Final Mission: Zion - A World War 2 Thriller

by Chuck Driskell

  “Anton, you don’t seem to embody the descriptions I’ve heard of men chosen for the SS.”

  Aying pulled her to him. “Why, dear, because I’m a gentleman?” He brushed her cheek with a kiss before looking at her again. “Don’t believe the rumors you hear about us. We are chosen for good reasons, not bad. And, even then, the runes have to be earned, and it’s not easy. It takes great character, and much more.”

  “I can only imagine,” she said pleasantly before intentionally troubling her voice. “But what of the actions being taken against the Jews? How do you explain that?”

  Anton Aying pursed his lips, as if he’d been asked the question a thousand times before. “My dear, if I see a toddler about to wander into the street, I help it to safety. When I see a man abusing a woman, I correct him, with great prejudice.” His face and voice became firm. “But a Jew, according to our Führer, isn’t even human. If you were to study some of the horrid things they’ve done to our people, and to our great land, you’d see that. And the world court of public opinion, especially in the media, is controlled by them. A person has to dig deep for the truth because they’ve prevented you, and most unknowing people in the general public of all lands, from seeing what they’re truly capable of.”

  “So you justify it by telling yourself they’re less than human?”

  Aying released Gabi, stepping backward. A polite smile came over his face. “My dear, you are a creation of majestic beauty and I desperately want to make love to you tonight. In fact, I hope for a future together. When I take you to the state gala in Munich, the Führer himself will be awestruck by your Aryan beauty. So, please, stop pontificating over such weighty subjects. It’s harming the mood.”

  “Well, what if you had wound up with my friend tonight? Would you have been as pleased?”

  His significant irritation began to show as their tender moment slipped away. He pulled close to her again, trying to get it back. “Katarina was grand, darling…a beautiful girl. And I’m certain our American friend is having a wonderful time right now, as should we.”

  Gabi used her hand to ease him backward. “But you think I’m prettier.”

  “You have substantially more qualities that attract me,” he crooned. “Isn’t that a diplomatic way to put it?”

  She canted her head. “You won’t offend me when you tell me this.” She swallowed, softening her face with a smile. “But purely for her sake, so I can tell her later, had she and I wound up with the opposite man tonight, would you have enjoyed making love with Madeline?”

  Aying closed his eyes, a hand moving to his forehead. “My dear…”

  “Just answer, please.”

  “Well, of course I would. She was attractive and funny, and while a bit salacious for my—”

  Gabi’s words dropped like an executioner’s blade. “She’s Jewish.”

  To his credit, Standartenführer Anton Aying didn’t overreact. He stopped rubbing his forehead but maintained a soft grip on Gabi with his other hand. A pinched smile appeared on his mouth before he spoke. “You’re just trying to have a little fun with me, aren’t you?”

  Since the time Gabi was eight years old, she’d been controlled, often overpowered, by a directness that most people in society weren’t comfortable with. Even in Germany, where candor and straightforwardness were prized, Gabi’s occasional blunt manner had often bordered on rude or shocking. And her directness was magnified when she was cross.

  Like right now.

  “Do you remember Jacob Herman?” Gabi asked, challenging Aying, studying his eyes. “Jacob ‘Jakey’ Herman?”

  Aying released her. He retrieved his cigarettes from his jacket, hanging from the wingback chair. As he lit one, with Jakey’s lighter, he stared at her over the flame. Silence settled in the room as he puffed, his chest visibly moving with each breath. Gabi refused to move, standing with her dress around her waist, her own breasts rising and falling with her increased breathing. The moment was electric.

  Finally, he said, “I remember him.”

  “You killed him.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “He was Katarina’s lover. Her real name is Madeline.”

  The Schutzstaffel officer blinked once. “I must say I’m a bit hurt right now. You truly are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on. Tonight was going to be very special.” His chest hitched once as he laughed quietly. “And you have balls, I’ll give you that—a fine, albeit misguided, Aryan woman.”

  “Go to hell.”

  He dragged deeply on the cigarette, the tobacco popping and crackling in the quiet hotel room. Then he spoke with smoke escaping his mouth, a deadly dragon. “Did you know that the woman you speak of, that slut with the American, Jacob Herman’s jewess, killed one of my men…gutted him in cold blood? And through your little revelation here, assuming it’s true, you just killed her. And possibly yourself.”

  Gabi took a step forward. “I really don’t think she cares if she dies tonight, nor do I.”

  “Oh?”

  “She and I can die tonight and the world will never miss us, like two pebbles thrown into a large lake. But it’s you, Standartenführer Aying, who is the loser tonight.”

  “Careful, young lady,” he said, crushing out his cigarette. His eyes returned to her breasts as he moistened his lips. “I’m willing to allow you to rethink things, and you can start by completely disrobing.”

  She knew she should stop herself. She knew it.

  But she couldn’t.

  “All we did tonight was distract you in the oldest way known to man, and you and that rat-faced little American were too stupid to realize it.” Gabi spit the word “stupid.” Then she beamed, emboldened by the look of horror that was growing on Aying’s face. “And while you drooled all over me, Anton, it all went down right out there in Innsbruck, right under your big nose. You had no idea because you’re not nearly as smart as you think.”

  He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, firing a backhanded right into her cheek, sending her sprawling. Gabi came to her elbows on the Oriental rug, the room spinning. She could hear Aying’s rapid footsteps. His voice on the phone, snippets of phrases. Get back to the Tyroler. Hurry. Call the alert platoon. Speaking, yelling. The Tyroler Inn. Come now!

  Gabi rolled to her backside, sitting up.

  Anton Aying dropped the phone. He lurched and struck her again.

  Blackness.

  Blackness.

  Then light. Wisps at first, like open seams in a heavy drape. Gabi immediately felt the throbbing pain on the side of her face and head. As her eyes cleared, she realized Aying was cradling her head on his leg. His other leg was scissored over her arms and stomach—essentially holding her in a body lock. She felt radiant warmth, turning her head to see that, in her murkiness, he’d moved her in front of the fireplace. With no warning at all, he clamped his hand over her mouth. She waited, unsure of what he was doing. There were a few metallic sounds followed by the worst pain she’d ever experienced. Gabi wailed into his hand, trying to writhe but held fast by his legs. Suddenly most of the pain ceased.

  And Gabi’s nostrils were assaulted by the smell of scorched skin.

  He loosened his legs, allowing her to sit up. She watched as he replaced his fiery orange sabre, known as a Degen, into the smoldering hardwoods of the fire. Gabi’s eyes moved downward. He had pressed the tip of the Degen between her breasts, onto the shallow skin of her breastplate, leaving an indentation of blackened skin the size of a thumbnail.

  Aying’s hands were powerful, holding her hair and her neck. He allowed the hand from her neck to move downward, perversely kneading her breasts as he said, “I don’t believe in the effectiveness of advance warnings. You now know the pain you’re in for, and the next time, little lady, I’m going to burn off both of these pretty nipples.”

  Gabi hated herself for the tears. “Just kill me, you nauseating bastard,” she wailed.

  Aying smiled proudly. “That’s my brave girl, and
that’s why I was attracted to you over the jewess. You’re turning me on right now, my dear.”

  Gabi spat in his face.

  Without another word, Aying retrieved the reheated Degen, holding the flat side of its tip into her left nipple and clamping his hand over her mouth.

  As tough as she was, Gabi talked.

  ~~~

  Doctor Kraabe and Neil were together in the caboose. Neil’s boot was up on the rail, the inky shadows of the looming Venediger range of the Alps sliding by as the train labored up a steep grade. Kraabe leaned against the railing, staring at Neil. They had spoken for ten minutes about what to do in the event of a firefight. The conversation had resolved itself, and now both men seemed content to listen to the steel on steel and the chugging of the steam engine. The chill wind swirled around both men, invigorating them as the tension of the night had slowly abated with the metronomic train journey.

  Gabi and Madeline were on Neil’s mind. Jealousy was, perhaps, a quarter of Neil’s worry when it came to Gabi. He hoped she wouldn’t allow things to progress too far. He chuckled quietly as he thought about her strength. Had she been a male soldier, they would have no doubt nicknamed her “Cowboy,” the obvious sobriquet bestowed on nearly every soldier who pressed harder than necessary to make a name for himself.

  As his imagination began to head in an undesirable direction, Kraabe broke the silence.

  “Why did you resume your smoking?”

  Neil exhaled, dipping his chin, a resigned smile on his face. “I guess I wasn’t too concerned with healing tonight, you know?”

  The doctor grunted his disapproval. Another bout of silence set in.

  Finally, the doctor turned to Neil. “I suppose you would like to know why.”

  Neil pitched his cigarette, the orange tip forming an arc before it tumbled in a hail of sparks on the crossties. “Like to know why about what?”

  “Why it was you,” Doctor Kraabe said flatly.

  Neil thought back to when Gabi, on the night they were first intimate, threw the same question in his face. Why you, Neil? Of all the people in the world, why would they call on an alcoholic from San Francisco? Well, she hadn’t quite said it that way, but that’s the way Neil heard it. That had been only a week before—now it seemed like a year. And while the question had niggled at his brain during this entire journey, she’d been the only one who pressed him on it. He chose, and wanted, to believe that Jakey called him in because of his prowess, and their friendship. Gabi hadn’t seemed quite so convinced.

  “Yeah,” Neil answered, removing his boot from the rail. “I would like to know why me. Do you know…for sure?”

  “No, but I can make an educated guess.”

  Neil stared.

  “I believe your friend chose you for two reasons. First, he trusted you more than any person on earth. He knew you had the skill and the means.”

  “But he knew the sort of shape I was in,” Neil countered.

  “And that, my friend, was the second reason. He did it to give you purpose. Jacob didn’t know for certain that he was going to die. But, he had a feeling he might. And if he did die, Jacob wished his friend to come back to life…and finish what had been started.” The doctor gripped Neil’s shoulder, giving it a strong squeeze.

  “In my estimation,” Kraabe concluded, “Jacob’s wish came true.”

  Neil stared up in the sky as the train ticked steadily southward.

  ~~~

  Madeline glided across the room, away from the bed. Still in heels, still nude, she retrieved the item from her clutch. Then, she deflected attention from the item with a silken scarf that had been draped over a chair back. She wrapped it around her neck, twirling through the room as she worked her way back to Lord. Her eye caught a glimpse of him as she did so. His leer was back, a primal stare, dominating what was otherwise an intelligent, almost bookish face. Something must have happened to him as a child, Madeline mused, without any sort of empathy. Perhaps he’d been unloved, or possibly abused. Or maybe he was merely nasty, and it was all by his own choice. And the reason she felt no compassion for the man is because she believed it was the latter. To her, it seemed as if he was in control, supremely, of his own actions.

  Like right now, as he grabbed for her, his fingers were not tilted back so she would only feel the pads of his fingertips. No, they were tensed, providing pain as his fingernails raked over her pelvis.

  “Whose scarf is this?” she asked, swirling it down to the bed sheets.

  “It was a woman’s, a high-priced whore.” Preston Lord pulled her, digging his hands into her waist as he positioned her on top of him. Once again, his fingernails bit into her skin as they began to move together. The first time had been for his surface sexual pleasure. This one, Madeline knew from experience with a number of twisted men, would be for his base desires. The warped ones.

  His hands worked upward, yanking and twisting her breasts so hard she cried out. He pushed up and down, muttering the word “harder” in English.

  Madeline’s left hand slipped into the tangle of sheets behind her…

  ~~~

  Standartenführer Anton Aying grabbed Gabi around the neck, nearly crushing her larynx. They stood at the door of his room, his gray eyes alight with maniacal energy.

  “Make one unnecessary sound and I will kill you where you stand,” he growled, his nose touching hers. He flung the door open and pulled her along as she fumbled to get her dress back up over her burned chest. Without waiting for the elevator attendant, Aying tugged at her, pulling her into the stairwell and ascending. They exited at the top floor, seeing a row of twelve doors on each side of the hallway.

  Aying cursed before picking up the phone by the elevator, jiggling it and waiting with loud, audible breaths. Through the fabric Gabi touched her hand to her chest, feeling the raw, burnt spots where the Degen had scorched her skin.

  “This is Standartenführer Aying. What room is Preston Lord in? What?” he yelled. “He’s a diplomat, and if you don’t tell me, you die!” He listened for a moment then dropped the phone on the floor.

  “Let’s go.”

  They began to walk toward the end of the hallway.

  ~~~

  “Harder, bitch,” Lord grunted. He pinched her side with enough force to leave a bruise. She could feel his legs tense; he was preparing to change positions.

  It was time.

  “Preston?” Madeline stopped moving. His face contorted in a mask of anger.

  “What the hell are you stopping for?”

  “I need you to listen to me for a moment.”

  He grunted in frustration. “What the hell is this? We’re supposed to be screwing, not talking.”

  “I want you to know something.”

  He became silent.

  Madeline smiled at him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled.

  “Preston, I’m Jewish.”

  His lips parted as his eyes flicked back and forth to each of hers, no doubt unconcerned with the fact that she was Jewish, but quite concerned with why she would be telling him this—in this way. Madeline knew that a man with his intelligence quotient, despite all his misgivings, would surely realize there would be more to this admission than merely proud Judaism.

  He began to try to move her off of him, but she clamped his narrow frame with her thighs, her hands remaining behind her back.

  Madeline said, “You told me Jews were less than human but, before I told you I’m Jewish, you certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

  Her shoulders and arms jerked slightly as she completed a movement behind her back.

  Lord cocked an eyebrow.

  One second.

  Two seconds.

  Both hands came around her body. Her right hand dropped a ring on his chest—it had a slightly crooked pin sticking from its end. In her other hand was a brand new German M-39 fragmentation grenade.

  “Compliments of Neil Reuter and Jakey Herman,” Madeline said in accented Eng
lish. Her hands covered the grenade, pressing it into his stomach as she tilted her head backward, laughing loudly, luxuriously.

  Preston Lord’s eyes bulged as he shrieked like a young girl.

  ~~~

  The shockwave knocked Gabi to the floor and threw Aying spinning against a recessed doorjamb. They had been two doors away when the door splintered and blew outward, the explosion sounding like the end of days in the confines of the narrow hallway. Gabi brought herself to all fours, staring open-mouthed at the shattered door. The room number remained, upside down on a barely clinging nail. Her mind raced backward, thinking of the things Madeline had said earlier.

  Before she could finish her thought process, guests began to emerge from their rooms, hurrying past and to the stairs as a quickly recovering Aying directed them, no doubt wanting privacy so he could see what had actually occurred.

  After the last man and woman passed them—the woman in hysterical tears and the man wiggling his index fingers in both of his ears—Aying held a crooked finger to Gabi’s face, commanding her to stay still, despite the fact she could barely hear. She defied Aying by coming back to a standing position and worked her mouth open and shut, trying to get her own hearing back.

  He kicked the broken door before stepping into the darkened space. Gabi could see, while even though the lights had blown out, enough light spilled in through the shattered windows from Innstrasse to illuminate the smoky scene. Aying touched a handkerchief to his mouth as he turned and came back, his face stolid. Before he reached her, however, his eyes widened as he stared at something beyond her, in the direction of the stairs.

  Gabi read his gaze, turning her head. Standing there, in the hallway with a long revolver aimed squarely at the Standartenführer, was Thomas Lundren.

  He held the pistol on Aying while he dug into his pants pocket with his left hand, throwing his keys at her. “Gabi, can you hear me?”

  She nodded, rubbing her ears with both of her hands. “Speak loudly,” she yelled.