her gentleness and joy when he’d sat on the edge of her bed and played pitty-pat with her. She’d died in front of his eyes with that perfect smile still on her trusting face.

  The second patient to die in his presence had been a two-month-old crippled baby boy who was blind and in constant pain caused by a deformed spinal column. Paul hated himself for even contemplating that it might have been a merciful act to put the infant out of its misery. He’d drawn a red line in his mind and as far as he was concerned every lethal injection was murder – but if that had been so, why had he been glad that the baby’s suffering was over – what did it say about who he was becoming?

  Paul ignored the nurse’s advice and administered the sulphonamide drug to the boy with the chest infection. When he left the ward, he hurried along the corridor to the women’s section in search of Hilde Weber. He was still hopeful that the girl would get out of Brandenburg State Hospital alive. He grimaced – what a joke, calling it a hospital? It was a hospital like no other he’d ever seen, built with bricks of hypocrisy and lies and mortar of blood.

  Hilde was going to get out alive, he thought, trying to inject some optimism in what had, so far, been a terrible day. She’d been sterilised, and that was a good sign, for why would they do that procedure if they were going to kill her later. For over a week she’d been lucid, talkative and as normal as any other sixteen-year-old girl, apart from her crippled leg. She had spoken of her wish to go home. She wanted to paint pictures for that was her favourite pastime in the whole world. She was desperate to see her sister, Judith, and her papa, who always told funny stories about the people he worked with
in the furniture factory.

  Her condition was manageable now because of her positive response to drugs and treatments, and she could have a half decent life for as long as she continued with the same medical regime at home. He’d gone as far as to write a report about her excellent progress and had taken it straight to Rudolph’s secretary, bypassing Hauptsturmführer Leitner, a man he didn’t trust and didn’t like.

  A window was open halfway along the corridor. The basement was on the same level as the car park, and when a car went past it sprayed puddled rainwater into the hallway. It was windy, the rain lashing down, and a pool was already forming on the floor. Paul stopped to close the window. As he tugged at the handle he looked out onto the car park. Herr Rudolph was in conversation with his father. What was he doing here? The two men were some distance away, so he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need glasses to recognise their angry gestures.

  “Clean up that water on the floor,” Paul barked at nurse who was walking towards him. “Someone will slip and fall.”

  He peered out at the car park again, just in time to see Kurt, his father’s driver, open the rear door of the Mercedes and his father disappear inside. A few seconds later the car drove off with his father in it.

  He slammed the window shut. He almost dreaded the forthcoming weekend he’d have at home with his parents. What father was too busy to speak to the son he hadn’t seen for almost three months? His apparently.

  Children’s screams urged Paul into a run. Hilde and another young girl were kicking and screaming as they were being manhandled onto two gurneys. Hilde’s face was red with fury, her eyes bright with tears. She screeched at the orderly who was working hard to hold her down, then, spotting Paul at the door, she howled. “Doctor Paul, I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!”

  “Where are you taking Hilde Weber?” Paul snapped at the orderly.

  The orderly buckled the leather restraint strap across Hilde’s malnourished stomach; her ribs were sticking up in her abdomen through lack of food. “She’s going for special treatment – aren’t you Hilde? You’ll feel better afterwards, won’t you, Hilde?”

  “Get off me. I’ll tell my papa. You’re a pig!” Hilde spat in the orderly’s face and then cried out to Paul again, “I want you to come with me. If you don’t come they’ll put me in the rubbish bin … they will … don’t let them, please, Doctor Paul.”

  As soon as the orderly began pushing the trolley, Paul panicked. Hilde’s body shook and jerked, her muscles in spasm so violent, her teeth rattled. She began to scream, conscious now that her wrists and ankles were also bound. He had to stop this. Hilde wasn’t terminally ill, she could have a good life, loved, cherished, cared for by people who didn’t see her as being unworthy of living.

  As he followed her trolley, he could only imagine what she was about to experience. She’d ask questions but would get no answers. Fear would race through her if she saw others go before her, or she might see the bodies of other children as she was being injected with the burning phenol drug. “I’m coming with the patient,” he called out to the orderly. “There’s been a mistake!”

  The orderly halted, looked at his paperwork and shook his head. “No, Doctor Vogel. No mistake here. She’s on the list for this morning, signed by Herr Rudolph, as always.”

  The man set off with determined strides down the corridor, pushing Hilde’s trolley, as she screamed for Paul. Apparently sensing that Paul was still there, he marched on but threw over his shoulder, “Take it up with the director, Doctor Vogel.”

  It was futile to argue further, Paul knew. Spies were everywhere and even the lowly men who pushed the gurneys all day would be under orders to report dissenting medical staff. He watched Hilde Weber disappear around a corner and leant against the wall. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest. He rubbed his tight ribs, cursing under his breath.

  “Can I help you, Doctor?”

  Paul’s head jerked up. Had the nurse heard him? “I can’t go into the laboratories in the basement. I wonder if you would tell the doctors who are with Hilde Weber to hold off until I get a signature for her release – I sent a report up to the director’s office about her improved condition just yesterday – can you do that for me, Nurse, please?”

  The nurse glared at Paul, unable to hide her impatience. “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that. If she was taken for special treatment, it’s because the director has already signed the form. Anyway, she’ll be in the crematorium by the time you get upstairs to Herr Rudolph.”

  Paul’s eyes were bright with rage as he studied the ice-bound woman before him. Her face held no pity or regret, no guilt or desire to help him. He shook his head. “I see.”

  “Will that be all, Doctor? I must get on,” she dismissed him. “One patient out and another one in. You know how it is.”

  “No, that is not all. Tell me, don’t you feel anything, anything at all for the plight of these poor children? Do you have children? Do you have parents who would grieve if they lost you?”

  “Mind your tone with me, Doctor. We’re all being asked to do difficult things, even when we don’t fully approve of them.”

  “And do you approve?”

  The nurse hesitated as though searching for a safe answer. “Yes. Now is the perfect time to eradicate the incurably ill,” she responded, barely a crease marring her poker face.

  “Eradicate? You mean like cockroaches or rats?”

  The nurse folded her arms. “I don’t know why you’re angry with me? I’m just doing my job. If you ask any honest person, they’ll tell you that they don’t want to be reminded of spastics and cripples when there are soldiers dying for the Reich.”

  “Ah, I see. You’re following the official line on this, aren’t you? But here’s the thing, Nurse, I’ve not heard any German I know say that, or even think it.”

  “Yes ... well ... that’s because we’ve been told not to tell anyone what we’re doing here. But if we were to speak to the average man and woman on the street about our programme, they’d tell you that the physically and mentally handicapped are useless to this country. Why should time and effort be spent on the likes of the patients we have here when resources could be better utilised to provide comfort for our men who are fighting for the survival of the German race. Besides, most of these people will be better off dead. We’re doing merciful work.”

  Paul left Brandenburg around 5am and drove back to Berlin in his new car, a graduation gift from his father. He arrived in the city just as it was waking up. Car and tram drivers were already on the roads, cafes were open, and most houses were lit up despite the new blackout regulations. It had taken him two hours to reach Berlin’s city centre, yet he was not ready to face his father, or to hear his mother’s questions about life in Brandenburg.

  He stopped at a roadside restaurant known for serving early breakfasts, and took his time eating a plateful of eggs, ham, and toast with honey. He washed the food down with a pot of strong black coffee, during which he decided to make another stop before going home.

  He parked the car outside the Weber’s tenement building and then sat for a while contemplating the pros and cons of knocking at their front door. He was breaking the rules just by being at a patient’s house, yet he no longer cared about following the hospital’s stringent regulations. Everything the place stood for sickened him, and, like an impossible jigsaw, he was unable to reconcile his guilt and helplessness with his actions. He had not been able to stop Hilde’s murder, yet conversely, he had enabled it by not being able to protect her either. He was, therefore, an accessory to the crime.

  Judith Weber’s eyes widened with recognition when she saw Paul standing on the landing with his hat in his hand. Her fingers went to her throat as she stepped over the threshold, but then shot out to grip his arm in panic. “Oh God, what’s happened to Hilde?”

  Her ashen face broke Paul’s heart, and for a moment he was tempted to lie. ‘Hilde is all right,’ he was desperate to t
ell her, but instead, he said, “May I come in?”

  Judith invited him into the living room. He refused her offer of tea, feeling sick at the thought of swallowing anything. “May I speak with your father, Judith?”

  When she’d left the room, Paul let out a long, nervous sigh. Rudolph and Leitner would crucify him if they found out about this visit. It was absolutely forbidden to talk to family members before or after their loved one’s mercy-killing, as was private correspondence between doctors and the families of the deceased. Paul sprang to his feet when Adel Weber came bounding into the room.

  “You have news about my Hilde, Doctor?” asked Adel. Anxiety had aged the man ten years since his daughter had been taken.

  “Good morning, Herr Weber.” Paul cleared his throat, wishing now that he’d accepted the tea. “I’m afraid I have bad news. You will receive a notification this morning regarding Hilde. Her pneumonia came on very suddenly, and unfortunately, she died yesterday. Please accept my heartfelt condolences.”

  Judith was standing very close to him, but her eyes were tight shut. Her white skin turned grey, her trembling lips took on a bluish hue, and she shook from head to toe. “No, no, no! You said she was getting better. You told me!”

  “I’m so very sorry, Fräulein, Herr Weber,” Paul said. “We did everything we could.” He hated himself for the lies that had slipped so easily from his lips. “Can I get you a glass of water, Judith?”

  “I knew it. I knew my Hilde wouldn’t come back to me,” Adel muttered, his words garbled, his voice nothing but a dry croak. “My baby’s never coming back – you took her – you stole her from her papa.”

  Adel’s legs buckled beneath him, but Paul caught him before he crumpled to the floor. He helped the man into an armchair then turned his attention to Judith whose hate-filled glare sent chills up and down his spine. “The hospital will send Hilde’s ashes and death certificate to you,” his words almost burnt his throat, “but as I said, you will get the notification of her death today.”