The Metal Man: An Account of a WW2 Nazi Cyborg

by Ben Stevens

  ‘You – you’re a Jew?’ Schroder could only stammer helplessly. ‘And my mother… This place she has been sent… What do you mean with all this, you are telling me…?’

  The genius scientist’s face was red, his breathing fast and heavy. Reinhardt gave a faint smile and again waved his hand slightly, as though to calm him.

  ‘I have a map here, Jonas,’ he said, producing this from inside of his thick black coat.

  He opened it up in front of Schroder, pointing with one finger at an area along the German-Polish border.

  ‘Across here, the river Neisse, is the town of Tornik. I believe I am pronouncing the name correctly. The concentration camp named Mittlebruck is to one side of this town. Really, you just cross over the bridge from the German side, and then follow the signs for a few kilometers.

  ‘There are many camps like Mittelbruck; it is hardly the only one of its kind. Situated in Poland and… elsewhere…’

  The last word came out in a sigh. Again, Reinhardt appeared almost as though he might collapse.

  Then, taking a deep breath, he continued –

  ‘Major Fleischer of the Berlin Gestapo – the one who previously had you under arrest, before your release was obtained at the behest of Adolf Hitler himself – previously took great pains to tell me the above information. To force me to share in your deception; as I say – to have to lie to you, day after day.’

  ‘Is she… alive, Wilhelm?’ asked the half-Jew plaintively, his expression anguished.

  Reinhardt stared despairingly back at him.

  ‘I… I don’t know, Jonas,’ he returned. ‘All I can do is to show you this map; to tell you exactly where your mother is and to give you the truth at last…’

  ‘I am going to find her,’ said Schroder, his chin sticking out. ‘I am going right now.’

  ‘Then take this,’ returned Reinhardt, pulling something else from out of his inside coat pocket. ‘Whatever you plan to do – even if you aim to take the Metal Man himself with you – this will assist you greatly.’

  ‘This’ was a folded sheet of what was clearly high-quality paper.

  Cautiously, Schroder accepted it. Then, opening it, he could not help but emit a small gasp of surprise.

  ‘But this is… Hitler’s signature…?’

  ‘Below which are also his words, stating that anyone who is shown this piece of paper, however senior their rank, must give the bearer of it their full and immediate assistance, however this is required.

  ‘I was given it before construction began on the Metal Man,’ continued Reinhardt. ‘How else do you think I was able to obtain some of the materials necessary, which are otherwise in such desperately short supply? Anyway, whatever you do and wherever you go now, this will prove invaluable.’

  ‘But you, Wilhelm…? What are you going to do…’ whispered Schroder, his right hand clutching his senior’s left shoulder.

  Reinhardt gently freed the fierce grip.

  ‘I’m going to take a trip to number eight, Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse – Gestapo Headquarters itself. Major Fleischer oh-so-kindly permitted me two hours to get my affairs in order, before I have to present myself there for arrest. He knows that I will not escape, and as the only other option available to me is suicide…

  ‘But he also offered me a deal, of sorts. If I know of any other Jews in hiding, he said, I could earn myself certain… privileges, by telling upon them.

  ‘So I go to see him now, and pretend that I have a list of such people…’

  ‘Wilhelm – what are you saying?’

  ‘I say no more. You do what you have to do – and I will do what I have to do. This Gestapo man has destroyed everything; he devoted himself to yours and my own destruction – and, of course, he has shattered so many other lives. And delighted in doing so.

  ‘But tonight, I have something of a surprise in store for the dear Major. I go now to deliver it to him. And to, you, Jonas, I say – goodbye, my friend.’

  For a few moments, Schroder seemed entirely confused. Then, his face hardening, he nodded and took Reinhardt’s hand in his own.

  The two men shared a brief embrace.

  ‘Go with God, Jonas,’ said Reinhardt, as he started to move back towards the double doors leading into the cavernous room.

  ‘No such being, Reinhardt – but do your best,’ returned the half-Jewish scientist.

  Reinhardt nodded, and then was swallowed by the dark, the sound of one door clanging shut behind him a few moments later.

  17

  It was the smell of smoke that gave away the five Polish farm-workers.

  They were all of them wretched-looking, ill-clothed against the brutal winter, shaking with cold as several soldiers from Ackermann’s unit marched them out from where they’d been asleep in the woods that were on either side of a wide and snow-covered track.

  It was Mayer who’d caught the faint whiff of smoke, marching alongside one squealing Panzer tank, and had given the alarm to Ackermann. There were immediately fears of an ambush. Ackermann had dispatched the several SS troops (not Mayer, or any of the three soldiers named Bach, Weber and Amsel), and moving quietly the men had surprised the five men and women who were sleeping huddled around the dying fire.

  With shouts and kicks, the five were awoken and marched out onto the track.

  ‘What the hell have I done?’ sighed Mayer, watching as Ackermann stalked over to the cowering group. A strong moon was out in the cloudless night sky, illuminating the whole scene.

  ‘They might have been real partisans, Mayer, hiding out and ready to cut us to pieces with machineguns and grenades. You did what you had to do, as a soldier,’ returned Bach, the two other men who’d once been part of Lieutenant Colonel Karl Brucker’s unit nodding their agreement.

  ‘Do any of you speak German?’ demanded Ackermann loudly, glowering at the three men and two women.

  The group began nervously chattering, in Polish. Ackermann immediately slapped one of the women around the face.

  ‘Jesus!’ hissed Amsel. He glanced at Mayer, who was biting his bottom lip.

  ‘I said – does anyone here speak German?’ reiterated Ackermann.

  ‘Yes, I do – just a little,’ declared one of the men.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Please, we not soldier, just the farm-worker. We leave farm, try live in forest.’

  ‘Why?’

  The man appeared agonized, as though he didn’t know how to reply. Ackermann slapped the same woman around the face again. She didn’t cry out, but kept her eyes almost defiantly fixed on the SS officer.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We work on German-run farm. Other day all German soldier go. Destroy all building and food-store before leave. We not know where to go. And nothing to eat. Just go into forest to hide from…’

  ‘Yes?’

  The man gulped, and Ackermann slapped the woman around the face for the third time.

  ‘Fucking animal,’ spat Bach. ‘I can’t just stand here and keep seeing this kind of thing happening…’

  ‘From other German soldier!’ the Polish male almost cried out.

  Ackermann stared at the man for a few moments. Then he gave his thin smile.

  ‘Liar,’ he said. ‘You are partisans, hiding out in the woods hoping to attack German units like mine. For this, you will be shot.

  ‘Tell them this,’ he ordered the man.

  The man gabbled something, and another male and one of the women gave a sharp cry of terror. But the woman whose face Ackermann had slapped now spat full in his face.

  ‘Bitch!’ yelled the SS officer, grabbing her arm and starting to pull his pistol from out of its holster. ‘I’ll put a bullet in you myself!’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  Ackermann and the men of his unit all spun around in surprise. There was stood Mayer, who’d uttered the three words. Amsel was stood on his left side, Bach and Weber on his right. The four men had their sub machineguns covering Ackermann and the other men, the
ir faces hard and set.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ demanded Ackermann.

  ‘We’re leaving your unit, and taking those five Poles with us,’ returned Mayer, what he said surprising himself almost as much as the three others.

  ‘You’ll go to hell first,’ ground out Ackermann between gritted teeth. ‘These are partisans, dangerous and perfectly prepared to – ’

  ‘Partisans with not even one weapon between them!’ retorted Mayer. ‘What do you think they were planning to kill us with – their clogs? No, no; these are just yet more poor bloody peasants you plan to murder, to satisfy your cowardly bloodlust.

  ‘Well, it’s not going to happen this time – sir.’

  Ackermann stared hard at the flat-faced soldier.

  ‘You treacherous bastard. May I remind you that there are still over twenty-five soldiers under my command – plus the five-man crew of each tank?

  ‘And you are – four…’

  ‘True,’ nodded Mayer. ‘And if there’s a fire-fight, then we’ll certainly all perish. Just as approximately half your men will, before we’re done – sir.’

  Ackermann breathed heavily for a few moments, his narrow eyes wild with rage. Then it was his turn to nod, as though he’d just realized something.

  ‘Cowards and traitors – just like Karl Brucker was…’

  ‘Brucker was the bravest man I ever knew, and a true patriot,’ replied Mayer, forcing himself to keep his voice even.

  ‘Who was stabbed to death by some silly Jewish bitch,’ sneered Ackermann, as several of the men stood around him sniggered. ‘What a truly noble end for Lieutenant Colonel Brucker…’

  ‘You know – that’s something I still can’t figure out,’ declared Mayer, his eyes dark as the night sky as he stared across at Ackermann. ‘How in the hell did my commanding officer get killed like that? He went up to that room, accompanied only by you – and then suddenly he’s dead?

  ‘After all he’d been through… All he’d survived… And we have only you to say that it was that women who killed him. The same woman you conveniently shot dead just a few moments later. Isn’t that strange?’

  Ackermann stared levelly at Mayer for a few moments.

  ‘If I ever see you back in Germany,’ he said then, ‘I’ll personally ensure that you and these three others are shot as deserters.’

  ‘We’ll take our chances,’ said Mayer. He briefly glanced at the Polish man who could speak German.

  ‘You there,’ he said. ‘You and the others are to come with us – that is, if you want to live.’

  Again, the Polish man appeared uncertain.

  ‘Or you can stay here, and be executed by these other men,’ offered Mayer.

  It wasn’t a hard choice to make. Still appearing confused, the man said something in his own language to the three others; and then hissed irritably at them when they appeared to hesitate.

  With that, the five men and women walked quickly over to join Mayer and the three others – all of whom still had their eyes and guns fixed upon the superior number of SS troops stood opposite.

  ‘So long, Ackermann,’ said Mayer. ‘Before you hit the border, you might still find one or two more ruined villages you can burn out. Have yourself a little more fun before you’re done. Just watch out for any men who are actually carrying guns – they tend to fight back, and you and your boys here might find that a little bit scary.’

  ‘We’ll meet again, my friend,’ returned Ackermann, his wolf-eyes gleaming in the dark. ‘And then we’ll see just who’s scared.’

  Realizing that further communication was pointless, Mayer trudged backwards, along with Bach and Weber keeping his gun trained on the other SS soldiers he was leaving further and further behind.

  Amsel, meanwhile, shepherded the Poles ahead, quietly informing the German-speaking man that he and the others shouldn’t be scared – not now.

  ‘You did the right thing, Mayer,’ said Bach out of the corner of his mouth, feeling an undeniable sense of relief as Ackermann and the other SS men still under his command were swallowed up by the darkness.

  ‘But,’ Bach then continued, ‘we’re damn-near out of rations – too say nothing of ammo…’

  Mayer swung round, to face in the direction he was walking. The track forked – the main track and now a narrower path. The group took the narrower path; there was no chance that Ackermann and the others would seek to pursue them along this. Indeed, relations had been strained for such a long time that they were probably glad to see the four remnants of Karl Brucker’s unit go.

  ‘We’ll ask our five guests here if they know of anywhere we can find something to eat. It’ll be as much in their interests as ours.

  ‘As for ammo…’

  Mayer gave a fatalistic shrug.

  ‘Well – maybe the sooner we’re back in Germany, the better. Although frankly speaking, I doubt it.’

  18

  Again, it was in the rear of the lorry. Only this time it was alone. The man whose voice it recognized above anyone else’s had ordered it to go with him. No other, white-jacketed men in attendance. The ones who usually occupied the rear of the lorry with him.

  They’d left that large room where it so often lay in darkness, and gone up in the elevator to where there was sky. A word it had remembered by now –

  Remembered? Had it known it before?

  Sky… Water... Trees... Sun…

  These words felt strangely… thrilling… to think of.

  Like – freedom.

  Another new word.

  Like – life.

  Voices outside. Then a crash of gears and the lorry lurched off. Not the usual driver, it realized. The lorry this time being driven inexpertly. Could it be the man who’d gone up with it in the elevator who was now driving? But this man had never escorted it outside of the bunker before…

  Bunker. Again another new word. They were coming all the time now.

  The lorry crashed and bounced along. A squeal of brakes. It was sat in its usual seat, near the back. All around it cabling and metal boxes. A low light in a cage shining above.

  The whirring started again. That peculiar thing which occurred every time it thought of the man who’d instructed it to let go of that soldier with the broken nose. It thought about that man a lot; more than it even wanted too. For, somehow, it wanted desperately to remember –

  Yes – to recall the name of that man…

  A man. Even it had heard itself being referred to as the ‘Metal Man’.

  A man. It – he – a man.

  Sudden realization… A man of metal, different to other men, but a man the same. Why had he not thought this before? Realized this before? He was so different, yet somehow – the same. He was made of metal and so he did not fall or… (he briefly scoured his memory for the right word)… bleed when shot. Or die. But he had… hands and… feet. Of a sort.

  The desire for that man’s name again? Why did he want to know this? Everyone had names. He’d learned… or remembered… this again…

  The stick stirring the dark muddy pool, dredging up –

  He was the Metal Man. Sometimes the image of the smiling woman again occurred in the darkness, the one holding the baby, but there were no names there. He felt the warmth when the image flashed but also… Something else. Something contrasting wholly with this warmth. And also with those four men; the recognition of something that had been –

  Lost?

  That man. Again. The one who’d bellowed at him, after he’d caught the other man by the throat. The sensation of wanting to squeeze his hand – of metal – ever-tighter. Some recognition of authority, as that other man instructed him to let go, preventing him from doing this…

  Was he a man? Or a machine like a tank?

  The name…

  Think…

  It –

  ‘Ackermann,’ said the Metal Man suddenly, sat there alone in the rear of the lorry as it drove along.

  19

  This was the second time W
ilhelm Reinhardt had visited number eight, Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse – Gestapo Headquarters. The first time had been some months back, when Jonas Schroder had begun receiving harassment from Germany’s secret police. Then Reinhardt had paid his initial visit to protest; to claim that the half-Jewish scientist he had working under him was exempt from the Nuremberg Laws.