Britain Invaded

By Paul Hurley

The novel comprises well researched fact and plausible ? ction, carefully interwoven to form an alternative and frightening history.

It is a military tale, not just a war story, it is a thriller and love story based on the premise that in 1940 Germany invaded Britain! It is written factually until the point where the allies reach Dunkirk. The cream of the allied armies are then trapped and imprisoned! The Germans invade Britain successfully.

In the summer of 1940, Churchill stood virtually alone in his refusal to surrender whilst facing almost certain defeat.

In reality, if Britain had surrendered in that summer of 1940 the European war would have ended. Quite possibly no Pearl Harbour and no Italian or further Russian involvement, hostilities would have ceased worldwide. But what of the Holocaust, would that have gone ahead? The evidence suggests that under Hitler and the Nazis it would! The book is thought provoking and ? ctional. The story is an unambiguous alternative history and the book is anti-Nazi but most certainly not anti-German.

CV... Paul Hurley is a freelance writer and author and is a member of the Society of Authors. He has newspaper and magazine credits, two newspaper columns and has also written 29 non-? ction books for Amberley Publishers and The History Press. Paul lives in Winsford Cheshire with his wife Rose. He has two sons and two daughters.

Contact www.paul-hurley.co.uk

Email: [e-mail]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: May 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789555981

Book preview

Chapter One: The Young Idealist

There was a glint of light - almost imperceptible to the human eye, but Ralf was looking for it. It could have been the moon reflecting from a wristwatch or a carelessly blackened weapon, but it was there and it was what he was waiting for. Indicating for his second-in-command to join him, he pointed towards the distant trees and, using the universal sign language of soldiers worldwide, he indicated a pincer movement and then led his group of three to the left of the trees. The smell of the wet grass, ferns and soil caught in his nostrils as he crawled slowly across the open ground. He was close enough now to hear the sentries whispering to each other in the stygian blackness. Screwing his eyes up with contempt for their incompetence he continued to the rear of the camp. Ralf checked the luminous dial of his watch and knew that his deputy would be in position. The need for silence now passed he drew the dagger from his belt, jumped to his feet, and ran towards the sentries. Before he reached them he came upon the reclining form of one of the uniformed figures, quickly and silently he slid the arm holding the dagger around his neck pulling him roughly to his feet. By the dim light of the moon, he knew that he had the leader and he pressed the blade of the knife against his shirt collar, at the same time inviting him to give up. The youth, his voice muffled by the pressure on his neck, shouted for his team to surrender. Releasing his grip, Ralf stood back and switched on his torch. The powerful beam shone around the clearing, illuminating one at a time the faces of the team that he had nominated to protect the camp. In front of him his chosen leader stood, his face blackened and his clothes damp. Ralf glared into his eyes.

You useless bastard, he punched him hard under the chin and the youth winced in pain. I told you to watch for an attack, you knew that one was coming and what did you do? You lay there whilst your sentries chatted away and flashed their jewellery at the enemy. You’re not fit to be in the Girl’s League, never mind the Hitler Youth! Get out of my sight. Sheepishly, the youth slunk away, dabbing at his bloodied lip with a grubby handkerchief.

Ralf had left school in 1930 and started to assist his father on the estate. In 1932, at the age of fifteen, he had joined the Hitler Youth; he enjoyed every minute of it becoming a leader at eighteen. The Youth had incorporated all of the other youth organisations becoming the only legal one in Germany and this suited him. He liked the discipline, the ceremonies and the uniforms; it all had one main aim - to serve the Führer, Adolf Hitler. During this time National Socialism had gone from strength to strength gaining many followers and slowly becoming the accepted rule of law throughout Germany. Ralf’s intention was to continue to serve his Führer in the SS and this time was drawing close.

Blue wood smoke drifted through the tall pine trees of the alpine forest as the weekend training came to an end. The fire was carefully extinguished the tents packed away and the troop set off. Marching along the quiet roads of the Bavarian countryside they sang the songs of the Hitler Youth. Their marching feet provided the beat for their singing and Ralf marched at the head of the troop depressed at their performance but happy that his Hitler Youth days would shortly give way to the real thing. The last of the day’s sun warmed his face and the sound of singing and marching feet filled the air. He breathed deeply; the myriad of smells from the pine forest filled his nostrils like an expensive perfume. Suddenly there was a sharp pain at the side of his forehead and he felt himself falling into the soft grass at the side of the road. Then blackness.

Ralf! Ralf! The voice seemed to be coming from miles away, but getting closer all the time. He opened his eyes and looked up into the concerned face of one of the troop.

It was those Edelweiss Pirates again, said the youth. Ralf struggled to sit up and licked his lips, tasting the salty blood that had trickled down from the gash on his head.

Where is everyone? He asked standing up; he flinched as the stabbing pain darted across his forehead.

Is anyone else hurt?

His companion searched through his pack for iodine and a cloth to treat Ralf’s wound and looked up with his hands still deep in the haversack. The lads have gone after them Sir. When they threw the rock, they ran off. As he spoke, the sound of voices grew near and members of the troop came crashing through the ferns.

We caught one Sir; we got one of the bastards. They were half dragging and half carrying a youth of about Ralf’s age. They stood the boy in front of him.

Please Sir, let me go I prom… Ralf put his face close to the youths.

You promise what? You promise not to get caught next time is that it?

No Sir, I’m sorry. He spoke in the gruff working-class accent of the Bavarian mountains.

Right, said Ralf. I’ll give you the option, you can be handed over to the Gestapo, or you can accept my punishment.

The boy’s eyes opened wide in fear. Please don’t hand me over Sir, I’ll do anything you say.

Ralf took his Hitler Youth dagger from its scabbard at his waist. The boy cowered backwards until he reached the group of Youth members behind him and could go no further. Handing the dagger to one of the troop, Ralf removed his leather belt and cross strap. Taking off his neckerchief and starting to undo his shirt he spoke to the cowering youth in front of him.

Since you’re the same size as I am I’ll give you the opportunity that you didn’t give me. You’re very brave throwing rocks, now you can fight me fairly.

A wave of emotion passed over the youth’s face as the troop of boys formed a circle around the pair.

Come on, said Ralf. Take your shirt off. The youth did as he was told and Ralf squared up to him. The boy was the first to act and lunged at Ralf with his fist. Ralf sidestepped him and chopped the back of his neck as he passed making him fall headlong into the grass. The lad got to his feet and ran at Ralf punching him on the chin. In return, Ralf hit him in his unprotected stomach and then under his chin sending him sprawling again.

Come on then you big tough farm boy, taunted Ralf. Hit me; don’t throw stones from behind trees. The boy ran at him again and Ralf dodged his blow, punching him full on the nose, causing the blood to flow. The troop standing around started to cheer as Ralf got in another punch.

The sound of a powerful engine approaching stopped the fight, as from around the bend a huge SS personnel carrier appeared. The vehicle stopped alongside them and an officer in the smart black uniform of an SS-Obersturmführer leaned down from the open turret.

Ralf’s troop stood smartly to attention. Good evening men, is there a problem?

Ralf stepped forward and shot out his arm, looking up at the officer. Heil Hitler Sir. No, there’s nothing that we can’t deal with Sir.

The SS man smiled at him knowingly from his high perch. Good, and so it should be, get your injury sorted out young man. He cast a glance at the bloodstained boy in their midst. You there, do you have any complaints?

The youth lifted his head and looked towards the officer, tears cutting a path through the dust and blood on his face. No, Sir. He put down his head to avoid the withering glance of the officer who looked back towards Ralf and smiled.

Heil Hitler. he casually waved his right arm, and with a burst of blue smoke, the powerful motor set the vehicle in motion again.

The youth stood in the middle of the troop, his drab working clothes standing out against their smart uniforms. Ralf looked him up and down slowly; two of the troop took his arms and held them behind his back. Shall we take him in Sir?

Ralf ignored them and looked into the tear-stained face of the youth. Think yourself lucky that you’re not facing a short sharp holiday. Now go away and tell your friends that next time I won’t be so lenient. With that, the lad was allowed to run off down the road clutching his shirt.

Ralf walked into the house dumping his pack down heavily and went into the main room of the large building. It had been built many years earlier in the Bavarian style.

Son…? said Hans questioningly as he looked up from the business section of the newspaper.

Hit by a rock, said Ralf in answer to the un-asked question. Bloody cowards, they call themselves the Edelweiss Pirates, nothing more than a bunch of anti-Hitler thugs. They attacked us again; they lie in wait like cowards and throw rocks; we caught one this time and I gave him what for.

Hans helped his tall son with the buckle on the leather cross strap at the same time looking up into his face. That looks nasty.

Ralf touched the crusty wound on the side of his head; the headache that it had caused was just receding. That was the rock, damn cowards!

The lamp on the small table by his father’s chair faintly illuminated the large room and its dim light reflected back from the rich dark wood panelling. Ilse came in from the kitchen carrying some logs to replace those already used on the fire. She dropped them in the fireplace and ran to him.

Don’t mother, Ralf pulled back from his mother as she pushed back his head to look at the wound. Gently he took her hand and pulled it from his face. I’m alright, don’t fuss, it’s only a bit of blood.

Reluctantly she pulled away, well at least let me wash it off. Without waiting for a reply she went to the kitchen for a cloth.

The house was quiet in the late evening; the small fire crackled in the open hearth and the smell of beeswax was mixed with a faint aroma of leather and ingrained wood smoke. Ralf sat down and his father, seeing that his son would live to fight another day, resumed his perusal of the business pages. His mother returned and started to dab Ralf’s bruise with a cold flannel. Hans pulled his heavy body up from the deep leather armchair and threw another log onto the fire.

Don’t fuss woman, you’re like a clucking hen, he’s only got a slight bruise! Ilse ignored her husband and continued to dab at Ralf’s face.

His mother’s attention made him feel secure; it took him back to his happy childhood. Leaning towards his father, he spoke quietly but firmly. Papa, I want to go into the SS, I’m too old for the Youth now, it’s expected that when you leave, you go into the SS.

The words hung in the air; Ilse stopped dabbing at him and stood back, a look of alarm on her face. No - tell him Hans, he’s needed on the estate.

Your mother’s right, said Hans. There’s work enough for you here. Besides, the SS are nothing but a gang of thugs. Ilse kept quiet, sensing a confrontation, and went to get a dressing for the wound.

You fought in the last war Papa and you saw what happened to this country when we gave up. Ralf tried to keep his tone level, despite his father’s unpatriotic remark. Don’t you think it right that I should help to redress those wrongs?

Just what wrongs are you talking about Ralf, what wrongs can justify the persecution of the Jews and all the other things that are going on?

That is a side issue Papa, after the last war, Germany had imposed upon it the iniquitous Versailles treaty. Your friends died in the war for what? For Germany to surrender when she could have won?

The Versailles treaty had been imposed upon a weak and beaten Germany, its 13 points included the surrender of all German colonies. Huge swathes of what was German territory were annexed to other states and the Rhineland was to be occupied. The union of Germany and Austria was to be banned, strict limitations on the strength of German armed forces and the sum of £6,600 million to be paid in reparation. This then led to the Weimar republic, a hotch potch of political parties, combined with Para-military organisations that brought the country to a standstill and led to rampant inflation.

You know that I respect you and I listen to your advice, but please don’t try and stop me doing what I think is right, said Ralf quietly. His father’s stern look did not abate and Ralf continued using a more conciliatory tone; I’ve worked hard for my position in the Youth, and it’s expected that I go on to serve in the SS. It’s the next logical step for me, if I want to serve my country.

Hans looked up. There’s no question of you going away. You’re needed to work on the estate. Your duty is to your family. He stared into the smouldering fire and Ilse returned with some iodine and started to dab it onto the now clean bruise, Ralf pushed her hand away roughly.

My duty is to my country. It went to the dogs after we were humiliated at Versailles. The so-called victors made a mockery of the ideals your own fellow soldiers died for. The National Socialists have honoured the memory of your fallen comrades by trying to make Germany great again, and I want to be part of their efforts. Your comrades died for their country and, by serving it, I wish to honour them too. Forcing himself to calm down he smiled weakly at his father.

Hans replied sternly. My comrades died for a free Germany. A Germany run by thugs who beat up their opponents in the street is not free.

Weak leadership Papa led to inflation and unemployment, weak leadership brought this country to its knees. Strong leadership has made this country strong again, that behaviour was a means to an end. Those days are over.

Those days are not over; the SS are thugs not leaders. What happened on Krystalnacht shows that they are nothing more than looters and bullies.

Germany was brought to its knees by foreign powers. If Germany is to stand tall again, it must be through the efforts of its own people. We cannot have another race living amongst us, trading what is ours to trade. The events of Krystalnacht show how strongly the German people felt about these foreigners in their midst.

The Jews aren’t foreigners; they’ve been here for centuries. They’ve as much right to do business here as any German.

Whilst your own people go bankrupt? How can you not care about your own?

I care about the honour and dignity of my people. The cowardly bullying tactics are beneath us.

Ralf lit a cigarette and offered his father one that he accepted. Hitler’s policy on the Jews Papa is nothing more than has been happening for centuries. Martin Luther himself, a great German, called them a plague and a pestilence. After the war and during the civil war in the Ukraine 100,000 of them were massacred. Russia is killing Jews, nothing like that is happening here.

That may be so, but I still don’t want a son of mine joining up with those louts. If you want to serve, you’ll join my old regiment.

If the SS have made mistakes in the past, and made patriots like you think ill of them, it’s because they’re a new unit. If the sons of old soldiers simply join their father’s old regiments for the sake of tradition, then the people who share our ideals will be scattered throughout the army, rather than concentrated in one new elite division. The SS are getting all the best resources, all the best training, and all the best equipment, for a soldier who wants to make something of himself, the SS is the place to be. If in the past they’ve had wrongheaded attitudes, then it’s up to the sons of families like ours to change them from the inside, and bring to bear our ideals of discipline and patriotism where they can most effectively be deployed. Ralf stood up and walked over to his father’s chair, squatting down in front of him. I’m not anti-Semitic Papa, I’ve got nothing against the Jews myself, and neither have I any wish to beat people up in Munich, but whatever I do, I want your blessing.

Hans smiled down at him and put his hand on his son’s broad shoulder. That’s all very well, but you won’t be able to make much difference as a private. To be an officer in the SS, do you not have to serve in the ranks for two years, or the regular army? Am I right?

Yes, Papa, it is a bit fluid at the moment, but yes, you are basically correct. Of course I want to be an officer.

Then, join my old regiment and earn your stripes there. If after that time the SS still seems to be the place where you can best serve your country then we can discuss your advancement. But first you’ll get proper training as I did, under commanders with centuries of tradition behind them – not from a gang of hothead upstarts.

His mother had been listening intently. Why does he have to join anything? she screamed, you’re giving in to him. She started to cry, There’s enough work here on the estate.

Ralf got up and walked around the table kissing the top of her head. Don’t worry Mama, there’s no war and not likely to be one, Hitler said so, I’ll do what Papa says, he looked at his father. But I want to be in the SS, that won’t change.

Ralf joined the 7th Infantry Division of the German Army as a private as his father had suggested, he then worked hard to develop the skills that he had learnt in the Hitler Youth. By 1939, at the age of twenty-two he had been promoted sergeant and marched proudly across the Austrian Border with his regiment to be met with the adulation of the local populous. The rest of Europe, however, watched on with less admiring eyes. Soon it seemed likely that a more widespread war was inevitable but Ralf relished the prospect as he returned home for his first period of leave.

Now I am proud of you, said Hans. Ralf stood to attention in his uniform, towering above his parents. His father reached up and gripped his shoulders, Herr Unteroffizier Von Klausener and an officer aspirant to boot.

You look just like your father in that uniform, said Ilse linking her arm in his. A lot taller maybe but it takes me back.

I won’t be in it for much longer Mama, said Ralf smiling down at her. Papa, I’ve done what you asked and now I intend to join the SS. We’re second-class citizens compared with the SS Papa, they get everything they want, the best of everything and their morale is sky high. I’ve done as you asked, now I want to join as an SS officer, if it makes you feel better, the SS are elite fighting troops, even the nobility and Royalty serve in their ranks. There will be a war now Papa, surely you must see that? Hans nodded, the thuggery, as you call it, was done for a reason; it led to what we have now. He slapped his father on the back, but that black shirted SS was not the Waffen SS, in fact the black uniforms are being changed for field grey. I want to join the Waffen-SS.

His father stood back and looked at his tall blonde son. I have been doing some homework myself; I don’t want you to join any outfit of thugs…

But Papa…

Let me finish Son, I have been to Bad Tolz, the officer training base, I have observed the training there with your uncle…

You mean Uncle Rudolf, the army colonel? You have been working hard, but he’s not SS?

I’ve told you Son, let me finish, your uncle Rudolph may not be SS, but he was in the area and being a colonel, he has some influence. Anyway, we spoke to the commandant and put your details to him with your Hitler Youth reports. He assured us that he would make some enquiries with the army.

Papa, what can I say?

You need not say anything, from your letters it was obvious that you still wanted to join and I must say I was impressed with this new Waffen SS that they have at Bad Tolz – I also keep my word. This letter came this morning. From the dresser he picked up an envelope and handed it to Ralf. I have read it.

Ralf withdrew the paper from the envelope and silently read it. Hans watched his Son’s face and saw the smile spread across it. "Papa, there is a place for me in the Panzerdivision-Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler. I am to start training next week. He hugged his father to him, Papa, thank you. It is the elite of the elite."

Hans pushed him back. You’re crushing me you big oaf, this is all down to you, all I did was to start the inevitable ball rolling, you deserve the best by your own abilities and they obviously saw that. Hans reached up and shook Ralf’s shoulders, the obvious joy in his son’s eyes brought tears to his own as he looked up at him. I only hope that what you’re doing is right...

The school was near to his home and on September the 4th 1939, the day after Great Britain declared war on Germany, Ralf climbed out of his father’s car, leaned in and kissed his mother goodbye. He walked through the massive gothic style archway of the SS officer training school at Bad Tölz. The gracious and elegant grounds of the school immediately impressed him; being an SS man was special he thought smiling to himself. He pulled himself up to his full height and marched proudly across the parade ground feeling the hard gravel crackle under the soft leather of his shoes – but being an SS officer…!

When you wear this uniform, you wear it with pride, said the issuing sergeant in the clothing store. He gave the new recruits their grey serge uniforms and showed them how to mark their names in each item with a wooden stamp and a saucer of paint. He also provided them with an etiquette manual, which explained amongst other things table manners and how an SS officer should conduct himself. Instructions were even included as to how to sign letters correctly; they were to be signed ‘Heil Hitler! Yours sincerely.’ Ralf had entered a new world and he was happy in it.

The recruits settled themselves into the barracks and on their first day in class they were handed the book Mein Kampf and ordered to read it in what little spare time they had. Their days left little time, being taken up with an intensive course in soldiering, survival skills and the ability to lead men of the highest calibre. As well as general fieldwork, the students had lectures on racial purity and ideology. These last subjects, Ralf found worrying, he knew what National Socialism had done for Germany and he was quite happy to learn that he was part of a master race. But the hard dogma of anti-Semitics and the worthlessness of certain other races and disabilities he found difficulty with. It was however part and parcel of his chosen career, some of his fellow recruits also expressed disquiet, but only when no one was listening. They all decided to let it ride and promised each other that they would do nothing racist themselves. They were there to fight for their country and that was all. There were students in Ralf’s class who took on board the race issue and who believed wholeheartedly in the teaching. Ralf with his small group of like-minded friends kept quiet in their company. They told themselves that as Germany continued to grow in power these race issues would be forgotten about. They were not aware of what was happening in Poland, other than that Germany had beaten the country fairly.

At 6am every morning they would do an hour’s PT before breakfast. Afterwards they would change into service dress and continue with their other lessons. Of all the aspects of training, the use of weapons was given the greatest emphasis. Not only did they have to be able to strip, clean and reassemble the weapons and know every part by name, they had to do it blindfold. Battle training was done using live ammunition and the students were trained in the unique SS art of leadership. Officers and men mixed with each other and the strict rules of rank used in the regular army were done away with. All of these things Ralf enjoyed and each day he and his small band of friends had to do what they started to call their penance, Ideological Indoctrination lessons. They all however agreed that if this were needed to serve in the most prestigious corps in the world, they would do it. Living close to Bad Tolz, Ralf was able to spend the odd evening at home.

The war has gone well for us in Poland, said Ralf, and I hope it doesn’t finish before I get a chance to fight. He relaxed in front of the warm fire lighting a cigarette.

I only hope that it continues to go well, said his father thoughtfully as his mother walked back into the warm room.

And I don’t want you hurt, she interjected. We lost half the men in our village in the last lot. Walking over to Ralf, Ilse cradled his head to her breast, too many people are hurt in wars, and I don’t want you to be one of them.

He responded by putting his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. Don’t worry Little Mama, after the training we’re getting, we’ll be able to take on the world. We’ll be able to show the British what we can do when insipid leaders and Jewish defeatists don’t hinder us.

His father looked at him coldly. So much for the new SS, so much for your promises, you would never have said something like that before!

Ralf lowered his head sheepishly, sensing the change in the atmosphere that his words had induced. And I don’t know why I said it Papa, I’m sorry! We have ideological indoctrination and history. The history covers the ending of the last war and the problems that Jews have caused. If I denied that any off it rubbed off, I would be lying, but I am trying Papa. It’s hard to deny that we have come a long way and the teaching is that this is because we have barred the Jews from virtually everything. You will have to trust me when I say that I may be taught it, but I don’t have to believe all of it.

His father’s scowl lightened, There is a lot of propaganda about Ralf, just don’t believe all of it, that’s all I ask. This country may have left the dark ages of the Weimar Government, but we can soon slip back into dark ages that can be far worse if we go too far. The Von Klauseners are civilised, let’s keep it that way.

Ralf continued to do well and worked very hard at his chosen career, his reports consistently highlighted his excellent leadership skills and professionalism. As well as working hard, they played hard. The good looking young officers were easy targets for the girls from the surrounding areas and Ralf enjoyed more than one sexual experience with willing ‘Junge Madel’ girls. He was promoted to SS-Untersturmführer and that night he carefully sewed on to the collar of his tunic the patches signifying his new rank. His uniform however was quite plain when compared to some of the visiting course speakers, with their iron crosses and other awards and medals. As he pushed the needle through the tough grey cloth he made up his mind to alter this as soon as possible. Ralf’s best uniform accentuated his blonde good looks and his tall grey peaked cap with its deaths head insignia made him look taller than his 6ft 2in. Putting down the tunic with its neatly sewn badges, he picked up the newspaper. It didn’t need the propaganda industry, so strong in Germany, to tell him that the clouds of war had already descended on the country. Under the leadership of Adolf Hitler, large swathes of Eastern Europe now swore allegiance to Germany; the Führer’s army had marched on Poland and at the same time, the Soviets had entered from the other side; the victorious armies had met in the centre. Ralf had seen the newsreels of German and Russian soldiers sharing cigarettes and hugging each other. These German soldiers were the men that he would command. It had been an easy victory and boded well for the next offensive – westwards to the country that had reputedly the largest army in the world and the best defences, France.

Ralf passed out of the Bad Tölz School in early 1940 and after additional training; he was posted to his Regiment. The SS Panzerdivision-Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler under the command of SS-Gruppenführer ‘Sepp’ Dietrich. Dietrich had formed this regiment in 1933 from Hitler’s personal bodyguard and it was now based in the prestigious Lichterfeldt barracks in Berlin. After a brief period of leave, Ralf set off for Berlin and the barracks. The Leibstandarte was the most prestigious of all of the SS Regiments and had the best men and the best equipment. Ralf couldn’t have been happier; he would be commanding a platoon of motorised infantry in time for the attack on the Low Countries, known as Operation Fall Gelb.

At a briefing on the 8th of May 1940 for the officers, they were given details of the operation to come. The full might of Germany was to be thrown against the West. Three Army Groups comprising 136 fully trained Divisions with ten Panzer divisions of 3,000 tanks. The Leibstandarte were to be in Army Group "B under General Fedor von Bock and they were to invade Holland and Belgium. An officer near to Ralf put up his hand.

Sir, these countries are neutral!

The officer giving the briefing smiled. Yes, that’s correct, they are. Any other questions? There was a murmur of laughter through the room and Ralf looked towards the officer who had spoken. His head was down and he was smiling.

When the briefing ended, Ralf walked over to his unit’s mess and as he walked through the door, the men jumped up and as one, shouted ‘Heil Hitler’ shooting out their arms in salute. Ralf returned the salute and climbed on to a chair, he may have been 6ft 2in, but he was still not the tallest in the room.

Gather round boys, Ralf looked from one eager young face to another as he stood above them.

As befits the best regiment in Germany, he began to a loud cheer, we are to spearhead the assault on Europe. There was a ripple of approval. The Führer has given the go ahead for the attack on the Low Countries. Before the month is out, you will make history, my friends. Sergeant, fall the men in outside and march them to the bar. Duty is Duty and Schnapps is Schnapps and I’m buying the first round. Heil Hitler."

The room erupted as Ralf finished his impromptu speech with the old SS motto and they marched smartly to the barracks bar. Inside the atmosphere was electric. Everyone present knew that the successes in Poland and the east were to be carried forward into Europe and they were to be at the forefront. Ralf had a good team; his second in command was SS-Oberscharführer Felix Rall, a long serving Warrant Officer in the Leibstandarte and a veteran of the Polish campaign. Rall wore the iron cross second class. Ralf sat next to him at one of the long tables and the rest of his platoon sat down boisterously. He ordered beer and schnapps for his men and the waiter brought the glasses and large steins over on a tray.

Suddenly there was a draught as the door opened and then a massive cheer. Sepp Dietrich stood in the open doorway, a small figure, dwarfed by those around him.

It’s too quiet in here, shouted the small Swabian SS General over the deafening noise. I can’t hear any singing, time for remembering Horst Wessel I think, get me a beer and let me hear you.

Immediately the Horst Wessel song boomed out from the room and a space was made for him at one of the tables.

The following morning Ralf woke with a hangover, it was the 9th of May 1940 and they were ready for battle. The platoon was equipped with armoured cars, lorries, anti-tank guns and a solo motorcycle. There was a rowdy cheer when Ralf sent the motorcycle rider to one of the trucks and took over the heavy BMW. The impulsive act was somewhat regretted however when he kicked over the 900cc engine, the noise causing his head to throb painfully.

They set off for the Dutch border with Ralf leading his group from the front; they were with the rest of the regiment and other SS formations. The following day, they stood poised on the Dutch frontier as part of the 18th Army in Army Group B. Ralf’s platoon was amongst those who attacked one of the Dutch border posts. As they drew close, there was heavy gunfire. Ralf rode forward, his coat billowing out behind him as the back wheel of the bike slipped around on the rough field. Ahead, the sparkles of small arms fire faced him as he approached and he continued with a glance into the rear view mirror telling him that his platoon was following closely. He felt a bullet ricochet from his helmet as he zig zagged towards the border, shells exploding all around covering him in mud and grass. He knew from the roar that followed him that his platoon was well spread out and firing at the Dutch border guards. Not slowing, he reached the first trench and the heavy bike cleared it, spraying its occupants with soil and grass. Ahead of him was a border post hut with gunfire coming from the windows. Ralf crashed the bike through the flimsy wooden door and allowed it to slide from under him crushing one of the soldiers against the wall. There were three occupants and instantly the two remaining turned their guns towards him. Grabbing one, he used him as a shield and quickly turned him to face the other. Diving out of the way as the bullets sprayed into the Danish border guard he quickly drew his pistol and put a bullet through the second guard’s chest. With the hut to himself, he turned to the window, the defenders had been quickly beaten and the platoon led by Felix Rall in the armoured car stopped outside.

With the motorcyclist he walked to the building, Christ Sir, where did you learn that trick, a circus? Ralf laughed and surveyed the carnage he had caused. Two men lay dead and the third was trapped against the wall, the BMW pinning him down by his legs.

What’ve you done to me bike Sir? said the motorcyclist as he took in the destroyed hut and dented bike, I’ve signed for that.

Ralf put his arm across the man’s shoulder smiling down at him. It should be OK, just few small dents you can have it back now. He turned towards his NCO, get that man taken to the medics Felix, I don’t think that we’ll be staying here long. Without waiting for an answer he walked outside. All along the front German troops were crossing the border not stopping for the wounded or to mop up the enemy and started the headlong rush through Holland. Ralf climbed on to the armoured car and shouted into the radio for the rest of the platoon to mount up. Felix and the motorcyclist dragged the BMW from the shed and Felix joined him on the casing.

What’ve you done with the prisoner? He asked the NCO, looking back towards the shed as they set off.

We’ve left him with the medics; I don’t think we’ll be taking any prisoners on this trip Sir they’ll leave us behind, better we leave them behind methinks! Anyway, he’s just stunned, it’s not every day that a motorbike comes into your shed and pins you to the wall!

There was little resistance and by lunchtime they had captured the town of Zarolle, Ralf and his men were exhausted but jubilant. This was what being in the SS was all about he thought as their vehicles rumbled over the temporary bridge, quickly erected to bypass the blown bridge leading into the town. The Leibstandarte continued at breakneck speed through Holland meeting little resistance. That night they stopped and rested. As they sat on the sweet smelling hay in a barn talking, their morale was high. Some started to sing and others sat, smoked and stripped their weapons. In another corner a game of cards was being played.

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting explosion and the sound of machine gun fire. Two of his men slumped to the ground, wounded by shrapnel from the thrown grenade. Ralf felt the hot metal whip past his face. He grabbed his Schmeisser machine pistol and dived through a broken area at the rear of the barn. Running into the trees that bordered the farmyard he made his way around to give him a view to the front from the cover of the trees. The lookout was lying wounded, bullets ricocheting from the woodwork of the barn door that had been slammed shut, crouching down he ran through the trees and then after crawling for some distance on his stomach, he came behind a number of men lying in the bushes facing the barn.

Without the full moon behind him he would not have seen them. Not knowing if there were any more around him, he decided to wait until the last minute to show himself. He crawled towards the nearest and quickly stood up, machine pistol at the ready. The men were dressed in civilian clothing and the one nearest to him was fat and middle aged. Suddenly there was a scuffle behind him and then a burst of machine gun fire. He spun around to see a man fall almost on top of him. Behind him stood Oberscharführer Felix Rall, his machine pistol still smoking. This alerted the other Dutchmen and they turned suddenly. The last thing they saw was the flames and death spitting from the muzzles of the two German machine pistols.

Shit Felix, that was close, they lay in the grass listening but apart from the noise coming from the barn, all was quiet, he put his arm across the warrant officer’s shoulder as they walked back. He sensed Felix stiffen and slide his arm away from his shoulder.

That was a fucking stupid thing to do Sir; you broke all the rules in the book then. He stopped and looked at Ralf in the moonlight. There are heroes and heroes; someone who goes off on their own like that is not in my book a hero, with respect Ralf. Now come on, let’s see what damage those bastards have done.

Ralf looked sideways at his deputy, point taken and thank you, I will never forget this night Felix.

That’s alright Sir, I don’t want to be losing my new young officer just as the lads have grown fond of him. He slapped Ralf