‘Did the boy die?’ Tayte asked as soon as the massaging stopped. ‘The boy Strobel stabbed?’
‘No,’ Langner said. ‘That is to say, he did not die then.’ He paused as Keller moved away and sat in front of the ECG monitor, where she began checking what appeared to be the recent activity logs. ‘Volker had inflicted no more than a flesh wound to the older boy’s side,’ Langner continued. ‘But instead of being punished for it, he was rewarded for bravery, would you believe? Against the odds, he had come gallantly to the aid of a fallen Kamerad and single-handedly defeated the bullies. No, it was the older boys who were punished. Fighting was tolerated, even encouraged, but these boys had shown themselves to be cowards, and that most certainly was not tolerated. The boy Volker stabbed, however, did not forget the incident. It set up a bitter rivalry that would see him dead within a year.’
‘Strobel killed him?’ Jean asked.
‘The report showed Günther’s death to be an accident. He was apparently running with his dagger drawn—every boy in the Hitlerjugend carried one on his hip. He tripped and fell and the knife pierced his heart, killing him instantly. At least, that is how it appeared, but I know better. I had no part in it, but Volker used to talk about how he was going to sort him out. Afterwards, he made no secret of what he’d done, and of course, his reputation grew.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so,’ Tayte said. ‘Volker Strobel seems an odd choice of friend. And a best friend at that.’
‘Odd, yes, he was certainly that, but we soon settled down to our education and training—our continued indoctrination in national socialist ideology—and in those early days I looked up to Volker. He had saved me from a terrible beating on my first day at the Hitlerjugend-Akademie, and he was so very charismatic that it was difficult not to be swept along with him. Besides, he had chosen me as his friend, and believe me, I would not have wished to be his enemy. That came much later.’
‘Yes, you said you fell out,’ Tayte said. ‘You mentioned a girl.’
Langner sighed and sank his head back onto his pillow. ‘Ah, there is always a girl, isn’t there?’
Tayte glanced at Jean and she returned a coy smile. A year ago, he would have given a very different answer, but now he simply nodded in agreement and said, ‘What was her name?’
‘Her name was Ava Bauer,’ Langner said. ‘She had the softest dark blonde hair and a smile that made me want to know everything about her. She was a little older than Volker and me, but our education had matured us beyond our years by the time I met her.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘That was in November 1938. I was twenty and she had just turned twenty-one. She lived in Munich on a quiet little street in the southwest district of Sendling.’
‘Were you still in the Hitler Youth?’ Jean asked.
‘Yes, it was all either of us knew. Many boys joined the ranks of the SS or SA when they turned eighteen, but because the Hitlerjugend needed leadership, some of us were encouraged to stay on. We had both progressed along the chain of command by the time we met Ava. We were each responsible for thousands of boys, and I know the power had intoxicated Volker. By the time the war broke out a year later, the ranks of the Hitlerjugend had swollen to over eight million. If we had not remained, I’m sure I would never have met Ava, and seeing her for the first time remains one of the highlights of my life. In more ways than one it was another unforgettable encounter. You see, we met on Kristallnacht.’
Chapter Four
Munich. 9 November 1938. Kristallnacht.
The chill November air caused a shiver to run through Johann Langner, despite the sight of the flames that were licking out from the synagogue windows in the near distance on Herzog-Max-Strasse, which appeared intensely bright against the fading afternoon sky. He stamped his feet and blew warm air into his hands as he continued to survey the scene: the smashed doors and broken windows, the stormtroopers and older members of the Hitler Youth, such as himself, running here and there in their brown shirts, carrying knives and broom handles. Some also had axes to smash down any door whose Jewish owner refused to open it.
‘This is wrong, Volker.’
‘They are Jews,’ Volker said with disdain. ‘Untermenschen! Subhumans who will destroy our entire way of life if we let them.’
Johann shook his head. ‘They are citizens of Germany, Volker. It’s the Bolsheviks who threaten our way of life, not the Jews.’