The German Half-Bloods (The Half-Bloods Trilogy Book 1)

  The German Half-Bloods

  The Half-Bloods Series Book 1

  Jana Petken

  ©2018 by Jana Petken. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieved system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  The German Half-Bloods is a work of fiction and bears no factual resemblance to the fictional characters or what happens to them in the story.

  Cover design by Adriana Hanganu

  Synopsis for The German Half-Bloods

  From the Multi-Award-Winning Author comes, The German Half-Bloods.

  “A historical novel steeped in horror, danger and suspense; a true page-turner.”

  Germany, September 1939. At the outbreak of War, Dieter Vogel and his family face catastrophic events and separation as each member embarks on their deadly paths towards survival, love, and freedom.

  Dieter Vogel, a German industrialist, believes in protecting his family at all costs, but in a bid to keep his English wife and children safe, he is plunged into a well of deceit that tears the family apart. With no escape from the Nazi Party, Dieter risks everything to launch a daring attack on the SS extermination programme knowing that the price of failure might be fatal.

  Doctor Paul Vogel is coerced into working in the Nazi eugenics programme, and soon discovers that sterilising handicapped and mentally-ill Germans is just a prelude to a more lethal plan against those the Reich deem unworthy of life. Paul, trapped by the SS, seeks help from the unlikeliest of people and is plunged into a world of espionage and murder.

  British Army Major, Max Vogel, is attached to The British Intelligence Services and Winston Churchill’s Special Operations Executive. His missions in occupied Europe are fraught with danger, and his adulterous affair with a woman he cannot give up and whose husband is his closest friend, lead him deeper into the quagmire of treachery and lies.

  Wilmot Vogel dreams of winning the Iron Cross, but when he confronts a mass killing of Jews in Poland, his idolatry of Hitler is shaken to its roots, and he finds himself imprisoned in the infamous Dachau concentration camp with no release date in sight.

  Hannah Vogel has no ambition other than to marry her English fiancé, Frank, before the lines of war are drawn. Against her father’s wishes, she leaves Berlin on the eve of the German invasion of Poland, but when she arrives in England, she learns that Frank is not the civilian engineer he claims to be.

  Early Review for The German Half-Blood

  “From the hands of the very talented, Jana Petken, comes another gripping story, this time tackling the Nazis quest for world domination. In one of the darkest eras in human history, when a madman’s design was to annihilate an entire race of people, Petken’s masterful writing brings characters alive with action, treachery, deceit, atrocities, and love that burns from the pages. I couldn’t put this one down.”

  Other titles available from Jana Petken:

  Multi Award Winning #1Bestseller, The Guardian of Secrets

  Screenplay, The Guardian of Secrets

  Audio book, The Guardian of Secrets, with Tantor Media

  #1 Bestselling Series: The Mercy Carver Series:

  Award-Winning Bestseller Dark Shadows

  Award-Winning Bestseller Blood Moon

  Multi-Award-Winning #1Bestseller, The Errant Flock

  Award-Winning Bestseller, The Scattered Flock

  Flock, The Gathering of The Damned

  Multi-Award-Winning #1Bestseller, Swearing Allegiance

  The Mercy Carver Series and The Flock Trilogy on audio books in association with Cherry-Hill Audio Publishing

  The Vogels: On All Fronts: The Half-Bloods book 2

  Before The Brightest Dawn: The Half-Bloods, Book 3

  Coming 2020, the sequel to Swearing Allegiance

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to my dear readers for spurring me on to write.

  Thanks to my editor, Gabi Plumm

  Proofreading, Caro Powney

  Bob Martin

  Adriana Hanganu, Graphics and cover design

  Author’s Note

  This book is written in UK English and all spellings, punctuations, and grammar adhere to UK English, World English, and the Oxford English Dictionary

  Hope you enjoy The German Half-Bloods!

  To be continued

  Chapter One

  The Vogels

  Dresden, Germany

  August 26th, 1939

  Laura Vogel tasted a selection of vol-au-vents that were filled with variations of tuna, salmon and chicken in thick white sauces. They were one-bite size, but she’d made over a hundred of the fiddly things along with sandwiches, cooked meats, cheese plates and cakes. Her husband had also brought home caviar and champagne but then he would, being the extravagant idiot that he was.

  “Anna, put more pepper in the tuna, and cut the cucumbers into smaller pieces,” she instructed the housekeeper before sniffing the caviar in their crystal bowls. “Cover these bowls as well or we’ll have a swarm of flies going for them in no time.”

  She could have gone overboard and used ingredients that were much more adventurous, or had a sit-down meal, she thought, exiting the kitchen, but some of the guests who were coming this evening didn’t deserve her culinary skills, or time. Yes, they were important, influential and would expect the best, but for her, they could go to hell and never darken her doorstep.

  Laura was a petite woman, but unlike her children, she was tubby, verging on overweight if she wasn’t constantly taking steps to control it. She had what her husband called ‘an ageless face’ with very few wrinkles and powder-free white skin that burnt easily in the sun. Her pallor was in sharp contrast to her dark hair and eyes, yet, apart from Wilmot, her children favoured their father in looks. Wilmot, dark haired with brown eyes, was the spitting image of his mother, yet he shared his father’s character and political ideals.

  As a British woman in a foreign land, she had demanded that certain English customs be upheld. “For starters, when we have children they’ll call me Mummy and you Daddy while they’re young,” she’d told Dieter just after they got married. “And at Christmas time, we can have our festive dinner on Christmas Eve, but I also want the traditional turkey dinner on Christmas Day. That’s the English way, and I should get my way, considering I’m giving up my country for you.”

  She found her husband, Dieter, pouring himself a brandy in the main reception room. His recently-dyed mop of fair hair partially covered his forehead and was far too long and thick for a man of his age, but Dieter was finicky about his appearance, and he worked overtime to look as young as his sons. She loved his optimism.

  The normally well-ordered room had been turned upside down. Dieter had purchased ten rectangular tables for four with chairs to match. He’d joined them together making three long lines, across the top of the room and down the sides. “They are for our guests who might prefer to sit in a more formal setting after choosing their food from the canapé trays. And being all together like this will make it easier for people to talk to each other,” he’d explained when the furniture van had arrived.

  “It looks like a bloody wedding banquet in here,” she’d told him.

  He’d also hired a well-known pianist and singer to entertain his guests and had even thought to lift the rug to make space for dancing. Unlike her, Dieter enjoyed entertaining in his home. He often told her it was good for business after having arranged a soirée without her knowledge. She scanned the room once more, thinking, just because it could accommodate forty people, didn’t mean that he had to invite that many. She
was damn sure she wasn’t going to slave in the kitchen for days, not for his Nazi friends.

  Laura fiddled with a vase of roses. Cut only the day before, their red petals were already turning brown. They’d be dead before the family left for Berlin, which was a shame, for they would be the last she’d see this year.

  She threw Dieter an exasperated look. He’d pestered her for days about this party after she’d specifically asked him to make their son’s celebration a family affair. Dieter was a typical German, rigid and unbending when he made up his mind about something.

  “Ah, there you are, my love. I was just about to call for you,” the subject of her frustration said, pretending he hadn’t seen her enter the room.

  “Well, you needn’t bother. I’m here now.”

  “You look beautiful. Sherry?”

  “Thank you, but I don’t feel beautiful. I feel trapped. You manipulated me as usual – yes to the sherry – and make it a double.”

  Dieter sighed as he handed her the delicate crystal glass. “Laura, darling, please try to make an effort tonight. You know how important this is to me.”

  “It’s always important to you. If we’re not entertaining people in fancy restaurants to bring in more business, we’re opening our house to Gestapo and SS officers so that you can flaunt that bloody swastika flag in the front garden.” Her eyes raked the mantelpiece. “And why the hell is that picture of Adolf Hitler hanging above the fireplace? Why do you insist on having it inside the house?”

  “You’re English. You shouldn’t forget that,” he snapped like a teacher putting a child in its place.

  “How can I forget when you remind me every five minutes? I know full well where I come from. I wish I could get myself back to Kent right this minute.”

  Dieter tried again. “Laura, be careful. The Gestapo is monitoring our family.”

  “I know, I know, because the government is sensitive to foreigners and they think I might try to destroy the Third Reich single-handedly You’ve told me that a hundred times already.”

  “Yes, I have, so, will you please keep that in mind when our guests arrive? And if you must call them Nazis, say the word in a nicer tone with Party after it.”

  “Why should I? Germany doesn’t have a government or a democratic party. Your Führer is a dictator, and you know it.”

  “He’s not my Führer.”

  “Then whose is he? You voted for him,” Laura took an unladylike slurp of sherry. “And as for the secret police who skulk in corners and alleyways trying to look inconspicuous, well, they should have better things to do with their time than observe me shopping for bread and milk.” Laura’s voice was steady, but her eyes were blazing. “We’ve been married for twenty-seven years and have lived in Berlin and Dresden for twenty of them. Do you honestly think the secret police are interested in me? Do they really imagine I’m one of those floozy spies who cavort with men to get information? It’s ridiculous. I’m an apron-wearing housewife for God’s sake.”

  His impatience under control now, Dieter sighed. “All I’m asking is that you please try to be gracious to our guests? I know how you feel about the SS and Gestapo, but when their officers are in our home, it’s our duty to make them feel welcome.”

  “Duty? Oh, for Christ’s sake, listen to yourself. My only duty is to you and our children. I’m warning you, Dieter, the next time you invite Nazis to a family gathering, whether it’s in this house or the one in Berlin, I will walk out and go to your sister’s until they’ve left. I’m not doing this again. They come in here and stare at me with those accusing eyes making me feel guilty even though I’ve done nothing wrong. I can’t stand it. I’ll be glad to get back to Berlin. At least you work all the hours God gave there and don’t have time to entertain – oh, do take that swastika badge off your lapel; wear it in your factories if you must show it off.”

  Laura’s head was pounding before the night had even begun. She poured herself another glass of sherry and then banged the decanter down as though it were to blame for her bad mood. “And another thing, Dieter Vogel, this was supposed to be our son’s big night. You shouldn’t have invited your business associates or our Wilmot’s new SS colleagues; it’s not fair to Paul.”

  Glass in hand, Dieter headed for the door.

  “Don’t you dare walk out on me!” Laura shouted after him. “Burying your head in the sand won’t make Germany’s problems go away. And it won’t make me any less angry. Get back here.”

  Dieter turned to stand obstinately in the doorway, now as angry as his wife. “Do you know why I fly the swastika and put this pin on my lapel, why I keep in with the Nazis – do you?”

  Laura’s eyes flashed as she strode towards him. He towered over her and was still a formidable presence in any room despite being almost fifty-five years old. Her strong, loving, faithful, kind husband had turned into a scared sheep following all the other sheep behind Adolf bloody Hitler and his band of thugs, and she didn’t like him like that, not one little bit. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Dieter closed the double doors and led her to a couple of chairs. “Sit for a minute with me,” he laid a gentle kiss on his wife’s head.

  Laura placed her palm on his cheek and then ran feather-light fingers down the side of his face. She knew her husband like the back of her hand. He was a sensitive man for all his bluster. She hated fighting with him about politics, but that was all they seemed to do nowadays.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know because I wanted to spare you the harsh details,” Dieter said.

  “Oh, Dieter.” She shook her head. “Don’t give me that. I read the newspapers and listen to the radio as much as you do. I know you’re scared of where the country is heading. We’re all scared, but that shouldn’t mean we give up on our principles. We can still determine the difference between right and wrong for ourselves no matter what that Joseph Goebbels tells us. The reason we’re in this mess is that no one speaks out against the Reich. How I wish someone would put a bullet between Hitler’s eyes.”

  “Laura. Hush!” Dieter removed her hand from his face and downed his sherry in one gulp. His voice was husky when he next spoke. “Look, it’s true that up to a couple of years ago I believed in the Führer’s honest intentions. I thought the real monsters in power were Göring, Goebbels, Himmler, Hess, and men of that ilk. I told myself that if he got rid of his henchmen, everything would turn out all right, but it’s not the hangers-on that are running the show, it’s all him – all Hitler – and no one, Laura, no one dares to openly criticise the Reich because the consequences to one’s family could be…”

  “Fatal. I know, but that’s why we need heroes, not more sycophants who created the brute.”

  Dieter shook his head. “You still don’t understand. A healthy working environment means socialist living. Weak-willed, mealy-mouthed men who don’t immediately denounce others for speaking out against the Regime wind up in a concentration camp. I’ve seen workers being led away by the Gestapo on their way out my factory gates. I never know why they’ve been taken, or where they’re being detained, but I do know that people are reporting their workmates for condemning the Führer’s policies. We don’t have to give up the things we believe in, darling, but we do have to bite our tongues in public.” Dieter’s eyes were fierce. “Being a hero is all well and good, but people with the courage to question and dispute might as well take a gun and shoot themselves in the head.”

  “Oh, my Dieter, my darling, I know you’re a good man with a big heart. Why don’t you talk about your feelings with your children, instead of hiding behind your cold German exterior? I’m worried that if you’re not careful, they’ll think you’re a true Nazi in every sense of the word.”

  “I suppose I have what the English call, a stiff upper lip.” Dieter squeezed Laura’s hand and gave her a weak smile. “I’m going to tell you something, but you mustn’t repeat it to anyone. Promise me?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s about the company,” Dieter be
gan. “You see, I’ve spent a small fortune registering my factory workers with the Arbeitsfront.”

  “The labour unions?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does that have to do with you? I thought it was voluntary?”

  “It is, or so the Ministry of Labour would have us believe.”

  “But why? Are the workers now being forced to join?”

  “Not as such, but non-union members don’t get jobs nowadays, and those that are in jobs get thrown out of them if they don’t join or pay their union dues every week. Half my unskilled workers in Berlin can’t afford to pay that sort of money to the union, so I’ve been subsidising them for over a year.”

  “What? But that’s ridiculous. Can you afford to carry on doing that?”

  “No, not in the long-term. It’s taking a toll on my profits. That’s why I’ve invited certain people tonight. I need to drum up more business before my competitors get all the military and government contracts. I can’t sit by and watch my workers get thrown out of their tenement buildings, but that’s what will happen if I can’t keep my doors open.”

  “It’s just not right.”

  “I agree. The working man is sacrificing food and money for clothes to pay his union dues. You’d think that’d be enough for Hitler and his cronies but it’s not, because now it’s becoming difficult to get on in life if you don’t join the Arbeitsfront and the Nazi Party. Party workers get more pay, better conditions and other perks. They’re even getting a say in who lives in the same tenement buildings nowadays because they don’t want neighbours who aren’t Aryans.”

  Dieter’s face was becoming livid. “The hatred has to stop, Laura. It’s as if the whole country has been infected by the mass hysteria being fomented by Goebbels. You know me better than anyone. You must see that I don’t want to follow the Führer? He’s not the man I thought he was when I voted for him.”