Yet Jerry didn’t stop.
His head lolled awkwardly, and the glutinous blood continued to seep, but his progress and intent appeared otherwise unimpeded until Wilkins took control. He shoved the Nazi’s face against the wall, then stabbed his knife into the man’s exposed right temple. He withdrew the blade then did it again, then a third time to be sure, then he let him go. Jerry immediately collapsed like a half-stuffed rag doll. Henshaw shone a torch into his face, checking for any reaction. The flow of blood had partially obscured the Totenkopf symbol patch on the guard’s right collar. It was clear that this man had been a member of the SS-Totenkopfverbände. ‘Good Lord,’ he exclaimed. ‘If evil bastards like this have been overcome by this hideous disease, what hope is there for any of us?’
‘So I take it that you believe everything you’ve heard now, gentlemen?’ Wilkins asked. ‘This is no joke, no trick… These creatures are the reanimated bodies of the dead, and I’ll wager there are many, many more of the damn things waiting for us on the other side of this wall. We need to have our wits about us. We must treat everyone and everything we see in there as a potential threat, do you understand?’
He didn’t need to hear their replies to know that they did.
The soldiers moved quickly and quietly to scale the wall. Henshaw had deliberately chosen this spot as he considered it to be the part of the camp under the least amount of scrutiny and guard from the Nazis. This was the area where they disposed of bodies. And here there were many, many bodies to dispose of.
Henshaw ordered Harris to use a grappling hook to scale the wall. The clattering of metal on brick was unnaturally loud against the all-consuming quiet of everything else. The soldiers stood silently with their backs against the wall for several minutes until they were sure the noise hadn’t attracted more unwanted attention. Harris climbed up and paused at the top to look down over the other side. ‘Courtyard’s empty,’ he hissed to the others. ‘Should be all right, sir.’
‘Good. Drop down and keep out of sight.’
He did as he was ordered and the rest of the men followed in quick succession. Steele was the last one. Perched precariously on the top of the wall until he was sure the others were down safely, he detached the grappling hook and spooled the rope, then dropped it down to Harris who stashed it in Barton’s pack.
Behind the imposing castle entrance and within the vast encircling wall of the camp were several clearly defined areas. Nearest the castle were the barracks of the SS-Totenkopfverbände. Next to the barracks, a half-full vehicle compound. Beyond that, more than half the total area of the site was occupied by large factory buildings where the prisoners were put to work by the Nazis. Most of the smaller, squat, dank-looking huts were almost certainly where the prisoners were housed, separated into sub-areas: one for men, the other for women and children. The part of the camp where they’d gained access, though, was unspeakably grim. Wilkins was glad of the lack of light. There were things here he had no desire to see. Jones, on the other hand, exhibited far less self-control. ‘Bloody hell,’ he cursed, forgetting himself. ‘Look at all this…’
He shone a torch in a wide circle over a space to the rear of where they were standing. They knew the Nazi’s preferred methods of extermination from the intelligence which had been gathered, but what they could see now was way beyond anything they’d been told.
‘Crikey,’ Barton mumbled, barely able to string two words together. ‘It’s like they ran out of space and time.’
He was right. His description was remarkably apt and succinct. Many of the bodies appeared to have been carved up, limbs dismembered and stacked in hotchpotch piles. Jones was transfixed by the horrific sight, and it took his sergeant’s firm grip to drag him away. ‘Come on, lad,’ Steele said. ‘Focus.’
Jones tried, but it was difficult. Before turning away he looked again at a particular mound of flesh which had been momentarily illuminated by his torch. He was sure he’d seen fingers moving on a hand sticking out from the bottom of a pile. And he could see the remains of Nazi uniforms too. He wondered what had really happened in Polonezköy, and wished with all his heart that he was anywhere but here.
Focus!
Another figure was moving across the courtyard now, coming towards the British soldiers with the same uneasy slothfulness as the German guard they’d already dispatched. Wait… more than one. Wilkins counted three of them. It was clear that their overall physical condition was very different to the undead Nazi. ‘Good Lord,’ said Henshaw, ‘they’re prisoners. What in heaven’s name are they doing out here like this? They’ll get themselves killed.’
But they were already dead.
The three men approaching were each dressed in the same loose-fitting, shapeless uniforms, and whilst the colour might originally have been relatively standard, it was now anything but. Harris shone a flashlight at them, and the sorry state of these poor lost souls was clearly revealed. Their smocks were stained and smeared, deep red and brown patches where blood and other discharge had seeped from open wounds which would now never heal.
‘What do we do, Lieutenant?’ Harris asked, clearly unsure. Henshaw glanced at Wilkins before answering.
‘We get rid of them. We don’t have any choice.’
‘But they’re innocent men…’ Steele started to protest. Wilkins cut across him.
‘They’re dead, Sergeant, and you need to remember that. Ending this eternal misery is the kindest thing we can do for them now.’
Wilkins stepped forward with his knife again and went for the nearest of the three. The man’s awkward gait and poorly controlled movements resulted in him virtually stepping onto Wilkins’ blade and skewering himself. Wilkins quickly yanked the knife clear then went for the dead man’s head. He pushed the suddenly lifeless figure out of the way and was ready to move onto the next but Jones was there first.
‘Don’t!’ Wilkins exclaimed, but it was too late. Jones shot both of the other prisoners in the head in quick succession.
The noise echoed around the emptiness of the concentration camp, seeming to take forever to completely fade away.
‘What the hell were you thinking, Jones?’ demanded Henshaw.
‘Dealing with the situation, sir.’
‘And did you not listen to anything Lieutenant Wilkins had to say about the threat we’re facing?’
Wilkins himself was furious. ‘Good grief, man. Do you realise what you’ve done?’
Jones shone his torch from side to side, and the true extent of the situation he’d created quickly became clear. All around them there was movement now. The shadows seemed to be detaching themselves from the walls. Unfolding. Unfurling. Untangling themselves from the darkness and creeping towards the light. And the longer the men looked, the more of them they could see, as if scores of the infernal creatures had been woken by Jones’ two shots. The way they moved made their appearance all the more terrifying. They lurched and listed, contorted and twisted as if they were barely in control of their own physical form.
The nearest of them reached out for Jones and grabbed his smock with gnarled fingers, snagging the drab material. He hadn’t realised and tried to back away, but was pulled back. Henshaw saw that one of his men was in trouble and instinctively moved to help him. Although he managed to prise the wretched ghoul away from Jones, all he did was drag the creature closer to himself, and when another one of them came at him he lost his footing in the gloom and was down before anyone realised.
‘Blades, not bullets,’ Wilkins hissed, and this time the other soldiers did as he instructed, fishing knives, daggers and even entrenching tools from their kit. Wilkins himself waded into the melee, and the others followed his lead.