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

by Jana Petken

  ******

  Paul turned into Judith’s street, still so deep in thought about Brandt’s list of instructions he barely saw the soldiers standing in the middle of the road with their palms in the air signalling him to halt.

  He eyed the two SS soldiers manning the new checkpoint. Their rifles were slung casually over their shoulders as they parted company to walk to either side of his car. Paul got out his documents from the glove compartment and then rolled down the driver’s window. “Good afternoon.”

  “Your papers,” said the soldier, clicking his fingers.

  “What’s going on here?” Paul demanded to know.

  The soldier looked at Paul’s ID card and documents recording his profession, place of work and home address, and when he responded it was with a more respectful tone of voice. “We’re putting up a fence to keep the Kikes in, Doctor,” he said, pointing up the street in the direction of the four tenement blocks and factory. “Haven’t you heard about this place? We evacuated the last two remaining Aryan families about an hour ago and moved in more Jews from the Klausener Platz district. They’re spreading diseases. Half of them up that road are sick. Turn around. No one’s allowed to go in but them and us.”

  Paul snapped, “Did you not read what was on my papers? I’m a doctor from Brandenburg State Hospital. I have a patient in one of these blocks.”

  “Did you come all the way from Brandenburg to help a Jew then?” The soldier’s eyebrows shot up.

  Paul’s mouth opened before he had truly considered his response. “Yes, and I’ll continue to treat them until I’m ordered not to. I’ve got an urgent case today. She might have to be admitted, and we don’t have any available ambulances to take her to the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  He thought quickly. “We’re trying to get sick Jews into centres before, as you said, they spread their diseases. Will you let me go in there to get her, or will you wait until she passes you in the street and gives you whatever she’s got wrong with her?” When the soldier didn’t move, Paul tried again, “You do know I work for the Interior Ministry?”

  “I don’t care if you work for God himself, you can’t get in.”

  “Are you sure you want to tangle with the Chancellery? Or indeed my boss, a very close friend of the Führer, by the way?”

  The soldier stepped back a pace, the colour rising from his neck to his hairline. “All right, Doctor,” he gushed, “but this must be the last time. Once we put the gate up, no one will get in unless they’re on our official visitor’s list. Maybe you can tell your colleagues when you get back to your hospital to put your name on the list for future reference?”

  Paul nodded. “Excellent idea. I will.”

  Once he had parked his car, Paul strode along the street, passing labourers wearing German flags on their armbands. Every day, he saw increasing numbers of forced labourers in the city, as well as those improving roads in the countryside. The unfortunate people were not all Jews, he’d noted, they were from every section of society. Hitler was now using slaves to carry out engineering projects, such as infrastructure for the new autobahns; saving a vast amount of money into the bargain.

  When Paul reached Judith’s block, he saw another sign mounted on a pole. It read:

  WOHNGEBEIT DER JUDEN BETRETEN VERBOTEN

  Jewish residence, entry forbidden. It was the third such sign he’d seen since leaving his car. It seemed the authorities had already posted quarantine notices at the entrances to every block warning of the danger of infectious disease. Who in their right mind believed that nonsense? As far as he knew the Jewish faith was not contagious.

  He stomped up the four stairs to the building’s entrance. The fencing cemented into concrete blocks standing knee high at the edge of the pavement boded ill. Barbed wire, now stretching to only about ten feet high was set to be continued, making a totally enclosed Jewish ghetto.

  What a waste of money and effort, a distortion of the truth, a massive fraud. Goebbels’ propaganda lies had taken hold of the city, working the most ill-informed Germans into a lather. Hitler’s mouthpiece was a great manipulator, using deceptive euphemisms to explain and justify the deportation of Jews from their homes to ghettos or transit camps. Paul was sick of seeing the words evacuated and resettled on Jewish patients’ records. Evacuated for what reason? They were in no more danger in their own homes than non-Jewish Germans? The filthy Jews, as they were being called more and more often, were not riddled with diseases, but were being isolated for the benefit of the larger population. They had not been put into a fenced ghetto because it was a new type of residential community where elderly or disabled Jews could retire in peace and safety, playing dominoes to the end of their days. Those were Goebbels’ fictions, invented for domestic consumption. Why in God’s name didn’t ordinary Germans see through the deceit, or at the very least, question it?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Paul stopped short of Judith’s landing to listen to a heated conversation going on between her and another woman. He was perplexed and not a little disturbed; not only were Jews being persecuted by many non-Jewish Germans, but now, it seemed, they were persecuting each other.

  “You’re a selfish tyke, Judith Weber. I’ve got four mouths to feed. You know they took my Ekhard’s mother and father away last week. And you’d deny a growing boy some food? Well, you listen to me, troublemaker, if you don’t give me what you’ve got, I’ll tell the Gestapo about you writing those cards. You’ll be shot, and it’ll serve you right.”

  Paul turned the corner to see a woman dressed in a black coat with a scarf over her head stamping her feet in impatience at the Weber’s door. Her back was to him but Judith, legs planted valiantly on her threshold with fisted hands on her hips, beamed when she saw him.

  “The doctor’s here. If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to him in private, Frau Rosenthal. I’m not a rude person, but if you don’t get off my doorstep, I’ll slam the door in your face – I will.” Judith raised her eyebrows at Frau Rosenthal. “Well?”

  The old woman turned on her heel and came face to face with Paul. “Doctor, will you come to my flat when you’ve finished with her, please? My husband’s not well. He’s got a nasty boil, and it needs popping.”

  Judith gripped Paul by the arm and pulled him inside. “Go away, y’old hag, and don’t come back.”

  Judith slumped on to the sagging sofa. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Frau Rosenthal’s family torment me almost every day for food or money. And they know there’s not enough to go around. They’re not nice, those Rosenthals, they’re always stealing something.” She raked her fingers through her hair, sniffed then looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Doctor Vogel. Do you have news of my father? Did they take him to one of those camps for Jews?”

  Paul studied Judith’s face and trembling fingers as she wiped her eyes. He had news, but her father hadn’t been transported to a camp, as she presumed. He’d been shot dead in the prison where they’d taken him for processing.

  She gestured for him to take the other chair, but instead he stood staring at her pitifully thin body. Her bright eyes swam with unshed tears but light from the weak ceiling bulb made them shimmer like liquid black pools. His heart broke. He wanted to keep her safe from the madness and evil outside.

  “Where is my father?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know, Judith. I’m sorry.”

  “Then, why are you here?”

  Paul’s mouth dried as he imagined her being thrown into one of the ambulance buses and getting out at Görden Prison, having a number written on her head before they pushed her into the gas chamber. He had to tell her now. She was running out of time, and so was he. “Judith, you’re not safe here. You have to come with me.”

  Judith smiled. “Don’t be silly. It’s nice that you care, but I’ll deal with the Rosenthals. I just won’t let them in from now on.”

  Paul searched her face wondering how to tell her without scaring her further. “No, you have to come with me.
I will explain later but you must trust…”

  Loud banging on the apartment’s door interrupted Paul mid-sentence. He glared at it, angry with himself that he hadn’t had the guts to prepare her for what was to come.

  “I’ll smack that Ekhard Rosenthal if he’s here to ask for another crumb off me,” Judith barked, heading to the front door.

  Paul grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to look at him. “Listen, Judith! Listen to every word I say. Do as I tell you, and don’t ask questions.”

  Startled by his intensity, she nodded.

  “Your name is on a list of admissions in the hospital. An ambulance bus will come here today or tomorrow, and men will take you to Brandenburg under the Hereditary Health Act.”

  “But I’m ... I’m not like Hilde,” she stammered.

  Paul released his grip. “Judith, I know. I promise I’ll explain later but for now go into the bedroom and put your coat on. Follow my lead. Don’t say a word. Look very scared of me. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again as the banging on the door became louder and faster.

  The SS soldier who had stopped Paul earlier at the checkpoint, scowled impatiently when Paul eventually opened the door to him. “What’s taking you so long, Doctor? You don’t need half an hour to remove a patient, do you? What have you been doing in here?”

  Paul showed the young soldier in, relieved it wasn’t the ambulance bus. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m having trouble persuading her to come with me.”

  “Where’s your patient?” he snapped.

  Judith appeared in the doorway. She stood, head bowed, arms hanging listlessly by her side.

  The soldier eyed her and then flicked his eyes to Paul. “An old Jew woman told me she thought you two were up to something that had nothing to do with health matters. Was she right, Doctor?”

  Paul shook his head, disgusted at the accusation. “Ach! Old Jews, young Jews, men, women, they’re all liars. The sooner we get rid of them the better.” Then he grunted at Judith. “Come here. You’ve wasted enough of my time with your carry on.”

  In a bid to take the soldier’s attention away from Judith, Paul asked, “Where is the Jew bitch that caused trouble for me? She should be arrested.” He watched the soldier’s face keenly, as he was trying to work out how he could comply with that suggestion. Berlin was having an open season on Jews. Zealous soldiers and policemen could arrest anyone wearing the yellow star, even when there was no wrongdoing involved. They could take them off the street, pull them out of a shop, detain them in a doctor’s surgery, or remove them from their own homes. But in each individual case, the arresting officer was faced with bureaucratic procedures involving a slew of forms relating to financial and property declarations. It took hours to fill in the paperwork involved.

  “I’ll get the Gestapo to take her the next time they show up, Doctor,” the soldier nodded. “It was a waste of time putting up that fence if you ask me. I’ve just heard we’ll be removing all the Jews from these buildings in the next few weeks.” He glanced about him. “I wouldn’t mind one of these flats. It beats my family’s two-bedroom basement and outside toilet.”

  Paul stared at Judith, while she buttoned up her coat. “Right, let’s go,” he said gripping her arm. “Any more trouble out of you and this soldier will hit you. Isn’t that right, soldier?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Vogels

  After refusing to give Laura and Dieter details of Paul’s insubordination and subsequent suspension, Hauptsturmführer Leitner went on to blame the Vogels for their son’s disrespectful attitude. Laura, still trying to glean the real reason for Paul’s suspension from the hospital, asked Leitner to sit. Instead, he refused her invitation and opted for a more intimidating pose, peering down his nose at her, his feet rocking from heel to toe on the carpet, his SS cap snug under his arm. She was seething. She and Dieter had taught all their children to have good manners and to respect their elders and peers. She knew Paul better than anyone in the room, and he was the most mild-mannered and good-natured of all her children. The Hauptsturmführer and Hans Rudolph, sitting there with their sneaky little polite smiles, were lying.

  “I’m surprised Paul hasn’t come home yet, Herr Vogel. I was expecting to see him here. This is disappointing,” Leitner pursed his lips.

  “I don’t know what could have happened to him,” Dieter mumbled.

  Leitner said, “Hmm, yes, it’s very strange. Why do you think that is, Herr Rudolph?”

  “I really don’t know what to think. He clearly disobeyed my orders.”

  “You see, Herr Vogel, Herr Rudolph told Paul to go straight home so that you could talk some sense into him. So, you can see why we’re surprised he didn’t do what he’d been told?”

  “Hauptsturmführer Leitner is right, Dieter. That was at eleven o’clock this morning.” Rudolph nodded.

  Laura, annoyed at Dieter’s lily-livered responses, spoke up. “It’s not strange at all. It’s perfectly reasonable to assume he went to meet with friends for lunch, or for a beer. You two work him very hard, and the new rules about not allowing visitors at the hospital, makes it almost impossible for us to have any time together as a family, or for him to see his friends. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but really, Hauptsturmführer, your concern is uncalled for. He’s not a soldier under your command, he’s free to go wherever he wants whenever he wants, regardless of what happened this morning at the hospital. Is that not so?”

  Rudolph’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Well…”

  “Frau Vogel, our brave men fighting in France and elsewhere have no time to wash, never mind drink beer or see their families,” Leitner cut Rudolph off. “Perhaps you don’t realise how fortunate Paul is, compared to your other son, Wilmot, who I believe is serving the Fatherland in Poland?”

  Laura threw a scathing look at her husband. She would defend him until death, but she wished that for once, just once, he’d speak up for his children instead of allowing the Nazis to walk all over them. “Dear, did Paul mention where he might be going when he called you on the telephone?”

  Dieter responded with a mystified look. “No, only that he was coming home. He might have mentioned that he was stopping off to visit a friend, but to be honest, I can’t recall. I was in the middle of a meeting on the factory floor at the time – my dear, why don’t you make a pot of coffee – she made a delicious cake today. Can I tempt you?”

  Rudolph gave an enthusiastic nod, but Leitner said, “I don’t eat cake.”

  Laura left the room, and only when she reached the kitchen did she admit to being scared for her son, and husband. She filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil. Desperate to hear what was being said, she snuck into the hall, pressed her back against the wall and listened to the on-going conversation.

  It was sad to see her husband cower in front of a bully like Leitner, hear him mumble his excuses and apologies, yet be forced to watch him browbeat Paul into a job he didn’t want. She couldn’t trust Dieter to make important decisions anymore, she concluded. He was a good man but had bad judgement when it came to the Nazi Party. Sometimes, she could almost forget how much she loved him.

  ******

  Rudolph opened his leather briefcase and brought out a pile of documents. He set them on the table, sorting them into neat piles. When he’d finished, he smiled at Dieter. “The Reich is very impressed by your factory, Dieter. Its layout and specifications suit our needs very well. The product has met our expectations, and the ministry would like to start production of Zyklon B using your building’s basement for the testing phase of the operation.”

  “I see,” Dieter said. “Does this mean I have the distribution contract?”

  Rudolph shook his head. “No. We don’t need your name, only your basement. The distribution will go to Degesch Industries. The ministry believes they will be more suitable for the job as the programme advances. We will at some point be moving into bigger premises, you see.”


  “Tell me about this Zyklon B gas?”

  “There’s not much to tell. Degesch and IG Farben have been manufacturing it for years, but you might know it by the name, Degussa.”

  “The chemical company?”

  “Yes. They own the formula.”

  Dieter gave the appearance of mulling over the proposition, but in fact he was playing for time, trying to find a way out of the hole he’d dug for himself and his family.

  “This is a good deal, Dieter. The Führer is looking forward to your collaboration.”

  “What exactly is this Zyklon B used for?” Dieter asked again.

  “A variety of things. Most of Degesch’s business has come from America in recent years. They work with a group called American Cyanamid.” Rudolph picked up a document and handed it to Dieter. “This is an official document from the United States Public Health Service. In it, it clearly states that the gas is used to disinfect freight trains and clothing. I suppose we’ll be using it for the same purposes.”

  “I see.” When Dieter had finished scanning the page, he placed it on top of a pile of other papers and then sat back in his chair, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel. “Thank you for considering me, Hans, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer this time. I am not in the gas business, and to be honest I don’t want the upheaval of renovating the basement. You know how busy I am with new products going on line.”

  Leitner, who had not been directly involved in the discussion so far, was outraged. “Are you saying no to the Minister of the Interior?”