Get LENIN by Craven Robert

Author:Craven, Robert [Craven, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Night Publishing
Published: 2011-06-04T04:00:00+00:00

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Thor Schenker sat nervously waiting for his meeting with Himmler. He noted that over Himmler’s door was a sign that read ‘No Jews Are Welcome Here’. Three motorised Waffen SS divisions had left without him for Poland under Metzger’s command. The SS headquarters were moving at a different pace now; communications were a constant stream, the staff going about their duties in terse silence. After the Lowe farm, he and Metzger had attacked two more isolated farm houses, repeating the massacre and ensuring that the Gestapo was involved.

Schenker had done better on these subsequent occasions. Instead of killing an old lady, he had come up against someone nearer his own age. The boy, no more than eighteen, had surprised him in a barn, brandishing a scythe. Schenker, in a panic, fired off a round before the Thompson's breech jammed, the bullets missing the boy. They wrestled to the ground, grunting, gouging and punching, the machine gun becoming wedged under Schenker’s back. The rising dust had made Schenker’s wind pipe contract so that he wheezed throughout the struggle. With tears clouding his vision, he fought with all of his strength, managing to roll on top of the boy, the muscles in his arms twitching with the strain. He looked momentarily down at him, the mouth twisted back revealing perfect white teeth, the hair tousled. He wrenched the scythe away when the boy, distracted, twisted his head up at the sounds of machine gun fire outside, and buried it into the boy's chest repeatedly.

Breathless he looked into his dying victim’s eyes, rose up onto his knees and, head tilted back, commended his soul to the almighty. Running his fingers gently through the boy’s hair, Schenker bent down and kissed him on his lips stained with blood. The sensation of that moment came back to him every time he replayed the scene in his mind.

His thoughts were broken as he was summoned into the office. Himmler was standing looking out at Berlin’s skyline. He spun on his heel as Schenker entered. The blond hair was shorn tight. Himmler thought, why did he shed those beautiful tresses?

‘Sit down, Captain.’ Himmler indicated a leather chair in front of his desk.

He studied the young man, his poise, the ease of youth as he strode across the room. Schenker's personal file lay open on his desk; three generations of Aryan blood verified on both sides of the family, excellent health and loyal party member. Risen through the ranks of the SA as a teenager, informing on the officers targeted during the ‘Night of the Long Knives’ and then rising meteorically through the ranks of the Waffen SS.

He had distinguished himself during the Kristallnacht pogrom, co-ordinating and commanding attacks on the Jewish mercantile zones. He had displayed a ruthless streak during this operation, dispatching an eighty year old man with a Luger; this action led to him being promoted to Captain. General Metzger had mentioned him in dispatches, citing him as a future SS General.

Behind Himmler’s desk, on a small ornate table, stood a hand-made SS-Allach tea and coffee service.

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