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  With vomit imminent, Corporal Morris’ eyes widened in fear as he took in his assailant’s eyes for the first time. His conjunctivas were blood red, giving him the look of the devil himself.

  Again, his ghastly assailant called out, ‘Hilf mir, hilf mir,’ this time raising a lifeless arm, where long, grime-ridden, razor-sharp finger nails protruded from his hands.

  Unaware that the man was pleading for help, Corporal Morris stepped forwards and slammed the cold steel butt of his gun into the bridge of the man’s unprotected nose. It was delivered with such ferocity that his head snapped back, breaking his neck instantly. The only sound emitted was a faint crack as he slumped back lifeless against the decaying tree.

  Turning away in revulsion, past the point of caring about his silence or detection, Corporal Morris started running. He had to escape this living hell.

  Running blindly, he cleared the wood and sighed in relief. Suddenly, his way was blocked. He slammed head first into a wire mesh fence and was sent catapulting to the ground.

  Winded, he looked up. The fence seemed to be protecting some sort of compound and was easily ten metres high, topped with bundles of lethal-looking barbed wire.

  Crude signs were posted in both German and English every twenty metres around the perimeter. The Death’s Head symbol of a skull was emblazoned with writing painted below. He involuntarily shivered as he read the words first in German then in English.

  EINTRITT VERBOTENE

  TRESPASSER WERDEN SOFORT AUSGEFÜHRT

  AUF BESTELLUNG DER SS

  ENTRY FORBIDDEN

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE IMMEDIATELY EXECUTED

  BY ORDER OF THE SS

  Chapter 5

  Corporal Morris beat a hasty retreat back into the safety of the woods. Crouched under the protection of an overgrown bush, he could feel his heartbeat penetrating through his chest.

  What the hell was going on? No enemy activity had been reported in this area and certainly nothing to suggest that the SS were operating in the area had been highlighted during their pre-jump meeting. All intelligence had been deemed correct and up-to-date. If that had been the case, then they would have chosen an alternative route when they overshot their landing spot. Their aim had been to meet up with the rest of Operation Market Garden with minimal enemy contact. He unfolded his map. Using the thin light from the compound look-out towers, he eventually found his current location. Sure enough, there was no mention of any SS camps in the area. All he could identify from the map for the area was a small cross of a church, which according to his calculations was slap bang in the middle of the camp in front of him.

  This is getting weirder and creepier as the minutes go on, thought Corporal Morris. Part of his brain was crying out for him to give this place a wide berth and to push all of the day’s craziness to the back of his mind. The other part of his brain, the curious side, the side that would fill him with remorse and guilt if something happened to others because he had cowardly chosen to turn a blind eye, was pleading with him to investigate further. He was confident this camp was linked to the recent incident with the strange enemy soldier.

  He crawled on his stomach to make another more detailed assessment of the camp. It looked to have been recently constructed. Directly in front of him was a fresh medical-looking whitewashed building, either a small hospital or clinic. Tucked behind in the shadows of the woods, he could just make out a church steeple. He guessed the camp had been built with this in mind and incorporated into the design.

  On either side of the medical building was a wooden hut, the type used to house guards and prisoners. These were separated by about fifty metres from the medical building. In confirmation, light emitted from the right-hand side hut as a door was opened and two burly SS guards stepped out into the open. After a moment, a line of six prisoners, chained at the hands, feet and neck as well as to each other, were marched out with another two SS guards bringing up the rear. The prisoners, naked from the waist up and with only torn flimsy trousers protecting their modesty, were slowly walked to the centre building. With shaven heads bent low they looked defeated.

  The hairs pricked up on the back of Corporal Morris’ neck. Nope, something was definitely not right here.

  With his mind made up, he retreated further into the woods until he was sure he could not be seen by prying eyes. He stood up and softly picked a route to his left towards the camp entrance about one hundred metres away. He could feel his whole body shaking, sure that at any moment he would snap a twig or a branch and the resulting crack would give him away.

  After what seemed like an age, but in reality was only five minutes, he was again lying under the cover of a bush, staking out the entrance, planning his next move.

  There were two SS field police, otherwise known as chain dogs due to the ridiculous steel plate called a gorget that hung from their necks, on the gate. Both were struggling to maintain their grip on steel leads that were attached to a pair of German Alsatians. Growling ferociously, with glutinous saliva hanging from their razor-sharp teeth, the hounds looked monstrous.

  Before Corporal Morris could make his next move the dogs became more animated, jumping up on their hind legs in excitement. Soon the low hum of engines became audible. Two open flatbed trucks rolled up to the gates and stopped. Greetings were exchanged between the guards and drivers and the barrier was opened to allow them safe passage.

  Before he knew it, Corporal Morris found himself up on his feet and sprinting hell for leather towards the rear of the second truck.

  Luckily, he was not spotted. He grabbed hold of the tailgate and unceremoniously flung himself into the inside of the truck. Something he instantly regretted.

  Chapter 6

  He landed with a squelch. Warm gelatinous fluid and sections of rotten skin flew up into his face, blinding him momentarily. Propelled by something viscous and tangy, his hands slid forwards on the wooden floor.

  Corporal Morris wiped a dirty sleeve across his face and gingerly opened his eyes, unsure of what to expect. He fought back a scream that naturally wanted to come rushing up from deep within his lungs. Inches away from him, his body grotesquely twisted, lay a dead soldier with familiar red eyes staring blankly at him.

  The truck started up and, playing dead, he snapped his eyes firmly closed as they passed through the main gate of the camp. He was engulfed by the chocking stench of blood, decay, gangrene and death. Corporal Morris held his breath for as long as he could.

  Pleasantries were exchanged at the main gate and within seconds they had safely passed through into the camp.

  Lungs close to bursting, he let out a huge gasp and tried to fill up with fresh air, which was near to impossible in the back of the truck laden with fresh and rotting corpses.

  He sneaked a peek over the rear tailgate. The sentries had turned away and were going about their normal duties. He glanced around the truck and was shocked to discover that he was sharing it with four dead bodies, all similar in appearance to the soldier in the woods. He jumped over the side of the truck, landed softly on the grass below and scurried to the nearest wooden hut to take stock. The smell of death lingered on his clothes and body.

  After a few moments rest, Corporal Morris raced from the wooden hut to the old church. It was only a hundred metres away but he felt weak; his energy supply was well and truly spent. It had been a long day. Again, he dropped into the shadows and listened out for any signs that he may have been detected.

  The church was centuries old and was in a bad state of repair. The SS had made a quick repair of the building to suit their purposes and the stained glass windows, long since destroyed or stolen, were boarded up at ground level. The remaining sections of glass were peppered with bullet holes and spider web cracks.

  As he crept towards the centre of the church, he detected the faint hum of voices coming from inside. He continued on cautiously. Close to where the babble was coming from, he came across a section of the window boarding that had
been cut too short but still fitted, regardless. This gave him a small six-inch window to peer through.

  He leant forwards and pressed his head against the wooden board. The inside of the church was illuminated by three tower lights that had been rigged up to an electricity supply. The church was just as Corporal Morris expected it to be. Pulpit and altar, both badly damaged through years of neglect, were in need of urgent repair. Crosses and pictures depicting scenes from the Bible hung delicately from the decaying walls. Everything was encrusted with a sheen of dust.

  It was the rear wall that instantly caught his eye. The wall covering the full length of the church had been recently whitewashed. It must have undergone a number of coats as it shone brilliantly compared to the other drab walls. Hung on the wall was the largest swastika flag that Corporal Morris had ever seen. A shiver travelled down his spine. He knew from the newsreels that he had watched back home in Blighty in packed movie halls before he joined up, that the swastika represented the Third Reich’s Aryan identity. Furthermore, he knew that the ugly black cross displayed in the centre, if rotated 45 degrees, like the one before him, represented the more sinister factions of the SS and highlighted their interest in the occult. The huge swastika displayed on a white circle against a vivid background of red struck the fear of God into Corporal Morris who was sure his heart was going to stop at any time.

  He pulled his head back to draw in some much-needed fresh air. Looking again, he counted at least fifteen officers of the SS milling around the altar area. They were sharply dressed in their creaseless dress uniforms, with black mirrored shoes polished to perfection. The only differentiating item between the officers was the number of medals and decorations on display. Proudly pinned to their chests, Corporal Morris counted a magnitude of Iron Crosses, some with Oak Leaves and some Eastern Front Campaign medals as well as an array of others that he could not identify. He did not know the ranking system of the German army, but from the way they carried themselves and from the silver goblets that they drank their wine from, it was obvious to him that these were high-ranking officers. Two rows of old school chairs were laid out just below the window from which Corporal Morris was spying and six empty chairs sat facing them further back nearer to the flag.

  A wizened grey orderly, dressed in a loose fitting lab coat, wheeled in a trolley whose wheels screeched over the dry wood floor of the church. The trolley contained a dozen glass vials containing a luminous yellow liquid, a pack of fresh needles and an assortment of first aid items. Hunched over, it took the old orderly an age to reach his destination and every painful step he made was closely observed by the assembled SS officers. With the trolley in position, he took his place standing in front of the swastika flag where he stood upright and directed his head to the floor.

  With no time to plan his next move the door to the wooden hut behind him opened. Corporal Morris sank back into the shadows as the guards and the prisoners who were still chained together reappeared and were led across to the church. They all carried a look of defeat, heads bowed, their shackled feet clumsily propelling them forwards. They were marched to the opposite end of the church and entered from a small wooden door.

  Upon their arrival in the church the murmur of voices from the SS officer halted and they watched in apprehension as the prisoners were led into the big open space of the church and forced into the six tiny chairs that could hardly contain their bulk. Their bulging forearms were restrained by fixed chain clasps which were securely fastened to the armrests of the seats.

  The prisoners looked to be Russian, dark hair cropped short, wide shouldered and thick cheekbones. For prisoners, they did not look that undernourished. They all looked fighting fit and lean, with strong muscles and sinew bursting from everywhere. Apart from their Russian looks they all had one other thing in common.

  A five-star inverted pentagram was crudely tattooed on the left side of their exposed chests.

  The sign of the Nazi occult.

  Chapter 7

  With the unexpected arrival of the dishevelled prisoners and after witnessing the forcible restraint into their chairs, the topic of conversation between the SS officers shifted to speculation as to what was going on, and ultimately, what it had to do with them.

  A muffled feminine cough caused everyone turned towards the church entrance. Standing to attention, with his shoulders tucked back, was a tall thin SS officer. He was dressed head to toe in black. He cast a furtive glance around the room, slowly turning his head in order to take everything in. Satisfied, he proceeded to walk slowly but confidently into the nave of the church. The gathered onlookers were immediately silenced as he walked past, stepping back to give him space as if in the presence of royalty, his shiny black shoes tapping off the church floor with each step.

  Outside, holding his breath, Corporal Morris observed in awe. He noticed the sudden change in the SS officers, who seemed to either fear or respect the new arrival. Maybe it was a combination of both, he thought.

  As he drew adjacent to the gap in the window, Corporal Morris was given a brief moment to observe the officer in more detail. He was tall, maybe six foot three. He looked older than his counterparts but there was no trace of fat on his body. He looked a disciplined man who had followed a strict regime all his life. If anything, he looked underweight; this made his appearance all the more intimidating. His black suit was tailor fitted and pressed to perfection. Black leather gloves were stretched over tiny hands. Hanging to his side was a fearsome looking dagger encased in a black and gold sheath. Perched elegantly on the top of his head was a black SS cap with silver braid adorning the peak and a highly polished Death’s Head emblem fixed to the centre. Trimmed bright blond hair protruded from the side of his cap. The perfect example of a true Aryan.

  The SS officer walked past the seated prisoners; no one dared to look up. He stopped next to the prisoners and spun on his feet, eventually facing towards the window which Corporal Morris was peering through. He snapped his heels together with a click and addressed the guests assembled before him. He slowly removed his leather gloves.

  ‘Esteemed fellow members of the SS. I am proud to be in your company on this fine night. Some of you I have known for what feels like a lifetime and with others this will be first meeting, hopefully one of many in the glorious months ahead. I salute you all. Also, thank you all for your attendance. Invitations for tonight have been strictly limited to a chosen few and I am grateful that you have all made a conscious effort to join me. Trust me, gentleman, you won’t be disappointed.’

  Outside, Corporal Morris had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that the SS officer addressing the room had everyone captivated. The way he controlled the room was mesmerising. Corporal Morris knew he needed to make the link between the prisoners and the SS officer, fearing what would be revealed. He stood firm at the window, unmoving, unable to break free from the spell.

  ‘Years of hard work are going to be finally revealed to you, my selected and esteemed colleagues. I can see you looking at the retched subhuman specimens in front of you; you are all clearly wondering what this is all about. So, without further delay I will start my presentation. Please sit back and enjoy.’

  With a thin sly smile, the SS officer turned to face the seated prisoners who were still vacant, staring at the floor, unsure of what their future held. The SS officer inhaled deeply then barked out,

  ‘Prisoners sat before me. To your masters, you are all subhuman scum. You have been disowned by your generals and fellow soldiers alike. You have been left here to rot on the miserable Western Front, thousands of miles away from your motherland. You are an embarrassment to your nation and your existence has already been erased clean from Russian history. To your comrades, you are worthless, with no meaning in life and nothing to offer. Nobody will grieve for you, and your names will never again be spoken aloud. To Stalin, you are nothing.

  Our beloved Fuhrer has given you all a wonderful chance to redeem yourselves, to be proud of
yourselves one last time and to be rejoiced by all of the fatherland for decades to come.’

  The SS officer paused to allow his ferocious outburst to sink in. The poor souls in front of him still looked heavily sedated but from their sunken shoulders he could grasp he had hit the mark.

  Resuming his speech in a high-pitched tone, he continued.

  ‘In an act of kindness from the Third Reich, you have all been pardoned from your crimes, and as such, no longer have to lie in fear for the eventful morning, when one day you will be dragged from your cold, dark cells and your wretched lives will be ended in front of a firing squad. By direct order of Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler, I have been chosen to seek out and select perfect specimens, like those of you sat before me, ideal for my newly formed Satanic Brigade, which I plan to use to strike fear into the enemies of our nation. You will spearhead the Wiking Division. Your aim will be to penetrate enemy lines, take out stubborn or heavily defended positions, kill, murder, rape and torture … hell, do what you want to our enemies. When the Wiking Division arrives, the confidence, will and moral of our enemies will be destroyed. I want the name of the Satanic Brigade to strike fear into everyone and I want word of your powers to spread like wildfire.’

  He strode purposely around the room, fully immersed in his speech, picturing himself perched at the Reichstag addressing the masses below. His voice became higher from excitement and spittle flew from his thin lips.

  ‘I, Gruppenfuhrer Hans Weisthor, grant you all permission to carry out any atrocious and barbaric acts as you see fit. Feed your natural desires, relaxed in the knowledge that you will be safe from any judgement or punishment by your SS superiors for your actions. Gentlemen, I grant you free rein and I trust you will use it to your advantage.’