Operation Ganymede - 11. Chapter 11 - The Weight of Obedience

After leaving the Oberleutnant’s office, the boys returned to their room, still imbued with the austere atmosphere of the office. Once the door was closed behind them, Klein picked up the worn-out underwear, torn at the back, that the Oberleutnant had chosen for him, holding it between his fingers with a grimace of disgust while exchanging an exasperated look with Eiseinmann.

— Seriously, is this a joke? I’m really supposed to wear this?!

Facing him, Eiseinmann shrugged with a mocking smile.

— Well, what? That’s what the Oberleutnant asked for. It has to look authentic.

Klein shook his head, exasperated.

— Does my current underwear not look ‘real’ enough? Honestly, who’s even going to check that?!

Eiseinmann burst out laughing and tugged at the collar of his own oversized shirt.

— I won’t even be wearing any. Actually, it’s only since I joined the Academy that I started wearing them…

Klein opened his mouth to reply, then closed it with a sigh. What was the point in arguing? Orders were orders. He cast one last glance at the threadbare fabric before putting it on with a grimace.

Dettmann’s Office

Alone in his office, the Oberleutnant savored the quiet. His eyes swept over the neatly stacked files on his desk.

— Perfekt.

Everything was going perfectly. He smirked with satisfaction. He had made the right choice, he was convinced of it. Eiseinmann alone—what a gem! Sharp, intelligent… and handsome as a god.

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his hands behind his head. How long had he been waiting for such an opportunity? Watching them only from afar had become a torture, an unfulfilled desire he had always had to suppress, hidden under the veneer of discipline and ideology. But now… having four of them under his care, at his full discretion… what a privilege!

And that ingrained respect for authority, that absolute obedience! Ah, thank you, Party! No hesitation, no questioning when an order was given. A true success.

But enough daydreaming. Tomorrow was the mission. The contacts were in place. Departure at 8:00 AM, return planned for 3:00 PM. He would soon see what these boys were capable of. The only thing left was to finalize the pairings.

6:30 PM - Dining Room at the Manor

— Klein and Heissler, here.

The Oberleutnant pointed to the seats on his right.

— You two, on my left.

Eiseinmann and Moebius took their seats opposite their comrades, who sat down as well. Then, with a sharp movement, he pulled out his own chair and announced firmly:

— All right, sit down.

Klein, hands resting on his knees, cast a discreet glance around. A real table, real dishes… So different from the makeshift meals at camp! Even a pimpfe was serving the food. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of the dining etiquette, before sneaking a look at Eiseinmann, who, in contrast, effortlessly picked up his spoon as if he had always been familiar with such a setting.

A heavy silver soup tureen was placed before them, and Klein caught a brief, astonished glance from his seatmate. With a slight smile, Eiseinmann seemed completely at ease. The whole scene felt surreal.

Surveying the table with a scrutinizing gaze, Dettmann took a moment to observe each face. He ensured everyone was properly seated. Klein, still somewhat stiff, struggled to appear at ease, while Eiseinmann, evidently accustomed to such formality, casually brushed his fingers over his napkin with practiced ease.

— Is everything in order? Good.

A moment of silence lingered before he gave a slight nod and added, in a tone almost cordial:

— The teams are formed as you are seated. Tomorrow, you will undertake your mission in these pairs.

The announcement was met with a brief pause. But there was no time for hesitation. The Oberleutnant snapped his fingers, signaling to Eiseinmann:

— Go on, serve us.

Though momentarily surprised, Eiseinmann obeyed without hesitation.

6:40 PM - Still in the Dining Room

The main course had been served, and everyone ate in silence, the clinking of cutlery the only sound filling the dimly lit room. The spicy aroma of the stew blended with the scent of freshly baked bread, wrapping the space in a comforting warmth.

Klein, focused on his plate, struggled to conceal his discomfort. His velvet shorts were far too tight, pressing uncomfortably against his skin, and the single-buttoned fly gaped open awkwardly whenever he shifted, only adding to his frustration. He darted quick glances around the table, seeking a distraction, while Eiseinmann, completely at ease, ate with a confident grace as though he had been raised in such an environment.

Dettmann’s gaze settled on them, his expression serious.

— Who among you has heard of Sparta?

Eiseinmann looked up from his plate, thinking for a moment before answering:

— Sparta… the Greeks?

— Jaa, exactly. And what do you know about them?

Moebius furrowed his brows, trying to recall.

— They were feared warriors. Other armies were afraid of them.

— Jaa. Go on.

— At seven years old, boys left their families to train as soldiers.

— Correct. From a very young age, they entered state-run schools where they underwent rigorous training. Like you, they had to harden their bodies—marching, running, mastering weapons…

Heissler, intrigued, chimed in:

— Like us?

The Oberleutnant gave a slight smirk.

— Yes, or rather, we model ourselves after them today. But for you, (he motioned toward the younger boys with his chin) that will begin this year if you pass the selection tests.

Moebius hesitated before asking:

— Is it difficult, mein Oberleutnant?

Dettmann turned toward the older boys.

— Who wants to answer?

Eiseinmann, poised as always, responded first:

— Nein. You just have to take the training seriously.

Then, after a brief pause, his brows furrowed slightly in thought.

— Mein Oberleutnant, is it true that when they trained, they were… completely naked?

A faint smile flickered across Dettmann’s lips.

— Ach… I see that particular detail has caught your attention.

— Euh… nein… It’s just that when we practiced wrestling like they did, our sergeant told us they did it unclothed. Is that true?

— Jaa. In antiquity, it was common to train without clothing, whether one was an adult, adolescent, or child.

He let a brief silence settle before asking:

— But tell me, in the Wandervögel, did you ever practice naturism?

Eiseinmann seemed surprised by the question.

— Wanderv… uh… yes…

— Mmm… And under what circumstances?

Eiseinmann cast furtive glances at his table neighbors, visibly uneasy about his response. He hesitated for a moment before answering in a lower voice:

— E… in camp.

— Ach. And were there many of you?

— What do you mean? To… to do it?

This time, Eiseinmann briefly glanced at his new roommate sitting across from him, as if seeking silent approval or perhaps a shared recollection.

— Been… Yes. Well… everyone, whenever we were told to.

Dettmann swept his gaze across the table.

— Who else here has ever practiced naturism?

The three other boys exchanged uncertain glances before shaking their heads in silence.

A moment of tension settled in, then Heissler, caught between embarrassment and curiosity, finally spoke up:

— C… what do you mean? You mean… like the Spartans did during their training?

— Hmm… yes, that could be one way to look at it.

Another round of hesitant glances followed. This time, it was Klein who dared to speak:

— Been… in the showers… I mean, we already do it when we bathe with the squad.

The Oberleutnant slowly nodded, appearing deep in thought. Then, in a more direct tone, he said:

— Do not confuse this with naturism. This is not a personal belief or a matter of individual choice, but a collective rule, adopted for reasons of discipline and uniformity.

Then, more firmly:

— Understand this well: for those selected for the Mission, their bodies will no longer entirely belong to them. They will belong to the Reich. This means that there must be no discomfort, no hesitation, no resistance if, at some point, one of you must accept something involving his body—something he would not ordinarily consider or tolerate. You will serve a cause greater than yourselves, and your commitment must be absolute. Under no circumstances shall you break the trust bestowed upon you at the time of your nomination. Is that clear?

A heavy silence filled the room. The boys exchanged uncertain looks, an imperceptible shiver running through them. Some clenched their fingers around the edges of the table, while others searched for an anchor in Dettmann’s impassive expression. The idea of surrendering control over their own bodies left a bitter taste, a feeling of estrangement difficult to name. Then, as if by conditioned reflex, their voices rose in unison, cutting through the oppressive silence:

— JA VOLL, MEIN OBERLEUTNANT!