Bob Carruthers - Tiger Command!

Karl Wendorff’s beaming face was a joy to behold! And so all five men strode through the streets to the theatre for a performance of the first part of Wagner’s great ring cycle.

The best seats had been reserved for the new national heroes and the five Tiger men were ushered in by a grateful staff and applauded to their seats in the third row. To add to the honour, Furtwängler himself, the greatest conductor in Germany, came on stage and made their presence known to the rest of the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the Lions of Rostov!”

Von Schroif and his crew rose uneasily to their feet and stood uncomfortably receiving the applause which came thundering down in gratitude from all three tiers of the packed opera house. Finally, much to their relief, because too much adulation does not go down well with dedicated soldiers, the conductor finally reappeared in the pit and turned and tapped his baton. The long drone of the orchestral prelude began to pick up pace and they were transported to another world, one with passion and drama so intense that it made the cares of this world seem almost insignificant.

Even for Otto Wohl, time seemed to pass quickly as the orchestra sawed away for a while on a strange but pleasant tune which whirled and danced like the river itself. Then he realised to his astonishment that the first bit of singing was to be performed by three young ladies of very pleasing appearance. So these were the famous Rhine maidens! Things were looking up! He could have done without the tall bloke pretending to be a dwarf, but the girl on the left… “Wow! What a figure… and she can sing as well!”

Otto Wohl realised in a moment that he had been wrong about Magda, or whatever her name was. She was just a silly factory girl after all. The real love of his life had been revealed, and she was a Rheintöchter in a low-cut mermaid’s dress that threatened to reveal her ample bosom at any moment.

To Wohl’s surprise, the story began to take shape. He snatched the programme from Wendorff’s surprised grasp and quickly scanned the cast list. Flosshilde… Stella Huehn… Mezzo soprano… “Ah, Stella… Stella! What a beautiful name! Just like it’s owner.” How had he missed this all his life? He resolved to ask the boss at the very next opportunity if they could name their Tiger Stella, after his new love. As his adoring gaze followed Stella’s every move while she teased and taunted the lecherous Alberich, Wohl soon realised how strongly he identified with this unfeasibly tall dwarf in his frustrated attempts to attain the seemingly unattainable.

Wohl’s fluttering heart sank back to his boots when the scene ended, to be replaced by some rubbish about giants and a bill for building a castle, with no Rhine maidens in sight.

“It’s just a glorified building dispute…” thought Wohl. “For God’s sake, Wotan, tell the missus to pipe down and bring back the girls…”

With the Rhine maidens seemingly gone for good, the production began to wane for Wohl, but then something magical happened. Onto the stage came the young Elvira Schorr, perfectly cast in the role of Fricka’s sister, Freia, the goddess of youth, beauty and feminine love. Not only was she absolutely beautiful, she sang in a wonderful soprano voice that nobody who heard it could ever forget. Wohl now realised he had been rash to fall for Stella. The real love of his life had been waiting in the wings all along. Elvira… Ah, this was the real thing. “Look how her chest rises and falls as she sings… What fine lungs, what an adorable face… Whoa, what a cleavage!”

As the evening raced by, von Schroif found himself enjoying the performance, as he knew he would. Even Knispel and Junge seemed content. Wendorff, of course, appeared transfixed, but what amazed him most was the rapt look of attention on the face of Otto Wohl. “Well, miracles do happen,” thought von Schroif, “Wohl, wrapped up in Wagner… Who would have thought it?”

Wohl was indeed wrapped up, and von Schroif would not have been the least bit surprised to learn his thoughts. He was so engrossed in the performance that, internally, he had in fact become a confused mixture of a dwarf and two giants. “Beautiful, beautiful… No wonder everybody’s after her… Elvira Schorr, my only true love… I wonder what she looks like naked?”

Wohl’s vigil carried him through the production and before long they were into the final act, the orchestra careering towards the final coda, when suddenly the dream was shattered by the piercing wail of air raid sirens, a screeching wall of warning and discord, as the terrible reality of the twentieth century intruded on the world of fantasy.

Von Schroif looked around as, one by one, the audience started shouting words of encouragement to the orchestra. “Carry on! Keep playing! To hell with the British!”

And so, Furtwängler, the revered conductor, knowing that he had the support of the crowd, rallied his players. The crowd could hear him calling for more from the orchestra: “Forte! Molto forte!” The sound of the orchestra swelled and carried them across the final few bars to the great orchestral conclusion, which brought the audience cheering and standing to their feet. “Bravo! Bravo!”

The Tiger men stood too, applauding, stirred by the defiance of the crowd, who stood as one with their countrymen from the front. Karl Wendorff cheered the most enthusiastically, passionate tears streaming down his face. However, in the distance they could now hear the low thunder of exploding bombs and the cast cut short their well-earned bows to leave the stage, the whole atmosphere changing as the audience realised that the performance was over. Their senses returned to this world. Get to the shelters, get to the shelters! The exodus was never a panic◦– the German people would never give the British terrorists that pleasure!◦– but it was brisk and, once out on the street, von Schroif marvelled at the orderly way the citizens of Paderborn reacted to this outrage.

Luckily for Paderborn and its good people, the sound of the bombs receded, the city for now not being the target, but its effect on the Tiger men was profound. Who knows what war crimes the British and now the Amis were planning together? Who knows when and where they would attack next? Surely their time would come. But for now it was imperative to take care of the war in the east. The men returned to their quarters with renewed vigour and determination. Tomorrow they would be back on board a Tiger.

Professor Jacob von Stern walked briskly through the gates of Berlin University◦– how good it was to be back after all these years. The great names who had studied here◦– Hegel and Schopenhauer, Schelling, Marx and Engels, and Stern’s own mentor, the poet Heinrich Heine! Memories of the productive and happy youth he had spent here flooded back◦– how glorious a period in a young man’s life, before trouble and care insinuated themselves into all aspects of the more middle-aged term! But it was not just memories of the past that filled him with delight, it was anticipation too. How long had it been since he had last seen his oldest and dearest friend?

“Jacob! You are the picture of health! Come sit with me and regale me with your tales, stories, and, if I may add, what will be your incomparable insights!”

“Johan, you flatter me. It is you who shine with life and your insights which all men wish to hear!”

Professor Johan von Lieb did indeed look younger for his years. The academic life suited him, and Jacob felt a tinge of envy that financial considerations had prevented him from taking the same path all those years ago. No matter, it lifted his spirits just seeing his old friend.

“So, what times are these, afflicted by war and Herr Hitler? Who could possibly have predicted such a thing? We haven’t discussed matters since the Röhm affair, I believe,” ventured von Lieb.