Defiance: Johann's War, #6

Defiance

Johann’s War Book 6

Copyright © James Farner 2017

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CONTENTS

Reinhard Heydrich 27th May 1942

Johann Brandt May 1942 – November 1942

Erich Brandt November 1942 – December 1942

Johann Brandt December 1942

Erich Brandt February 1943

Johann Brandt April 1943 – May 1943

Reinhard Heydrich

27th May 1942

1

The sun shone early in the morning, sending rays of warmth over the face of Reinhard Heydrich, one of Hitler’s most feared attendants, one of the architects of the mass extermination of all the Jews of Europe, blinked against the blazing early morning sunshine as his dark green Mercedes 320 Convertible B cruised towards Prague Castle from his home.

The former nation of Czechoslovakia was now his empire. The Fuhrer had given him leave to rule over Bohemia and Moravia as its protector, and rule he did. A stack of files rested on the expensive horsehair-stuffed, leather upholstery of the car. Klein, his driver, saw an opening in the heavy traffic and pressed the metal accelerator pedal as far down as it would go to pass a lorry, zooming away through the city streets.

Do you remember Erich Brandt? said Heydrich.

His driver didn’t turn to him. Used to be a favourite of the Fuhrer. What about him?

On the Eastern front now, did you know that? I had him placed in one of my Einsatzgruppen squads. At least there he can cause no more embarrassment to the Reich and will be able to atone for his sins.

Klein didn’t say anything, or even nod his head. He had joined the party many years ago and had learned the code of silence well. Heydrich felt like speaking his mind at that exact moment. He hadn’t heard from Erich in some time so was surprised to find a message sent to him from close to Stalingrad.

Do you believe in forgiveness within the party? Heydrich asked the question more of the clouds than of Klein. Because I wonder whether I should work to bring Erich back from the front. I could bend the Fuhrer’s ear and beg him for his forgiveness. Heydrich stared at the back of Klein’s head. What do you think?

I don’t know, sir.

Heydrich closed his eyes and allowed the breeze to rush over him in the open car as they rocketed around Prague, taking extra care to avoid the cobblestone streets of the old Bohemian city. He could already see Prague Castle perched on its rocky overlook. It stared out over the whole city and stood out for miles around. Heydrich had made it his headquarters and spent most of his time there.

Perhaps I do have a way of bringing Erich back into his position after all. I believe that I may have all that is necessary to give him a second chance. I must admit he is a good servant of the Reich and his transgression, whilst big, should not prevent him from lending his unique talents to the Fatherland.

The Mercedes began to slow down as they reached a curve in the road near the Bulovka Hospital. The curve forced the car to slow to a crawl. The breeze stopped and the pleasantly warm air surrounded him again. The open-topped car almost screeched to a halt when a man in a brown uniform stepped out of nowhere with what looked to be a Sten submachine gun on his hip.

Heydrich smirked as the man attempted to fire, only for the gun to jam. Stop the car, Klein. I will deal with this myself.

Klein did as he asked and Heydrich reached inside his holster for the Luger pistol he always carried. Heydrich stood in his seat and levelled the gun at the man. Before he could fire an immense force rocketed against the right rear of the car’s bumper.

Heydrich felt the wind being knocked out of him as shrapnel, fibres, and his stack of files slammed into his body. Heydrich’s ears rang and he heard the dull thuds of pistol fire aimed in his direction. Heydrich levelled his gun at the now two resistance fighters and fired at them. The resistance fighters fled down the street. Heydrich leapt from the car and began to chase them down the street.

At any other time he would have caught up to them and his bloodthirstiness would have been satiated. The men seemed to get further and further away from him. Heydrich’s legs grew heavier, as if they were trying to tramp through mud. He took a step and collapsed in the road, still holding his Luger. The men continued to grow smaller as they disappeared down the road.

Klein ran to his side. Sir.

Get that bastard!

Heydrich glared at Klein and his driver didn’t raise an eek of resistance. His driver began to sprint after them. Heydrich tried to move, but gritted his teeth as the full extent of his injuries dawned on him. The shrapnel embedded itself in his side. A couple of bystanders came into his view and attempted to tend to him. Heydrich would have screamed at them to leave him alone, but he suddenly didn’t have the strength as he laid back and waited for what was to come next.

Reinhard Heydrich would pass away on the 4th of June 1942.Erich would never get his chance to return from the front.

Johann Brandt

May 1942 – November 1942

2

Johann buffeted his way past the enormous crowd of people blocking the entrance to 20 Chłodna Street. The Warsaw Ghetto seemed emptier than usual lately, except for the house of Adam Czerniakow. Crowds gathered with their pleas as urgent as ever. Johann was able to come and go as he pleased. He ignored the insults thrown by the frustrated Polish Jews and made his way up the right-hand side of the stairs, escorted by one of Czerniakow’s staff members.

Johann was in a hurry. He hadn’t realised that things would move so quickly. The Nazis were closing the net. It was like the Nazis themselves were in a hurry, like they were running from something. Johann moved the minder aside and strode through the corridor into Czerniakow’s office.

Dark marks carved trenches under Czerniakow’s eyes. His round spectacles only highlighted them. The man sat in a rumpled suit staring at the papers scattered across his table. Johann’s stomach turned, knowing full well what they were. He didn’t want to contemplate what the fate of the Jews was when they were added to the list.

Adam, Johann looked over the reams of paper. There are more names than the last time I was here.

A little breeze fluttered through the window from the front entrance. The papers lifted at their corners and threatened to fly into the air, as if God were telling them that they should pretend this had never happened. The wind dropped and the damning papers returned to their original positions.

The Nazis want more Jews for the war effort than ever before. I have no choice but to comply.

Johann sighed. Adam, this can’t go on. There’s not going to be any Jews left at this rate. And I think that’s what the Nazis want. Can’t you see?

Czerniakow said nothing to that. He returned to the papers and began to stack them up. Czerniakow pressed them into the table and made sure the edges were even, as if they were no more than new orders for stapling. Johann snatched them out of Czerniakow’s wrinkled hands.

Johann.

Dump them out of the window. The longer you collaborate with them the more damage you’re causing. The Jews can’t sit here forever. They need to stand up and fight or they’ll be wiped out.

Please. Czerniakow reached out. They’ll take hostages if I don’t make the deadline. It will be worse.

Johann realised he was holding them close to the window, prepared to launch them into the open air. He wanted to let the papers go and delete the latest round of lists. But Czerniakow was right. From the beginning of the ghetto in 1940 the Nazis, under his brother Erich Brandt, had taken hostages to get what they wanted. And they didn’t hesitate in killing them.

He passed the papers back to Czerniakow, who hugged them to his chest gratefully.

These are labour camps. The Nazis want to use us but they have no reason to kill us. It would be pointless. It would be madness –

It would be a good description of what they’re doing. Johann marched in front of Czerniakow’s desk and leaned over the table at him. They’re getting rid of us. Can’t you see that?

Czerniakow flapped his arms in exasperation. The leader of the Judenrat, the head of the Jewish Council, responsible for every Jew in the ghetto, never did have any answers. Johann had become painfully aware of the plight of the Jews since finding out from a now deceased relative that the Brandt family had Jewish blood flowing through their veins. It had been kept secret, which would save him from the Nazis for now, but they were still his people.

Come on. You’re helping them.

Just labour camps, Johann. Nothing but labour camps. Czerniakow couldn’t meet his gaze and a sweat had broken out on his forehead. Czerniakow dipped into his pocket and swept at the beads on his forehead. We have no choice but to send them.

Johann cocked his head at the papers. How many are they asking for?

Czerniakow paused as if he were embarrassed. Seven thousand Jews every day to be listed for deportation to the labour camps.

Seven thousand? Johann shouted. There won’t be anyone left by the end of the year. How are they even sending so many of them away?

Czerniakow shrugged. There’s nothing I can do. Stroop is a believer in what he does. His predecessor, your brother, demanded a high price, but he didn’t have the same zeal as Stroop did. Johann opened his mouth to speak but Czerniakow spoke first. Oh yes, he hated us. He hated us even more when he found out about his true roots, but nothing like this. He didn’t try to destroy the community, only to stamp on our heads.

Johann raised his eyebrows. Is that really anything different?

Yes. It is. If our people must go to labour camps to save ourselves then that is what our people will do. Is there anything else you have to say to me?

Johann straightened his back. Nothing at all.

He strode from the room barely hiding the anger bubbling underneath the surface. Czerniakow was no better than a collaborator these days. Every day more and more Jews left to the east. They weren’t going to labour camps, at least not most of them. They were going to extermination camps. It had become a sticking point in the resistance. Most ordinary people knew it in their hearts but the downtrodden population refused to accept it.

Johann fought his way back through the group of people onto Chłodna Street again. He made his way across the street and began to weave his way through the ghetto again. A dead woman lay at the side of the street clutching a knitted scarf staring up at the sky.

She must have died recently, thought Johann.

He stopped and looked at her. The woman’s face was frozen in a mask of pain, like someone had taken a photograph of her the moment after sticking herself with the wrong end of a knitting needle. Johann bent down and removed the scarf. He placed it over her face. It was the best funeral shroud she would get these days.

Johann didn’t encounter any more dead bodies as he made his way through the decrepit large ghetto. There were far fewer people these days, but it was still cramped. He made his way around the back of one street and made his way down into the cellar of a house with a yard of hardened soil.

Johann. Norbert Danek emerged into the little corridor from the left. His face had black smears on it. Come in.

Johann followed Norbert into the small room. A couple of antiquated printing presses churned out page after page of one of the ghetto newsletters in circulation. Only now he saw the hot pages with their ink shining underneath the single light bulb did he realise Norbert had ink smeared across his cheeks.

How did you get the ink on your face? Johann cocked an eyebrow at Norbert.

Norbert looked sheepish. It was when I was trying to roll a cigarette.

Johann shook his head in annoyance. Norbert had developed an irritating cough that pulsed its way through any safe house they resided in. To start with it had only annoyed Johann, but it was getting to the point that he feared it could give them away if they ever needed to hide. Norbert hacked a cough from the back of his throat to prove his point.

Welcome, Johann. Did you manage to speak to Czerniakow? A man with square-shaped spectacles and big black eyebrows emerged from a corner rubbing his hands with a dirty cloth.

Yes. Nothing, as always. He doesn’t want to believe what’s going on. Sooner or later he’s going to have to give in and face the truth. Anyway, Horacy, what’s the update on this?

Horacy Gulan didn’t look impressed. He raised a hand at the printing presses around him as the piles continued to get bigger. People take them. Whether they read them or whether they’re interested in them I don’t know. It annoys the Germans, though.

Johann couldn’t hide his disappointment. After Oliver left with Zaneta and Marek Goryl showed his true colours, Johann had taken a different approach to the no holds barred violence of his co-leader Lucjan. He’d hoped that by trying to encourage the Jews to rise up and fight by showing them the truth would get them to start an uprising. Even if they were defeated it was better than going down without a fight.

All we can do is try. Horacy shrugged. Isn’t that right?

It is. For now. I just hope these people realise what’s happening to them before it’s too late.

It’s not that they don’t realise what’s happening to them. It’s that they’re too scared to do anything about it. They’re still putting their faith in God.

Johann bit the side of his mouth and made to leave the covert printing room. I think God has told us that this is our problem to solve.

––––––––

Is that Stroop? Norbert whispered.

Johann squinted out of the window of one of the top floor apartments the resistance had inhabited. He stayed in it with Norbert and a few other resistance members, but he rarely saw them because they operated at night. They had hurriedly switched off the lights when they heard the roar of engines in the street.

So did everyone else in the street.

That’s Stroop, said Johann.

Jurgen Stroop stepped out of the jeep dressed in a leather trench coat and walking with a swagger. Johann felt a pang as it reminded him of what Erich used to look like and how Erich used to conduct himself. Stroop took over from Erich after his brother had to flee Warsaw as a result of his secret history of being Jewish and consorting with a resistance fighter been uncovered.

The grey uniforms of Wehrmacht soldiers rushed from the back of the jeep and into the building opposite. Johann bit his tongue as he said a prayer in his head for the poor people who were about to become victims of the Nazis. The soldiers’ SS handlers followed them inside at a slow walk. Johann could hear the shouting in German from here. And only he understood it. Everyone else on this street was Polish.

The Nazis screamed obscenities as the light in the opposite window came on. Johann found a family of five sitting around a table. They must have been a rich Jewish family because they could still make dinner for themselves to eat. He could see soldiers arranged around the room with their guns pointed at the family, who stared forward at the table.

Do you know who they are? said Norbert under his breath.

No, Johann replied. We only moved in here last week. They’re not with us, though.

The soldiers opened the doors to the balcony and the curtains fluttered as the late evening air rushed inside. Stroop himself entered the room. From here Johann could clearly see his face. His suspicious eyes and the lines on his face made him look like he held a personal sneer.

Stand up, Stroop commanded like a banshee’s wail.

The family snapped to their feet. Four of them did. All but one. An old man sitting opposite Johann stayed seated, looking at the table. Stroop leaned his face in at the man and screamed at him again. The man didn’t move. Johann shook his head.

What is the man playing at? He’s an idiot if he thinks this is going to end well. Get up, you fool. Norbert’s voice shook with agitation.

Johann squinted as Stroop made a motion with his hand and two soldiers left their corners. They grabbed the back of the man’s chair and began to move him. It was at that moment Johann realised the man wasn’t trying to resist the Nazis. He didn’t have the ability to stand. The family didn’t look as the soldiers wheeled him onto the balcony. In a single motion the soldiers heaved the wheelchair into the air and dumped it from the top floor.

Johann screwed up his eyes until he heard the inevitable crunch of