good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.
It has, it has to be parted,
good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.
It is about Germany's Glory,
Glory, Glory,
Hail Victory! Hail Victory! Victory!
It was a song that the boys knew well. The previous year it had spread like wildfire to every NAPOLA, Reich School and Hitler Youth organization in Germany. And so they all sang the second verse:
Sight and target are adjusted,
good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,
To Stalin, Churchill, Roosevelt,
good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,
It is about Germany's Glory,
Glory, Glory,
Hail Victory! Hail Victory! Victory! Even Wolf, who did not care for battle songs, felt a tingle of jubilance as they sang the third and fourth verses. At the song’s end, the boys fell silent, once again eager for information. Nagel’s gaze lingered on the cadets’ faces, making eye contact with each before speaking. “It is time that we were properly introduced,” he said. “I am Siegfried Nagel. I joined the military before many of your fathers were even born. I stood shoulder to shoulder with the fuhrer in the Odeonsplatz during the 1914 war rally.”Wolf had seen a now-famous photograph of the Odeonsplatz rally in government offices. On the eve of the 1932 presidential elections, the party had published the photograph of a man bearing Hitler’s likeness among a crowd of thousands in the Odeonsplatz, a public square outside the Residenz, the formal royal palace of the Bavarian monarchs. When he was a child, Wolf had heard his father’s university friends quietly arguing over whether the photograph had been faked. Nevertheless, it had been institutionalized as a symbol of Hitler’s longstanding patriotism.
“Five years later,” Nagel continued, “The Treaty of Versailles robbed us of our dignity. But I did not give up. Germany did not give up. Twelve years after leaving the army, Reichsfuhrer Himmler called me to serve in the SS, and I embraced the opportunity with an open heart. I have watched proudly as our nation has pulled itself up from dereliction to take its rightful place as a world empire. Today I am commandant of Wewelsburg Castle. That is our destination.”
An astonished silence settled over the boys, which was followed by an electric gush of cheer. Lang had been wrong about the destination. The cadets were not bound for Ahnenerbe headquarters in Berlin, as he had predicted.
Wewelsburg Castle had deep nostalgic significance for all young Germans. It had been mythologized in nearly every Indo-Germanic history course. Every boy at the Reich School knew that in the year 9 AD, on the very property where Wewelsburg Castle now stood, Germanic tribes had gloriously defeated three Roman legions in the Battle of Teutoburg Forest. At nearby Paderborn Cathedral, Charlemagne had been made the first emperor of the Holy Roman Empire in 799 AD. Hillside fortresses dated back to the ninth and tenth centuries and had been built and destroyed numerous times over the past millennium.
Wolf’s worries seemed to fall away. He suddenly felt as if he were on a pilgrimage. Or in a fairy tale. He looked at Lang, whose face was filled with ecstasy.
Nagel allowed the cadets 30 seconds of jubilation, and then settled his index finger over his lips until they had quieted. “Each of you has been chosen for a special purpose,” he said. “The Deutsches Ahnenerbe is the soul and conscience of the SS. The success of our research and operations is directly proportional to the strength of the German culture. We are therefore the guiding light for the entire Third Reich. As such, Reichsfuhrer Himmler has brilliantly restored Wewelsburg Castle to be the beating heart of the Ahnenerbe. The Fatherland’s spiritual epicenter for the next thousand years. Your journey, my boys, will begin there tonight.”
Paderborn Station
By the time their train arrived at the station, it was nearly 10 o’clock. The cadets were hungry, but the SS soldiers were all business, ordering them into the backs of three Opel trucks identical to the ones that had ferried them from Feldafing to Munich that day.
The truck picked up speed as the city streets gave way to a country road. Wolf pulled his peacoat from his suitcase. Although it was cold in the open-air vehicle, it was nothing compared to the morning swims in frigid Lake Starnberg.
Thoughts of the lake triggered memories of Albert. The image of Albert’s body slung over the thresher flashed in his mind. And then — proof that for every action in the world there was an equal reaction — there had been Beck, lying in the field on the other side of the barn. Wolf allowed himself to linger on the image of the bluish smoke wafting up from Himmler’s sidearm. Maybe Beck deserved that, Wolf mused. The bastard’s negligence had killed Albert.
Lang shook Wolf out of his daze, pointing out beautiful lamp-lit farmhouses and country manor homes as they drove in the woods outside Paderborn. He took in a deep breath for what seemed like the first time all day, noting the sweet scent of the conifer forest as the truck climbed a series of foothills. Soon, the branches of enormous beech and oak trees arched over the road. The night air grew several degrees cooler. Lang drew close, his teeth chattering.
When the truck finally stopped, Wolf leaned out the back and found himself face to face with an SS guard holding an MP-38 submachine gun in his left hand. A second guard appeared at his side with a flashlight. The guard peered into the truck bed, counting the 11 boys within.
“Welcome to Wewelsburg Castle,” he said finally, and shouted for the guard to open the gate.
The truck motored across an arched stone bridge that was built over a moat. Torches were lit along the castle walls. An SS guard stood inside a sentry box, rubbing his gloved hands together to keep warm.
Nagel’s voice cried “Attention! Out of the trucks!”
The boys climbed over each other to get a look at the castle at night. It was too dark to see much, but Wolf’s Jesuit teachers had equipped him with enough knowledge to imagine what he could not see. It was constructed of yellow stone with three towers in a triangular pattern. Seen from an airplane, it was said to resemble the shape of the Holy Lance, the spear used by Longinus to pierce Christ’s side during the Crucifixion. The triangular-shaped castle’s north tower formed the spear’s tip, with the two domed towers forming its sides, and the road leading up to it comprising the lance’s shaft.
Nagel commanded the boys to line up. They did, standing in two neat rows in the crisp night air. “With radiant hearts,” he said, “You will now enter Wewelsburg Castle, prepared to carry out what the nation, the National Socialist State and I expect of you.”
They marched through an arched doorway decorated with stone-etched images of the Nordic gods Thor and Odin. The entrance hall was a great, oak-paneled room that, judging by the exposed wiring strung along one wall, had only recently been outfitted with electricity. The glow of several low-wattage lamps revealed suits of armor, medieval crossbows and immaculate tapestries. Wolf was awestruck by the size of the roaring fireplace, which was nearly tall enough to stand in.
Even at this hour, restoration efforts were underway. Two workers were busy hanging an oil painting. Crude cross-shaped patches were sewn to the chests of their striped shirts and pants.
Nagel halted the march. He went to the head of the line, sweeping his hand across the scene before them. “These are just two of hundreds of foreign workers living in a nearby camp for stonemasons, carpenters and electricians. They are Jehovah’s Witnesses, and they are free to go at any time. We ask only that they renounce their religion, swear obedience to Hitler and join the German Army. Fortunately for my reconstruction project, they have so far been unwilling to do so.”