The Metal Man: An Account of a WW2 Nazi Cyborg (9 page)

The baby cried again, and an SS soldier with a badly-broken nose stalked over to where the woman was stood holding her child.

‘Shut that brat up, bitch – or I will,’ said the
Sturmann
named Rudolf Baer.

The woman now made frantic
shushing
sounds, juggling the infant in her arms, but still the baby continued to cry.

‘Give it to me,’ demanded Baer, his large hands trying to drag the baby out of its mother’s arms.

‘Please – please, he hungry… cold…’ said the thin, wretched-looking woman in bad German.

‘And I’m supposed to care?’ returned Baer, several troopers stood nearby – cradling sub machineguns as they guarded the captured Jews stood in a line – emitting harsh guffaws.

‘I know of one way to stop this
kike
kid from feeling hungry and cold – by wringing its bloody neck,’ continued Baer, making determined attempts to pull the baby away, and then using one hand to slap the woman around the face when she resisted.

‘Fuck this,’ growled Bach, bringing his machinegun which hung on a strap from his shoulder round to bear and starting to move towards the line of prisoners.

‘Bach!’ hissed Mayer, but his own eyes were flinty as he stared at the bearlike man who’d struck the captured woman, and who had by now almost succeeded in pulling the baby from her grasp.

‘I’m with Bach,’ declared Amsel suddenly, the stocky radioman also taking a determined hold of his machinegun.

For a moment Mayer’s face was an agony of indecision. The desire for rebellion lay hot and heavy in his guts, just as it did in the guts of the three other men.

But he’d been a soldier from the age of fifteen… Incessantly it had been drilled into him to follow orders without question…  From morning to night, always taught to obey his superiors no matter what the circumstances…

But this woman… And these people… This isn’t soldiering…

Then a whining sound caused the soldiers to look at the Metal Man. It was moving again, walking over in that curiously ‘steady’ fashion towards the line of Jews…

Rudolf Baer whipped round just in time for a massive metal hand to catch him by the throat and lift him up into the air. His own, usually powerful hands clawed desperately – but entirely in vain – at the Metal Man’s black-armored wrist.

Baer’s eyes looked almost as though they’d pop out of his skull, his feet weakly kicking as they hung a couple of feet above the ground.

His voice rasped something unintelligible – a plea for the Metal Man to release him, perhaps…

Everyone looked on, in shocked silence. Even the baby boy – safe for now in his mother’s arms – had suddenly stopped crying.

‘Let him go – release him this instant!’ shouted Ackermann, walking over accompanied by two other, shocked-looking SS officers.

A slight whine as the Metal Man moved its head to stare for several long seconds at Ackermann, as though it was, somehow, once again trying to place this man…

His voice…

Then Baer was abruptly released, falling to the floor where he lay coughing blood and cradling his ruptured larynx. An SS medic at once ran over to attend to him.

The Metal Man turned and walked back towards the lorry. This time it actually climbed the three steps and entered inside the back of the vehicle, as though not wishing to witness anymore of the scene taking place outside of the barbed-wire ghetto.

Mayer met the eyes of one of the people stood in the line with their hands on their heads. A young man of no more than thirty – a few years Mayer’s junior – curly-haired, almost boyishly handsome and with eyes a startling blue. But still there lay in those eyes and that face a distinct toughness; a determination to fight and
live
no matter what…

Mayer stared at the man for several long seconds, both confused and somehow slightly shamed by this strange, almost indefinable
thing
taking place between them...

Then he looked away, cursing quietly and spitting on the ground, as a still shaken-looking Ackermann gave the order to move out, taking the prisoners with them.

For now – some lorries were coming, to transport these Polish Jews to wherever it was they’d ultimately be incarcerated.

Dark shadows again moved at the edges of Mayer’s mind as he considered this.

He was a good soldier – one of the best.

And yet, with every passing day, it was becoming steadily more apparent to him that he was fighting on the wrong side…

13

The other scientists had finished for the day. Only Wilhelm Reinhardt and Jonas Schroder remained in the cavernous room, located deep in a bunker in southern Berlin, where the Metal Man was returned for maintenance every few missions.

It lay now on the metal table, the thick pipe running from one of the machines which lined the wall into the socket in its shoulder. The Metal Man had been officially deactivated, switched off like the machine it ostensibly was for the purpose of recharging its internal batteries.

Otherwise, it was again ready for deployment. On this occasion, there was no minor damage (from grenade blasts and the like) which needed repair. 

But still there was a problem.

The half-Jewish head scientist stood beside his creation, facing his superior. Both men appeared a little haggard.

‘I’m telling you, Wilhelm, there is little I can do here,’ said Schroder earnestly. ‘The glitch would appear to be in the Metal Man’s… organic… matter. I can only think that something remains which
caused
it to disobey the order it was given.’

‘Impossible,’ returned Reinhardt shortly, shaking his head. ‘You originally said that this ‘organic’ matter – as you refer to it – was necessary only for the Metal Man’s basic movements. You said absolutely no memory of its – his, whatever – life of before would remain.’

‘I remind you that this is a prototype model, Wilhelm!’ exclaimed Schroder almost angrily. ‘Constructed in some haste, and if I might say so years –
decades
– ahead of its time. 

‘I confess that in regard to so much of the Metal Man’s construction, its very physiological make-up, I am working in areas I still barely understand. Areas
anyone
still barely understands. For this reason, I still don’t know if the Metal Man will ever speak, although it has the apparatus to.

‘But I –’

With a wave of his hand, Reinhardt curtly dismissed Schroder’s excuses.

‘First a machine created by my department refuses an order it is given – then it attacks a German soldier!’ stated Reinhardt. ‘That man is in hospital now. It is doubtful he will ever be able to speak again, so badly was his throat crushed. He is fortunate even to be alive…’

At Reinhardt’s words, both men glanced at the Metal Man’s outsized hands. The fingers on each one were almost twice as thick as the fingers of a normal man. In earlier tests, the Metal Man had with one hand reduced a deactivated grenade almost to powder. So it was indeed fortunate that the injured SS soldier should still have his head on his shoulders.

‘You understand, Jonas, that this can’t happen again,’ continued Reinhardt, his voice now quieter. Almost pleading. ‘I’m telling you something a little earlier than I should, but…’

‘But what?’ prompted Schroder.

Reinhardt sighed.

‘I received a phone call earlier today from Hitler himself, about this matter,’ he then revealed. ‘I need hardly tell you how… concerned… the Fuhrer was to hear about the Metal Man’s – misbehavior? Especially after all it’s achieved until now. The various, successful missions it’s undertaken in Poland and so forth…

‘And now Hitler wants more.’

It took Schroder a few moments to understand exactly what Reinhardt meant by these last words. Then his face became a little ashen as he shook his head.

‘No way,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I can…’

‘You will receive the funding, along of course with all the – parts – you require,’ continued Reinhardt remorselessly. ‘A new Metal Man a week, is Hitler’s request.’

‘A
week
?’ repeated Schroder incredulously. ‘Is… is the man mad?’

‘Be careful, Jonas – be so very careful,’ warned Reinhardt quietly, looking about him as though trying to detect a hidden microphone here in this great room. Such a suspicion was not entirely unfounded. Men and women labeled as ‘traitors’ to the Third Reich had been unearthed in such a way before – and consequently imprisoned or executed. 

‘I need hardly remind you how your freedom depends upon your work,’ continued Reinhardt. ‘You have no choice in the matter. You will of course be given every assistance by this department…’

‘It can’t be done – not one a week!’ returned Schroder passionately. ‘The thing is impossible. This Metal Man is a one-off, impossible to repli – ’

‘You’re not hearing me, Jonas,’ interrupted Reinhardt almost harshly. ‘I am merely passing on an order from the Fuhrer himself. I repeat: you have no choice in this matter.’

Schroder rubbed his face.

‘And my mother?’ he said then. ‘Did you mention anything about – ’

‘Goodnight, Jonas,’ said Reinhardt firmly. ‘I suggest you get some sleep soon. I will speak to you about Hitler’s order again tomorrow – for I’m to supply him with certain details as soon as possible.’

With that the Captain of the secret research lab walked away, heading towards the double-doors which led into the large room.

Schroder remained stood virtually in the centre, staring down at his creation as it lay on the metal table recharging, the only sound now the steady
hum
of the machinery lining the walls. 

14

It should have been lying in unthinking darkness.

But images were troubling it.

Sounds too.

That cry had been made by a…

…Woman.

A new word? But it felt as though it had known this word all along.

Men… and women.

Different.

It thought of the word ‘woman’ again and a picture briefly flashed up, so quickly it could not properly see it before it vanished again.

A dark-haired – woman – smiling…

A smile.

It could not smile.

So why even visualize a… woman… smiling…?

A woman cried – not
that
woman appearing for a split-second in the darkness – and it froze. It knew that it did this now. Knew that it would do so again, if it heard this cry. That it would freeze. Rendered immobile.

That scream – that was the word. Another new word that was at once also somehow entirely familiar.

Men… it could attack… and kill… men.

But not these – women.

There had been another cry.

Brittle and –

A strange thought: a stick being stirred in a dark muddy pool?

Too many new words and disturbing images occurring. It felt as though such things had set… something… whirring fast inside of it –