The Metal Man: An Account of a WW2 Nazi Cyborg by Ben Stevens

co-operation, Herr Greutmann,’ Fleischer had said, that quiet, lisping voice somehow causing Greutmann’s spine to prick with fear.
     
    ‘But Major, of course – ’ Greutmann had hastened to assure him, before realizing that the Gestapo man had already ended the call.
     
    And here was the black Mercedes 260D, pulling up outside the town hall. Two men sat in the driver and passenger seats, both wearing black hats. The door on the passenger side opened and a man with a face like a skull got out.
     
    His bright little eyes burnt at Greutmann as he said –
     
    ‘ Heil Hitler. I am Major Fleischer of the Berlin Gestapo. You are Hans Greutmann?’
     
    ‘Yes, Major, yes,’ returned Greutmann, trying and failing to make his voice sound firm.
     
    ‘I am pursuing a line of investigation that has led me here,’ began Fleischer, putting his arm across Greutmann’s shoulders and thus ‘guiding’ the white-haired, ageing official back inside the town hall.
     
    ‘I am interested in a man named Wilhelm Reinhardt…’ continued Fleischer.   
     
    ‘I knew the Reinhardt family,’ said Greutmann, who then instantly wished that he hadn’t spoken.
     
    ‘The father was a much… respected… man,’ finished Greutmann uncertainly.
     
    ‘Indeed? And did you know his son – Wilhelm?’ asked the Gestapo Major, coming to a halt as his burning, curiously mocking eyes bored into Greutmann’s own. 
     
    ‘No – that is to say, not well,’ stammered Greutmann. ‘They – the Reinhardts – kept themselves very much to themselves.
     
    ‘They had a large house near here, but because of the nature of Herr Reinhardt’s work – I believe he was a high-ranking bureaucrat – the whole family was frequently obliged to travel around Germany.
     
    ‘They were in a train crash, once, in which Wilhelm received severe facial injuries – he was still a baby, only a few days old, I believe… Really, the Reinhardts occupied their home here at only infrequent times of the year, such as Christmas…
     
    ‘So I did not know them very well, as I say,’ finished Greutmann.
     
    ‘You’re certain that is all you know?’ lisped Fleischer.
     
    ‘Really, Major, that is all,’ returned Greutmann, allowing his voice to register slight indignation.
     
    ‘And the records are…?’
     
    ‘In here, Major,’ returned Greutmann, leading the Gestapo man through the reception area and into a large, musty-smelling backroom full of shelving. It was in here that a mass of papers and documents, in some cases dating back a couple of centuries, were stored.
     
    ‘So, we begin our search…’ announced Fleischer, giving a smile that made Greutmann’s flesh crawl.
     
    Greutmann hadn’t been expecting that he’d be asked to assist the Gestapo member in any investigation. He thought it better not to mention this, however.
     
    Instead, he said, ‘May I ask, Major, what we are looking for?’
     
    His bright eyes already scanning the mass of documents filed on the shelves under the letter R , Fleischer returned –
     
    ‘Anything and everything to do with one Wilhelm Reinhardt, my dear Herr Greutmann.’
     
    ‘Of course, of course,’ repeated Greutmann quickly. ‘Naturally, I will do everything I can to assist – ’
     
    ‘Oh, I know you will,’ smiled Fleischer, his eyes briefly moving from scanning the many piled documents to bore into Greutmann’s face. ‘I know you will, Herr Greutmann.
     
    ‘Now, shall we begin?’
     
    With a cowed nod, Greutmann reached up to take an armful of papers and documents from one shelf. Nothing here was in any special order; in his long career, Greutmann could recall only one other time when someone – a historian researching a book – had asked to examine these jumbled-up records concerning Hegensdorf and its inhabitants.
     
    Without doubt, this was going to be an extremely long day.
     
     
    12
     
     
    Mayer grunted and spat on the ground. He was sat with the three other men