Two Brothers

of allegiance, flag ceremonies. Brutal initiations and impossibly tough physical tasks. Why do them after breakfast when you can do them in the middle of the night? With bonfires, flickering torches and muffled drums?

Otto rolled out of his bunk. He had been asleep and lost in dreams of Dagmar from which he was most annoyed to have been torn.

‘Turn out, you fucking swine,’ the voice commanded. ‘On parade! Civilian clothes.’

Otto’s heart sank. It seemed to him that the dorm leaders had in mind their favourite torture. This was to force the boys on and off parade in all of their various kits in turn, summer, winter, sport, formal, swim, labouring etc., with ever decreasing periods of time in which to make the changes. Then when every single item of clothing and equipment in the school had been thrown on and thrown off in a frenzy of impossible deadlines, the leaders would call a dormitory inspection and punish the whole school for slovenly kept kit.

Otto’s options on civilian dress were more limited than the other boys’. He was an orphan without personal means, supported by the state. The school board supplied him with everything he possessed, and while Otto’s uniforms were splendid, they were not lavish with anything else. Otto had no long trousers to put on and so despite it being November he had to turn out on the frosty parade ground in shorts, which caused much sniggering amongst the younger boys.

Otto was just noting the identities of these juveniles for later payback, and also wondering why they had not already been sent running back to their dorms to change into another kit, when the headmaster himself emerged on to the parade ground in full party uniform.

‘Jungmannen!’ the principal began as every boy in the school stamped to attention in perfect unison. The man’s face was aglow with excitement and it was clear to Otto that whatever was coming was to be no mundane dormitory punishment exercise. ‘Tonight we are to be given the honour of acting alongside our party comrades in the SS!’

A shiver of excitement ran amongst the boys. The SS were heroes, Black Knights, the Death’s Head Gang. At Napola schools they represented the ultimate glamour, far more so than the Wehrmacht. Otto, however, felt a grip of fear. Even though he had become somewhat immersed in school life now and in fact enjoyed its rigorous physical challenges, he never forgot who his enemy was. Or who his family was and, most of all, whom he loved. He always knew that by the very nature of being a Napola boy he would at some point be called upon to act against his own kind.

He also knew that he would never do that.

Even at the risk of discovery and punishment, even of death.

‘We are also, by the way,’ the principal continued with a beaming smile, ‘to have a little fun. Because, my brave young German heroes, the time has come to settle one or two scores with those gentlemen and ladies who would do us harm. Tonight, lads, we have an appointment with the race enemy! With Germany’s misfortune! With the Jew!’

While the other boys grinned and discreetly nudged each other, Otto swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. The atmosphere in the city had been tense for days. There had been a murder in Paris. A Jew had shot a German embassy man and there had been plenty of talk of revenge both in the papers and on the street. Could this be the moment?

Standing rigidly to attention, Otto listened intently, staring at the principal through the cloud of silver breath that hung in front of his face.

Then he noticed something else.

The sky towards the city was glowing red.

How could that be? The sun had set hours ago.

Otto felt his stomach turn. Nausea gripped at his gut and his bowel. Something very wrong was hanging in the cold night air.

‘You will be aware, of course,’ the principal continued, his voice harsh, like metal on stone, ‘of the outrage that has occurred recently in Paris. A Jew has committed the vilest of murders. A crime against Germany, and tonight that Jew’s cousins here in Germany will pay! All over the Reich spontaneous demonstrations of outrage and retribution are breaking out. You, my young men, are to have the honour of being a part of this great reckoning alongside the entire Schutzstaffel and Sturmabteilung. Think of it, boys! The SS and the SA — and you are to be their comrades in combat! Be it noted, however, that they have also been instructed to operate out of uniform. The reason for this is that no maggot from the foreign press may accuse these demonstrations of being anything other than popular and spontaneous. For they are spontaneous, you can be assured of that, lads! But spontaneity as we understand the word in National Socialist Germany! Spontaneity that is properly and correctly ordered in the service of the state!’

Otto was hardly listening. He was watching the sky. It was getting redder.

Berlin was burning.

Or at least parts of it were, and there could be no doubt which parts they were.

The urge to break ranks and run, to get to Dagmar as fast as possible, thundered in Otto’s brain and pounded in his heart. He thought of his mother, too, but she at least had Paulus. Dagmar had no one to protect her at all. Otto struggled to remain at attention, he knew that to be of any use to her he must not panic, he must focus. He could see that trucks had been lined up at the end of the parade ground. Clearly he and the other boys were to be taken somewhere. It could only be into the heart of the ‘action’. If he wanted to get to Dagmar, for the moment at least he was better off remaining with the school.

‘These demonstrations of popular outrage are taking place across the entire Reich!’ the principal went on. ‘In every village, town and city. Wherever a Jew nest is found it is to be attacked. Our particular task is to pay a visit to the Kurfurstendamm! We are to make it clear to the whole world what Germany’s youth feels about the fact that Jew Communist Capitalist Parasites still fester and breed in the heart of our city! The SS have asked only for our older boys to assist in this action but I have decided on my own authority to send the whole school. For Germany is its youth and none are too young to serve. And as the Fuhrer has said many times, youth must lead!’

Otto looked across the parade ground to the youngest of the pupils. Eleven-year-olds all turned out in their scarves and mufflers and their plus-four trousers. All standing rigidly to attention on the glittering frosty parade ground. Clouds of breath hanging in the air in front of them, yellow in the lamplight. The billowing swastika banners fluttering in the breeze above them.

Some of the little boys looked nervous, scared almost. But most were grinning broadly. It wasn’t every night that they were woken up and ordered by their teachers to go and smash windows.

Otto began almost to shake with frustration. When would they board the trucks? When would the old bastard shut up and let them go?

‘These orders,’ the principal went on, ‘have come from SS-Obergruppenfuhrer Heydrich himself, and they are to be followed with absolute discipline as befits Napola boys. All Jews, Jewish businesses, Jewish property and Jewish dwellings are to be attacked, and all synagogues, without exception, are to be destroyed. However, no foreigners are to be threatened and this is to include foreign Jews. Where fires are set, extreme care must be taken that no German property is damaged in the action. If in doubt, smash but don’t burn. Am I clear? Gentlemen! The school maintenance department have supplied what hammers, sledge hammers, crowbars and spades are available. These are to be taken by the older boys. Signed for and returned!’

On command, the boys of Otto’s class rushed to grab at the best weapons, but Otto held back. He did not wish to be encumbered by school property for which he would have to answer, and he had no intention of remaining on the Kurfurstendamm. Dagmar would certainly not be there in the middle of the night.

Dwellings, the principal had said. They were to attack dwellings and Otto could imagine that the richer the dwelling, the more gleeful would be the attack. The well-identified Fischer house was an obvious target.

The boys boarded their buses and there was much raucous singing as they drove through the darkness towards the city.

All the old schoolroom favourites.

The Jews’ blood spurting from the knife makes us feel especially good.

Otto tried to join in, knowing that he must not arouse suspicion, but it was difficult for him to focus on the