‘If I was ordered to worship them, then I would,’ Konrad replied.
‘The answer of a true slave,’ Stahl smiled. ‘You’ve remembered your lesson after you became a prisoner, that all those who are adorned with the swastika are god-like in their magnificence.’ He pointed to his swastika arm-band. ‘This symbol means immortally, whereas your symbol – your prison ID – means death. However, since you have exhibited such a curious nature, perhaps I should take you with me. After all, we will need someone to grovel at our feet.’
After listening to Stahl, Konrad looked again at the tank. The thought of worshipping the likes of Stahl and the colonists was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he imagined smashing the glass-shell to pieces and the viscous fluid vomiting over the deck and the colonists spilling out helplessly at his feet and at his mercy. But again, like all his fantasies, it remained buried beneath his blank façade, joining his dreams of the destruction of the Nazis, his lust for the female colonist and the pleasant beginnings to that notorious nightmare.
‘Get the fuck out of here,’ Stahl said as pushed Konrad away like a spoilt child bored with a new toy.
Cut loose from the physical and mentally suffocating grasp of the Nazi, Konrad scurried back down the spiral staircase towards the safety of the hold. He only looked back once and saw Stahl standing silhouetted against the radiant sphere, erect and motionless just like the spire, and just like his terrible dream, this brief experience ended when he was swallowed by the darkness as the hatch hissed shut.
CHAPTER SIX
Stahl had stared into his drink for what had seemed hours. He stood oblivious to the decadent surroundings at the bar. For a brief moment he raised his eyes from the lifeless lager in front of him and looked around the dimly-lit salon. On one side of the room was the bar, its bright-neon shelves full of numerous bottles of lager, spirits and liqueurs. A bar-tender flitted between the various shelves, grabbing a tall slim bottle of vodka or a short, angular bottle of Jägermeister with one hand while dispensing a draught lager with the other, all the time joking and talking with the rabble of guards and crewmen swarmed around the bar. At the far end of the bar was a small stage which was ringed by a set of blue satin curtains. From this stage a runway projected which ran the length of the room. Opposite the bar, a backlit mural displaying images of Germany shone brightly. It depicted endless fields farmed by happy, smiling citizens and lush alpine forests and valleys. These romantic images, in turn, merged with those of German soldiers fighting Bolshevik barbarians and images of German rockets and lunar colonists. The German figures were, of course, depicted as heroic stereotypes, while the Bolsheviks were painted as brutish, sub-human creatures.
Silhouetted against this bright mural were dozens of tables and chairs, all of which were filled with partying Nazis, their loud drunken voices slurring the raucous party songs that accompanied their incessant drinking. Thanks to the Commandant, the salon had been opened up for the newly arrived crewmen. Here they would party before they left on their mission. Admiral Bauer had gracelessly accepted the offer on behalf of his men, but he had refused to join them. Other matters aboard the new craft drew attention, and it would have been unseemly for him, an Admiral of the Fleet, to be seen drinking with the ranks. He preferred for his men to let off steam here, rather than onboard. The prospect of being confined inside a hibernation tank for decades wasn’t the most attractive of propositions, the very idea filled the Admiral with dread, but it was something that had to be done as their journey wasn’t to be a year-long jaunt around the solar-system. The planet was twelve light-years away and as such, the journey itself, with their technology, would take up to fifty years. A one way ticket.
And the men weren’t alone. Here and there were dotted women, in all likelihood, the only women for millions of kilometres. They were the female inmates of Neu Magdeburg, and the decadent salon that Stahl now found himself was housed within the camp’s fraüenblock. The ghostly female inmates drifted amongst the Nazis, draping their arms around the men’s shoulders, sitting in their laps, or entwined in embraces. But their faces were blank and emotionless, their smiles as washed-out as their tacky make-up, or the faded dresses that covered their skeletal bodies. However, the women’s pleasures held no appeal to Stahl. Several of the inmates had attempted to entice him, but all had received short shrift from the SS officer. His cold withering gaze was enough to warn the women away. To him, all the female flesh that surrounded him and that was so readily available was contaminated. Their crimes, their nationalities, even their very beliefs, made them all strictly verboten to him. They were all untermenschen – sub-humans. He had been taught by the Party that copulating with these women would be bestial and unclean, and as such, he silently frowned upon his colleagues for even considering polluting themselves with these creatures. But he knew full well the prospect of not having a woman again could persuade any Nazi to abandon his sacred oath not to poison their bodies. This weakness of succumbing to this base temptation was something that Stahl was confident he would never succumb to.
Stahl’s ruminations were soon distracted by the presence at his side of Blomberg, the camp doctor. He was around the same age as Stahl, but unlike his strong appearance, Blomberg was weak and if it wasn’t for the Nazi uniform he wore he could have been easily mistaken for one of the prisoners. To complete the fragile look, the doctor wore a pair of rimless glasses which reflected the bright and garish bar. The doctor removed Stahl’s stale bottle from in front of him and caught the eye of the barman. ‘Another round here,’ he said loudly above the drunken din.
With his lonely drink gone, Stahl was finally stirred into action. He tried to prevent the barman preparing more drinks, but it was to no avail as two fresh lagers were instantly plonked onto the glowing bar. He turned towards his benefactor. ‘Thank you for the gesture, but it isn’t really necessary,’ he said. ‘I was about to retire for the night. There are too many things in this room that are not to my taste. The beer included!’
‘I hope my presence is not included amongst these things, Herr Stahl,’ Blomberg said hopefully. It was obvious he was eager to please.
Stahl smiled thinly as the man offered his hand. ‘You have no fears on that account, Doctor ..?’
‘I am Doctor Blomberg. Currently I am the camp’s medical officer. Will you please indulge me and accept, at least, this one drink. It’s not often that one can toast the health of a hero – and a sober hero to boot.’
Stahl accepted the drink and sipped from the bottle. Blomberg leaned against the bar and gestured around the salon.
‘It would appear that you and I are the only clear-headed men in this room at this time,’ Blomberg said with a note of distain. ‘Your comrades aren’t exactly setting a good example with this behaviour of theirs. I did expect more from such an illustrious collection of men.’
‘It was not my decision to allow them the use of the facilities here. That was Admiral Bauer’s decision. But I can understand it nevertheless. The men need to relax before we are sealed in our chariot. I just hoped that they would have shown less exuberance in their manner of relaxation.’
Blomberg removed his glasses and cleaned them on his black sleeve. ‘I’m sure the Admiral would also disapprove if he saw what was going on in here in the fraüenblock. I’ve seen it countless times. The females here always succeed in arousing the base instincts of our men, no matter their rank or status.’
‘I didn’t think a place like this would exist out here. A construction camp so far out in the Outer Territories,’ Stahl said.