There were at least three political lectures given per week. These often covered the policies of the Nazi Party, and lectures on racial superiority were frequently given. Jews, Slavs, Gypsies, Communists and even Freemasons were all regarded as Untermenschen, and SS men were taught that they were superior in every way. In short, said Strasser, the SS were not just frontline troops, but missionaries of a new world order. Lockhart asked if Strasser believed in it all, especially as the SS was even taking so-called Untermenschen, such as the Ukrainians, into its divisions. Strasser said that what he thought was of no consequence. But did Strasser expect him, Lockhart, to believe in all this claptrap? No, said Strasser, he did not, but he added that the BFC’s men would receive the same lectures, in addition to their daily German language classes. They were perhaps a little more amenable, he told Lockhart.

The last day of 1943 began in the way Lockhart was starting to consider routine. A wash and a shave, and then on with the old Wehrmacht tunic and trousers he had been given in Crete. Breakfast with Strasser and Lange followed, and then some exercises in an area away from the glare of the other prisoners, who Lockhart had caught glimpses of from time to time. At around noon, it had started to snow, and he made his way in, not looking forward to the inevitably cold shower. As he walked down the corridor, he heard brisk footsteps behind him.

“Lockhart! There you are!”

It was Strasser.

“Yes?”

“Follow me—I have something for you.”

Strasser led him to Lockhart’s own room. There, hanging on a hook, was the uniform of an SS officer.

“Your uniform, Hauptsturmführer Lockhart,” announced Strasser, with an air of satisfied formality.

Lockhart looked at it. It was field gray, similar to Strasser’s, who had swapped back from his light blue tunic. But the insignia were different. Around the left cuff was a band on which was embroidered in Germanic script, BRITISH FREE CORPS. Further up the forearm was the Union Jack in the shape of a shield. On the upper arm was positioned the spread eagle of the SS. The left collar tab bore the three pips and single line that denoted the rank, but the right tab, instead of showing the SS runes, bore three lions, as on the royal standard. The breeches were hanging beneath it, and on the floor was a pair of brilliantly polished black boots. An officer’s cap, bearing the death’s-head badge, and a belt were also hanging on the hook.

“When do you want me to wear it?”

“From now on, of course!”

“Can I have a shower first?”

“By all means—and then come and see me.”