spared. There were some military targets, but it was mainly a cultural center. All the buildings were historic, and they stood without any destruction. It had become a city of refugees and prisoners of war. The population had grown to over a million by 1945. The war was almost over. Dresden would be saved.
Then came February 13, 1945: British and American airplanes dropped 650,000 incendiary bombs into the middle of that ancient city over the course of three days. It created the largest firestorm ever seen. The fire caused winds as powerful as a Texas tornado. It fed on itself, and Dresden was consumed. German newspapers said 250,000 people were killed. It was a holocaust all to itself. Officials later said the death toll was much lower, but it was tough on Oberon. Winston Churchill even said the bombing was “unwise,” but that wasn’t a consolation for those who knew people in the city.
It was one of the few times that I saw him cry. His family. His friends. They were all gone.
I KNOW that the Nazis were awful people and had to be stopped. The insanity started without anyone noticing. Germany was brutalized after the Great War. Our borders were redrawn, and we were forced to pay huge sums of money. We had no money, of course, but France demanded what we had.
In 1936, the country almost tossed Hitler out of office because the humans were starving. The chancellor had paid a huge sum of money to the farmers so they could buy seeds. The military wanted the funds, but Hitler told them to do without. Guns or seeds? You would think this was an easy decision, but it was very controversial at the time.
Germany went insane. Literally insane. People didn’t just wake up one day and start hating others. It was a gradual change, but somebody could have made a case for putting the whole country into a loony bin. We hated the French, and our leaders told us that they were inferior. The Germanic people of central and northern Europe were being robbed of the greatness they deserved.
Lechmont Manor was full of Jews, gypsies, and gay people, and we kept all of them safe in hiding. More and more arrived every week. Menz reinforced the foundation of the mansion and expanded the basement without any officials knowing. He made the new underground rooms accessible only through a secret door in the day room. It was a huge area that could house a thousand people. The humans hauled out the dirt one bucket at a time. The entrance to the stairwell looked like a wall, and there was even a fireplace in front of the stairs. You’d press a certain brick to unlock the door, and it would slide out of the way.
We still use the room today. It is a dormitory for our human staff. The fireplace is gone, and the entrance is easy to see. Oberon had some hand in the engineering of the door, but I’m not exactly sure what he did. He wasn’t pleased that they tried to come for engineering help in making sure the basement was solid. He couldn’t convince them that structural integrity of buildings was something he hadn’t studied.
“You want me to volunteer?” I asked him.
“No, that would really scare everybody.” Oberon laughed, and he agreed to jump in with everything he had. His role as my personal mad scientist hidden away in the basement workshop became his secondary job throughout the Second World War.
Oberon devised traps for troops in case we were invaded by the Russians and hiding places for the humans in case the SS stormed through looking for gays and gypsies.
The trouble with the Russians is that they always sent about a zillion troops through that left nothing in their wake. We could make a few companies disappear, but the Russians always had too many men. We couldn’t mount a private army at Lechmont Manor because (a), we didn’t have the skill, and (b), it would have attracted too much attention. Our experience during the war was all about keeping a low profile, and that was really difficult because I wanted to go kill
Then came February 13, 1945: British and American airplanes dropped 650,000 incendiary bombs into the middle of that ancient city over the course of three days. It created the largest firestorm ever seen. The fire caused winds as powerful as a Texas tornado. It fed on itself, and Dresden was consumed. German newspapers said 250,000 people were killed. It was a holocaust all to itself. Officials later said the death toll was much lower, but it was tough on Oberon. Winston Churchill even said the bombing was “unwise,” but that wasn’t a consolation for those who knew people in the city.
It was one of the few times that I saw him cry. His family. His friends. They were all gone.
I KNOW that the Nazis were awful people and had to be stopped. The insanity started without anyone noticing. Germany was brutalized after the Great War. Our borders were redrawn, and we were forced to pay huge sums of money. We had no money, of course, but France demanded what we had.
In 1936, the country almost tossed Hitler out of office because the humans were starving. The chancellor had paid a huge sum of money to the farmers so they could buy seeds. The military wanted the funds, but Hitler told them to do without. Guns or seeds? You would think this was an easy decision, but it was very controversial at the time.
Germany went insane. Literally insane. People didn’t just wake up one day and start hating others. It was a gradual change, but somebody could have made a case for putting the whole country into a loony bin. We hated the French, and our leaders told us that they were inferior. The Germanic people of central and northern Europe were being robbed of the greatness they deserved.
Lechmont Manor was full of Jews, gypsies, and gay people, and we kept all of them safe in hiding. More and more arrived every week. Menz reinforced the foundation of the mansion and expanded the basement without any officials knowing. He made the new underground rooms accessible only through a secret door in the day room. It was a huge area that could house a thousand people. The humans hauled out the dirt one bucket at a time. The entrance to the stairwell looked like a wall, and there was even a fireplace in front of the stairs. You’d press a certain brick to unlock the door, and it would slide out of the way.
We still use the room today. It is a dormitory for our human staff. The fireplace is gone, and the entrance is easy to see. Oberon had some hand in the engineering of the door, but I’m not exactly sure what he did. He wasn’t pleased that they tried to come for engineering help in making sure the basement was solid. He couldn’t convince them that structural integrity of buildings was something he hadn’t studied.
“You want me to volunteer?” I asked him.
“No, that would really scare everybody.” Oberon laughed, and he agreed to jump in with everything he had. His role as my personal mad scientist hidden away in the basement workshop became his secondary job throughout the Second World War.
Oberon devised traps for troops in case we were invaded by the Russians and hiding places for the humans in case the SS stormed through looking for gays and gypsies.
The trouble with the Russians is that they always sent about a zillion troops through that left nothing in their wake. We could make a few companies disappear, but the Russians always had too many men. We couldn’t mount a private army at Lechmont Manor because (a), we didn’t have the skill, and (b), it would have attracted too much attention. Our experience during the war was all about keeping a low profile, and that was really difficult because I wanted to go kill
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