The Metal Man: An Account of a WW2 Nazi Cyborg (12 page)

‘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, their 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 Wilhelm 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.

This time, he walked with the crouched, dejected air of a man who knows he is finished. He entered inside the front reception, where several smartly-dressed men and women were still working despite the lateness of the hour. He had on his thick black coat, and hat.

‘I am here to see…Major Fleischer,’ he said almost in a murmur to one stern-faced young woman.

She did not reply, but merely nodded and picked up a phone-receiver. Turning her head away from him, she quickly said something he could not hear and then put the receiver back down.

‘Wait,’ she instructed Reinhardt curtly. Clearly, she was already aware that this facially-disfigured man was effectively under arrest.

A couple of minutes later, a tough-looking young man in a black uniform approached.

‘Come with me,’ he said, taking Fleischer by the arm.

The Captain allowed himself almost to be pulled along, despair and fear registering on his damaged face as he was led out of the lobby and down a succession of staircases – descending into the very bowels of this large building.

Soon he was walking along long, ill-lit corridors, with doors of thick wood braced with metal on either side. They looked strong, sturdy – and soundproof.

At the end of one corridor, outside one of these doors, the uniformed man pulled Reinhardt to a halt. The man pushed first the door open, and then Reinhardt inside.

The room stank of damp, sweat, fear and something else which Reinhardt didn’t even want to try identifying. Moisture rolled down the exposed brickwork and the crumbling cement. The floor was of cement and stained in numerous places a dark-red color. An exposed bulb dangling from the ceiling gave a weak, sickly light.

In the centre of the room was an old wooden desk with a black telephone and an angled lamp set upon it. Sat on one side of this desk was Major Fleischer, his skull-like face smirking up at Reinhardt.

An unoccupied wooden chair was on the other side of the desk. It was much-chipped, as though it had violently impacted with the concrete floor on numerous occasions.

‘Take a seat, my dear Captain,’ said Fleischer, his soft lisping voice instantly causing fear to shoot like ice along Reinhardt’s spine.

There was a thud as the door behind him was closed – and then the sound of a key being turned in the metal lock. Reinhardt swallowed thickly, and blinked rapidly several times.   

‘We are very much alone down here, Captain Reinhardt, of that I assure you,’ continued the Gestapo Major. ‘Also, Captain… But – why am I still addressing you by your rank? After all, we now know you’re just another filthy Jew, who’s managed to conceal his identity up until now…’

He paused, his beady, rat-like eyes staring unblinkingly at Reinhardt. Reinhardt bowed his head, nodding slightly as though he felt compelled to agree with Fleischer’s description of him.

Evidently satisfied with Reinhardt’s dejected appearance, Fleischer said then –

‘For your sake, I hope you have some information concerning other Jews who are currently in hiding. For I’m certain that you
do
know something – and I will get this information one way or the other. This room is very soundproof; and the man stood behind you has such… shall we say,
persuasive
methods of getting people to talk…’

‘For heaven’s sake, Major…’ Reinhardt almost squealed. ‘I have a list, I promise you…’

‘Show me it,’ ordered Fleischer. ‘And then sit down…’

Nodding in a servile manner, Reinhardt put one shaking hand inside the top of his thick coat...

Then abruptly his expression of crippling fear disappeared, along with any trembling. A pistol appeared in his hand – he spun round, firing a single shot. The young man in the black uniform barely had a second to register what was happening, before his brains blew out of the back of his head and spattered onto the brickwork behind. The man fell first to his knees, and then face down on the concrete floor.

Reinhardt didn’t see the man fall. Already he was back facing Fleischer, who snarled as he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to draw his own gun quite in time. The snarl then changed to a cry of pain as Reinhardt fired low, into his gut.

The Gestapo man – who’d hurriedly stood up in his attempt to draw his own gun – collapsed backwards over his chair, onto the floor.

‘Really, Major, I’m disappointed,’ declared Reinhardt, walking around the desk and kicking the gun out of Fleischer’s hand. It went spinning across the floor.

‘You took great pleasure before in boasting to me about this ‘methodical patience’ of yours; how you systematically set about gathering the information you require, and yet you did not know that I – just like all members of my department, even Jonas Schroder – had compulsory weaponry training some time ago? And that I showed a certain ability, shall we say, at using a pistol – so much so that I’ve kept in regular practice ever since?’

Reinhardt tutted, and shook his head.

‘If you’d known this, you might well have had me searched upstairs – just as I was searched that time I met Adolf Hitler, seeking to secure the release of Jonas Schroder from out of your clutches and also to obtain authorization for a certain… project.

‘Anyway – this failure to have me searched was a bad oversight on your behalf, if I may say so, Major.’

The beady little eyes now burnt with pain and rage, staring murderously up at Reinhardt. Fleischer was sat slumped against one wall, both hands covering his bullet wound.

‘Painful, isn’t it Major?’ observed Reinhardt almost sympathetically. ‘One of the worst places to be shot other than the groin – at least, so I was informed on that firearms’ course I attended.

‘Anyway, I currently find myself in a dilemma. You see, originally it seemed enough that I would have the satisfaction of killing you, Major. Hopefully also having the opportunity to exchange a few… shall we say, ‘free and frank’ words first – as indeed is currently the case. Then I would turn the gun on myself. But now…

‘No, no, no! Now I discover that I’ve not got the
slightest
desire to end my life so prematurely.

‘In fact…

Reinhardt paused, nodding contemplatively as he stared down at the panting Gestapo man.

‘But before I outline my plan now, let me tell you just what you’ve achieved here, Major,’ said Reinhardt then. ‘Through your actions, you’ve managed to get shot, firstly. That’s probably uppermost on your mind at the moment.

‘But you’ve also caused Germany’s finest scientist – a true genius – to take the machine of destruction he created for the Third Reich and to head for that camp named Mittlebruck, a short distance over the German-Polish border, where his Jewish mother is incarcerated. Or perhaps already dead. And I fully expect that Schroder will order his creation to tear that camp apart – along with anyone who dares to try and stop it. 

Reinhardt paused again, smiling amiably at the sweating Fleischer.

‘
Jewish… bastard…
’ hissed the Gestapo man.

‘And I realize now that, actually, I have a strong desire to join up with Schroder and the Metal Man – you’ve heard about the Metal Man, I presume – and witness this destruction first-hand,’ declared Reinhardt. ‘But how do I get out of this building, unnoticed, first of all…?’

With that, Reinhardt walked over to where the dead young man in the black uniform lay. Grabbing the collar of the man’s tunic, Reinhardt briefly pulled him up.

‘Would you believe it, Major!’ Reinhardt then cried almost in delight. ‘Approximately half of the back of this gentleman’s head is missing, and the wall and floor is much stained with his blood – and yet there are barely three or four drops of blood on his jacket! And as this jacket is black, you would hardly see these drops unless you really looked hard; and furthermore, I believe this jacket – and trousers – are about my own size. What luck!