Operation Ganymede - 1. Chapter 1 - The Summons

1, 2, 3, 4…
July 1943, Appelhof Manor, Bavaria. Summer camp for the Hitlerjugend academies* of Stamm, Schar, and Gefolgschaft.

1, 2, 3, 4… 1, 2, 3, 4…
“Arms higher!
1, 2, 3, 4… 1, 2, 3, 4…
And spread those legs wide!”

For half an hour now, the squad** had been tirelessly performing their morning gymnastic drills in the estate’s vast meadow. The air was thick with the smell of damp grass, still heavy with dew. The sun, already high, cast its rays on the boys, whose synchronized movements made the ground rustle faintly. The rhythm imposed by Fritz Meyer’s commands reverberated with an almost hypnotic cadence, intensifying the palpable tension of the training. Fritz Meyer, a 19-year-old on leave and a former cadet of one of the academies, led the session with unwavering authority. Under his command, 24 boys executed each movement with relentless precision, sweat pouring from their youthful faces. Always repeat… again and again. That was the motto!

A younger boy—a pimpfe***—approached discreetly, his shoulders slightly hunched as if carrying an invisible burden. He darted a quick glance around before whispering hurriedly into Meyer’s ear, his lips trembling faintly with hesitation. Meyer frowned, listening silently, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. Then, in a loud voice, the order rang out:

— KLEIN, report to the Oberleutnant!

Klein froze mid-motion, startled. Just three days into camp, and he was already being summoned?
— Me?

A quick glance toward his squadmates, perplexed. No time to dwell on it.
— KLEIN, MOVE!
— JA, JA!

He immediately started running, as the rules dictated. Sprinting across the field, he passed another squad engaged in their own exercises. The manor loomed ahead, austere, with its imposing stone facade. Reaching the front steps, he entered the hall, where a second pimpfe sat behind a desk. Without hesitation, Klein stood at attention, feet together, back straight, and greeted with a firm “HEIL HITLER!”

— Your name?
— Kamerad Klein, Squad B, Stamm Academy!

The boy at the desk quickly scanned the large register open in front of him, marking a cross to show Klein’s presence.

— Ja. First floor!

Klein climbed the monumental staircase, his heart pounding. At the top, he saw another boy, dressed in the same gym uniform: black shorts and a white tank top emblazoned with the academy rune. The boy was seated on one of three chairs in the narrow hallway. Klein glanced at the door marked “Oberleutnant” in Gothic black letters. No doubt he was in the right place.

— You waiting? Klein asked.
— Ja. ‘He’ told me to sit. Anyone else who comes should wait until he calls them.
— Ah. Do you know why?
— Nein. What about you?
— No idea… Which squad are you from?
— Squad D. You?
— B. I think we’re playing against you this afternoon.
— Ja, the boy said with a grin, then added mischievouslyWe’re going to beat you!
— Hah! In your dreams!

They chuckled quietly, but the tension soon brought them back to seriousness. Klein sat beside the other boy, the weight of uncertainty settling over them.

— Do you know why he wants to see us?
— No. They just told me to come here.
— Same.

Blond-haired, athletic, and broad-shouldered, the other boy looked like a born sportsman. Beside him, Klein felt smaller and almost insignificant. He lowered his gaze for a moment, adjusting the hem of his tank top, suddenly conscious of his own narrow shoulders and legs that now seemed too thin. A pang of embarrassment struck him, but he quickly pushed it aside, recalling the morning drills and Meyer’s relentless rhythm. He had to stay upright, proud, just as they had been taught. They didn’t have much time to talk further. The door swung open abruptly, cutting their conversation short.

— Eisenmann?

Both boys jumped to their feet in perfect unison, snapping a flawless “HEIL HITLER!” The kind of salute they had been drilled to perfection over the years. The blond boy answered promptly in a loud, clear voice:

— Kamerad Eisenmann, Squad D, Stamm Academy, mein Oberleutnant!

The Nazi officer, resplendent in his meticulously tailored uniform, motioned for him to enter. Before the heavy oak door closed behind him, the officer addressed Klein:
— Tell the others to wait until I call them.
— Ja, mein Oberleutnant!

And with that, the door shut with a decisive thud, leaving Klein alone in the tense silence of the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had been summoned. A wave of apprehension rose within him, mingled with an anxious curiosity. He clenched his fists to steady himself, trying to maintain a straight and disciplined posture, despite the knot of dread tightening in his stomach.

• * Academies, comparable to high schools, were considered centers of excellence and the foundation for the Party's future. Admission required meeting several strict criteria (including racial purity tests) and was granted either upon request by the applicant or their family, or by recommendation from the city instructor responsible for teaching Nazi doctrine.
• ** A squad was the basic unit in the organization governing regional and national camps, composed of 4 teams of 6 boys aged 14 to 18, modeled after scouting groups that the Hitlerjugend replaced.
• *** Pimpfe: The Deutsche Jungvolk (also called Pimpfes, a colloquial term meaning “scamps” from the name of the branch’s magazine) or DJ (Young Germans), consisted of boys aged ten to fourteen.*"