He was an ordinary German, walking one night on a Berlin street, near where he lived, when a car turned the corner and followed alongside him at a crawl. He was alarmed. It was obviously the police and he felt guilty of something. He was trying to think what he might have done wrong or what someone might have accused him of, when the car stopped and two men in Homburgs got out and took him by the arms.
 
“Franz Leis?”
 
“Yes.”
 
They pushed him into the back seat. One of them got in beside him and they drove away. He was thirty- five or thirty-six.
 

***
 

The camp was modern, a place of internment for society's undesirables. They were always kept busy, in a pointless prison way. A group of inmates walked past an SS man in his long black coat. He held a mace in his gloved hands.
 
“God I hate fairies.”
 
He brought it down with force on the last one by. Within seconds he had beaten a man to death. The rest kept walking. Among them was a very tall person. Though it was spring, it was still cold.
 

***
 

CONFIDENTIAL
 
From Technical Intelligence Section, Headquarters Mediterranean Allied Air Forces.

To S/Ldr. D. Noyes Field Intelligence Unit,
c/o 2771 Squadron, R.A.F. Regiment.
25 March 1945.
 
A copy of a letter received from H.Q. Unit, re your driving permit, is forwarded for necessary action please.
 
GILBERT FENTON Flight Lieutenant, Technical Intelligence Section, H.Q., M.A.A.F.
 
COPY:
 
From: H.Q. Unit M.A.A.F.  23 March 1945.
Squadron Leader D. Noyes (83377)
 
It is understood that the above-named officer drives American vehicles held on charge by the American M.T. Pool, and holds a permit to drive issued by the Americans.
 
It would be appreciated if you could obtain the particulars of the American Officer who issued the permit, and forward to this office please.
 
W.H. WELLER for Wing Commander, Commanding.
H.Q. Unit M.A.A.F., C.M.F.
 

***
 

Noyes liked to let his leg dangle out of his Jeep as he drove. Thin and muscular. At night, he waded through corpses in various stages of decomposition. He was very pleased with himself about the Jeep as he had managed to wangle it from the Americans. It had arrived on Crete by ship two days after him and Purvis and three days before their kits.
 
News of their arrival had preceded them and a crowd had gathered in the harbour. British officers were not a common sight on the island and were viewed as personal representatives of the King and Mr. Churchill.
 
Noyes tripped on a coiled rope while disembarking and tumbled into the sea. He had no clothes with him other than what he was wearing and had to strip naked and be wrapped in a blanket. He found the embarrassment almost too much to bear, as did Purvis, who was also able to appreciate the absurdity. It did not take them long to arrange for a billet in a house not far from the shore. The owner, Mrs Zombanakis, an elderly widow, was very happy to see them. She told them that British officers were vastly preferable to Italians and Germans, who until recently she had been forced to suffer. She said that one German would shit in his boot every day and make her clean it out. His standards of hygiene were high. Noyes, who had never even considered shitting in either of his shoes, was at a loss for words.
 
Strange people, the Germans.
 

***
 

The road up to the villa was steep. Ariadne could feel it in her calves. Her period was late and she wondered if she was pregnant. It was not a good time to have a child. There was not enough food, the Germans had taken it all. Babies were dying. If she was, she wondered who the father might be, and hoped it wasn't the handsome SS man who shat in his boots.
 
She was carrying a jar of milk. Lord Strange liked milk. It was from a goat, not a cow, and she hoped it wouldn't turn before she reached his house. She worked for him without ever clearly knowing what he paid her for. Was she a personal assistant, an errand girl, a spy? Or was she employed because he liked her company? It didn't matter much. He treated her well and she made money.
 
When she passed by the cypress trees and crossed the courtyard, he was waiting at the open door.
 
“Come in my dear girl. You've brought milk. How very kind.”
 
He was avuncular, slightly heavy in the jowl, with a full head of grey hair. He took the milk from her and motioned her inside.
 
“Would you like some water? Let's go into the study. It's cooler.”
 
Though it was still only spring, the days had begun to get hot. She took the water and followed him into the study. The shutters were closed and it was pleasantly cool. It was a temperature that encouraged contemplation. He sat down at his desk, which had nothing on it but a pipe resting in an ashtray.
 
“I asked you here because I need a courier.”
 
“ Certainly. Where will I be going?”
 
“Not you, Ariadne. I want you to find me someone suitable.”
 
“What kind of person do you have in mind?”
 
“Male and German.”
 
“But the Germans have left.”
 
“I'm sure there are still a few about. If anyone can find them, you can.”
 
She was curious to know why he needed a courier. He was as mysterious as his name. She suspected that his reach was far and his loyalties malleable. He didn't go in for explanation. At least he was not pompous. That, she could not abide in a man.
 
“Might I ask what this courier would be carrying?”
 
“Yes indeed you might. It is natural enough to be curious. Because I am fond of you, I shall tell you just that it is an object.”
 
“I'll see what I can do.”
 
“I'm sure that you will. But please don't take too long about it. Use your charms, Ariadne. Find me a strong, young German and bring him here.”
 

***
 

The two men in Homburgs who had ushered Franz into the back of their black sedan now ushered him out again. Aside from a few pleasantries, they had not spoken much for the entire journey and had said nothing to him. They had passed through checkpoints where identities were verified and finally entered a complex of low buildings, where they handed him over to men in military uniform who took him inside. He was led down a long corridor with numerous small rooms, in which people were sitting at typewriters and radio sets. His destination was the large conference room at the end. He felt the numbness of a condemned man. In this state of mind, he suddenly found himself in the presence of the Führer. Three other Party notables were also there - Goebbels, Himmler and Bormann, as well as some staff officers. The Leader, who was bent over a map table when he entered, glanced up at him with blue eyes.
 
“You must be Leis. I'm glad you could come.”
 
Franz's relief was palpable. He was off the hook. At least for a few minutes.
 
“You are probably wondering why you are here.”
 
“I am, Führer.”
 
“We are about to embark on a great venture, Leis.”
 
All eyes in the room were on the Führer. Franz felt honoured that this great man's attention was directed at him alone. It was an honour accompanied by trepidation.
 
“I am starting production of an epic film.”
 
Things began to make sense. In 1933, while he was working at UFA, Franz was required to fill out and sign a questionnaire. It mostly dealt with racial purity issues and political affiliations. He had been in the clear - one hundred percent German, on both sides of the family, as far back as anyone could remember, with no record of political views or activity. Everyone who worked in the film industry had to complete this form, which was filed at the Reich Film Chamber. They would know everything about him and the films he had worked on such as Storm Trooper Brandt, Bleeding Germany, The Blue Angel, and Hans Westmar, the story of Horst Wessel. They would also know about his work with Riefenstahl on The Triumph of the Will and on Olympia. Franz was proud of his resumé.
 
“This film will be so sweeping in scope that Hollywood will look like a kindergarten class in comparison. The problem with their cinema, aside from being run by Jews, is that America is so lacking in culture. They have three or four Negro songs and they keep making films about them. They do it well enough but in the end, so what? The difference between us, is that our culture is so rich and profound that we have an almost bottomless well to draw from. If you couple that fact with the new film grammar that I have conceived, where reality and the motion picture are indistinguishable from one another, you can see, Leis, that we have a masterpiece on our hands. Art that will resound through generations for thousands of years.”
 
There were smiles and nods of agreement all round. Franz could not help being mesmerized by the way he was opening and closing his fist as he spoke.
 
“Just the making of this film will be an act of purification for the soul of the Fatherland. You have a part to play in this, Leis. A small part but don't feel any less of yourself for that. The whole is the sum of small parts. No detail will be unattended. Everything is important. We are well aware of your abilities, which is why you have been selected. Now listen carefully to your instructions. You will secure a hearse and a wooden coffin, nothing too elaborate. A prisoner will be delivered to you and you will shoot him in the head with a revolver that will be provided. You will put the corpse in the coffin and seal it. You will then drive across the border into France and make your way to Paris as quickly as possible, where you will meet me personally underneath the Arc de Triomphe. You don't have to be concerned about camera position, you will be filmed from every conceivable angle. Just drive. You will be issued an expense account to cover necessary costs. You will submit receipts with written explanations for all disbursements. From now on you will receive further details and instructions from Dr. Goebbels' office. Is that understood?”
 
“Yes, Führer.”
 
“Good. This is a Führerbefehl.”
 
Franz knew that a Führerbefehl was a simple thing. You either carried out the order or you died.
 
“Might I ask one question?”
 
“I believe you just did.”
 
Franz smiled meekly at the joke.
 
“Go on then.”
 
“Will we ever see inside the coffin?”
 
A sudden look of irritation flared up in the Leader's face. His jaw tightened.
 
“Never. Just remember that greater minds than yours are at work here. All you have to do is obey. Now get out.”
 
A droplet of spittle landed on Franz's cheek.
 

***
 

Dear Gilbert,
 
Your letter of March 25th reached me yesterday. I had no idea they were taking so long to get here. Anyway, thanks very much, particularly for the trouble that you and Feldman have taken with the dishing-out of Report No. 23. The diagrams for report No. 24 have not yet been completed so hang on for a short while and before long I will send the necessary instructions for dealing with this one.
 
Referring now to your paragraph 5 and the letter MAAF/CC/2745/1/P.1. of March 25th: I'm sorry this matter got overlooked but you know the usual business of being on the job or the road or the typewriter from dawn to dusk. Anyway, the particulars required are as follows:
Motor vehicle operator's permit No.52 Organisation: Technical Intelligence, Hq. MAAF Adv. Station: APO 650, New York. Place: APO 650, New York. Name: Daniel Noyes. Rank: Squadron Leader. Organisation: Hq. M.A.A.F. Type vehicle: passenger car, cargo trucks. Date: February 1st 1945. Authentication: C.F. Gudrun, Capt.
 
W/Cdr. Shilltowe mentions that in your letter to him of March 21st you referred to an A.D.I.K. Report No. 231 enclosed. Unfortunately it wasn't. Have you any clue to its whereabouts?

 
Yet another request. Ask Feldman to look in the file “recognition of German ground radar” and extract all the M.A.P.R.W. photographic reports and photos and send them to me. Any others that come in should be sent immediately. Incidentally, can you find out for me please why and when I was mentioned in dispatches. I am curious and not a little amused. If there is a London Gazette date available, I would very much appreciate the particulars. As for oak leaves, my final request tonight is for you to ring up the camp commandant and ask him if he has any.
 
Yes, that really is all for now. Kind regards, and we expect to see you up here one of these fine days.
 
Yours,
 
DN
 
P.S. When the stencilled version of Sigs. Report No. 23 is ready, would you send an additional copy to A.I.2(g) for the attention of F/Lt. Nutting wherever he may be. I would also like an extra copy up here. Nutting, MacBean and Shorter have, of course gone on Weller's party. W/C Proctor spoke in his letter to Shilltowe of his having had them “specially fattened up”. And please could you send me some more rolls of 35 mm film as my supplies are running low.
 

***
 

There was an unscheduled roll call at the camp. All the prisoners were gathered on the parade ground. It took some time for them to be shuffled into place. When it was finally accomplished with the usual goading, a pregnant silence ensued. Aside from the administrators and their dogs, and to some extent the inmates, there was nothing else left alive in the camp. It had been decreed that all creatures should be exterminated in the interests of general health.

 
The commandant appeared and mounted the dais. The men below him had been assembled in neat rows, so they could be counted at a glance. The roll call began. It was a lengthy process. Numbers were read off a list. With each number, the identified prisoner would shout affirmation. When the number 0731602 was called, there was no response. This number pertained to the tall man but he had forgotten it. The reason for this was that he had never felt it suited him, so he had created a new number by adding the old one's figures and dividing by seven. The result was much more interesting: 2.71428571. He had become known to his companions simply as Two Point Seven, and was so used to this new number that he had forgotten the original.
 
When the roll call was complete, Two Point Seven was instructed to remain behind. He stood alone, listening to the wind for an hour and forty-six minutes, until eventually a transport vehicle arrived and he was taken away.
 

***

 
A week after his meeting with Adolf Hitler, Franz was summoned to the office of Reichsführer SS Himmler. this time during daylight hours. An orderly served them tea in china cups.
 
“I would like to congratulate you on being picked for this mission, Leis. You were the one chosen from among many. It is a very great honour.”
 
Franz carefully placed his cup into the saucer, as if he didn't want to make noise.
 
“Thank you, Reichsführer.”
 
Himmler turned in his chair and looked out of the window.
 
“We are having Hitler weather today.”
 
They were. The sky was blue without a single cloud. Warm air and birdsong came through the open window.
 
“The Führer has a supernatural ability for picking the right man for the job. The film is already a masterpiece. He has the whole thing in his mind. It's uncanny.”
 
The Reichsführer took off his glasses and put them on again.
 
“I'm a busy man, Leis, so I'll be brief. Do you understand what it means to be a German?”
 
He paused, but not long enough for an answer, which was a relief for Franz.
 
“If you wish to know your direction you need to know where you are coming from, don't you think?”
 
“Yes, Reichsführer. Absolutely.”
 
“To understand what it is to be German, it is essential to know the true history of our people and not the apologia taught in the Weimar era. Modern science has opened new doors to the future and it has also shed a much brighter light on the past.”
 
Franz shifted his position. He had a deep scepticism for authority but knew better than to express it. Frequent beatings as a schoolboy had taught him that there was no concomitant moral superiority to power. He feared it but did not respect it and as a result felt entitled to do whatever he chose as long as he deemed he could get away with it.
 
“The first people who could truly be described as human were of the Nordic race. They were a strong people, with a naturally sharp intellect. Completely pure and unsullied. Their existence, filtered through time, has reached us today as myth. What you may not realise is that this myth is an echo of reality. Odin and Thor existed. They were the early chieftains of the Germanic people. Forbears to our own Führer, you might say.”
 
“Heil Hitler.”
 
“Yes, yes. Sit down, Leis. Thor's hammer was a real weapon. You see, as surprising as it may seem, our ancestors had a much more advanced technology than we do. This has been scientifically proven. It is our duty to rediscover this lost knowledge. If we are successful, no enemy will be able to withstand us and we will be able to reclaim our rightful living space. We can restore balance to this world.”
 
“Very inspiring words, Reichsführer.”
 
“It is to this end that I have established a scientific institute, called the Ahnenerbe, right here in Berlin. It brings together many great minds from different fields, geology, history, linguistics, musicology, and so on. My goal for the Ahnenerbe is to compile a true history of our origins and study the ancient Nordic technology. You could also add, in a more metaphysical way, that I hope to reveal the soul of the New Germany, which the Führer mentioned last week. We have many expeditions underway, all over the globe and we are busy here, analysing and collating the information being sent back. This is where you can be of help, Leis. I know you have your duties and clear directives from the Führer, however, you will be travelling through northern France, an area once populated by our race. So I ask you to keep your eyes and ears open for remnants of this ancient people. You might hear a Germanic- sounding folk melody or see a runic-looking inn sign or even some architectural remains. Observations like these, coming from multiple sources, help us here in the Fatherland to construct a bigger, more detailed image of our past. It is crucially important. Can I consider you on board?”
 
“Most definitely, Reichsführer. I'd be happy to help in any way I can.”
 
“That's good to hear, Leis. I knew I could count on you. You are dismissed. Good luck.”
 
The interview ended with the clinking of china.
 

***

 
After Ariadne had left, Lord Strange took the jar of goat's milk and poured it down the drain. He returned to his study and sat down at his desk. He took a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked one of the drawers. He fished around with his hand and pulled out a metal container, no larger than a matchbox, which he toyed with between his fingers for a while before setting down. He got up again and went into the kitchen, reaching under the sink for some twine and a scrap of oilcloth. He carefully wrapped the small box with the oilcloth, and tied it securely with the string. Then he locked it back up in the drawer and replaced the key in his pocket. The whole operation took less than ten minutes. He did it in silence, as he was not the kind of person who spoke to himself while alone.
 
 
© Tom Newton 2015
 
This is an excerpt from the novella Warfilm by Tom Newton, published by Bloomsbury in 2015.