by Ian Redman
“They certainly seem busy enough,” Jean-Paul re-directed his gaze from the screen to his boss, Nick Lucas. “The outer perimeter walls are at least six metres high and there seems to be standard security at the gatehouse.” The young Frenchman fell silent for a couple of seconds as the camera slowly changed direction, “there’s plenty of razor wire around the place. I would hate to get caught in that!”
“Don’t even think about it,” replied Nick, his face grimacing slightly. “Okay Commander we’re ready to run a full panoramic sweep of the area.”
“Do it,” replied Hertschell, “I want every centimetre of those buildings scanned.”
“Yes sir!”
Otto Von Kurst was pleased, but not overly so. The concrete and steel reinforced Operations Centre for the New Totenkopf was complete and operative, with two grenadiers keenly monitoring news reports from around Europe on several television screens. Directly in front of him, the large plasma screen fixed to the wall facing his desk was tuned to the Sky News channel.
The attacks had been successful. Over four thousand dead and just as many injured. Hatred was flaring, like sparks over a vat of petroleum and most importantly, reprisals had begun. Several cities including Paris, Munich, Brussels and Amsterdam had seen rioting in areas with high immigrant populations, with sporadic violence against Muslims being recorded in many towns across Europe. Local governments were appealing for calm, but the tinderboxes had already been lit.
Slowly, exuberantly, Von Kurst leaned back in his chair; the detachment of grenadiers on guard duty around Feldtberg Castle steadfastly making sure all security was in place. Yes, he thought, Claude, Jurgen and Fritz had accomplished miracles with the grenadier’s training programme. They will all receive his utmost gratitude at the Round Table. Quickly, Von Kurst turned his gaze to one of the small television screens to his right. Picking up his controller, he raised the volume and watched with growing interest.
“Currently, the March Against Immigrants is scheduled for Sunday and will finish in Hyde Park. So far, from reports coming in, between fifteen to twenty thousand people are expected to take part. Police Commissioner Gordon Kempton of the Metropolitan Police has applied to ban the march because of his growing concerns.”
The scene deftly moved to a senior police officer giving an interview to a British Broadcasting Company reporter. Smiling contentedly, Von Kurst continued to watch. Perfect he thought, absolutely perfect!
“Yes, I am greatly concerned. I feel sure the BNP have organised this so-called March Against Immigrants, mainly to increase tensions among local communities where we have large immigrant populations. Yes, this is a worrying situation, but rest assured we will be deploying a high police presence to ensure the event proceeds peacefully, and safely.”
Not if my grenadiers can help it thought Von Kurst, his smile now broad and wicked.
“Still nothing, it all looks fine to me.” With his face etched in deep concentration, Nick Lucas nimbly handled the small controller for the Satellite Imaging System.
“There’s plenty of activity within the place, people walking around and working in their offices, forklift trucks loading and unloading. Yeah, from what I can see it’s your standard type of warehousing facility.”
Ash Piper sighed, slowly shaking his head in disbelief, his feelings of agitation growing by the minute.
Colonel Mann turned to Commander Hertschell. “I have to agree with Nick, Maurice, the buildings just seem to be full of containers and crates, probably from all over the world. From what we can see, everything is as it should be.”
Again Piper sighed, “another bloody wild goose chase,” he mumbled.
“But what is in those crates?” Everyone stared at Jeanette Descard, her voice full of suspicion. “Well,” she said, “I’m not satisfied with what we have viewed so far! Just what do those crates contain?”
“Doctor Descard,” Nick looked solemnly at Jeanette, “we’ve used image intensifiers, x-ray and thermal vision on three of the buildings already. There is nothing but industrial goods in that warehousing area.”
“Alright,” Colonel Mann interrupted, “scan the fourth building Nick, that still has to be checked, and then everyone… that’s it!” Charles Mann did not want to give up hope, but he had to admit to himself, it was looking highly unlikely that Wilhelm Oratz of Von Kurst Electronics could be associated with a major terrorist organisation. With a brief look of indignation, the Colonel’s thoughts returned to his initial meeting with Piper, to the Rostov video footage and the carnage caused by the beast he had witnessed on film. The Werewolf! The stuff of fantasy and nightmares, but not just fantasy any longer, they did exist, these…human wolves. The Colonel sighed, a long, deep sigh, his eyes fixed once again on the imagery of the VKE Warehouse facility. Something just isn’t right he thought. I just know it!
“Are you alright sir?” Piper enquired.
“Yes Sergeant,” just for a second or two Charles Mann gazed vacantly at CEATA’s own werewolf, “I’m fine.”
It was nearly one p.m. as Otto Von Kurst entered his main office. No sooner had he sat down, when the expected knock at the door took place. He knew who it was.
“Jurgen, Fritz, come in please.” The door opened and in stepped the two men who had previously fought alongside his father in the Waffen SS Totenkopf Division, during the dark, terrible days of World War Two.
Just like Otto Von Kurst, Jurgen Falck and Fritz Kempler had hardly aged over the years, their minds and bodies keeping in perfect health. Both men clicked their heels, lowered their heads slightly and brought their right arms up in the Nazi salute. Von Kurst stood rigidly to attention and returned the gesture. “My friends; please sit down.” They did so. Von Kurst’s mood was sombre, the look in his eyes, thoughtful. Another knock at the door, it was Helga with coffee.
“Thank you Helga, leave the tray on my desk.” Helga Zeist did not speak; she only looked. First at the man she still loved, then at the others, the men she had felt the connection with. The two named Falck and Kempler nodded their heads towards her but said nothing as Helga left the office and closed the door.
“You both know why I need to speak to you before our general meeting, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Falck replied, “we have sensed him too.”
Von Kurst spoke again, this time with a hint of menace. “The man we all sense has generated fully to Were form and is now one of us.” There was silence for a few seconds, “I have entered his dreamscape, but I fear the worst.”
“We understand,” this time Kempler spoke, “so the hunt is reversed?”
“It would seem that way, although he is of our kind, he fights against us. This cannot be allowed to continue.”
Jurgen Falck leaned forward, his voice almost a whisper, “then we will hunt him down, and kill him!”
Silence fell across the room. Von Kurst was in deep thought. “That will not be necessary my friend, for the wolf inside him is young and inexperienced.” Von Kurst’s tone of voice lowered, it was if he was beginning to growl. “He will come to me…and then, if he will not join us and our cause… I will kill him myself.”
“And the woman…Helga?”
“Helga is beginning her journey. I suspect she will be one of our kind very soon. I will take care of her, but I will need your help.” Both Waffen SS veterans nodded their heads in anticipation of what was to be asked of them. Von Kurst continued, “at present I fear for Helga’s sanity, for she has a kind and gentle nature. Her new form will terrify her if she is not given careful guidance. Jurgen, Fritz…” Von Kurst looked out of the office window into the main castle forecourt, his thoughts penetrating into the surrounding forest, “when the time is right, you must take Helga into the forest and to the hunt. You must…for me, give her your guidance as well.”
Falck replied for both men, “of course my Fuhrer, of course!”
There was a disturbance outside, Wotan and Wiki were barking. The final guests, the two who would complete the seating
at the Round Table, had arrived.
“What the hell!” Ash Piper leaned closer to the screen, not looking at Nick Lucas as he spoke, “magnify that area, I want a more detailed view of the man with the guard dog!” The view in front of the small gathering of people increased in magnification as Piper spoke again, this time with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Correct me if I am wrong here, but the security guard we are now viewing…is armed.” Nick extended the magnification even further, “and if I’m not mistaken, he’s carrying a semi automatic rifle.”
There was silence for a few seconds, which was suddenly broken by Jeanette Descard.
“Why does Von Kurst Electronics want to employ armed guards, especially as they are breaking the law in doing so?” She stared at Commander Hertschell who stood ready to voice his opinion on the new situation now enveloping the CEATA team.
“This is the rear area of the facility isn’t it Nick, Building Four?”
“It is sir, and what a difference in security, just hold on a second.” Slowly, painstakingly, Nick adjusted the small, but precise control stick. “Let’s go infra-red shall we?”
Piper nodded, “you’re thinking exactly what I am Mister Lucas…bingo!”
“Good heavens,” Jeanette Descard sounded genuinely surprised as she viewed the finely detailed image on the screen. The inside of Building Four was now crisscrossed with faint red lines.
“Well, well, well,” exclaimed Piper, “it seems we’ve stumbled on an infra-red security system.” Piper’s heartbeat started to race. Perhaps we are onto something after all, he thought.
The greetings were warm, the handshakes strong. Standartenfuhrer Claude Bescann bowed his head slightly and clicked his heels together, so too, did Untersturmfuhrer Jochen Kreutz. “My Fuhrer, please accept my apologies, unfortunately our flight was delayed somewhat.”
“There is no need for apologies my friend, these things happen.” Otto Von Kurst smiled warmly at Bescann and Kreutz, “Jochen, I trust you are well?”
The tall blonde haired, powerful looking man did not smile. “Of course my Fuhrer, of course.”
“Good, the circle is now complete.”
“Are Falck and Kempler here?” enquired Bescann.
“Indeed so, they are looking forward to seeing you again, but for now…” Von Kurst turned to a grenadier who had arrived at their sides, “show these two gentlemen to their rooms.” He turned again to Bescann then looked at his watch, “gentlemen, the Round Table meets at two o’clock, you have just over thirty minutes to freshen up.”
“No problem my Fuhrer, we shall be there.”
“Good, Helga will bring coffee and refreshments immediately, I will see you both later.” Again, they shook hands as Von Kurst left the main hallway and stepped back into his office with Bescann and Kreutz following the grenadier upstairs.
How he had waited for this moment thought Claude Bescann, ever since that first, fateful meeting at the dinner party in the Paris Hilton Hotel. Bescann discreetly smiled to himself. It was fate he thought, the coming together of two highly intellectual minds, to rid Europe of its infestation of immigrants. The timing had been perfect, his retirement as Director General of the GIGN giving him time to prepare plans with his Fuhrer, his farmhouse outside Versailles and its surrounding land having been perfect for military training, and so very, very private.
Katherine, his former wife, had divorced Bescann several years earlier and taken the two children, not that it bothered him, for he had never had time for them. For most of the adult years of his life, Claude Bescann had been a career man, proud and dutiful…especially now.
“So,” Commander Maurice Hertschell faced his colleagues, “we have one warehouse facility, with four buildings under one roof. Three of the buildings are fitted with two standard security systems and from what we have viewed so far, the working procedures of the VKE staff around these areas seems perfectly normal…” the senior team members at CEATA Headquarters listened intently, “…and now, as we can plainly see, Building Four has a highly advanced infra-red security system attached to it. So everyone…your conclusions please!”
Ash Piper was the first to speak. “Something stinks down there Commander. Building Four is well hidden from public view. They also have dog kennels situated just around the area, and there’s no sign of any heavy goods vehicles, not even a fork lift truck within the vicinity of the building.”
“Nothing in the vicinity Sergeant Piper,” Charles Mann’s tone was acutely suspicious, “except for armed guards.”
Nick Lucas, deep in thought, tapped his fingers on his desk. Jeanette Descard, distracted momentarily by the sound, glanced at Nick, her thoughts also occupied with the security arrangements at Building Four. She turned to the Commander. “Sir, I think it is quite obvious Von Kurst Electronics need to be investigated further, especially regarding this Wilhelm Oratz character.”
“I agree Doctor. Jean-Paul, I want as much information as you can possibly find regarding Oratz and I want it on my desk within the next two hours.” Hurriedly, the Commander turned to Nick Lucas, “Nick, your job is to hack into the warehouse computer mainframe and find out everything you can about the nature of the goods stored in that area.”
“Yes sir!”
“I also require detailed analysis of everything that is going in and out of that facility over the next forty eight hours, and further data regarding their security systems.” Commander Hertschell turned to Piper, then to Colonel Mann, “it’s time we started to ask some very in depth questions about Von Kurst Electronics,” he said.
Set in varied colours of marble and being seven metres in diameter, the Fuhrer’s Round Table was exquisite. Because of its weight, the workmen had previously struggled to bring the various sections of the table into the underground stronghold of Feldtberg Castle, but eventually they had succeeded, much to the delight of Otto Von Kurst. The special room, next door to the Operations Centre, was the meeting place for the Hierarchy of the New Totenkopf.
Proudly, they all stood by their elaborately carved oak chairs with large framed paintings of Adolf Hitler, Heinrich Himmler and Karl Von Kurst adorning three sides of the room. Otto Von Kurst was proud of the paintings, especially the one of his father. The New Totenkopf’s hierarchy, Otto Von Kurst, Wilhelm Oratz, Lana Franke, Claude Bescann, Jurgen Falck, Fritz Kempler and Jochen Kreutz all stood straight, staring at the black candle set in the small silver bowl, their faces solemn, unemotional. The candle burned slowly, as if trying to hold on to life itself. The New Totenkopf’s chain of command had been silent for two minutes, their thoughts having been with their fallen comrade, Gerhard Maas. The Fuhrer himself had proclaimed the deceased German a martyr, a warrior and true believer in their justifiable cause.
Gerhard Maas had given his life for that cause.
The Fuhrer spoke, “please everyone, take your seats.” They did so. At the same time briefcases, laptops and papers were neatly set out across the cold marble. “I need not remind you all, that time is of the essence with reference to our planning.” Von Kurst had a cold look in his eyes, “however, I am pleased to report the timing of our operations so far has been…impeccable.”
The mood at the Round Table quickly became sombre and businesslike. There was a great deal to discuss, for the war against the immigrants was beginning. Von Kurst spoke directly to Bescann, Falck and Kempler. “Claude, Jurgen, Fritz, may I offer you my personal thanks for your steadfast training of our grenadiers over the last seven months.”
“Absolutely,” said Wilhelm Oratz, “the grenadier’s training has been in a word, outstanding.”
The three nodded their heads in grateful acceptance of the compliments. “My Fuhrer,” said Bescann, “the level of training for our grenadiers received a new dimension with the arrival of our two friends. To have our soldiers trained by Waffen SS veterans has truly been an honour and…” the Frenchman looked respectfully at Falck and Kempler, “may I say…a privilege.”
“Thank you,” replied F
alck, “I know I speak for Fritz as well as myself when I say it has been an honour to assist with your plans my Fuhrer. The two of us are always at your service.”
“Never the less my friends,” Von Kurst continued, “you left our wild cousins and returned to live with us once again. We all know how much you prefer your wild forms and so again, please accept our thanks.” Von Kurst turned his gaze to the screen of his laptop computer. “Now,” he said icily, “to business.” A deathly quiet fell across the room as Von Kurst continued, “as we are all aware, with the urgent issuing of the Blood Order, Phases One to Three of Project Amen are now complete. Our well organised and executed detonations have now awoken the feeble minded governments of Europe to a new terrorist threat. This threat of course being from…” Von Kurst paused, a look of mockery sat smugly on his face, “…our dear Muslim friends.” There was muffled laughter from around the table, apart from Wilhelm Oratz, who, as usual, sat quietly, not taking his eyes off his Fuhrer. “At this moment, as far as we can evaluate, law enforcement agencies across Europe have no idea who the European Muslim Freedom Fighters are, or, most importantly, where they are from.” Von Kurst looked pleased, very pleased, “and that is the way I want it to stay. Our grenadiers now move with impunity across Europe’s immigrant infested lands. Any questions so far?” No one uttered a word. “Good, now…I require reports regarding our tactical planning for the next phase of our plan. As you are probably aware, the dates for the so-called Festival of Peace have recently been announced. On the day, the Pontiff himself will give a speech and his blessing for the festival, to an estimated crowd of between eighty, to one hundred thousand in Saint Peter’s Square.” As Von Kurst continued, the fingers of his right hand gently tapped on the marble table.
