A Day in the Life of Armand Becker
September 1992
Thursday, 05.30. The dratted music is going off. I can't help wishing that the Centre would come up with some other way of waking us all up than Deutschland Erwache at high volume. For a moment I consider burying my head in a pillow, but quickly dismiss the idea. After all, I am the platoon leader of Berlinzug 1980/1-2, and have been since it was formed three years ago. I have to set the example.
I get out of bed, and put on my PE kit. Come rain or shine, darkness or daylight, we always start the day with a half hour run followed by another half hour of general exercises. Being mid-September, the sun will be rising towards the end of our session today. I walk out of the door of the little room I've called home for three years - being the Zugführer has its privileges - and look out into the main dorm at my platoon, to make sure they're moving. I'm pleased to see they are, although as usual, Acker seems to be the last one to stir.
I worry about him. He's the runt of the platoon, and gets treated as such. He's not the youngest - I am - but he's the smallest, having always been a year or so behind the rest of us growing. He's a good 5cm smaller than most of the others and more than that with me now. The last time I had a medical Nurse Essert said I was tall for my age, and my uniform has got shorter on me since then. I should probably go to the quartermaster to get new kit issued.
There, finally he's moving, but as he dresses, I see Feldt, the oldest member of my platoon, who was twelve last week, knock into him, and he sits back down on the bed with a thump. Feldt is one of his main tormentors, which is the main reason that when I was asked who I wanted as platoon second, I chose Beringer instead.
"Feldt...genug!" I order, and he jumps at my command, "Lass ihn doch zufrieden!"
"Jawohl, Zugführer Becker," he says, sheepishly, and steps away to allow Acker to sort himself out.
One day they're going to see that despite being the smallest in our platoon, Acker is also the smartest. By a very long way. That's why I have him in my Gruppe: so I can keep an eye on him in case the others decide to take advantage of his size. Of course, they're all too happy to take advantage of his brains, when they're having difficulties with their lessons. I dread what will happen when he decides to get even. Still, he's been quieter than usual lately. Since his birthday back in June, really. And he seems so sad. Next time we have a free day, I need to talk to him and see if I can find out what's wrong.
I don't think they'll misbehave again just yet, so I lead out into the corridor, where Scharführer Hölzer is waiting to take us down to the sports field. Not good. The days when he's on duty are always bad. He's one of the senior NCOs in the garrison which protects the Centre, as well as being one of the Phys Ed instructors, and we have to respect him. But something about him always gets my back up. Maybe it's the smarmy way he always greets me in the morning: very polite, very proper, but something seems...off. He's a bully, too. He's a big, heavy guy - nearly two metres and solid with it - and he likes to throw his weight around. None of us like him, and Acker is obviously terrified of him. He tries to shrink into the background whenever Hölzer is around, but of course, the Scharführer usually notices and makes his life Hell when he does.
"Guten Morgen, Zugführer Becker."
"Guten Morgen, Herr Scharführer."
"Lead off."
"Yes sir."
I call my platoon to order, and we head downstairs at a jog. It's a cool, crisp morning, and if we hadn't been in the city, we would probably have seen stars. Autumn is in the air, although during the day it's still warm. As usual, Hölzer drives us far harder than the other Phys Ed instructors, and then picks on our weakest members, Acker and Kohl, when they can't keep up. This morning I decide I've had enough.
"Herr Scharführer."
"Yes, Becker?"
"Leave them be, sir. They're doing their best."
"Then their best isn't good enough," he answers, coldly, staring down at me. But I'm not going to flinch, "I'm disappointed in you, Becker. You're supposed to be the best platoon leader in the junior school. And yet you tolerate weaklings."
"All the members of my platoon have their strengths and weaknesses, sir. I try to make sure that those balance out so that the platoon works together. The Platoon Rankings last term proves it works. I therefore respectfully request that you stop picking on Acker and Kohl, and they will do their best to keep up with us..." I glance over at my subordinates, "Won't you, lads?"
"Jawohl, Zugführer Becker," they say, smartly, trying so hard to stand up straight, despite the fact that it's obvious that both of them are exhausted.
"You respectfully request do you?" Hölzer says, coldly.
"Yes, sir."
He smiles, a smile full of malice which makes my skin crawl, and then he turns to my platoon mates.
"Three times round the track, then twenty press-ups. Go."
They look over to me, but all I can do is throw them an apologetic look, and they head for the track. At which point I glance at Beringer, then nod at the youngsters. He indicates his understanding, and then takes the others to join them.
"The order wasn't to your whole platoon. It was to your weaklings."
"I know, Herr Scharführer. But we stick together."
He looks at me, and quick as a flash brings up his right hand. The back of it connects with my face with a crack, and smarts as his SS ring cuts the corner of my mouth.
"You're insubordinate Becker. Five times round the track and thirty press-ups. Now."
I hold his gaze for a few seconds, so he knows he hasn't broken me, and then turn my back on him and join the others. As I run, I can taste blood and it spurs me on.
06.45. As the sun rises, Hölzer leads us back inside the dormitory block, and we head for the showers. They're cool this morning, but do the job. I brush off questions about how I ended up with a bruise on my face, and make sure that the blood is washed away. Then back to the dorm room to dress.
07.30. Everyone's in order. I wish Kohl could tie his tie and I Weiman would clean his shoes though. But we're lined up for inspection on time. Scharführer Kiefer arrives and finds nothing amiss - I take pride in having the best turned out platoon at the Centre - then leads us down to the mess hall. As always, we're given bread, cheese and cold meat, plus scrambled or boiled eggs, and milk or water. It's always tasty enough, but sometimes I yearn for something else.
I hear that in England they have hot sausage and bacon for breakfast. I wonder what they're like.
08.15. As always, the first lesson of the day is German. The classes include both language and culture, and last to the first break at 10.00. Then we're expected to go outside again. Fresh air is healthy. It must be. Our teachers say so.
10.15. It's Thursday, so time for Maths. Not my favourite subject, and I'm not alone in that. About the only ones who actually enjoy it are Acker and the Hoffman twins. Still, I muddle through, and my grades are decent. I certainly don't need to spend time getting Acker to coach me, unlike some of the others.
11.15. History. One of my favourites, but maybe that's because it's the course my mother teaches. I'd found out who she was by accident, around the same time I was made platoon leader. She'd married Obersturmführer Seidel, one of the garrison officers, and had come back to live at the Centre. The trouble is, my platoon is one of those made up of full-time Centre residents, rather than Party children, so we aren't supposed to know our parents.
I think that's why some of the others have a problem with Acker: he leaves the centre one weekend a month to stay with his mother, a journalist for Die Welt, and some of the platoon resent it. So I have to be very careful in History. I can't really say anything to her, outside of "Guten Morgen, Frau Doktor Seidel", but we always manage to smile at each other, and inside, we know.
12.15. Lunchtime. It'll probably be some kind of stew, served with potatoes. We form up, and march back to the mess hall to take our places. Chicken today, in a broth with a few vegetables. It's a bit bland, but that's probably just as well as Thursday is sports afternoon, and it's easier to run if you're not full of stodge. I enjoy sports, and I've heard rumours that we're having an inter-platoon soccer competition today.
Competition is very important, hence the Platoon Rankings, held each term. We learn to be our best, and the competitions help do that. Berlinzug 1980/1-2 has been doing well, always ranking first of the six in our year. We'd even come top of the junior inter-year athletics tournament they'd held at the end of the previous summer, beating Berlinzug 1979/0-5 into second place and 1979/0-1 into third.
13.30 and we're in the changing rooms in the gym block. We always start sports periods from there. Today, we're sharing the space with 1980/1-1 and -3 - the other two boys platoons in our year - and everyone seems excited. We head out to the sports field and are put through a twenty-minute warm-up. Then we wait for instructions for the soccer competition. With twenty-four in each platoon, we can field two teams plus two reserves each.
Unterscharführer Tiedeman tells us the plan. Unlike Hölzer, he's probably our favourite member of the Phys Ed staff. He knows that not all of us are as good as each other, and he makes allowances. The competition is going to be short games, with each team playing the four from the other platoons, but not their own platoon mates, and we're sent off to pick our teams.
And dammit, where's Acker? I sigh. He hates the Thursday games periods and has tried to duck them in the past, although he's been better the last couple of months. But this time I'm sure I saw him follow us out of the changing room.
"Oberkadet Beringer. Get them into teams, while I look for Acker. Put me in as one of the reserves, and then get things going."
"Yes, Zugführer Becker," he answers and turns to the platoon, while I head back towards the gym.
I try my best not to get annoyed at Acker, but sometimes he doesn't make it easy. I know he doesn't have the easiest time of it with the others, but this time I'm very disappointed. He must have known he'd be needed - it is a competition, after all - even if he's probably going to end up as one of the reserves, as usual. Why did he decide to duck out today?
I make my way back to the changing rooms, calling his name so he knows I'm looking for him. I push open the door of the area we'd changed in earlier, but there was no sign of him. Annoyed, I head into the one next door, in case he's hiding in there. I'm well aware that sometimes the bullying gets too much for him, despite my efforts to stop it, and he finds a quiet corner where he can just go and cry. I've found him once or twice, and sat with him until he got himself under control. Maybe the incident with Hölzer that morning had set him off.
His timing is awful, though.
I walk through the changing room, looking for him, and find him in the showers. But the moment I see him, I realise that this time it's different. He's curled up in a ball on the tiles. He's wearing in his games shirt, although it looks as if someone's tried to rip it off him, and his briefs and shorts are around his ankles. And he's making the strangest noise I've ever heard. Like a wounded animal, not a boy. I cross to him, and see blood and something else running down the backs of his legs onto the tiles behind him.
Oh Christ. Not here. Not one of mine.
"Artur?" I say, horrified.
Normally, the use of each other's given names is discouraged, but if this is what I think it is? To Hell with protocol. He needs a friend.
"Go away," he mumbles at me, but I ignore him. I sit down on the floor beside him.
"What happened?"
"Go away."
"I won't do that," I answer, and gently try to help him sit up, but as I do, he cries out in pain. I shuffle sideways, and then rest his shoulders in my lap, covering his thin little body with my arm. He bursts into tears, and I hold him as he cries fit to burst, shaking all over as he's wracked with sobs. I feel awkward. I don't have a clue what I can do to help him, but perhaps just being there will be enough.
We sit like that for maybe twenty minutes, before he finally calms down. Then I gently clean him up, and help him dress and sit up. Thankfully, it doesn't seem to hurt him as much this time, although he leans into me so that he doesn't have to rest his entire weight on the floor. I sit beside him, an arm over his shoulder so he knows I'm here for him.
"Who did this to you, Artur?" I ask, quietly.
"Hölzer."
And the moment he says it, I realise I'm not surprised.
"Has he done this before?"
"Not like this."
"But he's done something?"
"Sometimes, in the mornings, when we're heading out or coming back, he...touches me."
How hadn't I noticed? I try so hard to look out for my platoon. But then, Artur is usually the back marker, being chivvied on by whichever teacher we have that morning.
"When did it start?"
"He said it was my birthday present. He said that he wanted to make me feel good and reached into my shorts. But then, the next time, he did it again, and the next time, and the next time...and it didn't make me feel good at all."
God in Heaven. No wonder he's been so quiet.
"Does he do it to anyone else?"
"I don't think so."
"But why this? Why now?"
"Because you made him angry."
This is my fault? I don't want to believe that. I can't believe that.
"What happened? You were with us when we left the changing rooms."
"He stopped me as we were heading out to the field, and said that instead of soccer, I had to do extra circuits round the field. To make up for this morning. But then, once all of you were out of sight and he was sure no-one was watching us, he brought me in here, and... Why did you have to stand up to him, Armand?"
"He was bullying you and Kohl. I wanted to protect you."
"He just kept repeating 'this will teach the arrogant little fucker...thinks he's better than the rest of us does he...?' Over and over again. Every time he...he..."
He breaks off and I can see tears in his eyes again.
"I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't, and it hurt so much..."
I feel so helpless. You occasionally hear stories of people like this, but I'd never even thought that there could be someone like him at the Berlin Centre.
"I have to get you to the infirmary," I said, and gently get him to his feet. As I do, I turn on the shower for a couple of minutes to wash away the blood, and then I help him out. He leans heavily on me, walking very gingerly, and we slowly make our way to the infirmary building. By the time we reach it, and I hand him into the care of Nurse Essert, I've never felt so angry. Hölzer had no right to do this to anyone. Especially not a little boy who had no chance of defending himself.
I like Nurse Essert. She's my favourite of the nurses in the infirmary, always ready with a friendly smile. But she isn't smiling now. She wants to know what happened. I really don't want to tell her, but I can't think of a good explanation. Then Artur whimpers in pain, as if he's hurt inside, and she's more worried about helping him than finding out why. I help her get him into one of the beds and before she can ask me anything else, I tell her I have to go. I mutter something about being under orders from Kommandant Böhm, and leave him with her.
I hope he doesn't think I've abandoned him, but I have to make Hölzer pay for what he's done.
I jog across the parade square to the garrison office and up to the desk in the front lobby, and demand to know where Hölzer is. The desk clerk looks surprised at being ordered about by an eleven-year-old, but being platoon leader gives me some status, and he decides to help. He says that Hölzer is usually over in the school block at this time of the day. I thank him, and start hunting.
I find him up in one of the third-floor rooms, which looks out over the games field. He's standing by the window in his shirtsleeves, his hands in his trouser pockets, looking out. His jacket is thrown carelessly over one of the desks beside him. I walk into the room, and try to shut the door quietly behind me, but I knock against one of the desks and he hears me. As he turns, he pulls his hands out of his pockets, looking guilty, and I can see the bulge in his trousers. Then he recognises me, and the guilt is replaced by something else. A smile crosses his face which chills my blood. It's not the same as this morning. This time I see lust.
"Becker," he says, in a honey-sweet tone, "you got my message then."
I step into clear space to confront him, determined to stand my ground and avoid showing weakness as he takes a step towards me.
"Why did you do it? Why Artur?"
"He's the son of a whore and a spy. He's Untermensch. But when closed my eyes as I took him, I could almost persuade myself that it was you, pretty little Becker. I've never felt anything so good, and I didn't want to stop. But I had to before someone found us. Now, though. Here you are, where no-one is going to disturb us, and I can find out what you're really like. This will be perfect."
I want to smash his face in, but he's much taller than me. However, my tutors in combat class have told me that I'm strong and quick for my age. So I aim lower. I launch a kick at him and catch him squarely between the legs. It's a good hit and he's knocked back into a couple of the desks. He howls in pain and drops to the floor in a splintering of woodwork. It doesn't make me feel any less angry, but it's so satisfying, and I move to kick him again.
Mistake.
This time he grabs my right ankle and twists, and I feel it give. Not broken, thank God, but hurting. My turn to land on the desks, but I only knock them out of the way as I fall. Still, it's enough to knock the wind out of me. And I realise what an idiot I've been. How could I hope to take on a man so much taller than me and more than twice my weight.
He's still on the floor, but he's groaning less, and there's a wet patch on his crotch. I take half a dozen deep breaths and struggle to my feet, gingerly trying to put my weight on my ankle. Sore, but it takes the weight.
Attack or flee?
Instinct stays flee, but my anger at what he's done to Artur is still burning brightly. I move in and start pummelling and kicking him as he tries to rise. I get in two or three good blows before he manages to get to his feet. Then he grabs me, forces me to my knees and thumps me in the side of the head with his fist, leaving my head ringing. Before I can recover, he's laying blow after blow on me, and I realise that when he hit me this morning, he didn't use anything like his whole strength. Then he gets a firm grip under my arms and lifts me off the ground. I scratch at his face with my hands and kick out at him, getting a good shot at his solar plexus and I hear the 'oompf' as the wind is knocked out of him. The next thing I know, I'm flying through the air, and I smash into a group of desks as I land. This time I do hear splintering wood, and feel agony lancing through my back.
"You little bastard," he says, angrily as he moves towards me, pushing desks out of the way as if they're toys, "I'm going to fuck you within an inch of your life, and then I'm going to squeeze your beautiful neck until it snaps in my hands."
Every bone in my body hurts, but I'm not going to let him do that to me. I force myself onto my side, and aim a kick at his knee as he gets into range. I hear his kneecap crack, and he stumbles, reaching out for one of the desks to steady himself with his left hand. Which is when he goes for his gun with his right. I try to kick it out of his hand. I'm not fast enough, but instead of firing, he reverses the barrel and hits me over the eye with all his might. I fall onto my back again, stunned, and can feel the blood welling. Soon it's in spilling into my left eye, and I can't see so well.
I kick out again, desperate this time as I don't dare let him pin me to the ground, and connect with the same knee. This time the crack is louder. He drops, screaming in agony, and I see the gun come out of his hand and come across the floor towards me. We both reach for it, but this time I'm faster, although the movement makes me cry out in pain. I grab it, twist towards him and fire, hoping the safety's off.
Bang!
I hadn't realised how loud a gun was in close quarters, with no protection, and my ears start ringing along with the rest of my head.
He cries out again, and as I try to move away, I see red soaking through his shirt, above his belt. Very carefully, I get to my feet, trying not to cry out at the pain from my back and ribs. The gun is still in my hand, and I look down at him, my anger cold and calculating now. In answer, he stares up at me, his face a mask of pain between the scratches I'd inflicted on him earlier.
"Help me, Becker. Please. Beautiful Becker. Help me."
"You raped a little boy less than half your size. A member of my platoon. My family. You wanted to do the same to me. You'll get no help from me."
"But the pain...make it stop"
"Did you listen when Artur said that to you?"
"Why do you care? Perfect little Becker. You can have everything. I can help you have everything. Why do you give a damn about an Untermensch like him?"
"Because I should have protected him. You...had...no...right...to...hurt...him."
"I don't give a shit," he answered, swapping cajoling for anger, "I order you to help me, Zugführer Becker. It hurts so much..."
I resist the inbuilt instinct to obey a superior officer. Instead, I look at him, feeling no pity or mercy for the man on the ground before me.
"You're never going to hurt anyone like that again..." I say to him, and I raise the gun. I aim at his face, and fire. He dies instantly, and I let my arm fall to my side, the weapon in my hand suddenly very, very heavy.
As I stare at his lifeless body, I feel the anger draining out of me.
By the time the door opens behind me, I'm shaking like a leaf, and I'm holding the gun in a death grip.
"Place the weapon on the table and slowly turn towards me with your hands raised," comes a voice from the doorway.
I do as I'm told, and see Obersturmführer Seidel flanked by two military policemen. Of all the people who could have come, he's the one I'm most ashamed to find me like this. He's obviously shocked as he recognises me.
"Becker?" he says, disbelieving.
"Yes, sir," I say, weakly. I don't try to salute. It's all I can do to stay on my feet, and the blood on my face feels cold and sticky.
"What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it, sir."
He signals to one of the MPs, who moves in to check that Hölzer is dead. As if the gaping hole where his right eye socket used to be doesn't tell its own story. The MP looks back at Seidel and shakes his head.
"I don't know what the Hell has happened here, Becker, but I'm going to have to take you into custody."
"I understand sir. And I will accept whatever punishment is given to me."
He looks at me, and his face softens.
"Christ, Armand. How the Hell am I going to explain this to your mother?"
The man who had knelt beside Hölzer stands, takes a pair of handcuffs from his belt, and puts one of the bracelets around my left wrist. Then he pulls my arms down, and snaps the other onto my right. I don't resist, but I can't stop myself crying in pain as my arms are forced into the small of my back. Seidel looks at me, concerned and then revises his orders.
"Take him to the infirmary. We can conduct this investigation with him there just as well as we can with him in the cells."
"Yes, Herr Seidel," they say as one, and fall into step either side of me. I'm marched out of the room, limping but trying to keep my head high as we pass through the halls, now are lined by other students who know that something is very, very wrong.
As we walk out of the school block, I see the soccer players standing around, watching what's going on with curiosity. After all, everyone loves a good disaster. The thought pops into my head unbidden, that I don't know who won. My gaze lights on Beringer and our eyes meet. I see disbelief and then he turns away. I hang my head, and don't resist as I'm walked across the parade ground as a prisoner.
18.00. I'm sitting on the edge of one of the beds in the infirmary. I've been given so many pain killers that I feel numb, but at least the cuffs are gone. The MPs were here earlier. They made me strip to my underwear, and were taking photos of the bruises which are coming out where Hölzer hit me. Then they wiped my hands with a cloth as they asked me what had happened. I didn't answer, because there was nothing I wanted to say, and eventually they'd gone away, taking my clothes with them. Processing, they said.
Once they were gone, Nurse Essert had come in and started treating my injuries, strapping my ribs and ankle, and cleaning my cuts. Once she was done, she had given me a soft towelling wrap to keep me warm, and started stitching the gash over my eye.
Across the infirmary I see Artur, out cold and curled up in a ball in the bed opposite. He looks so very, very young. I feel guilty that I didn't know. Guilty that I didn't protect him. Guilty that my stupid rebellion this morning has led to this. My only consolation is that Hölzer will never, ever hurt him again.
"Armand?" comes a voice from the doorway, and I see my mother. Nurse Essert puts the last stitch into the cut, and then steps outside to give us some privacy.
"Mama..." I say, quietly, and she comes over and puts her arms around me. It's all I can do not to cry with relief.
"What happened, my darling?"
"I got into a fight."
"With one of your NCOs?"
"He was bullying my platoon mates. I had to stop him. I was protecting them."
"You understand that he's dead?"
"The gun went off while we were fighting," I answer, "I didn't mean to kill him"
I wonder if she knows I'm lying.
"Oh, baby," she says, quietly, and holds me tighter. This time I don't try to stop the tears, and feel them rolling down my face and onto her shoulder, wetting her long red hair. We sit like that for several minutes before we're disturbed.
"Frau Doktor," says a firm voice, and I look up to see Kommandant Böhm, "we have to take him into custody now."
"Is that really necessary?" she asks, "he's just a boy."
"A man died, Frau Doktor. We have to understand why."
"Of course," she says, quietly and lets me go, kissing me gently just above the stitches. Then she reaches into her pocket and gives me her handkerchief. I use it to wipe away the tears, and the Kommandant snaps his fingers.
One of the MPs I saw earlier comes in and hands me a uniform, and then they wait outside while I dress. Mama stays, and as I take off the robe, I can feel her taking in every bruise. I feel stiff and sore as she helps me into my clothes, but once I'm dressed, I stand up to my full height and walk over to the doorway. Mama follows me. Outside, I see the Kommandant, two MPs and Obersturmführer Seidel.
"I'm ready, Herr Kommandant."
He nods to one of the MPs, who puts his hand on my shoulder as he walks me out. At least this time they do without cuffs. I look back and see Seidel put his arm around Mama's shoulders, and the tears in her eyes. Off to one side, Nurse Essert looks angry, but her anger seems to be directed at the men taking me away, rather than me.
20.00. The detention cell is cold. They obviously didn't have someone my age in mind when they designed it. I'm lying on a bed which is far too long for me, trying to run through some mental exercises, so that I don't see Hölzer's face in my mind. But I keep coming back to the hole where his eye used to be and I feel ill. The painkillers are wearing off and I wonder if I'll be given any more. My jailers bring me food, but I feel too sick to eat it. Nurse Essert is shown in, and sits beside me. There's a syringe in her hand.
"This is a combination of a sedative and a low dose of morphine. It will help you sleep."
I don't resist as she rolls up my sleeve and swabs the inside of my elbow. As she does, a guard comes in with extra pillows.
"I'm so sorry, Armand. You shouldn't be here. You should be in the infirmary. You have broken ribs and a concussion, and you're lucky he didn't break your back."
"How's Artur?"
"I've kept him in overnight, but he'll be discharged in the morning."
"Is he alright?" I say, quietly.
"I don't know, child, I really don't."
"He didn't deserve what Hölzer did to him."
"No child does when something like that happens."
"Please don't tell anyone, or his life won't be worth living."
"I'll keep his secret if I can. But it might not be possible."
I want to answer, but I feel my eyelids getting heavy, and am barely aware as she arranges the pillows around me, so my head is supported and I'm not lying flat. I don't hear her leave.
* * * * * *
Friday, 07.00. I just can't get away from Deutschland Erwache. If anything, it's louder here than in the dorm. I feel sluggish and dirty, and realise I've slept in my clothes. And even the morphine has worn off.
The door opens, and I'm ordered to my feet. I comply as quickly as I can, even though it hurts to move. I'm walked to the wash room at the end of the detention block corridor, stripped and put in the shower. I detect a strange undercurrent between the two men who are escorting me. Sympathy, I think, and something else. As I step out I'm offered a towel, and then walked back to my cell, where my best uniform has been laid out for me. We normally only have to wear that for special parades, like the Führer's birthday.
Nurse Essert comes in and re-straps my ribs and ankle, then hands me a couple of tablets before she has to leave. I take them, then dress slowly and carefully. These trousers don't seem as short as my usual ones. Maybe they pulled something new for me from stores, so I look tidy. The painkillers kick soon, and by the time one of the guards arrives with a plate of bread and cold meat, I actually feel like I want to eat.
09.00. The door opens again. I recognise the soldier standing there but I don't know his name. Behind him I see Hauptsturmführer Darré, the garrison senior officer. Rumour has it he's the father of one of the members of my platoon, but no-one's ever said for sure.
"The Enquiry Board is ready for you, Zugführer Becker," Darré says, and I can see disappointment on his face. Darré has always been good to me, and I feel I've let him down.
"So soon?"
"I'm sorry," he answers, and I really think he means it.
I nod, but regret it immediately, and have to breathe deeply a couple of times to fight back the nausea. They give me time to recover myself, and then the soldier escorts me out.
I hold my head high and my back as straight as I can, given the pain, as we walk through the corridors. I don't want to show weakness. I'm taken into a large, wood panelled room. I've never been in here before. There's a solid wooden table two-thirds into the room with three chairs behind it. Kommandant Böhm is sitting in the centre. To his right, is Sturmbannführer Beyer, the Chief Administrator of the Centre, who looks hostile and disgusted with me. To the side of them is a small desk, where two people I don't recognise are sitting. There's a square of carpet in front of the bench.
I take in the pictures on the wall: the Führer, the Reichsführer-SS, and Oberstgruppenführer Ritter, the head of the Ahnenerbe Forschungs und Lehrgemeinschaft, which administers the Centres. They scowl down at me as I'm walked forward. On the chairs to the right, I see my entire platoon, including Artur. He's sitting beside Beringer, who seems to be hovering protectively over him, and he looks pale and sleepy. The others sit around them, sitting dead straight and silent, their ranks closed against all outsiders. To the left, I see Mama and her husband, plus some of the other staff, including Unterscharführer Tiedeman and Nurse Essert. I wonder if they will be called as a witness.
Then, behind me, there's a commotion. I turn my head, and see a man enter the room wearing dress uniform. He's tall, blond and solidly built. The perfect SS man as he strides down the centre aisle, flanked by two guards. I feel proud that our country can produce men like him. I've never seen an Oberstgruppenführer this close before, but I recognise his rank insignia from our lessons. I recognise the man from his picture on the wall.
The speed with which everyone comes to their feet is impressive.
"Sieg Heil...Sieg Heil..." comes the chorus as we salute, and he acknowledges it with a nod of his head and a casual wave of his arm.
"Oberstgruppenführer Ritter..." the Kommandant begins, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he's scared when he sees the General. He tries to hide his emotions as he steps aside from the centre seat. The newcomer shakes his head.
"I am an observer. Nothing more."
"Of course, Herr Ritter," he says, almost fawning, and he moves back to his place. The General sits on the same side as the Centre staff, then nods to Darré, who moves to the chair to the left of Kommandant Böhm.
"The Board of Enquiry into the death of Scharführer Gert Hölzer is in session," declares the Usher and everyone sits.
Except me. I don't even get a chair. I feel very alone as I stand there, only too aware of the General's eyes boring into my back. The Kommandant looks up at me, his face stern.
"Zugführer Armand Becker. Yesterday afternoon, at approximately 16.00, two shots were heard from the school block. Members of the garrison were sent to investigate, and you were discovered beside the body of Scharführer Hölzer, a gun in your hand. Investigations indicate that you had recently fired the weapon in question. How do you answer to this charge?"
"I plead self-defence," I answer. It's the only option I have. Saying anything else will probably get me shot. Or sent away to a detention centre, where I'll die slowly.
"We will listen to your case."
"Start at the beginning, Becker," the Hauptsturmführer Darré says, firmly, "I understand that when Scharführer Kiefer gave your platoon their morning inspection yesterday, he noted that you had an injury to your face."
"That is correct, sir."
"How did you acquire that injury?"
"Scharführer Hölzer had led morning exercise, and I felt he was bullying on certain members of my platoon. It wasn't the first time, and I felt he wasn't being fair, so I decided to take him to task."
"You decided to take him to task," the Administrator repeats, slowly.
"Yes sir."
"And?"
"He did not appreciate my tone."
"That sounds like insubordination, Becker."
"Yes, sir."
"What happened?"
"He struck me on the mouth, and then ordered me to do five circuits of the field."
"And what did you do?"
"I did as I was told."
"And later?"
"His had made me angry. He had insulted my platoon, and insulted me. And he had inflicted an unnecessary punishment on two of my platoon mates. So I decided to talk to him again, to try to make him stop."
"The correct course of action would have been to make a formal complaint. Request that he no longer be assigned to your platoon for morning exercise."
"Yes, sir," I answer, knowing that he's absolutely right. If that had been all I'd gone after Hölzer for.
"But in your infinite, eleven-year-old wisdom..." Administrator Beyer begins, his tone sarcastic, "you decided to take matters into your own hands. Why did you choose to do that during an inter-platoon competition?"
"I knew Oberkadet Beringer would be able to organise things in my absence. So the games period seemed to be a good time to try to approach Scharführer Hölzer privately."
"You left the games field at approximately 14.00. Around the time that Kadet Acker was also noticed to be missing."
"Yes sir. I informed Unterscharführer Tiedeman that I would go and find him."
"That sounds like very convenient timing."
I stand in silence and give no answer to his question, because it was an excuse and I knew it.
"Where were you from 14.00 until the shots were fired at 16.00?" asks Hauptsturmführer Darré . I'm relieved. He seems more sympathetic to me than the Administrator, who feels like he's taken an instant dislike to me. I wonder what I've done to offend him.
"I did go looking for Kadet Acker, before continuing on my way to find the Scharführer. I found him sitting beside the wall of the gym block. He told me that Scharführer Hölzer had ordered him to do twenty extra circuits of the field, as an additional punishment. But he'd managed to fall and hurt his ankle. I sat with him for a few minutes, and then helped him to the infirmary, before continuing my search."
"Nurse Essert," the Kommandant said, and she got smartly to her feet.
"Yes, Herr Kommandant."
"Is this true?"
"Zugführer Becker brought Kadet Acker into the infirmary for medical treatment at approximately 14.45."
"Had he sprained his ankle?"
"He was limping as he arrived, so took him for medical assessment."
I want to hug her for keeping her promise and still telling the truth.
"Zugführer Becker stayed for a few minutes, and then departed, saying that he was running an errand for you, Herr Kommandant.
"Becker?" he asks, staring at me.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was unwilling to explain my true intentions."
"Nurse Essert, sit. Becker, continue."
"I checked with the garrison office, and was told that Scharführer Hölzer was elsewhere on the site, so I went looking for him. I found him in the school block, watching the soccer tournament."
"And what did you do then?"
"I told him he didn't have the right to pick on my platoon like that."
"And his reaction?" asks the Administrator.
"He did not appreciate my tone, Herr Standartenführer."
"He did not appreciate your tone, young Becker," he repeats, obviously feeling sympathy for the sentiment.
"No sir."
"Who threw the first punch?" asks the Kommandant.
"He did, sir," I lie, "and this time I defended myself."
"You damn fool," the Garrison Commander interrupts, "In your combat training, you're taught to weigh up the odds. To make sure that you don't end up in a fight you cannot win. Your tutors have always said that you're one of their best students. Why didn't you listen to them?"
"I was angry, sir. He'd bullied my platoon mates, and someone had to stand up for them. Reason wasn't going to work, so my assessment was that the only way I'd manage to make my point was by force. It was foolish and I didn't think it through."
"And so you fought?" the Kommandant states, flatly.
"Tooth and nail, by the look of the school room," Hauptsturmführer Darré interrupts, but falls silent at a look from his superior officer.
"Yes sir."
"Which of you pulled the gun?" the Administrator asks.
"He did. He struck me over the eye with it."
"So he wasn't trying to kill you?"
"I think he wanted to stun me. I imagine he hadn't expected that I'd fight so hard, and by then we were both in a bad way."
"So despite your foolishness in engaging with him, you actually managed to hold your own?" the Kommandant asks, and I have the feeling he's actually impressed.
"For a while at least, Herr Kommandant."
"Continue."
"I didn't want to be stunned, because then I would have been helpless, and I didn't know what he'd do to me. And then the gun came loose. We both reached for it, but I got there first and I fired blindly."
"Hitting him in the stomach."
"Yes sir."
"At that point, why didn't you call for help?"
"I don't know, sir."
"And the second shot?" asks the Administrator.
"I must have pulled back on the trigger again by accident."
I fall silent and they look at me. I stand, eyes forward waiting. Behind me, I can still feel the General, watching me like a hawk.
"At ease, Becker," the Kommandant says, finally, and I let myself relax into parade rest, "you have stated your side of this matter. Scharführer Hölzer cannot do the same. Our enquiries, therefore, must be made of those in this room. Do you understand."
"Yes sir."
One of the MPs comes over, and I'm led to one side. They still don't offer me a chair and I bite back my aches and pains. Now, especially, I mustn't look weak. And then they start calling witnesses.
They start with Doktor Klossner, head of the medical team, who gives talks about our injuries. There was obviously a fight, he says, and why would a child have started something like that against an adult, although he seems to have given as good as he got, which is impressive. He also believes that the stomach wound was self-defence. When asked for his opinion on the kill shot he pauses a moment, before saying that it probably happened just as I'd said. His phrasing supports my plea of self-defence. When the Administrator asks him why the kill shot was downwards, he shrugs and says nothing.
After him, Nurse Essert is formally called to the stand and she repeats her story in more detail, without giving away any more information on Artur's injuries.
Then the succession of witness from the afternoon itself begins. Unterscharführer Tiedeman; Oberkadet Beringer, Kadet Dreher and the rest of my platoon mates; the clerk from the garrison office; the soldiers who found me standing over the body with a gun in my hand. And as I listen, I realise that every single one of them is backing my story, and no-one except the Administrator is querying the second shot. My platoon I can understand, but the adults? It makes me wonder how many of them suspected what Hölzer was doing, and hadn't been able to prove it.
I can see Sturmbannführer Beyer getting angrier and more frustrated by the moment. He wants my head on the block for murder. That was obvious from the moment I walked into the Tribunal. In the centre, Kommandant Böhm has remained neutral throughout, and on the left, I catch the hint of a smile on Darré's face. I glance over at Oberstgruppenführer Ritter, to see what he makes of this, and I see something I really don't expect. Approval. He catches my eye and gives a slight nod in my direction.
At 13.00 they call a halt.
"The evidence in this Board of Enquiry has been heard," the Kommandant says, getting to his feet, "we will adjourn to consider our verdict."
"All rise," orders the Usher, and we do as he says.
My guards fall in beside me, and walk me out. No physical contact this time. I'm taken down the hall to a small, bare room, where I'm sat down, and a light lunch is brought. I pick at it, half-heartedly, as the guards watch me in silence. Out in the hall, I can hear voices: my platoon mates, some of the adults. I try to tune them out as I don't want to listen to them, and after a while, they retreat down the corridor.
"Are you alright, Zugführer Becker?" one of my guards asks, but I have nothing to say to him.
"You did the right thing," the other says, quietly, "he deserved everything he got."
His companion shoots him a hard stare, but he doesn't flinch. "It's true, Oskar, and you know it."
"You knew what he was doing?" I ask. I still can't believe they would have let it happen.
"No-one knew," Oskar answers, "but some of us suspected."
"For how long?"
"About five years."
"Then why didn't you stop him?"
"We couldn't," replies his companion and I realise that they were afraid of him.
"So you let me fight your battle for you?"
They both turn their eyes downwards, and I can tell they're ashamed. I can't believe it. They knew, and they let me sort it out. We sit in silence until the door opens and the Usher comes in. Outside, I hear voices as the witnesses return to the Tribunal room.
"The Board have made their decision."
The guards look at each other, surprised.
"That was quick," says one.
"I hope they do the right thing," comes the answer.
They let me get to my feet, and then flank me as I walk back into the Tribunal. The Board are standing behind the table, but now Oberstgruppenführer Ritter is beside them. He watches me as I come in and salute, then take my place on the carpet.
"This Board of Enquiry has made its determination in the matter of the death of Scharführer Gert Hölzer," the General says, in a firm voice that cuts through all the noise in the room, "let all those present hear the judgment."
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," comes the answering chorus.
"By a majority of three to one, we have decided to accept Zugführer Becker's plea of self-defence."
Three to one? So the General wasn't just an observer after all? Behind me, I hear cheering. In front of me, I read the faces of my judges, and know exactly who the 'one' was. Sturmbannführer Beyer glowers at me with hatred.
"However..." the General says, pitching his voice so that it can be heard by all, and the room falls quiet once more, "it is also the opinion of this Board of Enquiry, that some form of punishment is appropriate. After all, a man died."
No answering chorus this time. Just an uncomfortable shuffling of feet.
"It is the decision of this Board that Zugführer Armand Becker be stripped of his position of authority forthwith, and returned to the rank of Kadet indefinitely."
This time, the sounds behind me are angry, and I heard some of my platoon shouting out their disagreement. I will them to stop, but the General gets there first.
"Silence!" he orders, and is immediately obeyed. Then he looks at me.
"Kadet Becker, do you understand this judgement?"
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
"Do you accept this judgement?"
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
He nods, and again I see approval, and then he crosses to me and removes the Zugführer's pin from the front of my tunic. No doubt the sewn insignia will follow shortly. I stand stock still as he does it, knowing how lucky I've been.
"Oberkadet Beringer," he orders, "Step forward."
I hear footsteps, and moments later my second is standing at my right side, perhaps half a pace behind me. We glance at each other, and I see sympathy in his eyes.
"I didn't want this, Armand," he says, sotto voce.
"I know," I answer, "but they're right. It has to be done."
Then I look back up at the General. He approaches Beringer and replaces his rank pin with mine.
"Who do you designate as your platoon second, Zugführer Beringer?"
He turns towards me and I know what he's going to say. Apparently, so does the General.
"No. Becker is no longer eligible to hold any rank above Kadet."
"Then I request that Kadet Dreher be appointed to the position."
"Dreher. Come forward."
Moments later, Dreher is standing at my left, half a pace behind me, same as Beringer. The General notices this, and I detect a slight smile on his lips as he pins the Oberkadet pin onto Dreher's jacket.
"This Board of Enquiry is concluded. Kadet Becker, you are free to go. Dismissed."
We salute, and then turn as one and march down the centre aisle. Beringer and Dreher maintain their positions on either side of me, letting me lead. As we pass the rest of our platoon, they fall in behind us in silence and we head out of the door in perfect formation. Out in the corridor there seem to be a surprisingly large number of people, and as we walk past, they clap. Slowly at first, and then more enthusiastically. By the time I lead the platoon out onto the parade ground for the last time, the sound is almost deafening. I keep walking towards the dormitory block, and soon we leave the sounds behind us. It's only once we're back in our quarters that we break formation.
"They didn't have the right to do that to you, Armand," Tresler protests.
"Yes they did, Jochen," I reply, calmly, "yes they did."
"But you were protecting Artur," Feldt says, angrily, oblivious to the irony that he was the one saying it.
"Hannes, I didn't have to fire the second shot," I answer, quietly.
"The gun went off by accident," Kohl says, puzzled.
"No it didn't, Peter," Beringer replies, his eyes meeting mine, "did it Armand?"
I look at him and shake my head and then I look over at Artur. He's been strangely silent up until now, but as he sees me watching him, he steps forward.
"Thank you," he says, quietly, and I cross to him and wrap him in my arms for a few seconds.
"I will never let anyone do this to you again, Artur," I say, quietly but firmly, "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Then I let him go and step back.
"Artur is under my protection," I say to the platoon, "hurt him, and you hurt me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Zugführer Becker," they answer as one. Even Beringer.
"None of this ever goes beyond this room."
"No, Zugführer Becker."
"We stick together. No one ever does this to any of us again."
"Yes, sir."
"Then we say no more about it."
Then I look over at Beringer.
"Let me clear my things out of your room, Nico."
"You don't have to."
"Yes I do," I answers, "I've forfeited the right to it. I understand that."
"Was it worth it?" he asks, quietly.
I look at him, and then at Artur, and then back at him.
"Yes it was."
And I head for my little room. I look around, sadly, then begin collecting my things together. And soon, quietly and silently the others join me and help.