My Brother's Secret Read online

  From the Chicken House

  Brothers often fight – and feel that parents just don’t understand or take unfair sides. But when taking sides becomes a matter of life and death, then the brothers in Dan Smith’s war-time Germany have to make some tough decisions together. Based on real Second World War events, this brilliant story gives a feeling of what life was like when children were faced with real evil and conflict. Fighting for our freedom – who knows if it may be something we have to choose again one day!

  Barry Cunningham

  Publisher

  DAN SMITH

  2 Palmer Street, Frome, Somerset BA11 1DS

  Contents

  War Games

  Honoured

  Knockout

  Bad News

  Papa

  A New Home

  Prisoner

  Escape

  Words On The Wall

  Truth And Lies

  Wolff In The House

  Trouble

  Wooden Flower

  Trust

  Into The Cellar

  Confetti

  Leaflet

  Frau Schmidt

  Parade

  Edelweiss Pirates

  The Wolff Growls

  The Führer’s Book

  A Bad German

  Apaches

  Night Exercise

  Run!

  Chase

  Wolff At The Door

  Blood Is Spilled

  Helpless

  Traitor

  Death Comes Knocking

  A Change Of Plan

  Hell

  Surprise In The Cemetery

  A Click Of The Latch

  The Wolff’s Grin

  In The Wolff’s Lair

  Nightmare

  Hunted

  Death In The Cemetery

  Return To Headquarters

  A Knock At The Door

  About the Edelweiss Pirates

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  For Mike – my own big brother

  ‘I want a brutal, domineering,

  fearless, cruel youth.

  There must be nothing weak

  and gentle about it.’

  ADOLF HITLER, 1933

  SUMMER 1941

  Western Germany

  WAR GAMES

  We were the only ones left alive.

  ‘It’s up to us now,’ Ralf said. ‘We’ll have to do it on our own.’

  We were lying in the shaded undergrowth at the edge of the woods, watching a small stone bunker at the opposite end of the clearing. Guarded by a group of uniformed boys, the derelict, grey building wasn’t much to look at, but it was our target; it was the difference between winning and losing. Every single one of the boys lying dead around us had lost their life either defending it or trying to take it.

  I shook my head. ‘We’ll never make it.’

  Martin grinned at me and his teeth flashed white against his dirty face. ‘It’ll be easy.’ He was broad and strong – one of our best soldiers. Back there in the woods, he’d lifted a boy right off his feet and thrown him down like a sack of potatoes before taking his life.

  ‘But we can’t just go running out there,’ I said. ‘What if there’re others? What if they’re waiting for us in—’

  ‘You worry too much.’ Ralf nudged Martin and nodded, then the two of them stood and began moving back into the cover of the trees. ‘We’ll distract them; you take the target. Divide and conquer. The only thing that matters is winning.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just make sure you take the target,’ Ralf whispered as they disappeared into the forest. ‘And don’t die – because if you do, I’ll kill you.’

  It wasn’t long before Ralf and Martin broke from the trees at the far right of the clearing. They came out running, and as soon as the guards at the bunker spotted them, two boys rushed down to challenge them.

  Two more boys remained outside the bunker, standing beside the flagpole, scanning the treeline for other attacks. The last boy was still inside and I knew he would be watching, too.

  I squeezed my hands into fists, fingernails digging into my palms. Wait a little longer.

  The two boys who had gone out to meet Ralf and Martin, sprinted across the field, giving chase as my friends turned to run, luring them further away from the bunker. Close to the line of the trees, though, Martin stopped and turned. He lowered his head and rammed his shoulder into the first attacker. The boy went up in the air, over Martin’s back, and landed in a heap on the grass. Ralf crouched, hit the fallen boy once, then tore his life away as Martin faced the second who slowed and put up his hands, ready to fight. Martin shook his head at him and slammed a fist into his stomach, knocking him flat on his back. He leaned down to tear away the boy’s life, then raised a hand to Ralf. ‘You ready?’ he called.

  ‘Ready,’ Ralf replied, and the two of them began walking towards the bunker.

  Divide and conquer. Now I understood. With two boys down, and only three left, we would take the target with ease. We had won.

  Ralf and Martin were halfway across the clearing, fifty metres from the bunker, when I decided to leave my position. Before I could stand, though, I saw that we had underestimated the enemy.

  They had a plan too.

  Without warning, a unit of ten boys emerged from the woods on the opposite side of the clearing. They came fast, shouting and whooping like devils, and Martin and Ralf stopped, jerking their heads round to see the new attackers. Their bodies tensed as if their first instinct was to run, but they looked at one another, nodded, and turned to face them.

  When the enemy force reached them, Martin was the first to wade in. He windmilled his fists, thumping anything that came close. He smashed noses and cracked jaws, and within seconds, three of the enemy lay flat on their backs. Ralf followed in his wake, bending to rip away the lives of the fallen boys. They took down the enemy group like perfect soldiers.

  Watching from the bunker, the guards grew more and more agitated. The bigger of the two gestured at the ongoing battle, while the other shook his head and grabbed the first by the front of his shirt, trying to hold him back. The big guard pushed his comrade away, though, leaving his post and rushing down into the battle. Heading downhill, he picked up speed and crashed into Ralf from behind, knocking him off his feet, sending him flying into the mass of bodies.

  I watched in horror as the enemy boy stooped to rip away Ralf’s life.

  Now. Go now.

  I looked over at the bunker. Just one guard still outside, one inside.

  You have to go now.

  I jumped to my feet and broke from cover, tearing out into the sunshine. The remaining boys circled Martin like wolves. At the bunker, the guard was watching the battle. He hadn’t noticed me.

  Halfway there.

  My chest was tight with exhaustion and my legs were burning.

  ‘Go on, Karl,’ someone whispered as I ran past the bodies of my fallen comrades. ‘You can do it.’

  Martin was still flailing his fists, but he was weakening too, and the circle was tightening around him.

  ‘Win, Karl, win,’ another boy said as I came closer to the target.

  Ten metres from the bunker, the guard inside the building spotted me. His pale face appeared at the window and his eyes met mine, but he didn’t react; he just watched me approach as if he didn’t care.

  The guard outside only saw me coming when I was just a few paces away; but he was too late. I was on him.

  I swung my fist as if I were swinging a hammer, and the blow caught him on the side of the face, connecting with a solid thump that knocked him sideways. He collapsed in the grass without a sound and I ripped away his life before standing to face the final guard
who had left the darkness of the small building and come out to meet me.

  In the clearing, the enemy boys closed in on Martin and overwhelmed him, forcing him down and taking his life; but they hadn’t seen my attack.

  I gritted my teeth and took a step towards the final guard who had emerged from the bunker.

  His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were red as if something had irritated them. He didn’t seem to focus on me properly and stood motionless as I took another step closer and put up my fists.

  The boy flinched, but did nothing to protect himself. I ripped away his life and pushed him to the ground, then turned to the pole and began raising the flag.

  I looked up at the colours of the flag against the blue, cloudless sky. Red, as bright as the blood we had spilled that afternoon. A white circle, so clean and crisp, and the bold, black swastika at the centre of it.

  A single, ear-splitting blast from a siren pierced the air, signalling the end of the game, then the clearing was filled with the sound of cheering.

  ‘Heil Hitler,’ said a voice behind me and I turned to see the area leader coming towards me. Flanked by two Hitler Youth squad leaders, he had been watching the game from a vantage point at the back of the clearing. He stopped in front of me and looked down, tucking the thumb of his right hand into his belt. He was tall and strong with a square chin and a serious look in his pale eyes. His uniform was perfect in every way, his cap set just right.

  ‘You did well,’ he said to me. ‘You’ll make a good soldier. As fast as a greyhound, as tough as leather and as hard as Krupp’s steel. The words of the Führer himself.’

  I put my feet together and raised my arm in front of me. ‘Heil Hitler.’

  The other boys who had been lying dead in the field were on their feet now. Some groaned at their failure, others cheered our victory. They jumped up and down and hugged each other. Boys streamed out from the woods to see who had won, a few scuffles breaking out among them.

  The boy at my feet sat up and watched me, biting down on his lip as if to hold back the tears. His name was Johann Weber, and he was in my class at school. He wasn’t one of my friends so I didn’t know him well, but something about him had looked different today. Usually he was quick and clever, and when he was boxing, he could run rings around some of the bigger boys. I looked down at the red ribbon-of-life still tied around my right wrist, then at the blue ribbon I had just ripped from him, and wondered why he had given up so easily.

  ‘Just in time,’ the area leader said, glancing at his watch. ‘A few more minutes and you would have lost.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How many did you get?’ He gestured at the blue ribbon in my hand.

  I pulled a fistful of them from my pocket and counted. ‘Seven, sir.’

  ‘Seven kills? You even have blood on your face.’

  ‘Not mine, area leader.’

  ‘That’s good.’ A hint of a smile touched his lips and he nodded once at me. ‘Well done; you’re exactly the kind of German we need in our army. Hitler would be proud of you. How old are you?’

  ‘Eleven, sir. Twelve tomorrow.’

  ‘And what is your name?’

  ‘Karl Friedmann, sir.’

  HONOURED

  The Hitler Youth boys marched us to the open-backed trucks and waited while we climbed up. Our uniforms were covered in grime and blood and grass stains, but that didn’t matter. We had won.

  There were two vehicles parked side by side, one for each squad, and we formed lines, waiting to climb aboard with our comrades.

  We sat on the hard metal floor, packed tight together, hot and sweating, our bodies covered in cuts and bruises, but our spirits high.

  ‘That was a good win.’ Ralf had to shout to be heard over the sound of the engine. ‘And just in time for your birthday tomorrow.’

  ‘Imagine what the British will be like,’ Christoph shouted. ‘They’ll wet themselves when they see us coming.’

  ‘We’ll win this war soon enough,’ Felix said.

  ‘Not before we get there, I hope.’ I leaned forward to look at Felix. ‘I want my fair share of the enemy.’

  ‘My brother says there are millions of enemies.’ Martin reached out and rubbed the top of my head with his knuckles. ‘Enough for all of us. Even for you, Karl!’

  The truck jostled and bustled us for half an hour as it returned to the city, but I was so high on our victory and pleased with myself that I hardly noticed. The journey could have taken three hours and it wouldn’t have mattered. My muscles ached with a pleasant tiredness, my skin tingled from the fresh air and I was surrounded by my friends. To make things even better, our school had let the Hitler Youth take over physical training for a fortnight. The past week of school had been the best ever and there was still another to come. And tomorrow was my birthday so I was going to spend the whole day with my friends.

  When we finally arrived back at school, the truck clattered to a halt and we jumped down into the yard with stiff legs. By now my bruises were beginning to show, but I still felt on top of the world.

  The area leader had put some of the older boys from the Hitler Youth in command, and they were shouting orders and organising us into lines almost as soon as our boots touched the ground. On the adjacent field, to the left of the main school building, the girls were out in the sunshine, running through their exercises, dressed in white vests and black shorts. Most of us couldn’t help looking over at them, and one of the boys even whistled, but when the group leader dragged him out and made him do twenty press-ups, everyone soon stood to attention.

  As the trucks rumbled away behind us, the last few boys fell into line and the group leader, Axel Jung, began calling our names, ticking them off his list. He strode backwards and forwards along the line as he shouted the names, glancing up at each ‘here!’, and when every last one of us was accounted for, he dropped his clipboard on the ground and faced us.

  He stood with his hands behind his back, flanked by two other Hitler Youth boys, saying nothing for a moment, just casting his eyes along the ranks in front of him. There must have been at least a hundred of us but he showed no sign of being bothered by that.

  He looked amazing in his uniform. Strong and brave. He held himself straight and proud like a true soldier, his dagger hanging by his side, and I knew I wanted to be like that – seventeen years old and almost ready to join the war. Trusted and reliable and ready to die for the Führer.

  Eventually he sort of pressed himself up on his toes and relaxed back onto his heels before shouting, ‘Karl Friedmann, step forward.’

  I was surprised to hear my name called. I marched to the front to stand in front of Axel Jung and saluted. He returned the salute then nodded once before looking out at the other boys.

  ‘Karl Friedmann showed great determination and cunning today. He made seven kills, took the flag, and was the last member of his squad still standing. He is to be awarded the silver proficiency badge.’

  My heart surged as Axel Jung leaned over and pinned the badge to my uniform. I had wanted one for a long time, and now it was finally mine. It was a single lightning bolt ‘s’ in the shape worn by the Waffen SS, with a small swastika in the centre, surrounded by the words ‘Für Leistungen Im DJ’ – ‘for achievement in the DJ’. ‘DJ’ stood for Deutsches Jungvolk, the group we joined before we were old enough for Hitler Youth.

  Axel Jung looked down at me once more, then saluted, throwing his arm out straight and saying, ‘Heil Hitler.’ I did the same, then turned on my heels and went back to my place among the ranks.

  As I went, the other boys clapped so loudly that all the girls in the other field turned to see what was happening.

  ‘Well done.’ Ralf winked at me as I passed him.

  I could barely stop myself from beaming as Axel Jung continued with other business, raising his arm and pointing to the far side of the yard, close to the fence. ‘Losers over there,’ he said. ‘Fifty press-ups each.’

  There were a f
ew groans.

  ‘A hundred press-ups.’

  No one groaned after that. Instead, they all ran over to the fence, dropped to the ground and began grinding out their press-ups. All, that is, apart from Johann Weber.

  I noticed him right away, because he didn’t run like the others. He half jogged to the fence and was last into position. Then, instead of doing press-ups, he lay prone, nose to the gravel, hands at his sides, as if he had no energy left in him.

  ‘The rest of you; off to lunch,’ Axel Jung announced. ‘I will see you after lessons.’

  Ralf and Martin came straight to my side, wanting to see the badge, and a few others crowded round as we made our way across the yard.

  ‘Get on with it!’ the group leader shouted behind us. ‘No lunch until you’ve finished.’

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ Felix said to me. ‘I’ve been wanting one of those for so long.’

  ‘Then you should be faster,’ Martin said.

  ‘I am faster,’ Felix protested. ‘I beat Karl in the—’

  ‘Not faster; you need to be smarter,’ Ralf told him, and I couldn’t help feeling a slight tinge of guilt.

  ‘It was your idea,’ I said to Martin and Ralf. ‘Divide and conquer.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Martin gave me a playful punch on the arm. ‘That’s true. It was our idea and we put our lives at risk for you.’

  ‘But you took the flag.’ Ralf clapped me on the back and put an arm around my shoulder. ‘You took seven lives. And your shooting was better than mine yesterday. Anyway,’ he laughed, ‘we’ve got a gold one of those, remember; you haven’t caught us up yet.’

  He and Martin thrust out their chests and tapped the gold badges pinned to their uniforms.

  ‘I don’t know how a pair of dimwits like you managed it,’ I said with a shake of my head.

  ‘You’ll pay for that, Karl Friedmann.’ Martin grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me but I took off before he could make a grab for me.

  I ran towards the school building, pumping my arms and legs as quickly as I could, but Ralf ran like a wolf and caught me before I reached the door. Martin was close on our heels, breathing hard, and he grabbed me in a head-lock, rubbing his knuckles on the top of my head.