Operation Ganymede - 3. Chapter 3 - Shadows of a Secret Mission

A godsend. Yes, a godsend, this mission that came out of nowhere the very day after the camp opened! Yet, when the young guard on duty announced, late in the afternoon, that a SA car was approaching along the grand driveway leading to the manor, Oberleutnant Peter Dettmann, 34 years old, did not leap with joy. SA?! Really… What could this lot possibly want? As a former history and geography teacher—his profession before the war—he distrusted them like the plague.

And his astonishment only grew when he saw a senior officer step out of the vehicle!
— HEIL HITLER, MEIN OBERLEUTNANT!
Yes, you read that right—a Lieutenant Colonel in person!
— HEIL HITLER!

Visibly in a hurry—though had this man ever had a moment to spare?—the officer climbed the seven steps of the porch four at a time. Once inside the vestibule, he demanded to be taken immediately to what would serve as his office during his visit. Seated in the old, thick leather chair usually occupied by the subordinate officer, he got straight to the point.

— I need one boy. Maybe two. They must be sharp, intelligent, and capable of surpassing themselves. ATTENTION: for the task I have in mind, they must unflinchingly accept situations that others might consider contrary to our values. To be clear, they will likely face barbaric acts, the kind carried out by those degenerates—the pederasts and that subrace festering in our society! Am I clear?

Stoic, Dettmann simply replied:
— JA, MEIN OBERLEUTNANT!
He clicked his heels, a precise gesture that signaled his obedience.
— PERFEKT! I’ll give you four days. I’ll be back at the end of the week to see the results.

With those words, and after a final HEIL HITLER delivered with regulation precision, the SA officer left as abruptly as he had arrived. Alone again, Dettmann climbed the steps of the interior staircase, whistling softly. He felt a mix of relief—receiving an SA officer was never pleasant—and a certain excitement. After all, the regime had just handed him, on a silver platter, the means to indulge his most secret passion…

The field. Arnfried Klein had just left his interview. Relieved it was over, the teenager walked briskly back toward the training ground he had left half an hour earlier. Passing by a neighboring squad still engaged in gymnastics, he spotted the blond-haired boy, that Eiseinmann whose first name he didn’t know. Their eyes met briefly, and Arnfried wondered: could he, too, be chosen? With his athletic superiority, he certainly had a strong chance…

— Arnfried!
Oops—Hänsel, one of his squadmates, was right ahead.
— It’s done. We’re finished. What about you? What was it for?
Hänsel and his endless questions…
— I don’t know. Maybe he’ll call me back.
— Oh? But what was it about?
— Something. But I’m not allowed to say.
— Wow… Why does nothing like that ever happen to me?
— Hahaha! Because you’re too useless, and you know it!

Dodging a punch with a quick sidestep, Klein sprinted off, pursued by a panting Hänsel, still winded from the earlier exercise.
— Go on, catch me if you can!
— Yeah, right, just wait—you’ll see!

But Arnfried was too fast. Disappearing behind a tent, he nearly ran straight into his team leader, Arman Hohen, 17 years old, who was drying himself off, shirtless.

— What was that? Hohen asked.
— The Oberleutnant wanted to know if I’d agree to work for him.

The claim was bold—no decision had been made yet. But the chance to show off to that jerk Hohen was too tempting. The effect was immediate: Hohen nearly dropped his towel.
— What?! What kind of nonsense is that?!
— I don’t know. It was him. I didn’t ask for anything.
— Oh, please…

Hohen advanced, menacingly.
— What? No, I swear, I didn’t ask—

Too late. A firm hand grabbed his jaw, cutting him off mid-sentence. The elder boy, asserting his authority, growled:
— Listen to me, you little runt. Here, we’re all in this together. No special treatment, and definitely no cozying up to officers. Got it?
— Maich… Jee…
— I’m not finished! I don’t care what he told you or promised you; the rune is ours to earn. No way are we failing as a group. Understood?
— Ouichh, maii…
— What? Shut it. You’re staying here! And let me warn you: if I don’t get my Hauptscharführer rank by the end of camp because of you, don’t even think about returning to the Academy this fall!