A Shaolin Temple in China, then Vienna, Austria
December 31st, 1937 - New Years Eve
If Chiun was even aware of that this was the last night of the year for the Westerners, he didn’t care. He was deep in meditation, sitting in the Lotus position in the middle of the floor of his desolate corner of the Shaolin temple. After only a month, he already missed his big apprentice, whose wicked sense of humour and unrepentant cockiness had given his taciturn master many a secret guffaw. He hoped he would be all right, even though he had mastered only the fundamentals of the art of Sinanju.
On the last day of his short apprenticeship, as Otto was making his bags to travel back to Austria, he had told him to take careful stock of his opponents in the future;
‘Apprentice, you are still but a dilettante in Sinanju, the King of Martial Arts. This will be adequate against most opposition, but you should be vary of a Master of one of the lesser Arts. What they lack in technique, they will more than make up in experience and training, both of which you’re sadly lacking in.’
Skorzeny had shrugged, not looking up from his sparsely stuffed suitcase. ‘I’m not worried. I have no control over who my enemies will be anyway, so there’s no point in worrying.’ He had slammed the lid in frustration. ‘
Scheiße, I wish I had time to learn the 52 Steps, or even the 37! Maybe that would have done the trick with the Mistress!’
‘I wish so too, apprentice, since your Mistress certainly seems to be a woman to be reckoned with. In fact, I’m tempted to try the 52 Steps on her myself, she might prove a real challenge…’
The thought of Chiun with Fah Lo Sue had obviously been very upsetting to Otto, who made a face as if he had bitten a lemon. ‘Like she would ever jump into the sack with a disgusting little toad like you, Master!’ He had pushed forward his chin challengingly, expecting a painful reprimand, but Chiun had only chuckled.
‘You forget your place, apprentice, but I suspect you might be right, and in truth it is your place no longer. Do not despair though, the Fortress that does not fall to the first storm will sometimes be toppled by a patient siege. You might yet regain your freedom.’
Still looking unconvinced, Skorzeny had picked up his case and turned. ‘Well, Master, I guess this is it.’
‘Yes. Now, remember, apprentice – appraise your opponent, keep your balance, control your breathing and do not shame your Master, or I will find you and kill you myself. Leave me now, you’re worthy of nothing more at this time.’ Chiun had closed his eyes and sunk deep into meditation. Without another word, Otto Skorzeny had walked out of the room and out of Chiun’s life.
‘Ah, well’, the little Korean thought. ‘Time to find a new apprentice!’
***
After producing his DNSAP membership card and showing it briefly to the ugly brute guarding the door, Skorzeny quickly put it back inside his expensive and warm black leather coat, closing it against the bitter winter cold of December in Vienna. All of his few possessions these days were of the best of their kind – Fah Lo Sue had made sure he could afford to live in style. Maybe she was warming to him, like Master Chiun had suggested, but Skorzeny expected the Matterhorn glacier to melt sooner.
The goon stepped aside and Skorzeny descended the stone stairs, down into the warmth and deafening din of one of Vienna’s Bierbraukellers, which this very night was swarming with Nazis. Always mimicking their German counterparts, of course the Austrian National Socialists would hold their New Years party in a beer hall. A plump blonde girl in folk dress that was tending an improvised wardrobe took his hat and coat. He realized he had overdressed, as his fine alpaca wool suit drew hostile glances. All the better.
The party was already in full swing, hard-looking men drinking, shouting and slapping each others backs. Making his way through the beer-drinking and merrymaking crowd, Skorzeny quickly picked up the mood – the anger that was always there, the barely inhibited aggression floating just under the surface of interaction but also an exhilaration he was certain hadn’t been there when he left, little over two years ago. These men were angry, yes, but they expected to get their way any day now. The day they had been waiting for was fast approaching. The day of Anschluß!
Near the other end of the place, he found what he was looking for. Standing next to one of the gigantic wooden beer barrels he spotted Ernst Kaltenbrunner, the leader of the Austrian underground SS who, as always, was surrounded by his cronies, his aide Arthur Schiedler, brute extraordinaire, and Adolf Eichmann, the party expert on “Jewish questions”. The sinister trio were given a wide berth by even the most perfect drunkards. No one in the Bierbraukeller wouldn’t rather have cut off their right hand than anger any of them. Nobody except Skorzeny of course.
Ernst Kaltenbrunner, leader of the underground SS in Austria
Ignoring the puzzled looks of the rank-and-file party members, Skorzeny walked right up to Kaltenbrunner, who’s sharp and sinister features bore a duelling scar much similar to Skorzeny’s own.
‘Otto Skorzeny!’ Schiedler shouted, to be heard over the pandemonium of the party. ‘What a surprise to see you grace us with your presence, and in such a splendid garb too? Do you still deign to be seen with your former comrades, Herr von Skorzeny?’
Ignoring Schiedler, Skorzeny looked straight at Kaltenbrunner. ‘You know me, I’m an old party hand. My membership number is lower than yours, even. You’re the leader of the underground SS – I want in.’
Kaltenbrunner smiled without humour, more like a wolf showing his teeth. ‘You arrogant prick, what makes you think I’d have you? What could you do that Arthur here can’t?’
‘Arthur? How about talking and walking at the same time? Seriously, if that moron is the best man you can find to put in charge of our troops, then the Party has a problem. A big one.’
Putting a restraining hand on Schiedler’s chest, Kaltenbrunner halted the stream of outraged abuse that was about to burst out of his aides mouth. ‘No, Arthur, this I’ve got to hear’ he said, the vicious smile never leaving his mouth. ‘So, you want to replace Arthur Schiedler, my trusted friend, as leader of the SS combat groups – what are your qualifications?’
‘Well, to begin with, I have vastly more than twenty times his brains, although I admit that isn’t much of a qualification since that beer barrel behind you would be just about his intellectual match-‘
A sudden silence had fallen over the nearest part of the party crowd, which quickly spread through the large cellar. Schiedler let out what sounded like an animal growl, which Skorzeny pointedly ignored.
‘-but more importantly, I also have the brawn of him and any dozen of his men, which only goes to show the abysmal state of their training.’
‘Is that so?’ Ernst Kaltenbrunner eyes suddenly had an almost feral look. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to back up those big words, Mein Herr. Schiedler, go ahead. No more than twelve men.’
‘With pleasure!’ Schiedler, his broad face glowing red with anger gave a bark and a dozen large thugs detached themselves from the crowd that was quickly forming a semicircle.
Skorzeny just smiled and didn’t move. The roughnecks charged him from all sides, screaming and fully expecting to beat him to a pulp. Now he did move.
It was over in less than ten seconds. All of the attackers, except Schiedler lay on the floor, none dead but all either senseless or in lots of pain. Many spat out teeth or cradled broken and badly bleeding noses. Arthur Schiedler himself was on his knees before Skorzeny, his eyes bulging and his pasty face sweaty with pain from the arm his rival was holding at an awkward angle.
‘Lick my shoes, Arthur, or I swear, I’ll tear off your arm and feed it to you.’
Whining and groaning, Schiedler obeyed. ‘That’s a good dog.’ Skorzeny spat, before throwing him aside disdainfully.
Kaltenbrunner clapped his hand theatrically, but he looked slightly sick. Obviously, he had expected another outcome. ‘Impressive, most impressive. Maybe you are the man for the job after all… come lets have a drink and a talk, shall we?’
As the fallen were dragged away, there was a cheer and applause from the crowd. Oh yes, this was the kind of language they understood and loved, all right. Schiedler would be impossible as a leader among them now and Skorzeny knew he was in.
