"It was a sunny, yet cold Monday morning… blablabla." Heydrich mocked, closing the children's book lying on his lap.
"That is how a story usually begins, something like that at least. I remember my dear mother, God have her blessed, used to read me stories like this."
Heydrich glanced at the reflection of his knife lying right next to the children's book, a crimson liquid dripping down between his legs, stemming from its tip.
"Back when I was scared and did not want to sleep. I feared the darkness, you know…"
"Tell me, do you fear the darkness?" Heydrich suddenly asked, his gaze tilting toward the man in front of him. He was shackled to the wall, his mouth gagged, countless wounds covering his torso, some still bleeding, others already beginning to clot.
The man tried to say something, but nothing came out of his gagged mouth other than spit and muffled groaning. Only his eyes gave Heydrich a definite answer.
"So you do, huh?" Heydrich nodded, putting the book onto the nearby table, right next to various other "devices."
He stood up and pulled the gag from the man's mouth.
"Mhm… I… you have to believe me. I don't know of any organization in Poland nor Czechoslovakia. I know nothing…" the man begged, a single tear streaming down his cheek.
"I thought you feared it, but it seems like one is ready to conquer his fears. How admirable."
Suddenly Heydrich threw a heavy punch, the man's head hitting the stone wall harshly, his eyes rolling back.
"Ts." Heydrich spat, grabbing a nearby sack and pulling it over the man's head before turning toward the iron door and hammering against it.
The door opened after a second, a Gestapo guard standing outside.
"Fetch some water. Since he fears darkness too, we shouldn't let him experience it at any time soon."
The Gestapo man nodded and walked away through the dark tunnel, leaving Heydrich behind. He pulled off his leather gloves, drenched in blood. He looked at them with a mixture of disgust and curiosity before throwing them into the distance, the dark leather vanishing in the stony hallway.
Heydrich turned and walked away until suddenly he stopped, listening. Slowly he turned, squinting his eyes.
From the shadows, a silhouette formed. Pristine white hair, clad in a dark leather coat just like Heydrich, but beneath it still a Wehrmacht uniform, perhaps a symbol of resistance.
"Did you lose something?" the old man asked, raising his hand. A pair of bloody gloves now visible under the faint light of a nearby lantern.
"Canaris, what is it? Are you tired of playing the knight? Is that why you came here into the pit?" Heydrich asked, stepping forward.
"Pff." The old man laughed quietly.
"I am here not because I want to be, but because of duty. That is why we are working together in the first place."
Heydrich studied Canaris for a moment.
"So? What is it? I will not ask thrice."
Canaris leaned against the cold stone wall before his lips finally parted.
"We have received intelligence. American intelligence has grown active once again, also, if not solely, targeting Germany. They are planning something, something big. They have already woven their nets. We managed to intercept a secret message. It is in Polish."
Canaris' eyes grew intent.
"You know what that means. They have made contact with the resistance."
Heydrich nodded, his expression growing even colder.
"That also means this is my domain. The inside. Send me this mysterious message. I will personally handle it."
Canaris nodded.
Both turned in opposite directions, the shadows slowly engulfing their silhouettes.
Warsaw, Poland
Heydrich stood before a small house, raindrops sliding down the red brick facade. He knocked against the door in a trained rhythm, retrieving his hand again and waiting.
Quietly he stood there in the rain, water dripping down his leather coat, occasionally glancing to the left and right.
Still, no one opened.
Heydrich sighed, raising his hand to knock again, but in that moment the door was torn open.
In the doorway stood a young man, blonde, gray-blue eyes, looking at Heydrich with curiosity.
For a moment both men stood there silently before Heydrich suddenly reached into his coat.
In that split second the young man squinted his eyes, his right hand, still behind his back, suddenly moving forward.
Heydrich widened his eyes when a pistol was pointed directly at his head, while he himself held a small wallet, his Gestapo badge inside.
The blonde man's eyes went from the wallet to Heydrich, then back to the wallet and again to Heydrich. Slowly he lowered his pistol, an awkward smile appearing on his lips.
"You can never be too careful?" he almost asked, stepping back hesitantly.
Heydrich shook his head and stepped inside, pushing the man slightly aside. But he stopped in the entrance area before going any further.
"Are you not going to salute?" he asked, almost mockingly.
"Ah." The young man quickly straightened and saluted.
"Section Chief Manfred Keller, my name, Sir. Responsible for the greater Warsaw area."
"Good. You know me, of course. Let us get to work," Heydrich said, walking toward the living room while continuing to speak.
"I have identified an extensive hidden organization of resistance against German rule in this city. I have brought some men. Together with yours, we will find them. Hurt them. Kill them." He spoke in a tone that overwhelmed Keller, who tried to interject.
"Well, my forces are stretched thin… I can muster maybe ten elite men?" he said, scratching his head awkwardly while Heydrich examined a picture standing on a shelf.
"That is enough. First, get me everything you know about them," Heydrich answered, turning around and meeting the eyes of a nervously smiling Keller.
"Well, it is not much, honestly…"
A few minutes later, Keller returned from upstairs with another Gestapo man and a thin folder. He handed it to Heydrich, who skimmed through the sparse information before closing it again and turning it upside down.
"This is all?!" he asked loudly, obviously angered.
Keller nodded, turning toward the man next to him.
"Mengel has encountered them once…"
Heydrich nodded and turned toward the man, who began telling his story.
Warsaw outskirts, one month ago
Mengel was driving the foremost truck, looking into his side mirror. Behind him were two other military trucks, forming a small convoy.
"Have you heard? Oberst Karlsen died two days ago, quite suddenly," the man next to him said.
Mengel tilted his head slightly to the side, partly focused on the road.
"Really?" he asked with evident surprise.
"Yes, he was reportedly poisoned. The higher-ups are investigating," the colleague said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Poisoned?" Mengel repeated absentmindedly, until suddenly his colleague cried out.
"WATCH O—!"
A barrage of bullets pierced through the front window, hitting the man multiple times.
Mengel widened his eyes, pressing the accelerator and steering the truck into a sharp right turn. Because before him on the road was a blockage. A large tree trunk, and behind it a group of men still shooting at his vehicle.
Mengel clutched his bleeding shoulder while navigating through the narrow forest path he had taken. He risked a glance into the mirror, only to see the trucks behind him having crashed into the barricade.
"Shit!" he cursed, glancing at the haul in the back of his truck before clenching his teeth and continuing onward.
"What were you transporting?" Heydrich asked, pulling Mengel out of his trance.
"Explosives," Keller answered grimly, receiving a terrifying glance from Heydrich.
"Why is there no mention of this?!" Heydrich shouted, looking at the thin folder, before a terrifying realization crept into him.
"You were ashamed?" he asked in disbelief.
Keller nodded slightly, averting his gaze.
"Normally I would bury you so deep you would not even imagine it, but I need every hand we can get to catch these bastards. From now on, this will be priority number one. Find the location of these partisans. Do you understand?!"
"Yes, Sir!" both men answered, quickly scrambling to carry out their orders.
Heydrich remained by the table, looking into the night sky through the window.
There, unbeknownst to him, high above the city, hidden behind a thick bed of clouds and thin fog creeping over Warsaw, an eagle circled quietly in the darkness, its eyes bearing an unfathomable abyss...
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