Wehr
Wolff Castle
The
Wehr Wolff Chronicles Book 1
by
B. Bentley Summers
Genre:
Historical Horror, LGBT
During the rise of Nazi Germany, Hagen Messer joins the Royal Air Force as an American soldier who specializes in tracking. He’s attached to British commandos and given a seemingly simple mission—to find a captive and destroy a dam—but everything goes awry. Hagen’s plane crashes into Germany’s Wehr Forest and he has to use his extrasensory abilities to track the captive to nearby Wehr Wolff Castle, a secret Nazi base where vile experiments are being conducted.
Hagen and his surviving team members must sneak into the castle and devise a way to destroy the experimental labs creating diabolical creatures. Hagen is horrified to find Nazis and scientists with no scruples, and at the most inconvenient time, he learns that he may be in love with one of his teammates, an Irishman named Liam. In order to protect his love and his friends, Hagen must feign nonchalance amidst pure degeneracy and suspicion. Hagen soon discovers, though, that he is in over his head.
What may not only redeem him, but also save his lover and friends, is a childhood past and a darkness lurking deep inside him, just waiting to be engaged.
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Bryce is a psychologist, author, and the founder of Queer Sense Theory.
Bryce writes popular fiction genres meant for all audiences under Bryce Bentley Summers, and pens gay fiction under B. Bentley Summers, although he'd argue that anyone would enjoy his gay fiction pieces.
Bryce's full time work is at the Veteran Affairs where he has been employed for five years. He has extensive history of working with people diagnosed with PTSD and he used these experiences when writing Fresh Meat.
The novel, Fresh Meat, recently won Dan Poynter's Global eBook Awards for best gay fiction. This piece is more than just a book, but embraces gay identity while deploring the hateful violence that happens in the U.S. prison system, and across the world. The book parallels the vicious Man-Punk prison system to the long ago abolished American Slavery System. However, Fresh Meat is not non-fiction, but fiction, and it's genre is best described as Supernatural Horror.
Rotville and The Zombie Squad, are two of Bryce's recent completions. The Zombie Squad is a teen Post-Apocalyptic Thriller that recently received Reader's Favorite 5-Stars. This novel has humor and is fast pace, that follows four teens in New Orleans who find themselves not only chased by psycho gangsters, but in the middle of zombocalypse. Rotville is a new adult/ adult Sci-Fi Post-Apocalyptic Horror that takes place in the near future, in a city called Rotville where people with a rot disease are quarantined. Inside this city is the mega prison Colleseo, where inhumane experiments are carried out on inmates. It's also the birthplace of Dylan, a super soldier who must fight his way out, save a couple of youths from the new deadly mutants, and keep from being re-caught by the greedy director.
Bryce is also the author of the fiction Young Adult Dark Fantasy/ Sci-Fi series AMEN TO ROT. The novel NYTE GOD is the conclusion to this series. The Amen to Rot series and Nyte God pit Ace and his friends against alien invaders who are turning humans into mutant creatures.
Bryce authors popular fiction with a style that entices readers of all backgrounds to consume, and makes every attempt to make his characters diverse.
As noted, Bryce does dabble in gay fiction, and pens it under B. Bentley Summers, though in truth, these works are meant for everyone to read. Bryce is the founder of Queer Sense, a theory that describes how people form attitudes. The theory provides insight into how specific components in cultural contexts shape our beliefs and values, which ultimately form our attitudes. The nonfiction book, QUEER SENSE: How Are Attitudes Formed? A Revolutionary Guide for Teens, Parents, Mental Health Professionals and Anyone Interested in Queer Theory, is due out by 2016.
Romance Between Liam and Hagen:
After a morning of grueling physical training, Hagen and Liam were given a brief period of free time. The Irishman took Hagen on a hike from the airfield to a local hole-in-the-wall Irish pub as promised and bought both of them a Guinness, along with fish and chips.
Hagen bought them a second round. Liam got them a third.
Hagen and Liam returned from their beer and meal, both of them tipsy from one too many pints. They walked close to one another as Liam spoke of his home and the girls he'd slept with or turned away. The Irishman was a natural storyteller, and Hagen laughed several times at the clever turn of words he chose. Liam's thick accent had a calming rhythm though Hagen did get distracted when he used peculiar words for commonplace items. Hagen had to explain that Americans referred to breakfast pork as sausages, not bangers; and that it was kiss, not snog; nude rather than nip; and Americans said trunk, not boot.
Reaching the edge of the airbase, Liam suggested they climb up onto a hangar that was in disuse and watch the planes fly overhead. On the rooftop Liam pulled his shirt over his head and Hagen gazed at his flat stomach with a trail of light colored hair extending from his waistline to his chest. Hagen looked away as Liam glanced towards and he followed Liam's lead by removing his top as well. Liam had lay down and his attention was fixed on Hagen; he patted the surface next to him. "Come on boyo."
Liam did not have the pale white skin like the English. It was olive, and he'd tanned recently. He had a well-formed chest; his hands were under his head and his biceps bulged. Hagen laid down next to him and the Irishman turned to him, and his emerald eyes met Hagen’s.
A crooked smile formed and Liam said, "I'm zonked after that beer. You?"
Hagen chuckled and gazed up in the sky. "I have no idea what zonked is, but if it means anything like being sleepy, then yes."
Liam did not say anything so Hagen glanced over. Liam stared at him with intensity, and some emotion lurked deeper. What, Hagen did not know. But it reminded him of a hungry man who just spied a fragrant pot roast.
The corners of Liam's mouth curled up. "Your eyes. They're peculiar."
"How's that?"
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, speaking in a soft voice. "They're like the Irish Sea on a stormy night. An ocean-green one moment, then blue the next. Very peculiar." He then fell asleep, and Hagen stared at him for a few more moments before lying on his back and taking his own afternoon nap.
Upon waking, they went to dinner. Hagen was surprised by the uncertain new feelings that he’d noticed during the afternoon. He wanted to spend more time with the animated young Irishman and listen to that soothing accent. He didn't want the time to end, and wished to postpone whatever mission was coming.
After dinner, Liam said it was time, so they grabbed their gear from their bunks and headed to the hangar to be briefed on their mission. It occurred to Hagen that, within a few hours, he would be flying over the English Channel and on to some mission that would take him into Germany. The hangar was vacant when they arrived, and the Night Angel faced them with the belly gun turret having been completely installed.
Liam took a cigarette from his pack and offered Hagen one, but he hesitated. Father would disapprove. He looked at Liam's face and took one, though, and Liam lit both.
"You have any girls back home?" Liam asked, his jade gaze aimed at him, his lips pursed over his cigarette.
Hagen drew in smoke, coughed, and shook his head; his eyes watered and he said, "Dated a couple. But no takers." Hagen put his arm up to his mouth, feeling another fit of coughs coming.
Liam leaned against the hangar door and stared up into the sky. The sun was starting to set. "Broke a couple lasses' hearts meself. A couple of them had some knockers." Liam looked over to Hagen and laughed. "Oh, right, you call them boobs." He inhaled and spoke after exhaling. "And please, Jaysus, I hope I never put one up the pole."
The ends of Hagen's mouth turned down, and he slid his hand through his blond hair. "The what?"
Liam chuckled and took a drag on his cigarette. "Oh, you Yanks say pregnant."
"Oh, right."
Nervous Dinner with General Wagner:
Each second that Hagen sat at the dining hall table was excruciating. Crystal glasses clinked together and he cringed, a couple of officers guffawed and he flinched, and back in the kitchen, a pot clanked hard on the floor and he almost ducked under the table. He stilled himself by sitting on top of his hands. He leaned toward Becke, pretending to listen to the conversation Becke was having with a fellow Nazi officer. When Hagen glanced across the table, Roesia seemed to be in high spirits, her wineglass held with one hand, appearing enraptured by Wagner. The general's head was tilted back in laughter, his slender nose huge from Hagen's angle.
Dr. Mengele, meanwhile, leaned sideways from his chair, his chin close to Roesia's shoulder. He too was attentive to Wagner's discussion as well as the nape of Roesia's neck.
A large stainless-steel platter was set in the center of the table and the lid lifted off. A roasted pig with an apple in its mouth stared at him. Hagen's stomach lurched and a hand flew up to his mouth. He had to look away for a moment and take in a deep breath.
A waiter sliced off chunks of meat and placed them onto each of their plates. The memory of killing the teenager replayed in his head, over and over. He pushed it from his mind, and it was replaced with the SS guard, Dexer, throwing the teen-with-a-limp into the pod. The boy had pounded on the pod window until he'd dropped to the bottom to be eaten by a colossal wolf named Riesig. Bile backed up in Hagen's throat, his stomach somersaulting. Hagen picked up his fork and knife, and cut off a sliver of meat. He placed it in his mouth and started to chew. It took enormous effort to swallow.
Roesia was speaking to Wagner, and the general's hand inched near hers, hardly a space between them. Dr. Mengele was engaged in a discussion with the man next to him. He said he planned to create weremutants who were immune to silver.
Hagen caught Dr. Mengele's conspiratorial whisper. "I'm close."
Hagen searched the dining hall for a clock. Eight thirty was the time they had decided. Around the table were a handful of SS guards standing close to the wall, pistols holstered in shoulder harnesses. A grandfather clock in the corner said it was eight. Hagen cut off another piece of his meat and placed it in his mouth, a physical revolt happening inside his digestion system that he tried to ignore.
Wagner spoke loudly from across the table. "We have heard there have been spies who have infiltrated the Nazi regime. We have been told that several of them are our own countrymen."
Roesia feigned shock. "Dear me." Roesia, at least, had found renewed strength to keep up her masquerade. She asked, "Do you think this place is at risk?"
Wagner took a drink of his wine and offered a somber nod. "I'm afraid it is. We had a base at a dam in Konstanz, which was recently sabotaged. We had to move everything to this location. Himmler has called for a thorough cleansing of all our forces."
Roesia shook her head, placing her hand on top of his. "The utter nerve."
Wagner smiled. "Sometimes, these people are the ones closest to you. Sadly, no one can be trusted. But I assure you, Dr. Lawerenze, I will root them out."
Hagen looked over Wagner's shoulder and did a double take. Martz was peeking from a doorway. Hagen averted his eyes, barely glancing back up. The man marched up to the table, his eyes on Hagen, then bent over and whispered into Wagner's ear.
Hagen tensed. He's going to inform on me.
Hagen caught the name, "Rolph," and the last part, "I was looking for you."
Wagner said, "I was downstairs." He bit his lip, stood up, and placed his napkin on his chair. Roesia turned to him and he bowed to her, saying, "Excuse me. I have some business to attend. I shall leave you in good hands, though." Wagner followed Martz out of the room.
Becke asked Hagen, "Dr. Lawerenze says the other two officers are now sick?"
Hagen laid his fork down harder than he'd intended; it made a sharp clink on his plate. "They all had a fever."
Wehr Wolff Nazi Lab
They were in a new corridor that had torches set close to each other, high on the wall. The worn-out stone floor had turned to marble. The area had been renovated. High-powered lights set in the ceiling replaced the torches. They turned a couple of corners, and the disturbing howling noises diminished and then were gone.
They came to a more compact room with a small squad of SS troopers. A vaulted door was to one side. The troopers stood at attention while one rotated the dial on a combination lock and twisted on a circular metallic wheel that served as a door handle, then yanked. There was a quick release of air, and the vaulted door swung open.
Dr. Mengele's expression was animated, reminding Hagen of a child who was about to
enter a candy store.
The Nazi doctor scanned everyone in the room and finally rested his gaze on Roesia. "Here is where the real work is being done."
They were ushered through the door. Hagen felt faint—the air reeked of chemicals, ammonia being dominant. He was still on an elevated walkway, but in this location, it was less than ten feet down to the floor. The ceiling was over fifty feet above. A vast laboratory spread out before them, which was comprised of numerous cubicles, divided by thin walls and stopping at a solid wall farther back. Between the walkway where Hagen stood and the vast laboratory was an open space that had a charcoal-coarse surface; On it were several bleached white metallic pods, about fifteen feet in height and length. The pods were spread apart, and all of them were interconnected by narrow metal meshed walkways. A few guards, rifles held across their chests, were bent down, staring through holes to the tops of the pods.
Flush to the laboratory cubicles was a raised platform that was around forty feet in length. A man was at a control center, which had multiple levers, along with hydraulic hoses attached to a console. Behind this station for personnel was the largest pod in the room, abutting the lab wall—it dwarfed the other pods in height, width, and length.
A squeal caught Hagen's attention, and he turned toward the far end of the room.
Two soldiers dragged a naked one-armed man over the walkway to a pod at the end, and yelled, "Pod Ten!"
Hagen directed his attention back to the person at the main console. The man pulled down a lever. Hagen snapped his focus back to the one-armed prisoner; a hatch popped open at the top of what must have been pod ten. The guards pushed the person into the hole, and the lid closed with a loud clank. A scream ensued from inside the pod, and then dead silence. The SS officers around Hagen laughed and clinked their wineglasses.
Dr. Mengele was oblivious to the show at the end of the room, but stepped down the narrow staircase and across the floor with all of its pods. Everyone followed. A few personnel wearing white cotton coats carried clipboards and monitored the varied pods; they peered through small windows on the pods and jotted down some notes.
Hagen stared back at the pods. What are in those?
Dr. Mengele stepped up to the platform and came to the console where the personnel monitored various gauges.
Dr. Mengele extended his arm, and said, "In these pods are the original creatures we captured inside Wehr Forest. We had more, but many have died, unfortunately—not for lack of being fed, either. We tried to train a few, but they are incorrigible, ignorant beasts. But too precious to be put down."
Hagen stepped over to the largest pod on the platform, close to the console, and leaned over to look inside a small, thick-plated glass window. Hagen gasped at the beast inside. Memories returned with a thunderbolt, of him kneeling down beside his brother. Hagen willed the old remembrance to vanish. He touched his forehead and stepped back, bumping into someone. He turned around. It was Roesia. She had her hands clasped in front of her. Hagen again peered inside the pod. The wolf was colossal in size and tried its best to pace back and forth in its limited space. It appeared agitated as it snapped its fierce amber gaze toward Hagen. It had no hint of mutations and reminded him of the wolves he had seen earlier in the day. The creature's nose flared, its eyes burned bright, and it bared its teeth. The wolf brought its head back and howled. Even outside the container, everyone in the room cringed and covered their ears.
Journey Into Castle
The chef, a large man with loose jowls, came to their table to tell them what their pallet was about to indulge in: a roasted pig, complemented by lightly seasoned potato puree, fried asparagus in herb cream, and red cabbage cooked with sweet and sour flavors. And for dessert, German chocolate cake. A few SS officers clapped their hands in eager anticipation. Hagen's stomach turned.
The chef finished and apologized. His piggy eyes shifted nervously to Wagner and said that there was, however, going to be a twenty-minute delay. The chef bowed to Wagner, his cheeks jiggling. Wagner merely nodded and waved his hand in dismissal.
"Dr. Lawerenze, would you like a tour of the facility?" Dr. Mengele asked.
Wagner grinned and slapped the table. "A wonderful idea."
Roesia touched a hand to her chest, "Oh, that would be lovely." She displayed an encouraging smile. Hagen guessed it had taken a great deal of effort to force the expression.
Dr. Mengele fervently rubbed his hands together. Wagner placed his SS officer's hat on his head, then turned to the guards, giving orders. Roesia grabbed her wineglass, glanced at Hagen for a moment, and then gulped her drink down. He tried to keep her attention, maybe get her alone by
herself, but she turned and was speaking to an SS officer who had his enamored gaze fixed on her. Hagen got up, looked down at the suitcase that had been sitting near his feet, and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
Why haven't they arrested any of them yet? he thought. I made a mess of answers with Martz.
Hagen regarded the enemies around him. Wagner was speaking to the guards, and Dr. Mengele had grabbed Roesia's hands as he told her what to expect. Roesia offered a limp smile, but her face had blanched. Becke was pouring himself a new glass of the wine that had been brought in by Otto. They obviously didn't have Martz's report yet, but when they did… Hagen's stomach hitched.
Dr. Mengele announced, "It's time."
Hagen picked up the suitcase and followed everyone, holding the case in front of him. It kept his now-visibly shaking hands under control.
A couple of minutes later, Hagen was near the rear of their group. A couple of SS guards were at the tail end. The impassioned Dr. Mengele was in the lead. Behind the Nazi doctor were Roesia and Wagner. Becke, as well as a couple of the SS officers, came along—they had all brought their wineglasses with them. Everyone, in fact, held a ruby glass of wine except for Hagen and Roesia.
Dr. Mengele came to a set of dark wooden doors. Two SS guards were on either side of the doorway, holding rifles and empty stares. Another SS guard sat at a desk, a red phone close at hand.
One guard pivoted to the door. He used a key to unlock it, then grabbed the metal ring doorknob and yanked hard. A loud creak, which seemed never-ending, sounded.
Stone stairs were leading down into pure hellish blackness. Torches spaced on the wall lit up and provided a gloomy luminance. Spine-tingling yelps and howls greeted them.
Dr. Mengele turned, saying, "There will be that noise until we get into the experimental laboratory section." He waved his hand for them to follow.
Wagner laughed—it looked like he was joking with Roesia. The superb Nazi posturing she’d been pulling off had vanished. In its place was a palpable terror. Her eyes were wide, staring into the void beyond, her face even whiter than it had been before. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Wagner placed his arm around her midsection, and she startled, looking to him. One side of
her mouth curved up in what Hagen assumed was her best effort at a thankful smile. The two went down, and the rest followed.
Hagen and the group wound down flights of stairs and came to a wide passageway. Overhead were lamps, providing feeble light. Spaced out every twenty feet at one side the stone corridor were spiraling staircases. Hagen stepped out of line and took a few steps down one and peered over the railing. Another passageway was in view. The stairs looked as if they coiled deeper to more floors below. Numerous yelps drifted from below.
He remembered Justine telling him she'd seen thousands enter this castle and never come back out. How deep does it go?
No doubt, very deep.
A shrill shriek echoed. Hagen backed up the stairs and hurried down the corridor, catching up to the group.
Werewolves in forest
How far had they gone? Fifteen kilometers? Hagen was uncertain, but even after his physical training at boot camp, blisters were forming on his feet from their long march. Hagen kept touching his breast pocket, making certain he had not lost the handkerchief. He wanted to take it out and concentrate, and let that dark energy flood him. But there was no time for that, so he sucked in a deep breath when that thought came, and pushed it back.
Hagen tried to distract himself by recalling those mutant creatures attacking them earlier. A deep breath should have helped, but it didn't. His mind wouldn't cooperate and instead conjured up faded memories of when he'd been a youth and was helpless and vulnerable. Ivan. A flash of a memory came to him. He was knelt down by his brother, who was bloodied and not far from death.
Hagen massaged his head and tried to focus on the task at hand. His brother's voice whispered in his ear. "Put him out of his misery." Hagen shook his head.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. No one was there. He focused and sensed Liam and the others were not far away, then doubled back and found a small clearing where he stopped to wait and rest. Moments later, Roesia came up, with Lt. David close on her heels. A snap of limbs and the sergeant came into view, helping to carry the hallucinating Hodges. Profuse amounts of
sweat fell from Sgt. Collins’s brow, and a rancid scent wafted from the man. A smell that no one seemed to notice but Hagen.
Liam trailed everyone and, when he saw Hagen, asked, "Bugger to hell, where’d you go, Hagen?"
A noise got Hagen's attention and raised his hackles. He held up a hand, cutting Liam off, listening. What was that noise? Barking?
"What is it?" Roesia whispered.
The barking noises grew louder, and everyone cringed.
"A-are those blimey weremutts?" Liam whined.
Hagen put his finger to his mouth. Something howled, and everyone tensed.
Hagen listened for a couple of moments and then said, "No, those are dogs."
That piece of news didn't appear to provide anyone any relief. Shouts from German soldiers drew closer, and Lt. David said crisply, "Go, Hagen."
Hagen pushed forward. The barks grew louder, though, and the yelling soldiers were dangerously close. The men were excited, and one yelled, "Diesen Weg!" This way. They were right on their trail.
Hagen stopped, hunched over, his hands on a tree as perspiration beaded on his forehead. His clothes were wet with sweat even though there was a bitter coldness to the air. Roesia came up to him, out of breath. Leaves rustled, and Liam took over for Sgt. Collins, pulling Hodges forward. The shouting of soldiers drew closer.
Lt. David shook his head and ordered, "Messer, O'Malley, Professor. Go. Sgt. Collins, you're in command. Get as far as you can. I'll stay with Hodges."
Hagen shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. The German soldiers’ systematic shouts had become chaotic. They were shouting orders unintelligibly. The barking grew to a crescendo.
One word became clear. "Feuer!" Fire. Screaming ensued. Eerie cries of agony and high-pitched yelps echoed through the forest. A chill wound up Hagen's spine. German soldiers were shouting over each other. One recurrent scream was, "Hilfe!"
"What do they keep saying?" Liam asked in a whisper.
"Help," whispered Roesia.
The shrieks and gunfire of the soldiers filled the shadowy crevices around them; no one
spoke. At long last, a weight of dead silence hung in the air, and Hagen's group stood frozen in the eerie quiet.
Lt. David broke the spell. "Hagen, we should move," he said in a hushed voice.
Hagen nodded and started forward.
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