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

by Jana Petken

  He recalled the day Heller gave him his code name. He’d explained, “Mirror came to mind because of your twin, Paul. You and he are so incredibly alike that one of you appears to be the reflection of the other in a mirror. I’ve seen identical twins before, but never as perfect a match as you two. What I wouldn’t do to have both of you working for me.”

  A foreign office representative had once asked for the real identity of agent Mirror, and he’d gone as far as to opine that it might be Max. Heller had instantly dispelled that notion with a casual comment. “Max Vogel, my analyst? Are you joking? He’s much too valuable here to put into the field. The furthest he goes is Scapa Flow.” Heller had then reported the man to the Foreign Secretary for commenting on an agent’s identity, and the unfortunate person was transferred to India a week later.

  Max yawned with exhaustion, and still deep in his daydream, thought again about the question of loyalty. He and Paul had been born in England only weeks before the Great War began, and only days before his father had returned to Germany, leaving his wife behind with twin babies in London.

  Max and his father had both posed the same question of themselves at the onset of war, albeit, different wars years apart.

  On September 3rd Max had asked himself: where does my allegiance lie? It had taken him only seconds to answer. He’d spent the last eight years in England, and had gone to university for three of them. During his last term at Cambridge, he’d enlisted, but had kept up the pretence of being a student. Only Paul knew the truth.

  His mother used to take him and his siblings to Kent every summer and in the weeks leading up to Christmas. She’d insisted that their command of the English language should be as fluent as their German with neither having the accent of the other when speaking. He’d always considered himself more English than German; Paul on the other hand, was German through and through.

  Max recalled his father’s explanation for deserting his young English wife and twin babies in 1914. “It was an easy choice for me in the days leading up to the Great War. It took me less than a minute to decide that my allegiance was to Kaiser Wilhelm II, King of Prussia and the German Empire. Even though I’d lived and worked in England and had married your mother, I was a patriotic young German, an idealist who believed in putting nation before self. And in my mind, my wife and sons could wait for me quite happily with the support of the family in Kent, but Germany ... my country … needed me like a hurt child crying out for help.” A poor simile in Max’s opinion.

  The telephone rang. Max, jolted from his thoughts, leapt to his feet and crossed to the hall table. Heller was on the other end of the line.

  “Good. I guessed you’d be there. Can you speak?” Heller asked.

  “Yes, I’m waiting for Frank and Hannah to arrive home.”

  “Your Romek has set up a transmission station in Paris. He has two sub-agents in mind to work with him, but he doesn’t want to go ahead without you. I want you to go to France. Supervise the operation until it’s up and running, make sure these French sub-agents are reliable, and while you’re there, do a bit of reconnaissance for us, like you did in Poland.”

  “All right, but look how well that turned out,” Max joked. He viewed this as good news. He’d do anything to get out of London and that horrible bedsit of his. “How long will I be there for?”

  “We’ll send you retrieval instructions when we want you back. We gave Romek a few crystals to make the transmitters, and he had them up and running within days. His codes are good, and his information is thorough. We’re thinking he might be a good station leader at some point in the future.”

  “What’s his cover?”

  Heller chuckled, “We’ve teamed him up with a high-quality photographer who captures society weddings and the like. You know Baptiste Chirac, Max, he’s been with us for years. According to his last transmission, Romek is moving in some interesting circles. With a bit of luck, he’ll carry that cover on if the Germans get there...”

  “They will,” Max interrupted. “It’s only a matter of time.” Max heard Heller’s tired sigh on the other end of the line. “Are you all right, sir,” he asked.

  “I want to know what the German Secret Service is up to,” Heller responded. “I’ll be very surprised if the Abwehr haven’t already started recruiting their French spy-ring. Find it, before it gets off the ground and causes problems for our agents over there. Be at headquarters at 08.00 hrs for your briefing.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Berlin, December 1939

  Paul hurried to the car park, desperate to leave Brandenburg for two days’ Christmas leave. It was snowing, and so cold was the air that his nostrils hurt when he inhaled. When he got to his car, he took his gloves off and fumbled in his deep coat pockets for his key. It was going to take him twice as long to get home in this weather, he thought, opening the car door.

  He put his rucksack on the back seat, closed the door then jumped when he saw Judith Weber’s reflection in his rear-view mirror; she was shivering outside the back window. It had been weeks since Hilde Weber’s death, and he had not thought to ever see Judith again after his bungled visit to her home. He was still grateful that neither she nor her father had reported him to the hospital.

  “Fräulein? What are you doing here?” He took in her sodden appearance. She was trembling from head to toe and her hair was straggly and plastered to her head. “Oh, Fräulein Weber, please get in. You’ll catch your death of cold.” He led her around the front of the car to the passenger door.

  Paul ran back to the driver’s side, eased his wet body into the seat, and turned the engine on, powering up the heater as fast as he could. Judith was sitting as straight as a pole without resting her back against the seat or turning her head to face him. He twisted around to fetch a blanket lying on the back seat and then covered her with it. So far, she’d not uttered a word. “Are you all right, Fräulein? Apart from being wet and frozen, I mean.”

  She wiped her face and tucked dripping strands of hair behind her ears. “I know I’m not allowed to come here or to bother the doctors anymore, but I didn’t know what else to do. Please, don’t report me to anyone.”

  “Of course, I won’t. Are you in trouble, Judith?”

  “No, not me, at least not yet, but my father was arrested three days ago. The Gestapo came to our house. They ransacked the place, and when they’d finished stealing half our belongings, they dragged my father into the street in his pyjamas. I ran down the stairs after them, and caught Papa’s eye just as they were shoving him into the back of a truck. I couldn’t think what to do apart from making him see me. I knew he’d be angry if I spoke up or tried to stop them taking him. He wouldn’t have wanted me to be arrested with him. I know he wouldn’t … he just wouldn’t.”

  Judith broke down, her tears coursing down her freshly-dried face. “This is my fault. I told people that Hilde was taken from us by force and that you’d killed her. I wrote … I wrote…”

  “What, Judith? What did you write?”

  “Hundreds of cards saying don’t let your children be taken to hospital. They will kill them. I distributed them in my neighbourhood late at night, and in Brandenburg.”

  “My God, Judith. Do you know how much trouble you could get into?”

  “Yes, I do now. I think that old Rosenthal woman will tell the police. When the truck took off with Papa in it, she smiled at me. But not a nice smile, one of those, ‘see, I got you’ smirks. All the neighbours in my building wanted to get rid of Hilde, but since her death, two more boys from my street have been taken away, and they died as well. I don’t know their names, and they weren’t brothers or related in any way, but they were Jews. Papa works, oh God, worked,” she broke down again, then sat up straighter, “he worked with the boys’ fathers at the factory, and they told him that their sons weren’t like Hilde. One had tuberculosis and the other was mentally … well, I don’t know what, but something was wrong with his brain…he wasn’t right in the head, was what the ma
n told Papa.”

  Paul’s hands were trembling, he knew what she was saying was right, but still he went on the defensive. “People die of diseases every day, Judith. You shouldn’t get mixed up in things you don’t understand, and you certainly shouldn’t speak out against the medical profession.”

  “I understand more than you think, Doctor. My little sister is dead, and she shouldn’t be!”

  Paul was at a loss. What could he possibly say to defend his director, and all the others who were running the deadly programme that was building momentum in five other centres around Germany. He wasn’t surprised to hear that her Jewish neighbourhood had been targeted. That group was at the top of the list regardless of whether they had debilitating mental or physical conditions. They were Jews, and that was enough.

  He took a breath and waited for a beat. “Tell me more about your father.”

  “He did nothing wrong. He told me not to speak about Hilde. He said I should accept what had happened to her and not think about it anymore. I stopped as soon as the cards ran out. I did, really, I did, but Frau Rosenthal had already handed one of them to the Gestapo. She told me she did it, said she didn’t want the authorities to think she and her family had anything to do with writing them or with the rumours I was spreading.”

  Judith fished a wet handkerchief from her coat pocket and blew her nose. “You know I was telling the truth, Doctor Vogel. I was just warning people … that’s all … I swear. I just wanted to warn them.”

  Paul’s hand snaked out as if to pat Judith’s arm, but he withdrew it swiftly realising she would not, could not, accept his solace. Slowly, her sobs died down and her breath steadied. “Where did the Gestapo take your father?” Paul asked.

  “I don’t know. They came to arrest me for inciting unrest, and Papa told them it was him who had done it all and that I had nothing to do with any of it. The men weren’t in uniform, but I know they were secret police. When I appeared on the doorstep, they ignored me as if I didn’t exist. I don’t know where they’ve taken my papa, but I’m terrified they’ll put him in prison for … oh, Doctor Vogel … for something he didn’t do. Please, can you help me find him? Maybe if I apologise in writing and promise not to...”

  “No!” he cried. “No, Judith, you mustn’t go anywhere near the authorities or bring any more attention to yourself. You must let this run its course now. I’m sorry to have to say that, but you’ve got to keep your mouth shut, especially when you’re anywhere near that awful Rosenthal woman.”

  “I can’t...”

  “You must.”

  Judith buried her face in the blanket to hide her tears and muffle her wretched sobs. Then, without warning, she bent towards Paul and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What have I done? What have I done?”

  Paul instinctively put a protective arm around her shivering body and let her cry. Feather-light snowdrops spackled the windscreen, some sticking where they’d landed, others sliding down the glass and turning to water. Still unsure about what he could do for her, he gently pushed her away. This was not a good situation. To be caught consorting with a woman in his car, a Jewish one at that, and the sister of an already euthanised child, would give Leitner the ammunition he needed to reprimand him. The man had been goading him since the first night they’d met in Dresden.

  “Judith, I’m going to Berlin. Let me drive you home. We can talk on the way and maybe stop for a bite to eat,” he said.

  “Thank you. I think I would like that.” She placed her hand on Paul’s arm and added, “Doctor Vogel, I’m sorry I told people you’d killed Hilde. You’re a good man.”

  He wouldn’t be able to help her, he thought, as he drove out of the hospital’s grounds. Not in any way that would bring her father back. He might be able to find out where Herr Weber had been taken, but even then, his inquiry would have to be subtle and unobtrusive. The fact that he was leaving for the Christmas break also boded ill, for he wouldn’t be back at Brandenburg for three days at least, and in that time, Herr Weber might already have been dispatched; to one place or another. Only a week or so ago, the man who owned the grocers shop in the street opposite the hospital had been arrested for serving a Jewish woman who’d been standing in the queue. She’d either ignored or hadn’t heard about the new law, which stated that Jews had to stand apart from other customers in shops so that they were served last. Helping Jews was now frowned upon. He’d have to have a good think about how to tackle Judith’s request, for if he asked too many questions, he’d shoot himself in the foot for being a Jewish sympathiser.

  Paul parked the car outside Judith’s tenement block. He turned off the engine and peered down the length of the street. At the end, the factory gates were open, and a slew of people were leaving work for the night. Everything looked normal, just as it should. Men chatted as they walked, some were greeted by children and wives while others walked with their heads down and dragging their feet after a hard day on the factory floor.

  “The Jews were fired yesterday,” said Judith, continuing to stare out of the car window.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes. The floor manager read out a list of names, which was stupid because only a handful of men are non-Jews. He would have been better saying you five or six stay, the rest of you are finished here, instead of humiliating every Jew in the place by reading out his name and telling him not to come back. They were told they could work until the end of the week.”

  Paul was surprised to hear this news. He was also perplexed. “Who is going to replace the skilled Jewish workers?”

  “Aryans.”

  How easily she had said that word, Paul thought. It was as though Aryans were a completely different species, or from another planet, and she had become quite used to them. He wondered if she knew that true Nazis believed Aryans to be a mythical, super human race from Atlantis who had somehow ended up crossing the seas to become Germanic. Nazis loved to spout shite to ignorant people who wanted to hear nationalist claims that they were superior to all other beings on earth.

  Judith carried on, “There’s a rumour that the factory has been bought or sequestered by the Wehrmacht. They say it will start manufacturing arms: bombs and guns, bullets maybe. I don’t know if it’s true, but I’ve seen plenty of soldiers going in and out during the past week. Maybe they’ll work there from now on?”

  No, Paul thought. Perhaps soldiers will run the place and use forced labour to do the work. The Reich could easily force the Jews they’d fired to return to the factory but under a completely different system of payment, which would be a pittance. This area was a Jewish ghetto. He’d found out from one of his father’s friends that Jews were being thrown out of their houses and relocated in tenement blocks just like Judith’s. What else did the Reich have in store for them? Not wanting to air those thoughts, he said. “Shall I see you to your flat?”

  “No, thank you. I just want to get inside and go to bed. You’ve been very kind to me, Doctor Vogel.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wilmot Vogel

  Warsaw, Poland, May 1940

  Wilmot woke up with a hangover. He groaned, swung his legs over the edge of his bed, and then surprised his neighbour with a loud fart. “Ah, that was a good night last night, Dietrich. I might have been a bit heavy-handed on the beer, but it was worth it. It’s been a while since I haven’t given a shit about anything.”

  “You can’t sing, Vogel, and you stink like a Jew, that’s all I know,” said Dietrich in the next bunk, pulling his blanket over his head.

  Wilmot showered and reported for duty five minutes early. Always be at your station five minutes early had been drummed into him during his basic training.

  He walked the short distance from his barracks to the holding camp near the recently renamed, Adolf Hitler Platz. He was bloated with pride and brimming with confidence. German swastika flags flew on every building and lamp post in the centre of the city, and tanks and trucks were parked along the main avenue running down the side of the Platz.
No one was in any doubt about the German occupiers’ goals for the future. They were there to stay, and to prove it were already rebuilding damaged streets using forced labourers who worked hard and cost no more than the price of a loaf of bread for a day’s work.

  He strode past one such building site where the road was full of pot-holes. It wasn’t yet daybreak, but men wearing purple badges on their clothing inscribed with the letter P for Polish, were digging and mixing cement. Warsaw belonged to the Germans now. Poles were no longer allowed to use public transport, they were under a curfew and banned from all places of amusement, so getting a table in a restaurant was easy, although getting a night off was not. The Poles couldn’t go to church either – he’d discussed this issue with one of his friends the previous night – he wasn’t sure if churches should even be called places of amusement, they’d always bored him stiff, and he’d hated the smell of incense since he’d been a boy.

  The only thing that bothered him about this whole discrimination decree was the sexual relations part of it. Touching, talking to or having sex with Poles was forbidden now under the section of Rassenschande, another way of saying Race Defilement. He and every other German soldier had been warned that sticking it to a Polish woman could result in a death sentence. He’d been shocked. He was young, virile and good looking, and it was a cruel order for hard working soldiers who were far from home for extended periods. The bunkhouses were full of men relieving themselves day and night. How else were they supposed to release their pent-up urges?

  He entered the detention camp and found his truck, Number 42, as always already loaded with prisoners. Franz, his co-driver, stood next to the squad leader who held the manifest in his hand.

  “Is this a new truck? I’ve never seen one like this before. What’s all the metal around it for?” Wilmot asked the squad leader.