“Now, the northern nations of Europe, here…” Herr Lehrer explained, pointing his stick at the map, “…the Reich, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, among others, have pure Aryan populations, excluding, of course, certain infestations of Jewish and Gypsy Untermenschen...”
Several weeks later and with the window incident safely pushed to the back of his mind, Dieter was in his geography class, busy taking notes. He drew a misshapen blob that in no way could ever pass for the European continent, and circled the upper portion. He drew an arrow pointing to the inside of the circle, and at the pointer’s base, he wrote the word, ‘Aryan.’
“…Now, let’s talk about the biological properties of an Aryan person before we move on to the rest of the world. Would anyone in the class like to tell us?”
Dieter looked around him, just like everyone else in the classroom. Nobody raised their hands to answer, and Herr Lehrer noticed. After waiting for a few seconds, he kindly asked, “Dieter “ would you care to explain what the typical Aryan looks like?”
He had no choice, actually. Dieter briskly got up from his chair and stood up next to his desk to answer, but he stumbled on his response rather than his feet. He knew the answer to the question, but he didn’t know how to convey his mental image of the Aryan person into words.
“Well, the Aryan looks like…”
The teacher waited patiently for a few seconds before raising his eyebrows and suggesting in an amused tone, “Like you?”
Dieter noticed that Herr Lehrer was smiling and suddenly realised why he had been called to answer to begin with. The teacher taught the class about the facial features of the typical Aryan, using Dieter as an example. He could feel his cheeks turn red “ everyone was staring at him, and some girls where stifling giggles. Walter, Karl, and Erick, on the other hand, were making a very poor effort at restraining their amusement.
Dieter didn’t hear a word of Lehrer’s explanation about nose and skull structures, and eye and hair colours. After what seemed like an eternity, he was told he could sit back down, which he did gladly. One of the giggling girls got her comeuppance, for she was called upon to serve as the model for the typical Aryan female.
A few minutes later, Herr Lehrer returned to the map, and aimed his stick at the British Isles. He told the class, “Now, the English are Aryans thanks to their proud Anglo-Saxon and various Viking ancestors, yet in some areas their population has been diluted slightly with old Celtic blood in Wales…” He pointed at the western protrusion of the island, then “ “…and Scotland, here. Additionally, Latins were introduced into Britain’s racial mix when William the Bastard of Normandy conquered Saxon England in the year 1066. This leads us to France.”
The teacher’s voice took a very bitter tone when he pointed at France, duly noting that the country was slightly fatter on the map than it should have been, thanks to the crimes of 1918. He explained that the French, along with the Spaniards, Portuguese, and Italians, were Latins and therefore not Aryans - but they were still better than the barbaric Slavs to the east. They were infested with millions of Jews, and being savage, godless Bolsheviks did not help their race at all.
The teacher didn’t have any living examples in the class to describe the other races of the world, so he instead used a large poster tacked to the wall with pictures of some very unsightly heads. The Asiatics had little, squinty, slanted eyes and buckteeth; Africans had oddly lumpy faces and huge lips and looked like chimpanzees; and Jews had greedy, beady eyes, and huge noses “ Dieter couldn’t decide which race was the ugliest.
“So, in conclusion, you have the Slavs…” Herr Lehrer pointed his stick at the giant map on the wall, at Russia and Eastern Europe. “Untermenschen. You have the African race, in Africa obviously “ Untermenschen. And the Asiatics… also Untermenschen.”
Once the lesson was over, the geography teacher gave the class their assignment due the next class, which was to draw, label, and divide a map of the world between the Aryan, non-Aryan, and sub-human races. Dieter couldn’t draw to save his life, so he fervently hoped that he wouldn’t get marked off for his lumpy continents.
Fortunately, Dieter’s marks in other classes did not depend on any sort of drawing skills. He had his usual classes like arithmetic, grammar, but best of all “ physical education. All Dieter had to do in that class was run around and get exercise for two hours in the morning and three in the afternoon, plus there was no schoolwork involved, for which he was infinitely grateful.
Their instructor, Herr Beine, divided the class into teams and had them play several games, designed not only to aid the growth of healthy bodies, but to also build teamwork. The students, Dieter’s friends, and himself ran around until thoroughly tired, but that wasn’t the end of it. Their teacher pushed them to the limit and then some more and by the time school ended, Dieter staggered back home.
Several days later, in spite of his artistic talent that was comparable to a colour-blind hedgehog’s, his racial map of the world received a perfect score.
"Adolf Hitler, you are our great Führer. Thy name makes the enemy tremble. Thy Third Reich comes, thy will alone is law upon the earth. Let us hear daily thy voice and order us by thy leadership, for we will obey to the end and even with our lives. We praise thee! Heil Hitler!"
A chorus of young voices sang out over the grassy field smothered in a thick blanket of snow. Dieter stood with his boots buried up to his ankles, with the blade of a spade ahead and between his feet. His hands clenched tightly the end of the wooden shaft, squeezing it just to provide a distraction from the chilling, early morning air. He was dressed only in his thin Deutsches Jungvolk uniform shirt and shorts, and it took all of the conviction he had to deliver the Oath and keep himself from shivering.
"Führer, my Führer, give me by God. Protect and preserve my life for long. You saved Germany in time of need. I thank you for my daily bread. Be with me for a long time, do not leave me, Führer, my Führer, my faith, my light, Hail to my Führer!"
In unison, the boys standing shoulder to shoulder extended their right arms in a crisp, stiff salute. The Bannführer, seemingly unperturbed by the cold, responded in kind with an outstretched arm and said, “Heil!”
“HEIL!” the boys answered with surprising volume, as shouting was a distraction from the discomfort of their bare legs left exposed to the elements.
The boys lowered their arms following the Bannführer’s example. The adult youth leader surveyed his charges for several unbearably long seconds that felt like hours, and finally shouted the order, “Shoulder spades!”
In a flurry of movement, the boys obeyed. The heads of the spades were whipped up from the ground and were aimed at the air, with the handles resting on shoulders and blades glistening like bayonets.
“Right face!”
In unison, the Kameradschaft swivelled on their right heels, crunching the compacted ice beneath their serrated-soled boots.
“March!” the Bannführer ordered.
In unison, the dozen young boys in the Kameradschaft set off with their steps well synchronised. The boys’ boots landed in the same pits in the snow created by the leader, marching like some khaki and black uniformed centipede. The hot breath of the shivering boys’ mouths formed a thin trail of steam that dissipated into the cold air.
The Bannführer marched alongside the small column, checking the paces of each of the Pimpfs. He nodded in approval, but-
“Albert! Move it!”
“Sorry,” the offending youth replied as he took several quick steps to get his strides to match the others’.
The line of Deutsches Jungvolk boys made their way from the muster field to the middle of Adolf Hitler Platz “ the square lay invisible under a thick layer of snow. The Bannführer called a stop to rest, and stood next to the half-buried fountain. He aimed a gloved finger at the buildings around him, making a full circle.
“All right boys, you see that everyone’s doors are snowed in shut? That is our objective. We’re going to give everyone an early morning present by clearing off the snow to their doors, so that will be this weekend’s community service project. Are there any questions?”
Why can’t we wear trousers? Dieter thought to himself, even though he already knew the answer “ it wasn’t part of the uniform. Besides, working in the snow with freezing, bare legs built character.
But Karl raised his hand. “Ja?” the Bannführer prodded.
“ES IST KALT!” he shouted - IT’S COLD! Everyone was struck by the stupidity of his statement that the biting air was forgotten if only for a moment. Dieter couldn’t help but laugh, which amazingly took a lot of effort “ his body instead wanted to gnash his teeth together with jackhammer-like chattering.
“Nice one, Marx,” Walter muttered lightly out of the side of his mouth. Karl Max’s parents must have been extraordinarily stupid or drunk when they named him what they did, but Karl found his name’s near-coincidence highly amusing. The tall, lanky black-haired boy, who looked nothing like the notorious Jewish communist, had a habit of blurting highly constructive comments.
The Bannführer smiled grimly and simply responded, “Well, then there’s no better reason to start shovelling snow to warm you up! Get busy!”
So they did. Dieter, Karl, Erick, and Walter decided to start with Herr Klemperer’s Bakery. Their spades bit into the icy snow, scooped some out, and flung the cold cargo to the sides. Dieter repeated that motion and scooped out some more snow and disposed of it. Then he did it again…
It builds character, Dieter, he told himself to keep his mind off things. Besides, you’re doing a service to the Reich, and you’re exercising! Remember, the basis of a healthy Volk is a physically strong and virtuous-
“It’s cold!” Marx shouted again after some twenty minutes of work, stating the obvious.
“Ow!” he added after Erick hit him on the leg with his spade to get him to shut up.
The boys finished unearthing the entrance to the bakery and then moved on to the adjacent shop. They busied themselves by shovelling out the snow and kept their spirits up by complaining about how cold it was, and what they looked forward to doing when they returned to the campsite. Dieter found himself working harder and harder, as if doing so would deliver that warm cup of hot chocolate sooner.
And in a way, it did. All the boys had experienced a similar phenomenon, and had excelled themselves with their work, removing the snow blocking the front doors of all the buildings centred around Adolf Hitler Platz. The time had flown by surprisingly quickly, and the Bannführer was impressed and pleased with the industrious boys of his Kameradschaft.
“Congratulations everyone,” he announced after having the boys line up at attention, spades at the ready. “We’ll be heading back to camp, and you can do whatever you please until ten o’clock. Good job!”
With spirits considerably higher but temperature slightly less so, the Kameradschaft filed out of Adolf Hitler Platz to head back to camp. The Bannführer didn’t bother checking the paces of the boys, for his attention too was focused on the prospect of a steaming mug, but of coffee instead of chocolate.
Eventually, the white canvas tents that bore uncanny resemblances to Indian tepees swam into view, and the boys hastily broke formation and ran for the tent flaps. Pots, cups, water, and cocoa mix came out, and some of the older, more experienced boys were starting a small fire. The water would take a long time to get hot enough, assuming it didn’t turn to ice beforehand.
On the other side of the meadow were some more tents, and from a flagpole fluttered a black triangular pennant, with a swastika inside a white diamond. Over in that camp, only a couple heavily dressed figures were outside.
Dieter caught his comrades’ attention and gestured to the other campsite. “Look at them! It’s eight in the morning and the Jungmädel girls are still asleep!”
They seemed to have read each others’ minds. Smelling prey, the boys grinned like wolves.
“Es ist kalt!” Melita complained loudly to her friend Johanna. The two of them were up early, standing around in the cold morning air. They shivered underneath their large coats, which didn’t trap enough heat to their satisfaction.
“Isn’t it? I hate camping, especially in the snow!” Johanna concurred. Her pale blonde hair blended almost perfectly with the vast snowfield around her. “This isn’t what young German maidens are supposed to be doing. We should be inside; mein Gott it’s freezing!”
Melita nodded vigorously. “I wish we could get a fire going already; I would kill for something hot to drink right now.”
Pow!
A snowball exploded on the side of her head, knocking her to the ground. She managed a strangled squeak of alarm before her face hit the snow, shoving some very cold ice into her mouth.
Not a moment later, another snowball buzzed past Johanna’s ear. Her head faced the source of the projectile and she spotted about a half-dozen bright red armbands with young boys in khaki uniforms attached to them, furiously throwing snowballs in her direction.
She dodged to the side, avoiding another snowy missile, but another hit a glancing blow on her thick jacket. “Melita, get up!” she cried as she grabbed her sputtering comrade’s arm “ she was spitting out the snow that had gotten in her mouth.
“Schnee-Krieg!” one of the boy’s voices announced to a hail of snowballs. The two girls ran back the short distance to the line of tents screaming, “Help, we’re under attack!”
If her warning shouts didn’t make the message clear enough, the yelling boys and the thuds of snowballs hitting tent canvas did. Some more bewildered, frightened girls emerged from their tents straight into the line of fire.
"Live Faithfully, Fight Bravely, and Die Laughing!"
Dieter shouted the Movement’s motto as he hurled another snowball at the Jungmädel girls. The boys were engulfed in the heat of battle, and the numbing cold biting at their arms, legs, and hands was ignored in the excitement “ it was almost like a real war!
The ambush was perfectly executed, and the Deutsches Jungvolk boys participating in the raid were wreaking havoc among the feminine ranks, and caught unawares, the girls found it difficult to rally under the hail of missiles. Some of the boys were armed with their spades, using them to launch large clumps of snow long distances (if inaccurately) while simultaneously digging field fortifications.
But after some furious minutes of combat, the shock of the initial assault was ebbing, and the girls were fighting back with surprising effectiveness. Their large coats offered them some measure of protection against snowball hits, but the Deutsches Jungvolk boys only had their thin uniform shirts and shorts “ when the snow hit, it hit hard, and they could feel the icy sting.
The disparity in armour protection was starting to show. Many of the girls were hit repeatedly and continued fighting as if nothing happened. Though far fewer of the boys were hit, their effectiveness was ebbing as snowballs slammed into them, making the blows of cold all the more acute.
A knockout blow was in order. “Walter, Karl, you stay here and give us covering fire!” Dieter said to the two of his friends who had good throwing arms. “Erick, let’s go in and open up a new front on their flank!”
Erick nodded fervently. He was fast, aggressive, and good at hitting things.
“Race you there!” Erick shouted as he ran off without waiting for any kind of signal. Mentally cursing him, Dieter followed his friend to the right edge of the Jungmädel camp. The girls didn’t seem to have noticed the two boys attacking their flank, since they were a bit preoccupied with the boys directly ahead of them, and their own tents blocked the view to the side.
…Or perhaps not. A cloaked figure emerged through a gap in the tents to investigate where two of the seven male attackers had gone. Immediately Dieter and Erick pummelled her with snowballs, but her shouts had sounded the alarm.
“There goes the element of surprise; let’s go!” Dieter shouted to his friend, who did not hesitate to obey. Each boy took a separate path through the line of tents, and they burst into the Jungmädel campsite under a hail of fire. Erick was hit several times, but amazingly, all of the snowballs aimed at Dieter missed. He twisted and dodged, narrowly avoiding being struck during those critical seconds.
He quickly bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, and plastered a defender without bothering to pack the ball first. Erick meanwhile, didn’t have time to make any projectiles: he resorted to the highly crude, unconventional, yet effective tactic of simply running straight at several girls and shoving them to the ground with the force of a runaway locomotive.
The air was filled with yells and shouts as the remaining boys charged to join in the furious melee. An adult female voice shouted, “Stefan! Get your little monsters to stop already!”
But the Bannführer (whom Dieter had only now noticed had entered the fight) replied by throwing a snowball at the adult Jungmädel leader, striking her in the shoulder. “All right! If that’s how you want to play…” she said as she scooped up some snow and shaped it into a hard sphere.
It was complete chaos at close combat. The ranges had become so short that it was almost pointless to throw snowballs at each other, and for several quick minutes the boys and girls fought a furious, exhilarating battle “ the absurd amount of epic combat compacted in such a short span of time seemed to speed it up, as the combatants on both sides lost themselves in the fight. It would have lasted forever had it not been for“
“Hey everyone!” one of the older boys screamed, having casually walked over to the battlefield from the Deutsches Jungvolk camp. “The hot chocolate is ready!”
The effect was immediate: the boys suddenly stopped fighting and ran back to their camp, yelling and hooting with excitement and eager anticipation. The girls, with their long coats soaked in places with melted snow and sweat, were left in shock.
“You see Melita? That “ is why I hate camping!” Johanna said to her friend in exasperation.