Operation Ganymede - 5. Chapter 5 - The "audition" morning.

Wednesday morning, 11:20.

Four. Finally, four. Four boys selected from the twenty-seven files, narrowed down after only nine candidates were “auditioned.” Needless to say, this rarity made them a precious, almost invaluable resource. Two Hitlerjugends and two Pimpfe. Among the elders: Eisenmann, remarkable for his almost instinctive adaptability, and Klein, whose sagacity far exceeded his age. And among the younger ones: Heissler, as sharp as lightning, and Moebius, with a fascinating, almost unsettling creativity.

A “fine” quartet indeed. But the hardest part was yet to come: designing a training method that matched their potential.

Oberleutnant Peter Dettmann, adopting the professorial tone he relished, sat down at his desk, lost in thought. How should he approach this task? Why not begin with a return to the roots, the ancient foundations: those of the Greeks, where learning also encompassed the principles of their pederastic culture? Of course, such an idea strayed from current doctrine—cursed SA and their ridiculous Night of Broken Glass in 1938! But was it really possible to imagine a better way to “cut into the quick” and mold these young minds?

Perhaps a few well-chosen illustrations would suffice, provided the manor’s vast library still held some of those now-forbidden books. And why not, to make a lasting impression, a reconstruction in the form of living tableaux… Yes, that would provoke, that would intrigue.

BUT YES! OF COURSE!

A flash of inspiration struck Dettmann. He leapt to his feet, grabbing the service telephone. In an authoritative voice, he barked into the receiver:
— COURIER!

Seconds later, a breathless Pimpf appeared, his military salute impeccable despite his frantic run.
— JA, MEIN OBERLEUTNANT!

Dettmann wasted no time:
— Go into town and find me the best tailor. I want him here by 3 p.m.
— JA, MEIN OBERLEUTNANT!

And the boy dashed off, racing down the stairs like an arrow, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.

Meadow… Doctrine class.

Under a clear blue sky, the 144 boys of the camp, Hitlerjugends and Pimpfe alike, sat in a large circle on the grass. As every morning, the doctrine session was in full swing. The topic of the day? The hierarchy of races.

Yet for Arnfried, this repetition was unbearable.
Pff… again with this droning about the Nordic race, the Aryans, and all the subhumans. Always the same speech as at the Academy. We’ve already heard it twenty times at least!

His gaze fell on Honen, seated a few spots away. The boy seemed to soak up every word from the lecturer as if he were hearing the lesson for the first time.
What a bootlicker…

But soon, his mind wandered back to what truly troubled him: the morning’s selection. Why had he and the others been summoned? And what could possibly be the purpose of this “training” under the personal direction of Oberleutnant Dettmann? It was no coincidence. But then, what was expected of them?

He recalled Dettmann’s words, his tone authoritative, almost exalted.
Training, yes… but training for what? he murmured to himself.

He cast a furtive glance around.
And what if this morning was just the beginning… of something else?