William Tyree - The Fellowship

“We could control the entire city,” Nagel replied, “But what good does that do if the Soviets control all that surround it?”

Wolf didn’t know how to take this. Was the obergruppenfuhrer speaking hypothetically or factually?

Nagel walked around the desk again, studying Wolf’s face. He gestured to the scharfuhrer to leave. The squad leader did so quickly, exiting through a side door that Wolf assumed lead to another office.

“Most of the cadets I meet don’t want to teach,” Nagel said with an edge to his voice. “They don’t want to fulfill the political leadership roles we are grooming them for. They just want to kill Russians.”

True, Wolf was not like the others. He did not even care for hunting. When he had first arrived at the Reich School, he noticed how often his fellow cadets had talked longingly of fighting the French, drinking their wine and taking their women. But with German occupation in France and Belgium, the nation’s longstanding grudge against the French seemed to have been avenged, and the focus was now on the Russians. Meanwhile, his own fantasies were still centered on academics.

Now Nagel searched Wolf’s face. “Don’t you want to defeat Bolshevism?” he said.

“I will serve the Fatherland in any way the fuhrer sees fit,” he said, dodging the question without lying.

Nagel’s eyes returned to the massive file in his hands. “Your father served in the Deutsches Ahnenerbe ,” he said.

The Ahnenerbe, as it was commonly known, was the Society of German Ancestral Heritage. It had been founded by Heinrich Himmler as a government initiative to research the anthropological and cultural history of the Aryan race. A singular preoccupation with rediscovering not only the accomplishments of the Fatherland’s Aryan ancestors, but also the origin of the race. Although the Ahnenerbe was a division of the SS, which was itself a paramilitary organization, it took a fact-finding approach to the war of propaganda, publishing its research in newspapers and books.

The country’s museums were filling up with artifacts from Ahnenerbe expeditions to far-flung places such as Persia and Antarctica. Reich School textbooks were peppered with exotic photographs of strange-looking beasts, alien terrain and savage tribes that looked as if they had been summoned from a prehistoric era.

“Yes,” Wolf answered. “My father died after returning from an Ahnenerbe expedition to Tibet. Some disease he caught from the locals.”

Nagel nodded, but his face was devoid of sympathy. “By all accounts, your father served the Ahnenerbe admirably. Once he was convinced to join, that is.”

“Sir?”

“Your father did not join the party until there was virtually no other choice.”

This was also true. Wolf wondered what else was in the file. Did Nagel also know that his mother, Gertrude, had herself only joined the Nazi party in order to get work? For the past three years, she had toiled as a nurse in the Lebensborn birth program in Munich. Lebensborn was a government organization that helped families with racially desirable blood to meet and have children. Joining the party had been a non-negotiable requirement.

“Himmler is looking for an elite, handpicked group of boys to help him carry out special operations,” Nagel said.

The phrase “special operations” made his blood run cold. He imagined a troop of young saboteurs working behind enemy lines to poison food supplies or explode weapons factories. It sounded dangerous. Regardless of how well-designed the propaganda posters put up around the school, no matter how moving Himmler’s speeches, Wolf did not want to give his life for the Nazi movement.

“He wants young recruits from respectable German families. In the strictest political sense, you are not ideal. There are cadets here whose parents joined the party as far back as 1921. True loyalists. But there are other things more important than the date of one’s party registration. The ability to speak foreign languages, for example.”

The temptation to name other students that had superior translation skills came and went in a hot flash. He managed to resist, sensing that overt displays of cowardice would not be tolerated. He focused on the window as it rattled with intense wind and rain.

“And your exemplary genealogical documentation is highly valued,” Nagel went on. “Four centuries of church baptismal records as proof. Remarkable.”

Wolf’s voice quivered with nervousness. “Thank you, sir.”

“Which brings me to one other requirement.” Nagel rested his backside on the headmaster’s desk. “The recruit must have an advanced knowledge of Christianity.”

With that, Wolf’s face reddened, and he could no longer contain himself. He smelled a trap. “Our family has disavowed Catholicism,” he exclaimed with nearly as much conviction as when he had practiced the line with Lang. “We have not set foot in church for three years.”

Nagel clucked his tongue. “Of course you haven’t. But there is no need to be ashamed of what you know. My own father was a Lutheran pastor in Pomerania. As you know, Hitler himself was raised Catholic. And prior to attending the Reich School, you studied under some of the brightest Jesuits in Germany. Is this not so?”

“My studies were rigorous,” Wolf conceded.

Nagel shouted for the scharfuhrer, who must have been waiting in the next room, for he was back inside in an instant, holding a small wooden box. “As of this moment, this cadet, Sebastian Wolf, is a Reich School graduate.”

Wolf felt certain he had misheard. He was not due to graduate for two more years.

"As a sign that you are a full member of our community, I present this weapon, which you have earned.”

The scharfuhrer set the box on the table, took a sheathed dagger from it, and passed it into Nagel’s waiting hands. The officer then handed it to Wolf. Reality itself seemed to crumble. The presentation of the dagger was a rite of manhood that every student looked forward to. Wolf felt far from ready to receive it.

“Go on,” Nagel said, sensing the cadet’s anxiousness. Wolf unsheathed the blade and read the inscription: Mehr Sein als Scheinen . Be More Than What You Seem.

He studied the dagger, flipping it over and over in his hands, testing the sharpness of the point against the palm of his hand.

Meanwhile, Nagel resumed his position behind the desk and watched as the scharfuhrer hunched over it, completing a government form. When it was finished, he pushed it across the wooden desktop to Nagel, who signed his name with angular, forceful strokes. Nagel picked up a purple stick of wax and heated it with a lighter until it dripped a coin-sized spot onto the document near his signature. He made a fist and pressed the skull ring from his left index finger into the hot wax.

The scharfuhrer presented the document to Wolf. “Go to your room and gather your personal items,” he said. “You are limited to one piece of luggage. You may leave your clothing here, as new uniforms and gear will be issued. Report downstairs in 20 minutes.”

Wolf staggered into the hallway in total disbelief. Only five hours earlier, he had awakened believing that he, Albert and Heinz would be roommates for nearly two more years. He had believed that the war was winding toward its inevitable conclusion, with victory in Russia. He had envisioned himself earning an advanced degree at the University of Munich while enjoying the privileges of a Reich School pedigree. The entirety of his dreams seemed to be suddenly reduced to what he held in his arms. A knife and a notice of conscription.

Suddenly, Lang appeared beside him. “Did you see Himmler?” he asked breathlessly. Before Wolf could answer, he was surrounded by other boys, most of them seniors. Lang grabbed at the conscription order, running his fingers over the wax seal. Only then did Wolf observe the double thunderbolt runes on the document.