Prolog

London

September 14^th, 1939

            “Have you seen my Tesler coils?”  The voice came from behind a work bench cluttered with brass parts and rocks.  Before anyone could answer in the large laboratory the woman, about 30 with short brown hair and a band of freckles across her nose, stood up and looked out from her position in one of the corners.  “I said has anyone seen my Tesler coils?”

            “That’s Tesla.”  An identical voice answered from the opposite end of the room.  “Nikola Tesla.  T E S L A.”  The other woman in the room, a virtual twin of the first, but with longer brown hair tinged with blonde, said.  “How did you ever get a doctorate in temporal geology and not know how to pronounce Tesla?”

            “There it is.”  The first woman screamed and ran across the room, past her twin sister.  She took the wooden box off a shelf and held it up to her siblings’ face.

            “See, Tesler.  Vladimir Tesler.  T E S L E R.”

FROM:  Tesler Engineering                 408 Funfth Staadt                 Osnabruck, Deutschland                                                     TO:                                                                 Dr. Charlene Hriddle                                                                 1710 Warpath Lane                                                                 London Docks, London

            There on the side of the box, filled with brass coils and meters was the shipping label.  It said in neat script.

            “How did you ever get a PhD in Static Engineering and not know about Tesler Field Coils?”  Charlene wrinkled her nose at her sister Danielle, turned curtly on one heel, and started walking back to her corner of the lab.

            “Enough!”  Came a stern voice from another corner of the building.  “After 32 years can’t you agree on anything?

            “Yes father.”  They both said in unison.  “We agree that the magnetic field of the Earth is in direct relation to the distance from the next most massive metallic sphere.”  Both women stood at attention and droned in unison.  “We agree that height, width, depth, and time are just constructs created by those that could not at that moment envision anything greater.”  They turned toward their father.  “And we agree that without chocolate there is no reason to remain on this planet.”

            At that both women began laughing; and ran over to their father, hugging him.

            “When did you get back?”

            “How was America?”

            “Does mother know you’re home?

            Both girls fired questions faster than their father could answer.

            “Please, girls, one at a time.”  The older man took off his top hat, unbuttoned his overcoat, and sat on a stool.  “I just got off the ship a few minutes ago.  No your mother does not know I’m home.  This was on the way and I saw the lights on.  America was dreadful.  They are so uncivilized.  I couldn’t get a decent cup of tea the entire two weeks I was there.  It wasn’t until we were airborne on the Queen Victoria 2 that I had a respectable meal.”

            “Then let’s go home.”  Charlene said, leaving the box of coils on the workbench.

            Arm and arm Dr. Malcome Hriddle , Professor of Magnetic Field Theory walked between his two daughters and, turning down the gas lights on his way out the door to the laboratory, crossed the small hallway to the street and hailed a cab.  As he climbed in the small, tight space, across from the two women, the rain began to fall softly, washing away some of the soot from the gaslights now blazing on the streets.  Gently listening to the steel shoes on the two horses pulling the Handsome he thought how good it was to be back home.

December 22^nd, 1939

Dora-Mittelbau Labor Camp

Harz Mountains, Germany

            In the summer months the northern mountain range of Harz is a beautiful series of hiking trails, waterfalls, and majestic tree covered mountain sides.  Even with the war raging all around the hills and valleys there are still fish stocked streams and game roaming free in the fields.  However in the winter the snow sets upon the villages and towns with the fury of the Northmen attacking an undefended church.  The drifts will cover farmhouses and immobilize all horse and steam traffic attempting to negotiate the steep winding roads.  Human flesh freezes in minutes if exposed to the elements and anyone lost in the snow could wander for hours until they succumb to the weather before finding warmth or shelter.

The workmen at Dora-Mittelbau Labor Camp had been constructing their living quarters for 6 months in anticipation of this winter.  Brought from all over the occupied countries of Europe these political and racial prisoners had built their own shelters, rather than sleep in the cold, dark, and damp tunnels of the new weapons underground facility in Buchenwald, a few miles away.  It was hard work but now with at least a modicum of shelter against the elements those destined to spend the rest of the war, if not the rest of their lives, in this camp were at least spared the harshest of weather condition.

            Tomorrow Albert Speer, the Vice Fuehrer of the Third Reich, and second only to Der Fuehrer Heinrich Himmler, would visit the camp and determine whether the barracks, fences, and accommodations were suitable for his workers.  Speer needed healthy laborers more than he needed dead ones to work in the factory and facility just north of the camp. To Speer the bottom line was production numbers and furthering the war effort.  The final solution as proposed by Himmler was nothing that concerned him.  He was a business man first and foremost.

            Today the wind howled across the open parade field in the center of the camp.  The wooden barracks were built in three concentric circles out from the central parade field, with guard huts, mess facilities, and supply buildings scattered among them.  Harsh gas lights were turned on at dusk and kept on until the sun was over the horizon; often blowing out in the severe wind, causing the lowest ranking soldier on watch to go out and relight with a flint torch. More than once a soldier was burned to death when the torch lit a gas pocket in the glass globe.  There were guard towers within the camp, and at intermittent positions along the 4 meter barbed wire fence at the periphery.

            Obersturmbannführer Klaus Minden walked out into the long shadows; the sun having already set at 1600 hours behind the highest mountain peak, and looked at the work groups being led through the front gates from the train station just outside to the west.  As the Commandant he was personally responsible to his superiors to keep those that could work, working.  In the cold wind he stood stone still, like a black clothed statue in a park, and watched as the Wehrmacht soldiers herded the prisoners through the camp to their respective billets.  Dressed in the standard issue heavy gray wool overcoat and pants of the ground troops they were a stark contrast to the lightly dressed prisoners, some wearing the summer clothing that they arrived in 6 to 8 months ago.  Commanding each group of Wehrmacht, however, was an SS officer.  In this case it was Obersturmfuhrer Brenden.

            The Obersturmfuhrer snapped to attention as he passed his commander and gave a crisp salute, his right arm extending high in the air.  In the harsh glare of the lights each mans’ uniform showed extreme wear but the silver deaths’ head and SS insignia of the Schutzstaffel was still like new.  Brenden, without a coat, and seemingly oblivious to the cold, marched a little further into the camp and then with a nod of his head to the Wehrmacht Sergeant turned and joined his commander, standing slightly behind and to the right of Colonel Minden.

            “You have done well.”  Minden said.  “You will be ready tomorrow?”  The question was more of a statement.

            “Yes sir,” the lieutenant replied; his breath causing steam in the cold mountain air, “the facility is at maximum production with only minimum loss of workers.”

            “Good.”  The colonel smiled slightly.  “I don’t like having visitors.”  He turned to look at the young officer, the slight smile now gone.  “I don’t want a reason for them to come back.”

            Brenden was glad to see his immediate superior, Major Brandt, walk up to the Commander.  With a curt salute Brandt stopped and looked at the other two.

            “That will be all, lieutenant.”  The commander turned away from the younger man.

            Without another word the Obersturmfuherer saluted and walked to one of the warming huts.  He was hungry, thirsty and cold.  His superiors did not wear heavy coats, therefore he did not either, but in this wind he was cut to the bone by the cold.  He longed for the heat of summer and the warm sun.  After the war he thought he would open a toy shop somewhere in France and sell dolls to the local children.  In his notebook were a number of sketches of Nazi uniforms, designed for small puppets, all accurate to the finest detail.  But for now they stayed in his pack.  It would do him no good to be found soft or weak.  He was SS.

            Major Brandt stood next to the commander in the cold and spoke over the wind, now howling in the courtyard.

            “Speer will be here this time tomorrow.”  The fair complexioned Nordic man looked directly at his commander, neither accepting an inferior or superior position.  “He will be here less than three hours.”  Brandt spied a rotund man in shirt sleeves and an apron walking through the blowing wind to them from a brightly lit building at the far end of the camp.  “After that he is going to Wolfslair to see Himmler.  Hopefully you will be the most popular part of the conversation.”

            The sun had now completely set behind the northern hill.  Although neither man seemed to notice the change, the wind died down significantly, and with that, so did the temperature.

            “And you have been called to Wewelsburg.”  Brandt added.

            The colonel turned his head sharply and stared at his friend and second in command.

            “To see Wiligut or Hess?”  Minden almost smiled again.

            “Both.”  Brandt did smile.

            Before either officer could comment further the large man, really almost still a boy, and a younger physical version of Martin Bormann; fat jowled, loose skinned, with large hands and strong forearms, but with ice blue eyes, stopped in front of them.  By his appearance you would expect this to be the lowest of the ranks.  His apron was stained with a dozen sauces and smears.  His cheeks were flushed in the now frigid night, but when he stopped he gave a perfect salute and stood at attention, his ice blue eyes never wavering.

            “I took the responsibility of having Peter prepare something special tonight for dinner, in light of the visit tonight from Speer.”  Brandt looked from the commander to the cook and back to the commander.

            “Peter,” the Major asked, “have you prepared something special?”

            “Yes sir.”  The cook stood perfectly still in the night air.  “I have chosen to prepare French tonight.”  He maintained his rigid stance.  “We were lucky this morning while in the village.”

            “I told Peter that we were celebrating tonight.”  Brandt told the commander.  “I didn’t know about Hess and Wewelsburg at that time, though, but now you have two things to celebrate.”

            “When will you be ready?”  Minden asked the cook without emotion.

            “Twenty minutes, sir.”  The fat man snapped back to attention.

            “Good.”  The commander saluted his cook and Peter turned sharply and strode off back to the officers mess.

            “Let us continue this conversation in my office.”  Minden turned and walked back toward a brightly lit building at one corner of the compound.  From there, through a covered walk way, the officers could walk to the mess for dinner in a few minutes.

            Once in the office Minden removed his hat and threw another piece of oak on the small fire in the stove.

            “What more have you heard about the Wewelsburg trip?”  The colonel poured two small glasses of wine from an old bottle on the desk.

“You are being called there to inspect the new recruits.”  Brandt held the glass in his cold hands and smelled the deep, rich aroma of the southern grapes.  “Hess has a new training procedure that he thinks will make it easier to separate the chaff from the wheat.”  The younger man sat by the fire in a small padded chair.  He faced his friend, who was sitting on the desk.  “He reports that those that survive the training will be more alert.”

They had been friends since childhood, growing up in the mountains not far from the camp in a small farming and cattle village.  The village was gone now, destroyed during the first Great War, but the memory lived in each of them.  The bright summer sun, the crisp fall colors, the typical winter snows and the warm spring rains.  Now more than 20 years later they were officers of the Reich and members of the most powerful group in the world.

“It will be more dangerous now driving at night, since the roads in Lienefelde have been heavily damaged by resistance attack and air bombings but to travel during the day in your staff coach would invite even worse trouble.  It’s only a few hours west so the drive should be without incident.  Will you want another vehicle to go with you as guards against an attack?”

“Do you think that would be wise?”  Minden drained his wine glass and looked at the last few drops on the bottom of the crystal.  “More traffic means more attention.”

“I don’t think there will be much traffic on the roads.”  Brandt stirred the fire with a steel rod.  “There isn’t much partisan activity in this area.  Unless you run into a stray patrol or lost Americans you should be more than safe.”

“I should make you go with me to insure that.”  Minden began laughing.  “But then who would be left here to abuse the prisoners and the guards.”

“Klaus,” It was the first time that the major had used his superiors first name in a long time. “pardon me for being forward but this is what you have been waiting for all war.  We are not children playing in the barn hay.  We are not those rebel boys taking chances so very long ago; we are men now, and officers of the Reich.”  The man stood by the fire.  “We have been tempered by a thousand deaths and honed by a thousand more.  The Reich will live forever, and with it so will we.”

“Yes, you are right.”  Minden stood up.  “We no longer hide from our fathers in the barn to avoid being beaten for our transgressions with the young girls, or for stealing apples from Herr Stansfeld’s orchard.”  He walked over to retrieve his hat from the hook on the wall.  “And we are old enough to know when it is time to eat.”

The two men walked into the still cold night.  The stars were out and there was a light blue cast on the snow from the quarter moon.  They could hear the others in the Officers Special Mess.  Only 8 of the SS were allowed there.  The remainder of the SS ate with the Wehrmacht soldiers in the combined mess at the other end of the compound.

Peter met the two at the door.  He was still in an apron and shirt sleeves, however this apron was clean and appeared to be pressed.  He had a long knife in one hand and a glass pitcher in the other.  As he passed the two he bowed slightly and hurried out of the small antechamber into the back to the simple kitchen.

In the small dining room were 6 other men, all in the pitch black of the SS.  Two were new to the camp.  Both were new Sturmscharfuhrers, second lieutenants in all other armies; personally chosen by Minden not more than 6 months ago when he visited the SS-Übungslager training camp at Dachau.  They were tall, blond, and very young, and like all the other young SS officers had pledged their life and their soul to Heinrich Himmler.  However, in a blood oath ceremony after graduation from the course, they were also bonded to the 113^th Special SS Unit.  This was Minden’s personal SS guard and those that he trusted more than anyone else.

Two first lieutenants, Oberscharfuhrers Schmidt and Bunkt, were sitting by the fireplace, playing chess.  They rose quickly when their commander entered, but went back to their game once Minden and Brandt walked past.  Finally there were two Captains throwing darts against the other wall.  They either didn’t see or didn’t worry about their superior’s entrance, but acknowledged the two senior officers once they retrieved their projectiles.

Minden rapped his knuckle on the dining table and stood at the head behind a slightly larger chair.  Immediately the other 7 took their places around the table; Brandt at the other end, the two Sturmscharfhuhrers flanking Minden, the Oberscharfuhrers flanking Brandt, and the two Hauptsturmfuhrers in the middle.  Turning as one toward the painting of Himmler over the fireplace they saluted and then once Minden was seated the others followed his lead.

Immediately Peter was at the head table with the glass pitcher.  Pouring a little bit of the dark red liquid into the Commandant’s glass he waited.  Minden swirled the ounce around, smelled the aroma, and then sipped quietly until the glass was empty.  Nodding his head to the cook, Peter filled the glass to the brim, and proceeded by rank, to fill the other glasses until the pitcher was empty.

Raising his glass Minden again looked at the portrait of Himmler.  With a fire in his eyes and a small drop of the red liquid on one canine incisor he led the others in their pledge to their Fuhrer.  Raising their voices they sang as one the Heinrich Hoffman von Fallensleben song that was their national anthem.

“Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,
Über alles in der Welt,
Wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze
Brüderlich zusammenhält,
Von der Maas bis an die Memel,
Von der Etsch bis an den Belt -
Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,
Über alles in der Welt.”

            They sang until there were no more versus.  The cook served pate, a fresh meat pie, sausages in sauce, and a roast, cooked rare the way the Commander like it.  As the 8 at the table passed around the dishes Peter returned with another pitcher from the kitchen.  Topping off the 8 glasses and receiving a nod and a subtle toast from the Commandant he again disappeared into the back room.  As the young cook gently closed the door to the kitchen Minden could see the still warm body hanging from her heels in the middle of the tiled floor.  She has been gutted like a deer, with sections missing or reduced in size by filleting.  Beneath the naked body was the second crystal pitcher, half filled with blood drained out of two surgically precise cuts in the jugular veins. 

            The middle aged farm woman had been part of the French resistance that had been harassing his troops at night around the camp.  Finishing the last of his dinner the Commander mentally commended his personal chef on selecting French.  It was the perfect choice.