Darkest Hour

of the mess, he and the other officers in the Aufklarung Abteilung, the division's reconnaissance battalion, had piled into their cars and driven into Stuttgart.

There they had met up with some other officers from the 2nd Regiment Brandenburg and it had turned out to be a particularly enjoyable night: a good dinner, a few toasts, Rudolf Saalbach singing 'Casanova- lied' - the adopted battalion song - which never ceased to make him laugh, and then a few hours with an attractive girl called Maria. He knew that several of his comrades had later headed off to the city's fleshpots, but that was not his way. Timpke had always believed that paying for it was an abomination. After all, the seduction was half the fun. He was, he knew, a handsome young man. He was tall and broad, with fair hair, a narrow nose and a smile he had learned to use to good effect, and he had long ago realized that getting women to do what he wanted came rather easily to him.

His whole life had been rather like that. He was blessed with a good brain and a strong physique, and had made the most of both: school, sports, university - he had shone at them all. And when he had joined Brigadefuhrer Eicke's Totenkopfverbande, he had, naturally, been singled out quickly as officer material and packed off to SS- Junkerschule. It had pleased him to discover that most of his fellow cadets were less clever and educated than he: it ensured that he continued to stand out above the rest. Now, three years later and aged twenty-five, he was commander of the division's reconnaissance unit, the men who would lead the vanguard of any advance and, as such, about to be given the honour of leading the elite of the elite - as Eicke always liked to remind them they were - into battle.

That morning he had woken early. The early-summer sun had streamed through the closed window of his room, making him hot and restless. His mouth had felt dry and his head ached. He had drunk a litre of water, put on his black running shorts and white vest, with the SS runic symbol emblazoned on the front, then headed out of the garrison barracks, down Stuttgarterstrasse and into the baroque palace gardens of Ludwigsburg and the woods beyond. By the time he was running back through the palace gardens, his head had cleared and he felt alert and invigorated. He had drunk wine and schnapps at dinner, but he reflected that it was probably the sekt - I that essential tool of seduction - that had made the difference. Maria had taken longer than some to succumb and had insisted he match her glass for glass. Still, it had been worth it. He had taken her in his open- top Adler Triumph to a hotel he had used several times before and, in bed, had found her most compliant. Eventually, leaving her asleep, he had crept out and driven back to the garrison. By half past two he had been in his room.

As he showered and changed into his uniform, he wondered again when they would be moving. If he had one fault, it was impatience. Throughout his life, he had striven for the next goal only to find that once he had achieved it, the rewards were something of an anticlimax. He had been first drawn to the Totenkopf by Eicke's insistence on its elite status, but he had quickly tired of guarding the Reich's enemies. With the boss, he shared a desire for Totenkopf Division to become the finest military unit in all of Germany. With the outbreak of war, the reconnaissance battalion had been sent to Poland, a prospect that had excited Timpke. Once there, however, they had been left to carry out mopping-up operations, rounding up suspicious elements and Jews. Capturing and shooting these people had quickly ceased to give him any kind of thrill and Timpke had realized that this role, in support of the Wehrmacht, was unworthy of them.

Eicke had preached patience. Their time would come, he had assured them, but as far as Timpke was concerned, it couldn't come soon enough. Everyone knew that the war was far from over, that at some point the stalemate in the west would crack, and when it did, Timpke was determined to be a part of it. Over the winter, more and more equipment had been acquired.

Eicke had sent Timpke and a number of other officers on several missions all over Germany to obtain guns, vehicles and ammunition. In Poland, Timpke had seen with his own eyes that the Wehrmacht infantry were poorly provided with vehicles and transport, and by spring had known that their Waffen-SS division was better equipped than any regular infantry unit. But still no move to the front had been ordered. It was, Timpke knew, a matter of perception. He had witnessed this first hand during a row with some Wehrmacht officers in Stuttgart, who had jeered at them for being concentration-camp guards rather than regular soldiers. Saalbach, and the others they were with, had wanted a fight, but Timpke had urged restraint. Instead he had secretly invited the Wehrmacht officers to a marksmanship contest at Ludwigsburg.

It had worked out exactly as Timpke had hoped. The Wehrmacht officers had been amazed by the massed vehicles and machinery the Totenkopf could boast, and in the shooting contest, Timpke and his fellows had won comfortably. Somehow, word had got back to Eicke. More importantly, word had also got back to Generaloberst von Weichs, commander of Second Army. In April von Weichs had paid a visit and had watched the division on exercise. Rumour had it that he had been duly impressed. Certainly, more guns had arrived soon after, and all leave had been cancelled. Something was brewing; Timpke had been feverish with anticipation. But the days had passed and no further word came. Every day Timpke trained his men, waiting, waiting, waiting for news that they would be deployed to the front.

Yesterday those orders had finally arrived. The relief had been overwhelming. Immediately trucks had been despatched to pick up sixty tonnes of rations and further ammunition from Kassel. Timpke had sent Oberscharfuhrer Schramm from his own company. It had been an overnight round trip, but Schramm, his men and the rest of the convoy would be back that morning and then they would be ready. At a moment's notice, the division could be on the move, heading west to the front at long last.

After conferring with his company commanders, Timpke took himself off to the range, hoping that by firing a few rounds he would keep himself distracted. He took great pride in his marksmanship. Practice, he knew, was essential, that and an intimate knowledge and understanding of each and every weapon, whether it be a machine- gun, rifle or semi-automatic pistol.

On the rifle range he was joined by Hauptsturmfuhrer Knochlein, a company commander from the 2nd Regiment and one of those who had been with them in Stuttgart the previous evening.

'Beeck told me I'd find you here. How's your head, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?' Knochlein asked.

'Fine, thank you, Fritz.' He aimed carefully at the paper target a hundred metres away, breathed out gently, made certain his head and hands were rock steady, then squeezed the trigger. He felt the rifle kick into his shoulder, his ears rang with the crack, and he turned to Knochlein with deliberate jauntiness. 'And what about you? Don't tell me, it was light by the time you crawled back.'

Knochlein looked sheepish. 'It wasn't quite,' he smiled, 'but not far off. Still, we had a good night, didn't we?' He grinned. 'I'm improving by the minute.'

He was older than Timpke by five or six years, with a square, unrefined face that Timpke had always felt betrayed his upbringing in the rougher suburbs of Munich. Timpke liked him well enough and considered him a friend, even though he knew Knochlein looked up to him in a way that was, frankly, a bit embarrassing. As with so many of Knochlein's age who had lived through the hard years of the 1920s, Timpke had detected resentment at his core. Poverty had forced him to abandon his schooling, and although he was no fool - and certainly had a streak of ruthless cunning - Timpke knew he was insecure about his lack of education. It was why the SS was so perfect for Knochlein and others like him: an organization that gave its members a sense of purpose and unity, rewarding performance rather than social standing.