Behind The Uniform

    Ever since I could walk I had been trained in warfare. Whether it was political or combat, I knew it all. All because of my father, Captain Hanz Sturm of the Nazi S.S.

    When I was ten he took me to the center of Berlin to see an Army Parade. I wore my yellow khaki shirt with the navy tie and navy-blue knee-length shorts; my woolen stockings covering my skint knees from running around doing errands in my black clacking shoes. Not many boys were wearing the Hitler Youth Uniform then, but I felt proud of how I was the only one in my school wearing it. My blond hair was also cut to the exact length and styled to that of young Hitler. He was a role model to me, after my father, of course.

    Then came my birthday, and I got a special "surprise" from my father.

    Instead of going to a normal high school, I was going to a military school. It was my dream to be a soldier, and that was my chance. The leaflet said it was out in the country, just outside the Berlin Military Base. I was ecstatic, thanking my father over and over, and telling my friends the great news.

    Unfortunately, they weren't too happy. One asked me why I couldn't go to high school too, and I responded with "Because I want to serve the Fatherland with my father, and that means being a soldier." They all fell silent then, asking no more questions.

    It was autumn when I first got a look at the school. My father drove us there on his motorcycle, myself in a sidecar along with our German shepherd, Winston. As we drove further out of Berlin, I noticed more of a military presence in the streets. Soldiers stood on street corners, walked down the street, and drank outside the few Bars scattered around the area. Seeing them made me feel proud. I knew that one day, I'd join them at those street corners and Bars, laughing and sharing our country's success if a war was to come.

    The School was large, with outbuildings being converted into dorms and living quarters for students and teachers. The school itself was an old hanger divided into smaller rooms and workspaces. I had to admit, it was cold, but I got used to it after a while. Outside was better, with assault courses, weapon ranges, driving courses, and tactics area. There was a woodland about a mile or so away from the school where we could practice our combat skills, but apart from that, there were just dirt tracks and barren fields.

    As I sat outside the Headmasters office with Winston, I could hear him talking with my father, explaining rules and such like. When he stopped, there was silence. My father didn't speak a word. He was an unusually quiet man with a godly reputation and a cold stare that could make anyone freeze right where they were standing. He never spoke to anyone but me and my mother, who sadly passed away when I was three.

    Time flew by, and spring soon came. So did my first day at School. As I stood in front of the class to introduce myself, a slight pang of fear went through me. The rest of the boys were brutes, with shaved heads and bulging muscles. I was the runt of the group; a scrawny twig that they could easily snap in half. I admit I should have seen it coming: the bullies, the beatings, and the name-calling... Everything. I couldn't help being from a high ranking family who, from generations ago, fought in every war Germany was involved with. It seemed to me that they were jealous of my lineage and background. It was a tradition I was determined to continue and protect.

    Around a year in and already, I was surpassing my peers. My tactical skills were ace; I was quick to point out flaws in their maps and physical tests, and I was slowly building up my physical strength. Still, though, I decided not to shave my head. It would look silly on me, so I just maintained its length, sometimes resorting to using a pocket knife when I couldn't afford a barber with the allowance I received from my Father each month.

    I was still being bullied a lot. Still being called the wimp of my year. I was still being thrown in ice-cold showers; beaten by my dorm mates for being a filthy swine and for not doing what they told me, and being left to clean the grotty toilets on my own. It's not a nice job. However, I found this to make me more determined. I would show them how good a soldier I could be! They would know fear! I would show them that I was better than them, no matter what.