My Brother's Secret (2 page)

HONOURED

T
he Hitler Youth boys marched us to the open-backed trucks and waited while we climbed up. Our uniforms were covered in grime and blood and grass stains, but that didn’t matter. We had won.

There were two vehicles parked side by side, one for each squad, and we formed lines, waiting to climb aboard with our comrades.

We sat on the hard metal floor, packed tight together, hot and sweating, our bodies covered in cuts and bruises, but our spirits high.

‘That was a good win.’ Ralf had to shout to be heard over the sound of the engine. ‘And just in time for your birthday tomorrow.’

‘Imagine what the British will be like,’ Christoph shouted. ‘They’ll wet themselves when they see us coming.’

‘We’ll win this war soon enough,’ Felix said.

‘Not before we get there, I hope.’ I leaned forward to look at Felix. ‘I want my fair share of the enemy.’

‘My brother says there are millions of enemies.’ Martin reached out and rubbed the top of my head with his knuckles. ‘Enough for all of us. Even for you, Karl!’

The truck jostled and bustled us for half an hour as it returned to the city, but I was so high on our victory and pleased with myself that I hardly noticed. The journey could have taken three hours and it wouldn’t have mattered. My muscles ached with a pleasant tiredness, my skin tingled from the fresh air and I was surrounded by my friends. To make things even better, our school had let the Hitler Youth take over physical training for a fortnight. The past week of school had been the best ever and there was still another to come. And tomorrow was my birthday so I was going to spend the whole day with my friends.

When we finally arrived back at school, the truck clattered to a halt and we jumped down into the yard with stiff legs. By now my bruises were beginning to show, but I still felt on top of the world.

The area leader had put some of the older boys from the Hitler Youth in command, and they were shouting orders and organising us into lines almost as soon as our boots touched the ground. On the adjacent field, to the left of the main school building, the girls were out in the sunshine, running through their exercises, dressed in
white vests and black shorts. Most of us couldn’t help looking over at them, and one of the boys even whistled, but when the group leader dragged him out and made him do twenty press-ups, everyone soon stood to attention.

As the trucks rumbled away behind us, the last few boys fell into line and the group leader, Axel Jung, began calling our names, ticking them off his list. He strode backwards and forwards along the line as he shouted the names, glancing up at each ‘here!’, and when every last one of us was accounted for, he dropped his clipboard on the ground and faced us.

He stood with his hands behind his back, flanked by two other Hitler Youth boys, saying nothing for a moment, just casting his eyes along the ranks in front of him. There must have been at least a hundred of us but he showed no sign of being bothered by that.

He looked amazing in his uniform. Strong and brave. He held himself straight and proud like a true soldier, his dagger hanging by his side, and I knew I wanted to be like that – seventeen years old and almost ready to join the war. Trusted and reliable and ready to die for the Führer.

Eventually he sort of pressed himself up on his toes and relaxed back onto his heels before shouting, ‘Karl Friedmann, step forward.’

I was surprised to hear my name called. I marched to the front to stand in front of Axel Jung and saluted. He returned the salute then nodded once before looking out at the other boys.

‘Karl Friedmann showed great determination and
cunning today. He made seven kills, took the flag, and was the last member of his squad still standing. He is to be awarded the silver proficiency badge.’

My heart surged as Axel Jung leaned over and pinned the badge to my uniform. I had wanted one for a long time, and now it was finally mine. It was a single lightning bolt ‘s’ in the shape worn by the Waffen SS, with a small swastika in the centre, surrounded by the words ‘
Für Leistungen Im DJ
’ – ‘for achievement in the DJ’. ‘DJ’ stood for
Deutsches Jungvolk
, the group we joined before we were old enough for Hitler Youth.

Axel Jung looked down at me once more, then saluted, throwing his arm out straight and saying, ‘Heil Hitler.’ I did the same, then turned on my heels and went back to my place among the ranks.

As I went, the other boys clapped so loudly that all the girls in the other field turned to see what was happening.

‘Well done.’ Ralf winked at me as I passed him.

I could barely stop myself from beaming as Axel Jung continued with other business, raising his arm and pointing to the far side of the yard, close to the fence. ‘Losers over there,’ he said. ‘Fifty press-ups each.’

There were a few groans.

‘A
hundred
press-ups.’

No one groaned after that. Instead, they all ran over to the fence, dropped to the ground and began grinding out their press-ups. All, that is, apart from Johann Weber.

I noticed him right away, because he didn’t run like the others. He half jogged to the fence and was last into position. Then, instead of doing press-ups, he lay prone,
nose to the gravel, hands at his sides, as if he had no energy left in him.

‘The rest of you; off to lunch,’ Axel Jung announced. ‘I will see you after lessons.’

Ralf and Martin came straight to my side, wanting to see the badge, and a few others crowded round as we made our way across the yard.

‘Get on with it!’ the group leader shouted behind us. ‘No lunch until you’ve finished.’

‘You’re so lucky,’ Felix said to me. ‘I’ve been wanting one of those for so long.’

‘Then you should be faster,’ Martin said.

‘I
am
faster,’ Felix protested. ‘I beat Karl in the—’

‘Not
faster
; you need to be
smarter
,’ Ralf told him, and I couldn’t help feeling a slight tinge of guilt.

‘It was your idea,’ I said to Martin and Ralf. ‘Divide and conquer.’

‘Yeah.’ Martin gave me a playful punch on the arm. ‘That’s true. It was our idea and we put our lives at risk for you.’

‘But you took the flag.’ Ralf clapped me on the back and put an arm around my shoulder. ‘You took seven lives. And your shooting was better than mine yesterday. Anyway,’ he laughed, ‘we’ve got a gold one of those, remember; you haven’t caught us up
yet
.’

He and Martin thrust out their chests and tapped the gold badges pinned to their uniforms.

‘I don’t know how a pair of dimwits like you managed it,’ I said with a shake of my head.

‘You’ll pay for that, Karl Friedmann.’ Martin grinned
and waggled his eyebrows at me but I took off before he could make a grab for me.

I ran towards the school building, pumping my arms and legs as quickly as I could, but Ralf ran like a wolf and caught me before I reached the door. Martin was close on our heels, breathing hard, and he grabbed me in a head-lock, rubbing his knuckles on the top of my head.

‘Submit!’ he laughed. ‘Submit!’

‘I submit,’ I said.

When he released me, Martin put his arm around my shoulder once more. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’m starving.’

As we went inside, I glanced back at the losers to see that Johann Weber was still not moving. He was just lying on his front in the dirt.

‘Are they letting girls into this group now?’ Axel was shouting as he approached him. ‘Get on with it!’

The boys who had finished their punishment were standing now, laughing as Axel Jung kicked the tip of his boot into the ground, spraying a shower of gravel into Johann’s face.

Johann recoiled and wiped a hand across his mouth, then put both palms flat on the ground and pushed himself up, but his head hung down and he was breathing heavily. His whole body looked as if it was wracked with some kind of seizure.

‘Maybe you hit him too hard,’ Martin said beside me.

‘I hardly touched him.’

Either the effort of trying to do press-ups or the shouting was too much for Johann, because his arms gave in and he collapsed into the gravel once more, his whole
body shaking.

Axel Jung grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him to his feet and ordering him to stand on one leg while the others stood about laughing.

‘Stop your snivelling or I’ll make you eat this.’ The group leader scooped a handful of gravel and held it in front of Johann’s face.

‘Is he crying?’ Ralf looked at him. ‘What the hell’s he crying for?’

‘Someone said his papa’s plane was shot down,’ Christoph said. ‘He flew Heinkels or something. They got his death notice this morning.’

‘And he’s crying?’ Martin said. ‘I’d be proud if my papa died for the Führer.’

‘Me too.’ Ralf looked at me as if waiting for my opinion.

‘Mm, yeah, of course,’ I said. ‘And me.’

‘Come on,’ Ralf turned me away. ‘We don’t want to miss lunch.’

‘Yeah.’ But as I went into the school building, I glanced back at Johann Weber, standing on one leg, and wondered what he was thinking. Why wasn’t he proud of his papa?

Lunch was some kind of soup, though no one was quite sure what. There were small pieces of meat and vegetables floating in the murky liquid, and we joked about it, but were all too hungry to complain much.

The dining hall was noisy with boys – the girls had their lunch before us – and we ate surrounded by army recruitment posters and front pages from
Der Stürmer
newspaper which mostly had cartoons of big-nosed Jews on them. At the very far end of the hall, from a large frame, a picture of Hitler, the Führer himself, watched over us.

As I ate, I looked down at the badge pinned to my chest. I was so proud to have earned it; even though the divide and conquer idea hadn’t been mine, I
had
been the one to take the flag. Except, I couldn’t help thinking about the way Johann Weber had done nothing to defend himself. Maybe I wouldn’t have beaten him if he hadn’t been feeling so bad.

I glanced round when the losing boys came in for their lunch, but Johann Weber wasn’t among them. Nor had he come into the dining hall by the time we had finished our soup and left the room. He was in the classroom after lunch though, sitting at the back, staring straight ahead. His eyes were still red, but now his face was covered in small scratches and angry marks.

I wanted to go and speak to him, to ask him what had happened to his papa, but none of the other boys would go near him and I knew it would look bad. Weakness was not allowed. Instead, I sat between Martin and Ralf, with Christoph and Felix in front.

‘Why do you keep looking at him?’ Martin asked.

‘Hmm?’

‘You keep looking back at Johann.’

I shrugged.

‘Don’t feel sorry for him,’ Martin said. ‘He should be proud, not crying. There’s no crying in the army.’

‘No,’ I agreed, turning back to face the front just as
Herr Kappel came into the room.

We learned about trajectory that lesson. Herr Kappel set up a sand trap in a large box and used a miniature field gun to fire steel ball bearings at it. We took turns angling the gun to see if we could make the ball bearing land on a marker, and I was pleased with myself for being the first to hit the target.

‘Must be your day today,’ Herr Kappel said, nodding towards my proficiency badge. ‘And I understand it’s your birthday tomorrow.’

Thinking about the badge reminded me of Johann Weber, and I glanced over at him, standing slightly apart from the rest of us as if he were somehow different.

Racial Science came after the lesson on trajectory, then we were outside again for more physical training. Axel Jung was waiting for us in the yard, flanked by the same two Hitler Youth boys who had been with him earlier. His uniform was still pristine and he stood tall and straight. He waited for us to form into lines, then called out for Johann Weber to come and stand in front of everyone else.

‘Have you stopped crying?’ he asked.

A few boys sniggered but Johann nodded and kept his chin up and his shoulders back. He stared straight ahead as if there was nothing in front of him.

‘We don’t
cry
.’ Axel Jung raised his voice over the growing sound of laughter as he marched along the line of boys. ‘There’s no crying in the army. What are you? A Communist? A
Jew
?’ His words were thick with disgust.

Tears began to well in Johann Weber’s eyes and it made me feel worse than it should have. I was supposed to be as
hard as Krupp’s steel – on the inside as well as the outside – but I wasn’t laughing like the others. I felt sorry for him and had to tell myself not to be so weak.

I took a deep breath and held it in. I had won a medal today. I was going to join the Hitler Youth in two years. I had already learned the oath by heart. I would be like Axel Jung. I would make my family proud.

Jung stopped in front of Johann and looked down at him, staring until the other boys fell silent. ‘Your papa gives his life for the Führer, and you cry about it? How do you think that would make him feel, knowing how weak you are? You should be
proud
. If you want to be a soldier in the Führer’s army, you have to be
strong
. Maybe we need to do something to toughen you up.’

Johann lifted his arm and wiped his face with his sleeve. He wasn’t standing so straight any more. His shoulders had slumped and his head was hanging, and when he took his arm away from his face, a string of snot stretched from his nose to the cuff of his shirt.

‘Disgusting,’ someone said from behind me, and a wave of laughter rippled through the ranks.

Jung stepped away from Johann as if he might catch some kind of disease from him. ‘Shirts off everyone. We’re going to have a boxing tournament. Johann Weber against the rest of the class.’