Bob Carruthers - Tiger Command!

“One Reichsmark for a copy of the lovely Elvira standing with her back to you, two for her…”

“Wohl…” interjected von Schroif, motioning with his eyes.

Otto looked across and could see young Heinrich staring at the disrobed Rhine maiden with a look that was rather inappropriate for one so young. Otto immediately shut the book and quickly stared out the carriage window as the train slowly ground to a halt for the thirtieth time that morning. Everyone knew the reason. There had been a heavy raid during the night, targeting the rail network north of Kassel.

“God, if I get my hands on one of those RAF villains, he’ll pay,” said Knispel. “What a damned waste of time!”

“We don’t have to waste the time,” said Wendorff.

“I’m not volunteering to fill in bomb craters, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I can’t run this war single-handed, you know.”

“No, this is brainwork.”

“Well, that rules out Knispel!” exclaimed Wohl.

“Careful, Wohl,” warned Knispel.

“Gentlemen, please,” interjected Wendorff, “…I think we may have finally found a positive use for both of your talents. Why don’t you, Wohl, put your skills as a cartoonist to use and make a Tiger primer for all the other kids coming to Paderborn who will follow in your shoes. Your own Wundertüte, but with a purpose… you could make Elvira the star of the show. That would certainly hold the attention. Who knows? She could even lose a few garments along the way!”

“That’s a brilliant idea!” exclaimed von Schroif enthusiastically. “There will soon be thousands of young idiots like Wohl at Paderborn; we need something more memorable than reams of paper, full of charts and tables. Something accessible, with lots of memory aides. Some of your technical drawings could be useful too, Junge.”

“If it saves lives, I’d be only too happy to oblige, Haupsturmführer.”

“Then let’s get started,” said von Schroif.

Without any further prompting, the five Tiger men set to work to create an illustrated manual which would incorporate all the tricks of the trade in an accessible way. The rest of the journey flashed by as the Tigerfibel, a primer for Tiger students, was hastily created. It featured a combination of jokes and limericks from Knispel, with the text supplied by Wendorff and von Schroif. Wohl’s risqué cartoons and Junge’s excellent technical drawings helped to illustrate the simple lessons on maintenance and combat, including the simplified lessons involving the clover leaf, meal times, the anti-Goetz, and a hundred other things which the coming waves of Tiger men might need to know.

Wohl couldn’t resist weaving a new and bold hero into the creation, a purely fictional gun loader called “Hulsensacke the indefatigable”, who wins the hand of the beautiful Elvira.

Eventually the line was repaired, and the train began its painful progress. The crew had just completed the work and were settling back to a well-earned rest when von Schroif glanced up just in time to see the refection of a tall, formally dressed man standing over him.

“Gentlemen, may I join you?” came the request, his hand motioning to the one empty seat opposite Wohl.

“Of course,” answered von Schroif.

The man sat down, put his briefcase in his lap, and made himself comfortable. There was then a pause, followed by a question.

“Ah, the Lions of Rostov we have read so much about… Where are you going today?”

The manner was direct and too forward for a civilian. There was something about the plain and formal dress, the way he guarded his briefcase, and also a lack of sincerity in the voice which antagonised von Schroif and encouraged him to adopt a less than friendly manner.

“You know I cannot give you such information.”

“Of course. Do forgive me. Well, we can share some time. Kassel is also my destination. May I say what an honour it is to meet men such as you, men who are in the very vanguard of this noble and historic mission?”

“Noble? A fine word, best reserved for those who know nothing of war,” replied von Schroif, rather disparagingly.

“But surely, however difficult the waging of war, there is still nobility in its overall purpose, the protection and furthering of the German people◦– and, of course, in carrying out the will of the party?”

“Party? You mean the gangsters who run this country?” snorted Otto Wohl, his antipathy spilling over into venom. His tone surprised even himself, let alone the well-dressed stranger who sat opposite.

This was dangerous talk. Who was this gentleman sitting opposite? And how did he know they were headed for Kassel? It took von Schroif to draw the situation’s sting.

“SS-Panzerschütze Wohl is doing no more than any soldier in his circumstance would do… he is not making a political assertion… Soldiers get tired, and soldiers through the ages let off steam, and it is usually their superiors who feel the brunt of it… but I can assure you, sir, his actions tell a different story. This is one of the bravest warriors on the whole of the Eastern Front.”

“That may very well be the case, Haupsturmführer…?”

“Von Schroif,” replied Hans, curtly but politely.

“Yes, that may very well be the case, Haupsturmführer von Schroif, but, no matter how well a man has fought, if his purity of thought becomes degraded, this infection could spread not only to his greater self, but also to others. I have to tell you, I am quite shocked to hear words such as these from men of the Waffen SS. Men from within the Führer’s personal bodyguard division! If I may, it does not reflect well on the commanding officer of such a unit.”

The stranger opened his briefcase and took out a notepad on which he began to make a record of the conversation.

“I am sorry,” replied von Schroif calmly, “I don’t believe you have introduced yourself yet.”

“I, too, am sorry, but there is no need for introductions…” said the stranger. “Certainly not at this point,” he added, rather ominously. “I am afraid this conversation is over. For now… Good day, Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, gentlemen, and… er… SS-Panzerschütze Wohl?” adding Otto’s name in the way a man does when he pretends to be asking a question whilst already knowing the answer.

The smartly dressed stranger rose and left the carriage.

“Bastard,” muttered Knispel, out of earshot of any of the passengers who might be listening, and then flashing out his right fist in a pretend blow. “I’d give him that! Who was he?”

“Heinrich Bremer. Kriminalrat, Geheimestaats-polizei… RHSA…” Wendorff informed them. “Well, that’s according to the letterhead on one of the letters in his briefcase.”

“Gestapo, eh?” added Junge. “You should have asked him for Elvira’s address, Otto!”

The crewmen laughed, except for von Schroif, who saw only the serious side.

“For God’s sake, Wohl! I order you to make this the last time your stupid mouth opens when it should stay shut. If they come to take you, there’s nothing even Knispel here can do to stop them.”

Wohl’s smile faded quickly as he stared out the carriage window, the rain sleeting against the glass.

The dismal conditions were also informing the thoughts of Hauptsturmführer von Schroif. Soon they would be back in Russia, and incidents like the one that had just occurred sapped at one’s resolve. It was completely unnecessary, given the sacrifices they had already made, let alone those that were still to be made, but it did beg an uneasy and unwanted question.

“How many enemies were they actually fighting?”

Dimitri Korsak was a dedicated enemy. He was happy to be back in the vicinity of his native Leningrad. The city itself was under siege, but he was only ten kilometres from Mga. A big offensive was in the offing, and it hadn’t been too difficult to arrange a transfer.