RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century

by Ian Redman

  “How long now, Rottenfuhrer Meinze?” The two senior officers of the three shadowy figures in the rear of the saloon wore the peaks of their regulation Waffen SS caps lowered neatly over their foreheads.

  “Not long now sir, another ten minutes or so and we will be there.”

  The tallest of the three passengers turned his head and stared out of the rear window at the Mercedes Benz driving close behind them. There were three saloons in total, all in perfect formation, one in front and one at the back. Bodyguards thought the tall man, ha, why the hell do we need bodyguards? Cynically, he smiled to himself.

  “If you look to your right Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, you will see the castle.”

  The three men took it in turns to peer out of the dirt-encrusted window. Sure enough, there it was, Wewelsburg Castle, the so-called Camelot of the SS, set on top of the hill, its triangular form seemingly magnificent against the winter backdrop of the forest.

  It had always been Reichsfuhrer Himmler’s dream to have a shrine dedicated to the new world order, to represent the greatness of the Thousand Year Reich and to house the finest of the SS in their final slumber. For years Himmler had dreamt how the SS elite would all sit in their greatness and their power at the castle’s Round Table.

  The most supreme of soldiers, the true ‘Aryans’.

  In the Castle itself, there would be meetings to discuss, including future strategies and the way forward for the greater Germany, and there would also be time for meditation, to instil new meaning to the SS warrior’s lives, once the war was over.

  But at present, the war was far from over.

  “So, we get to meet the great man at last, hey Karl?” Waffen SS Hauptsturmfuhrer Jurgen Falck wore a broad smile on his face as he spoke to the man who had led both himself and Scharfuhrer Fritz Kempler through the most harrowing of times on the Russian Front.

  “Yes, Reichfuhrer Himmler says he is greatly looking forward to meeting the three of us. I just hope he is prepared!” The three men laughed, the Mercedes Benz driving slowly onward.

  He was the second most powerful man in the Fuhrer’s Third Reich, the now crumbling and decaying Third Reich. But he still retained his power, and he knew it! Dipping his fountain pen into the small pot of ink, Reichsfuhrer SS, Heinrich Himmler continued to write a report after having already prepared for the meeting with his three guests, who were due at any time. His headache still remained. It had started just before eight a.m. and as usual, would probably last through most of the day.

  These blasted headaches: they had plagued him for years! Adjusting his fragile round-lensed spectacles, Reichsfuhrer Himmler glanced at his watch. He did not like being kept waiting! Still, he thought, these three men are important. I shall be patient. Thoughtfully, he replaced the fountain pen into a small drawer on the right side of his large desk and turned to face the roaring fire. Holding his hands out, he smugly revelled in the luscious heat from the flames. It was pleasant to be warm, very pleasant. Briskly, as the heat from the log fire embraced his thin, jet black uniformed form, his thoughts raced back to the last damning report from SS intelligence. The Russians were already inside the Reich’s borders, so too, the Americans and British. The Siegfried Line was under siege and if his latest intelligence reports were correct, the Bolshevik hordes would be in Berlin within the next two months. Reichsfuhrer Himmler sighed and slowly shook his head, his thoughts scrambled. There was much on his mind. I just hope they bring good news, he could hear himself saying, for we need to fight back. This new weapon will bring terror and fear to the allies! Yes he thought, I require good news, and quickly.

  There was a knock at his door. “Come!”

  The young, fresh faced SS Sturmmann marched keenly into the large office, turned to the Reichsfuhrer, clicked the back of his black booted heels and bowed his head.

  “Herr Reichsfuhrer, your guests have arrived.”

  “Good, show them in, oh and Sturmmann…”

  “Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer.”

  “Once our meeting is finished, bring refreshments.” The young man clicked his heels again and rapidly departed the room. Silently, with a slight trace of trepidation weaving its way through his thoughts, Himmler stood by the glowing fire. He looked resplendent in his black SS uniform, or so he thought. He started to shake, just a little. Nerves he thought, yes, nerves. Then he heard them, their voices becoming louder, and so too, their booted footsteps, now just outside the office door.

  Again, another knock at the door! “Come!”

  The young man walked back into the office, this time with a sense of pride radiating from his glowing cheeks. “Herr Reichsfuhrer, may I present to you, from the Waffen SS Totenkopf Division, Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Von Kurst, Hauptsturmfuhrer Jurgen Falck and Scharfuhrer Fritz Kempler, gentlemen, if you please…” Graciously, the Sturmmann beckoned the three rugged, battle hardened soldiers into the office.

  Heinrich Himmler, standing by the radiant, glowing embers of the fire, wore a welcoming smile on his face as the three tall figures entered the room, all dressed smartly in Black Waffen SS ‘Special Dress’. Rigidly, their booted heels clicked together as their right hands levelled to the front of them, all three speaking as one!

  “Heil Hitler, Herr Reichsfuhrer!”

  With an arrogant smile, Heinrich Himmler walked forward and returned the loyal Nazi salute, the Sturmmann quietly placing a tray of hot, steaming coffee and utensils on the Reichsfuhrer’s desk. “Heil Hitler! Gentlemen may I say what an honour it is to meet the three of you. Not only are you the key to our future victory, but you are also heroes of the German people. The Fuhrer himself wishes to pass to you his warmest regards.” After a brisk shaking of hands, Himmler beckoned to three large wooden chairs situated by his desk. “Please gentlemen, sit down.” As they did so, the Reichsfuhrer walked steadfastly back to his desk, sitting somewhat pompously in his own luxurious, Nordic, hand carved chair. “I have ordered refreshments for a little later, including plenty of hot coffee as you can see,” he paused, his steely, bespectacled gaze seemingly scanning the three men sat in front of him. My Teutonic Knights, he thought, welcome to my Black Camelot!

  “Herr Reichsfuhrer,” the most senior of Himmler’s guests spoke with a hardened edge, his tone of voice, slightly menacing, “as you have already been informed, the situation on both fronts is rapidly deteriorating.” Karl Von Kurst picked up the newly arrived cup of hot coffee and sipped at it, the taste seemingly bitter, but refreshing.

  “Yes, yes, I know, but as you are all well aware, we must keep fighting, we cannot allow the Red scum, let alone the Americans and British, to infest our Fatherland.”

  “But resources are depleted Herr Reichsfuhrer,” the others watched intently as Jurgen Falck put his points of view forward, “the Liebstandarte, Das Reich, Totenkopf and Wiking are taking great losses, let alone our other divisions.” Himmler nodded his head in quiet anticipation of what was to come, his gaze crossing to Karl Von Kurst, whose steely, but somewhat bloodshot eyes never left the Reichsfuhrer’s, making the leader of the SS shiver slightly. “Our other divisions are nearly wiped out,” Falck continued, “Hohenstaufen has taken serious losses just over the last two weeks. IT IS PITIFUL!”

  The embers from the fire crackled as the meeting continued. “So, what are you telling me?” Himmler’s tone of voice became intimidating, but also inquisitive.

  Was he angry thought Von Kurst? No, just frightened, for what does this former poultry farmer know of war, of carnage…of the need to survive? It was obvious to Von Kurst and his two friends; the man in front of them was no strategist, no saviour of the Reich and certainly no Waffen SS soldier. No, it would be up to them, the three of them, to take the war back to the enemy.

  Quietly holding back his rising temper, Himmler rose from his chair and walked slowly up and down his office, his left hand gently rubbing his chin as sweat lay mottled across his receding hairline. He turned quickly, looking directly at Von Kurst as he spoke, “the time has come my friends to take the
fight back to our wretched enemies, and the three of you, as you are only too aware, are the weapons we require, the weapons for our victory.”

  Karl Von Kurst glanced sideways at Falck and Kempler then back at Himmler. “The project was a success Herr Reichsfuhrer, at least for us!”

  “Yes…I know, I have read the reports. It was just a pity I could not watch the Jews suffering when they started this experiment.” Himmler laughed sadistically as he remembered the initial reports from the doctors at the Nazi medical research facility, known quite simply as ‘Camp 1’. The patients had suffered terribly during the initial stages of ‘Project Were’, but so what! Jews, gypsies, peasants, they were all stinking Untermenschen, and all guinea pigs for the greater good of the Reich. “It is time gentlemen, time to show me your, how shall I say…inner selves.”

  Sudden apprehension showed in the face of Heinrich Himmler as the three Waffen SS veterans left their seats and moved to the centre of the room. Karl Von Kurst spoke again, his eyes radiating a subtle hint of menace. “Steel yourself Herr Reichsfuhrer, for what you are about to witness, is truly remarkable.” Already Himmler had noticed the men’s eyes becoming heavily bloodshot and Von Kurst’s voice becoming deep and resonant as the three men stripped themselves naked. He shivered!

  Then it began…the transformation, the Waffen SS veteran’s voices becoming roars, their hair laden bodies growing and rearing up in size, their jaws protruding to dog like snouts and their fearsome teeth enlarging into lethal, razor sharp weapons.

  Shuddering incessantly, Himmler backed away as fear urged him to run and hide, for never in all his life had he witnessed anything so horrifying.

  With what seemed to be unearthly power surging through their muscular, dog like bodies, the three wolves stood on their hind legs, their tails swishing slowly from side to side, their blood red eyes focusing forebodingly on the one ‘human’ left in the room. Suddenly, the beast’s powerful canid bodies bent backwards as they threw back their fur-laden heads and howled…loud, deep, haunting howls.

  Heinrich Himmler covered his ears, his eyes squinting in fear! The howling was terrifying. Control your bladder he thought. Control it! Don’t show them you’re frightened!

  Snarling, growling, the wolves walked across the room on their hind legs. All were just over seven feet tall, muscular and deadly. The lead wolf, known as Karl Von Kurst snarled at the ‘so called’ leader of the SS. The others joined in, saliva dripping from their jaws, their dark red tongues running across lethal canine teeth, their triangular, thick, furred ears twitching incessantly. The lead wolf tilted its head slightly as it gazed at the Reichsfuhrer. It was as if the animal was scanning him with its blood red eyes, testing him, focusing on possible prey. Karl Von Kurst growled again, his dark snout peeling back, revealing his own deadly array of razor sharp teeth, the weapons with which to tear their enemies apart!

  “W…w…wonderful Herr Sturmbanfuhrer, truly amazing.” Heinrich Himmler was terrified, and about to wet himself.

  Still snarling, the beasts circled him: their saliva continuing to drip onto the floor, their fearsome claws ready to tear, to eviscerate. They howled again, an ethereal tone, telling of human kind being at one with true predatory power.

  “Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,” Himmler muttered, then yelled fearfully, “THAT IS ENOUGH!”

  The howling ceased. The three wolves understood their leader’s order and began to change form once again, their bones and joints cracking under the strain of transformation. In just over a minute, three naked men with blood red eyes stood in front of the now speechless leader of the SS.

  Karl Von Kurst spoke, his voice still menacing. “We are the new soldiers for the Waffen SS Herr Reichsfuhrer. The three of us are now your Wolf Soldiers, a new breed of human being. We will take the fight back to the invaders who dare to enter our Fatherland.” A look of wild, savage, untamed fury etched its way across Von Kurst’s, Falck’s and Kempler’s faces.

  “Yes, yes…good…yes.” SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler never drank alcohol, but he quickly poured himself a large glass of cognac as the three men looked on. Shaking uncontrollably he raised it to his lips and drained the warming liquid. “Very good,” he said weakly, “very good.”

  “Herr Reichsfuhrer,” this time Falck spoke, “the first of The Were, are ready for combat!”

  Doctor Lana Franke leisurely slid the gearlever of her hired, red coloured BMW 3 Series a notch higher and drove on up the winding mountain road. She was excited. Her luggage had been packed carefully with the greatest of attention, including a selection of her brand new, highly fashionable clothing and her finest lingerie. Slowly, her lips creased into a gentle but evocative smile. Otto would be so pleased to see her, she thought. She had missed him greatly over the last few days and was so looking forward to pleasing him again.

  With a slight hint of excitement, Doctor Franke’s thoughts turned to the packing of her bags. Her white physician’s coat had been folded neatly next to the small box containing the sterilised needles, and this time she had brought a surgical mask, just for a change! As if teasing herself, a thrilling feeling ran slowly through her veins, her skin developing goose pimples as her thoughts focused on the latest recording she also carried, for her lover to view. She giggled in anticipation of the evenings ahead. Of the fun, the excitement…and the pain she would once again inflict on the man she was so utterly obsessed with. Oh, the thrill of it all!

  And then…there was the castle itself!

  Feldtberg Castle! The magnificent sixteenth century building just nineteen kilometres North of Innsbruck and a stone’s throw away from the German border, grandly sited in its own, mostly forested grounds. Otto Von Kurst had seized the opportunity to purchase the old fortification in the mid nineties and people from all over the world had attended the auction. But for Von Kurst, the castle was already his, the bidding lasting over an hour, the German millionaire businessman outbidding all comers again and again.

  Sold!

  How he had revelled in his new purchase, for with Feldtberg Castle came the development of Otto’s boyhood dreams, the dreams he had discussed with his father time and time again. So it was that Camelot developed, based on the concept of Heinrich Himmler’s Black Knights, the SS, and the legendary tales of England’s King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Feldtberg Castle was to be no ordinary castle and certainly no tourist attraction. Upon its purchase, the now private lands had been closed to the general public. Work on the castle’s refurbishments had started within two months and had lasted well over a year. The beautiful castle, set high on a craggy, forested ridge remained true to its original form, but now its hardened concrete walls, built up to heights of between thirty to forty metres, were reinforced. The outer perimeter of the castle was octagonal in structure and surrounded the formidable castle tower, commonly known as The Keep. Built into the central grounds, The Keep stood over eighty metres high, with extended ramparts sectioned on different levels. Perfect for defensive positions! The work beneath the castle’s foundations had also proved a great success, with several offices, two armouries and sleeping quarters all in place. Now, Feldtberg Castle was certainly a sight to behold, with Otto Von Kurst being very proud indeed of his own newly fortified Camelot.

  His own…Black Camelot.

  “Good morning Doctor Franke, it is a pleasure to see you again.” The two men beside the castle gates seemed genuinely pleased to see their guest.

  Smoothly, the electric window of Lana’s BMW slid down as the cold, chill Austrian air breezed into the car’s luxurious interior. It was still misty at this altitude, but the day itself would be full of sunshine, she was sure of that! “Good morning Jakob, I trust you are well?” The physician’s smile would have melted the heart of any man.

  “Indeed Doctor,” the stocky, tough looking guard returned the smile as he thought about what ‘he’ would like to do with Doctor Lana Franke. “The Fuhrer is expecting you,” he turned to his colleague, “open the gates.” From
within the well built outer gatehouse, a button was pressed and the castle’s thick reinforced electronic oak gates silently slid open.

  Lana smoothly slid the BMW once more into gear and drove slowly through. What a perfect specimen of a man, she thought, absolutely perfect! Mischievously, she gazed back through her rear view mirror as the gates slid by. All of a sudden, she noticed something about Otto’s guards. Both men had handguns in holsters attached to their thick military belts. Their security uniform was also different! This time the two wore padded, mottle patterned camouflage jackets. It must be nearly time, she thought. The war has been brought forward!

  “READY!” Ash Piper swung the Heckler and Koch USP 45 SOCOM Pistol into a front facing two-handed grip. For five seconds a loud metallic buzzer rang through the target range. It was a warning telling all in the vicinity that firing was about to commence. An accented voice spoke through Piper’s headphones, “targets at varying distances Sergeant, they’re all yours!”

  The first one, to the left! A board with a figure painted on it. Piper fired…a critical hit! The next, to the right, thirty metres, Piper aimed and fired, another hit! Perfect! Now, up front, fifty metres, he fired again, a major stomach wound! Over to the right, forty metres, this time a Double Tap, just to make sure! And so it continued, until all twelve rounds were emptied.

  Piper released the USP’s ammo clip, letting it drop to the floor as he shouted down the Com-link attached to his headphones. “CHANGING MAG, SPORADIC TARGETS, MOVEMENT DEFINED, READY!” This time the targets moved along rails, back and forth, to left and right. Another twelve shots struck home! Piper was pleased. He released the spent ammo clip once again. “CHANGING MAG, ATTACHING SUPPRESSOR!” There was a pause and Piper continued, “KEEP WITH THE SPORADIC TARGETS, BUT INCREASE SPEED… READY!” This time the flash and noise of the USP’s twelve shots were muffled, dampened. Piper hit his targets again and again.