The Excalibur Codex

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‘Are we lost again, Neumann?’

‘This is it, Wulf, I’m sure this time.’

‘And the last three times.’

Neumann blushed. ‘No, this time I’m certain,’ he insisted. ‘Look at the hills.’ The younger boy pointed to a distinctive shape dominating the horizon and Wulf Ziegler’s pulse quickened. He pulled a folded square of paper from the inside pocket of his brown uniform and opened it, comparing the silhouette to the one in front of his eyes. They were exactly as he’d been told they’d be and marked the place he sought as clearly as any signpost.

Wulf patted Neumann on the shoulder and remounted his bicycle. ‘We’ll ride for another hour and find somewhere to camp.’ As the others set off, he looked again at the hills and let out a prolonged sigh. The most difficult part of the mission remained, but even so he experienced nothing but exhilaration. They were here.

Eight boys, aged between fourteen and sixteen, they’d set out from Dortmund on their bikes a month earlier with a hundred comrades. Wulf was the eldest, and the leader — gefolgschaftsführer — of the Hitler Jugend unit. At sixteen he was a six-year veteran of the organization, respected for his command ability and already marked for the SS-Junkerschule at Bad Tölz. He’d helped organize the ‘cultural exchange’ with members of a Boy Scout troop in Birmingham, but the Dortmunders had told their hosts they were keen to experience more of this fascinating country. With Baedeker guides in hand, the sub-units fanned out across Britain, through the industrial Midlands, and as far south as the hop fields of Kent, seeking out sights of interest.

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