contents to fascinate and entertain an adolescent boy, but to give nothing of any sensitivity – of any real value – away.
After his grandpa’s death, Jaeger had tried to research the No. 206 Liaison Unit, to better trace its history. But there was nothing. The National Archives; the Imperial War Museum; the Admiralty: every archive that should have contained some form of record – if only a war diary – was devoid of any mention.
It was almost as if the No. 206 Liaison Unit had never existed; as if it were a ghost squadron.
And then he’d found something.
Or rather, Luke had.
His eight-year-old son had proven equally fascinated by the contents of the trunk – his great-grandpa’s heavy commando knife; his much-lived-in beret; his battered iron compass. And one day Jaeger’s son’s hands had dug deep, to the very bottom of the trunk, and found what had been for so long hidden.
Working feverishly, Jaeger did similarly now, emptying the contents on to the floor. There was so much Nazi memorabilia in there: an SS Death’s Head badge, skull fixed in an enigmatic smile; a Hitler Youth dagger, its hilt displaying a picture of the Führer; a necktie of the Werewolves – the diehard Nazi resistance set up to fight on after the war proper had been lost.
Occasionally Jaeger had wondered if his grandfather had grown too close to the Nazi regime, so much of its memorabilia had he seemingly hoarded. Whatever he had done during the war, had it somehow brought him perilously close to the evil and the darkness? Had it seeped into him, making him its own?
Jaeger didn’t believe so, but he’d never been able to have those kind of conversations before his grandfather had unexpectedly passed away.
He paused at a distinctive-looking book, one that he’d almost forgotten was in the trunk. It was a rare copy of the Voynich manuscript, a richly illustrated medieval text written entirely in a mystery language. Strangely, that book had permanently graced the desk in his grandfather’s study, and it had come to Jaeger along with the trunk’s contents.
It was another of the things that he had never got to raise with his grandfather: why this fascination with an obscure and unintelligible medieval manuscript?
Jaeger removed the heavy book, revealing the false wooden bottom built into the trunk. He’d never worked out if his grandfather had left the document in there by accident, or if he had done so deliberately, hoping that his grandson would one day find the concealed compartment.
Either way, it had been there, hidden amongst a bunch of war mementoes, waiting three decades or more to be discovered.
Jaeger’s fingers delved below the wooden boards, found the latch to the compartment and flicked it open. He felt around and pulled out the fat, yellowing envelope, holding it before him with hands that were visibly shaking. A part of him absolutely did not want to look inside, but a greater part knew that he had to.
He pulled out the document.
Typeset, stapled along one side, it was just as he had remembered it. Across the top of the cover in the thick gothic script synonymous with Hitler’s Nazi regime was one word, in capitals: KRIEGSENTSCHEIDEND
Jaeger’s German was practically non-existent, but via a German–English dictionary he’d managed to translate the few words on the document’s cover. Kriegsentscheidend was the highest security classification ever awarded by the Nazis. The nearest British equivalent would be ‘Beyond Top Secret – Ultra’.
Below that was typed: Aktion Werwolf – ‘Operation Werewolf’.
Below that again, a date, which needed no translation: 12 February 1945.
And finally, Nur fur Augen Sicherheitsdienst Standortwechsel Kommando – ‘For Sicherheitsdienst Standortwechsel Kommando eyes only’.
The Sicherheitsdienst was the security service of the SS and the Nazi party – the apex of evil. Standortwechsel Kommandotranslated as ‘the Relocation Commando’ , which meant
After his grandpa’s death, Jaeger had tried to research the No. 206 Liaison Unit, to better trace its history. But there was nothing. The National Archives; the Imperial War Museum; the Admiralty: every archive that should have contained some form of record – if only a war diary – was devoid of any mention.
It was almost as if the No. 206 Liaison Unit had never existed; as if it were a ghost squadron.
And then he’d found something.
Or rather, Luke had.
His eight-year-old son had proven equally fascinated by the contents of the trunk – his great-grandpa’s heavy commando knife; his much-lived-in beret; his battered iron compass. And one day Jaeger’s son’s hands had dug deep, to the very bottom of the trunk, and found what had been for so long hidden.
Working feverishly, Jaeger did similarly now, emptying the contents on to the floor. There was so much Nazi memorabilia in there: an SS Death’s Head badge, skull fixed in an enigmatic smile; a Hitler Youth dagger, its hilt displaying a picture of the Führer; a necktie of the Werewolves – the diehard Nazi resistance set up to fight on after the war proper had been lost.
Occasionally Jaeger had wondered if his grandfather had grown too close to the Nazi regime, so much of its memorabilia had he seemingly hoarded. Whatever he had done during the war, had it somehow brought him perilously close to the evil and the darkness? Had it seeped into him, making him its own?
Jaeger didn’t believe so, but he’d never been able to have those kind of conversations before his grandfather had unexpectedly passed away.
He paused at a distinctive-looking book, one that he’d almost forgotten was in the trunk. It was a rare copy of the Voynich manuscript, a richly illustrated medieval text written entirely in a mystery language. Strangely, that book had permanently graced the desk in his grandfather’s study, and it had come to Jaeger along with the trunk’s contents.
It was another of the things that he had never got to raise with his grandfather: why this fascination with an obscure and unintelligible medieval manuscript?
Jaeger removed the heavy book, revealing the false wooden bottom built into the trunk. He’d never worked out if his grandfather had left the document in there by accident, or if he had done so deliberately, hoping that his grandson would one day find the concealed compartment.
Either way, it had been there, hidden amongst a bunch of war mementoes, waiting three decades or more to be discovered.
Jaeger’s fingers delved below the wooden boards, found the latch to the compartment and flicked it open. He felt around and pulled out the fat, yellowing envelope, holding it before him with hands that were visibly shaking. A part of him absolutely did not want to look inside, but a greater part knew that he had to.
He pulled out the document.
Typeset, stapled along one side, it was just as he had remembered it. Across the top of the cover in the thick gothic script synonymous with Hitler’s Nazi regime was one word, in capitals: KRIEGSENTSCHEIDEND
Jaeger’s German was practically non-existent, but via a German–English dictionary he’d managed to translate the few words on the document’s cover. Kriegsentscheidend was the highest security classification ever awarded by the Nazis. The nearest British equivalent would be ‘Beyond Top Secret – Ultra’.
Below that was typed: Aktion Werwolf – ‘Operation Werewolf’.
Below that again, a date, which needed no translation: 12 February 1945.
And finally, Nur fur Augen Sicherheitsdienst Standortwechsel Kommando – ‘For Sicherheitsdienst Standortwechsel Kommando eyes only’.
The Sicherheitsdienst was the security service of the SS and the Nazi party – the apex of evil. Standortwechsel Kommandotranslated as ‘the Relocation Commando’ , which meant
Similar Books
