by Martin Gunn
“Are you alright?” he asked rather foolishly, since it was clear that she wasn’t. He put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
“W…what was that thing?” she stammered, bursting into tears.
“I think it might be from space,” spluttered Anton, “we’d better report it.”
“No, I just want to go home,” cried Hannah starting to panic again.
At this moment, Anton’s innate sense of chivalry compelled him to protect her.
“Alright, alright,” soothed Anton, “you go home and I will report it alone.”
“Who will you go to?” enquired Hannah calming down a little.
“I don’t know yet.” His mind was racing, who should he report it to? “Look, you go home and say nothing about this to anyone. Do you understand?”
She nodded and they walked briskly to the point where they had met earlier. They faced each other and Anton took her right hand.
“Now remember; say nothing,” he said with an unconvincing, reassuring smile.
Hannah nodded, gave him a peck on the cheek and headed off in the direction of home. Fifteen minutes later, Hannah was opening the door to the cottage where she lived.
“Hannah is that you?” enquired her mother, as Hannah started to make her way up the stairs.
“Yes Mama,” she called down, trying unsuccessfully to compose herself.
Hannah’s mother noticed that something was wrong and made her way into the hallway to talk to her daughter.
“What happened my dear, you look upset?” she frowned, “did Anton do something?”
Hannah looked down from the top of the stairs and shook her head.
“No Mama, he was a perfect gentleman. I’m just tired that’s all.”
Her mother looked unconvinced, but she knew Anton, and would have been surprised if he was the problem. They said goodnight and Hannah went straight to bed. As she lay there, Hannah thought about Anton and who he might tell, and then eventually fell into a restless sleep.
***
The following Monday back at school, Hannah’s class was buzzing with gossip about activity up in the forest. Sunday had been a difficult day for her, though she had somehow managed to avoid her mother’s concerns and subsequent interrogation on the subject of the previous evening. Some boys were saying that massive trucks had come into the vicinity, some with large cranes and that parts of the forest had been closed off to the public. Hannah looked around the classroom. Anton was nowhere to be seen.
The teacher entered the classroom and tried to establish some sort of order, to no avail, alas, the class was too excited. Then, as it looked as if he was about to give up, a Kameradschaftführer of the Hitler Youth entered the room.
“Silence,” he bellowed at the class.
Everyone turned round to see the sixteen-year-old boy who was now glaring at them.
“The vehicles are only here to retrieve a crashed aeroplane – that is all. Nothing to get excited about.”
As the class fell silent, the boy continued to stare around the room until he was happy that they had all settled down. Then as he was about to leave, he turned and nodded to the teacher, who nodded back in deference, acutely aware of the fact that this young lad could maintain discipline where he couldn’t.
September rolled into October, and still there was no sign of Anton at school. She asked her teacher but he didn’t seem to know anything, so one afternoon, instead of going straight home after school, she decided to go to his house.
It took Hannah about twenty minutes to reach the cottage in the centre of the village where Anton lived. She opened the gate and walked up the short path that led to the front door. The place looked deserted, so she peered through one of the small windows. Everything appeared normal, except nobody seemed to be home.
“What are you doing?”
Hannah jumped out of her skin and whipped round to see a plump middle-aged woman with her arms folded under her ample bosom, frowning suspiciously at her.
“I – I’ve come to call on Anton,” she stammered, “he hasn’t been at school for some time. I’m concerned about him.”
“And nor will he be,” retorted the woman unfolding her arms and relaxing a little, “he and his parents were visited by some officials a few weeks ago. Gestapo maybe, who knows these days. Anyway, they were taken away in a big black car and haven’t been seen since. I think he knew something about what happened in the forest with that crashed aeroplane.”
“It wasn’t a pla…….” Hannah stopped suddenly, realising that she was giving away the fact that she might know something.
It wasn’t lost on the woman who decided to impart some advice.
“I suggest you run along home, and never mention this again my dear, or they may come for you as well.”
Hannah nodded and thanked her, then immediately turned and ran home. That evening Hannah lay awake in bed thinking of that evening and the crash, and whether she would ever see Anton again; then she burst into tears. Eventually she cried herself into a restless sleep, whilst her worried mother listened outside the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Forbidden Technology
Sumela Monastery – Pontic Mountains, Turkey
6th October 1935
It had been a wild goose chase for two long years now, but Obersturmführer Gustav von Brandt believed that he was getting close. He was a field operator, in charge of a platoon for the Department of Religious Relics and Antiquities, and his search for the Spear of Destiny, the lance which pierced Christ during the crucifixion, was beginning to bear fruit.
Von Brandt was a typical Nazi; tall, slim, blonde hair and ruthless – stopping at nothing to get what he wanted. The search had led his team to the Sumela Monastery, where he was in the process of interrogating Abbot Dimitriou.
The abbot had a rope around his neck, which was tied to a heavy wooden beam above his head. He could barely touch the stool below his feet and he had to stand on tiptoe to support his weight. His face was bruised, bloodied and swollen from several beatings, and the habit he was wearing had been ripped down to his waist exposing his upper torso and several deep long gashes to his back, where he had been whipped. To von Brandt’s annoyance and frustration however, he was still refusing to talk.
“Water – please,” rasped the abbot. His tongue had swollen in his mouth and he could barely see out of the bruised purple swellings over his eyes.
Reluctantly von Brandt picked up a dented tin cup filled with water and lifted it to the abbot’s lips. With his hands tied behind his back, he was unable to do this for himself. The Nazi had to get closer than he would have preferred, the abbot smelled of stale sweat and blood.
“Now tell me where the spear is and all of this will be over,” simpered von Brandt in a calm, almost soothing voice.
“I keep telling you,” struggled the abbot, “the spear was handed back to the Vatican by the Sultan Bayezid centuries ago.”
“Liar!” shouted von Brandt, losing his composure. “Like all the others it is a fake.”
With all his strength von Brandt punched the beleaguered man hard in the stomach. Severely winded, the abbot gave out a gasp of air and his head slumped down as he tried desperately to breathe.
Turning to one of his men, von Brandt nodded and the soldier left the room. Almost immediately he returned dragging a monk behind him. Roughly pushing the man to his knees, von Brandt took out his Luger and pointed it at the monk’s head.
“Where is it?” he demanded again in a calmer, more sinister voice.
The abbot closed his swollen eyes and started to chant a prayer under his breath.
“For the last time where is it?” demanded von Brandt again.
There was no response from the abbot, so the Nazi turned to the kneeling monk who was now praying, put his pistol to the man’s forehead and pulled the trigger. Blo
od splattered on the whitewashed wall behind and the hapless monk slumped sideways to the floor.
Exasperated, he walked out onto the veranda and lit a cigarette. As he exhaled, von Brandt took in the scenery around him. The monastery was quite something, having been built into the cliff halfway up the Pontic Mountains. Enjoying the view of the Altindere Valley below with its wooded slopes, Von Brandt suddenly became aware that there was an autumnal chill to the morning air. He looked back into the room. The serenity of the view was at complete odds with the violence which had occurred in the room. It didn’t look as though Abbot Dimitriou was going to talk and he was beginning to run out of ideas.
“Sir, there is someone to see you.” One of his men had entered the room followed by another man in uniform.
Von Brandt turned, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. The officer approached him and saluted.
“Unterscharführer Meyer sir,” said the sergeant nervously, “I am here to deliver a message.”
“How the hell did you find me?” exclaimed von Brandt.
“I just followed the trail of bodies,” remarked Meyer, worried that his reply might be considered impertinent.
Von Brandt simply smirked; to him this was almost a compliment.
The sergeant opened a satchel hanging by his waist, pulled out some papers and handed them to von Brandt, who scanned his eyes over them, whilst Meyer surveyed the carnage in the room. He inwardly flinched at the sight of the abbot, trying hard not to show any emotion. He didn’t want to appear weak.
“I’m being recalled back to Germany!” exclaimed von Brandt with disbelief.
“It’s a direct order from Himmler himself,” declared Meyer.
“But I am so close here.”
“This is no longer considered a priority,” added Meyer, “you are to return immediately.”
“No longer a priority,” complained von Brandt, reeling from the knowledge that he had just wasted two years of his life.
“Something far more important has come up.”
“Like what for instance.”
“I am not privy to that information. I am only here to recall you – we have a plane waiting,” added Meyer with some urgency, “I’ll tell you what I know on the flight back, such as it is.”
As he was about to leave the room, von Brandt turned and looked Abbot Dimitriou in the eyes. The abbot looked back through barely open slits.
“May God forgive you.” Dimitriou knew what was coming.
“It’s too late for me priest.” With that, the sadistic Nazi kicked the stool out from under the abbot’s feet, leaving the poor man swinging and choking as he closed the door.
***
The trip to the makeshift airfield was made in silence, with von Brandt brooding over recent developments – what could be so important, he thought.
As the small convoy approached, he noticed the drab olive-green Junkers Ju52/3m tri-motor transport plane, standing ready for take-off. Next to this were two smaller Heinkel He51 fighter biplanes painted in a plain light grey.
Von Brandt smiled inwardly, enjoying the presence of the recently formed Luftwaffe. All three aircraft brazenly displayed a red stripe on the tail, and a white circle emblazoned with a swastika. The pretence of the fatherland’s military ambitions was clearly out in the open.
“Do those fighters have the range?” enquired von Brandt.
“They have drop tanks with extra fuel,” informed Meyer, “they won’t officially be supplied to squadrons until next year,”
“Are you expecting trouble on the trip back?” asked von Brandt not unreasonably.
“No, but this is a long trip,” he explained, “we’re not taking any chances.”
In no time at all they were in the air and flying high above Turkey, heading in a north-westerly direction towards Germany. The interior of the Junkers was very basic to say the least, and not very comfortable. This was indeed going to be a long flight. Von Brandt looked out of the port window and saw one of the Heinkel biplanes flying abreast; too close for his liking. He turned his attention to the inside of the aircraft. Meyer was sitting a few rows to the front and on the starboard side. Von Brandt assumed that he was trying to avoid awkward conversation. This suited him just fine, he was not much of a conversationalist, and it gave him the opportunity to review the last two years. His journey to find the Spear of Destiny had taken him through most of Europe, into Ethiopia and eventually the Middle East. Meyer’s flippant remark about following the trail of bodies, was indeed an accurate one. There had been a great deal of death and torture during this expedition, and for what? Just as he was certain that he was getting close, the operation is shut down. Von Brandt’s annoyance was not so much for the wasted life along the way, but more for the waste of his time. His thinking eventually came around to these new orders. It was all very clandestine, and what could possibly be more important? Even Hitler had taken a keen interest in this search for the spear. After a while he slumped in his seat, pulled his cap over his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
It was early evening when the flight touched down in Southern Germany. Meyer and von Brandt along with his men got out and stretched.
“Where are we?” enquired von Brandt with a yawn.
“Near Munich,” replied Meyer, “there is a planned airport for this site, construction is due to commence next year. You are to eat and sleep here tonight, then catch a flight at first light tomorrow.”
Von Brandt cast his mind back to the last time that he was in Munich. He was nine and remembered it fondly.
“What about my men?”
“They are to be disbanded,” informed Meyer, “you are to form part of a new team at your next destination.”
“And that is?” enquired von Brandt.
“You will find out tomorrow Sir,” replied Meyer unhelpfully.
After saluting, they parted company and von Brandt walked over to a large hut that was to be his billet for the night. He was tired, hungry and keen to get his head down for the night.
***
After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, von Brandt strode energetically out towards the light grey Messerschmitt Bf108 Taifun liaison monoplane with dark grey dappled spots. The aircraft’s engine was running and ready for take-off. There was a chill in the air and he was grateful for his leather overcoat. Getting in, he simply nodded acknowledgement to the pilot, closed the side canopy and strapped himself in.
The flight was, compared to the day before thankfully short, lasting about an hour. Von Brandt checked out the compass and saw that they were heading east. Eventually the plane set down in a field which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
“Where are we?” enquired von Brandt.
“We are close to the town of Trostberg,” responded the pilot, “near the Austrian border.”
At that moment they both noticed a vehicle heading their way. As it got closer von Brandt observed the drab green sloping bonnet of the six-wheeled Krupp Protze KFZ.21 staff car, with just the driver in the front and two SS guards in the rear seats holding MP35 submachine guns.
The vehicle drew to a halt next to the plane and the driver got out and walked up to von Brandt, clicked his heels and saluted.
“Sturmmann Fleischer at your service sir.” He opened the passenger door and von Brandt returned the salute and sat down.
As they drove away the monoplane started to turn for the journey back, and after watching it disappear into the low cloud he turned to Fleischer.
“Can you tell me what on earth I am doing here?”
“I’m not authorised to say, Sir.”
“Can you at least tell me where you are taking me?” von Brandt’s tone was irritable, he was getting fed up with all this cloak and dagger treatment.
“We are heading towards a research facility about halfway between Trostberg and the Austrian border.
” Aware of von Brandt’s annoyance, he continued nervously, “that’s as much as I can tell you.”
In less than thirty minutes, they turned down a track which led to a high barbed wire perimeter fence and an entrance with a sentry post. The car stopped at the gate and a guard came over holding a machine-gun. Fleischer showed him some identification and the sentry saluted as the barrier was raised. The car drove into the compound and von Brandt took the opportunity to look around. The site was huge with small buildings which he assumed were barracks and off to the left was a massive hangar type building sticking out like a sore thumb.
The truck, however, veered away from the large building and pulled to a halt outside the command hut. Von Brandt eventually turned his gaze away from the hangar to see an officer waiting to greet him at the door. He stepped out of the car and faced the officer.
“Obersturmführer Gustav von Brandt, reporting for duty Sir,” announced the lieutenant, saluting.
“Gruppenführer Viktor Weinlig,” reciprocated the Major General, returning the salute, “please – come in, I’m sure you would like a cup of coffee after your trip.”
Von Brandt nodded and followed him in. With a cup of coffee in his hand, von Brandt was invited to sit down in a chair opposite Weinlig’s desk. The general was a middle-aged man with thinning grey hair and a slight paunch. It was a stark contrast to von Brandt who was much younger and physically fit.
They sized each other up for a few seconds then the general said,
“I’m sorry for all the secrecy but you’ll understand very soon. Your duty will be to oversee the research and development that takes place here, and report back to me with all or any results in the form of a weekly bulletin. Is that clear?”
“It would be if I knew what I will be overseeing,” stated von Brandt not unreasonably, trying hard to conceal his irritation.
“There are things going on here that are going to astound you,” uttered the general enigmatically, “you need to prepare yourself for a shock. I prefer not to get involved in the goings on here, I find it ……distasteful.”
