‘Yes, of course, the Wille und Macht,’ Langner said. ‘It was familiar to most members of the Hitlerjugend. There may be many things wrong with me, my dear, but there’s nothing whatsoever wrong with my memory.’
Tayte reached into his folder again and slid out another of the records he’d collected. ‘During my research I came across a digital copy of the magazine on the San Francisco based Internet Archive. It was filed under Baldur von Schirach, the magazine’s editor at the time. I had a translated copy made and this is a printout of the page that caught my attention as it appeared in Will and Power magazine in May 1937.’
Langner took the copy and studied the page for several seconds before a gentle smile creased his lips. ‘So young,’ he said, his tone distant and melancholic. His smile dropped. ‘We had become perfect little soldiers—we sons of the Führer. I was nineteen years old when this picture was taken—a young man swept along by a wave so strong no one could have stopped it, let alone imagine the devastation it would ultimately cause.’
Langner turned the copy of the magazine page around to face Tayte and Jean. Amidst the text, which was written in the Fraktur blackletter typeface so synonymous with Nazi Germany, were the portraits of two Hitler Youth members. The image was in black and white, but having seen so many photographs of similar Hitler Youth members during his research, it was not difficult for Tayte to imagine their blonde hair and blue eyes, their black trousers and brown shirts, with black ties and cross straps over their chests. With their strong jawlines and proud, authoritative stances, they looked the epitome of Nazi Germany’s perfect Aryan race.
‘We had grown out of our shorts by the time this picture was taken,’ Langner said. ‘We were being honoured for our conduct in the Hitlerjugend, and for becoming two of the youngest members to make the rank of Bannführer at the time, although when the war began and the majority of adult leaders were conscripted into the Wehrmacht and the Waffen-SS, the minimum age was reduced to as young as sixteen to make up for the sudden deficit in leadership.’
‘The article tells of your friendship with Strobel,’ Tayte said.
‘Yes, and of course the HJ, as we commonly referred to it, encouraged such comradeship.’ He gazed down at the image again. ‘Look at us,’ he added, offering the image closer to Jean. ‘We were the very best of friends when this picture was taken. But how quickly the war, among other things, changed all that.’
‘You fell out?’ Tayte asked.
‘What about?’ Jean added. ‘If that’s not too personal a question.’
‘No, it’s quite all right. It was a long time ago. I had once thought that nothing could come between us, but I was clearly very naive. In simple terms I suppose we fell out over a girl, and because the war brought out the very worst in Volker Strobel. I came to hate and despise the man I had once considered my friend.’
‘Could you tell us about him?’ Tayte asked.
‘To a point, yes, I could.’
‘And will you?’ Jean said.
Langner turned to Tayte and regarded him seriously. ‘If your mother was interested in a man such as Volker Strobel, are you completely sure you want to find out why?’
Tayte gave a single, determined nod.
‘Wherever it may lead? Whatever the repercussions?’
When it came to understanding his own ancestry, Tayte had always felt a degree of apprehension about what he might someday find. Nevertheless, he had to know where this new lead would take him. He looked at Jean and then back at Langner. ‘Yes, I’m absolutely sure,’ he said. ‘If there’s something about Volker Strobel that could help point me in the right direction, I’d be glad to know it, wherever it might lead.’
Langner sat up and took a sip of water from the glass beside his bed. ‘Very well,’ he said, adjusting his posture. ‘Let me tell you about the man who was once my closest friend. As it remains unclear about what you hope to find, I suppose I should commence the story of my acquaintance with Herr Strobel, Der D?mon von Dachau, from the day I first met him. It was in 1933 and I had just turned fifteen. It wasn’t mandatory to join the Hitlerjugend until 1936, but I come from a long line of military forefathers, and so I had been a member of the Deutsches Jungvolk—the junior branch of the Hitlerjugend—from the age of ten. I can still remember the very first time I saw Volker. Out of nowhere he came striding confidently towards me. His hair as bright as fire and his blue eyes so piercing it was impossible to look away, despite the somewhat difficult circumstances I had found myself in.’ Langner paused, as though momentarily lost to his memories. ‘Yes, I remember Volker Strobel very well,’ he added. ‘But then, it was a very memorable introduction.’
Chapter Two
Munich. 1933.
‘Kick him again, Erich! Never let your opponent gain the upper hand.’