by James Somers
Josef Mengele paused at the newsstand. He had been allowed another three hours out in the city with a military escort. This escort had been assigned to him the next day after his arrival. He had been identified rapidly as a foreigner and the heavy military presence currently in Hiroshima meant that he was turned over quickly by the local authorities.
Both the 2nd General Army and the Chugoku Regional Army were headquartered in Hiroshima. Fortunately, he had been able to successfully identify himself as a member of Hitler’s staff. It may have been the only thing to save his life. Still, the Japanese were on high alert and they weren’t about to let him go running about on his own.
Josef was allowed to take walks, so long as his guards remained with him. As much for his own safety as anything else, according the local battalion commander. Josef had not argued the point.
His silver case containing the Rage Virus had been abandoned almost as quickly as he arrived. Fortunately, it had been after midnight in the Japanese islands at the time. Josef had known what would happen if anyone spotted the case. The virus would be confiscated immediately. And, if they had discovered what he was carrying, the local officials would have put him to death, supposing he meant to unleash it upon the population here.
Josef had managed to remove the necessary vial and hide it on his person. The vaccine remained with the Fuhrer himself, contained within his blood. The case had been buried within a trash bin. When the local authorities came to him the following morning, he presented his papers and was led straight to the battalion commander.
Mengele looked out over the harbor. The sun was beating down upon him, sparkling off of the water there at Ujina Port. Great battle ships were preparing to depart for the war still raging in the Pacific.
He turned back to the newspapers lying on the shelf of the newsstand. Josef did not have to be able to read Japanese in order to know what was written there. Splashed all over the front page of the paper was the black and white photograph of his Fuhrer. It was clear from the din around him and by the prominence of the picture that Adolf Hitler was dead.
His Fuhrer’s final command rang in his mind, overtaking his thoughts. Hitler had ordered him to unleash the virus here in Hiroshima. He considered this action for a moment. He had no desire to disobey. There was only the matter of how to accomplish the task effectively.
The man running the newspaper stand was saying something to him in Japanese. His tone and his motions made it abundantly clear that he was not running a library. If Josef wanted to read the paper then he would have to pay for the privilege.
The method came to him then.
Josef fingered the vial in his pocket. He thumbed off the stopper, allowing the liquid medium inside to spill into his palm and wash over his fingers. He removed this hand, rubbing it with his other as though applying lotion.
The doctor then approached the man behind his stand. He smiled at him, holding out his hand in a show of good will. The man looked at him askance for a moment and then, noticing the armed military escort with the foreigner, held out his own hand and shook with the stranger.
Since the man’s hands were sweaty already and no doubt dirtier than Josef’s, he didn’t seem to notice the moisture. In fact, upon withdrawing his own hand, the man drew the back of it across his mouth and nose. Nodding and smiling now, he handed Josef a newspaper.
When the doctor offered to pay, the man shooed him away affectionately. No doubt the presence of the military guard had been the reason for his sudden good mood. But Josef didn’t mind. He had received the paper, despite the fact that he couldn’t read a word of it. In return, Josef had given this man something no one else in the world could impart. He had given him Rage.
