“It looks a lot smarter than mine! What do you think of the insignia? Smart, huh?”

“Oh yes, very smart.”

“Don’t you like your new uniform?”

“Not much.” Surly—like an adolescent.

“Don’t disappoint me, Lockhart.”

“I won’t. But I’d like to ask you for one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Please, Strasser, please don’t ever try to enthuse me into the wonders of your glorious SS. You know that I am only doing this for my wife—I’m not some fascist. I dislike this uniform and what it represents, but I will play along with this scheme for her sake. I can see what you are trying to do, and I will help you, but just remember that in my heart I am still a British officer, not a Nazi one.”

Strasser stuck out his bottom lip in a pensive sneer. He looked down at his desk and then back at Lockhart.

“Isn’t it ironic,” he said eventually, “that just by wearing that uniform you seem to have acquired an authority that you lacked before?”

“Oh, what crap!”

“Really?”

“You know it is.”

Strasser raised his eyebrows playfully.

“Whatever you say, Hauptsturmführer Lockhart. I will go along with your request not to ‘enthuse’ you, as you put it. But I will ask you for a favor in return. You and I must maintain our special relationship, and in order to do that, you must not speak as you have just done in front of anybody else. You can be honest with me, so long as you promise to maintain our united front. Is that clear?”

Lockhart shrugged in acknowledgment.

“Good. Now let’s get some lunch. I want to show off my new comrade. And later, at seven o’clock, we shall meet your men.”

As they walked to the mess, looking for all the world like old comrades, Lockhart reflected that Strasser’s observation had been spot on.

“A schnapps before you meet your men?”

They were in Lange’s little office. He had quite clearly been drinking all day, and looked a little unsteady.

“Yes—thank you,” said Lockhart.

“Why not?” said Strasser.

Lange poured a couple of healthy measures.

“To you, Hauptsturmführers Strasser and Lockhart, and to the success of the British Free Corps!”

“Thank you, Oskar,” said Strasser, and drained his glass.

Lockhart drained his too, hesitantly acknowledging the toast.

“Another?” asked Lange.

Just as Lockhart was offering his glass forward, Strasser said, “No, Oskar, we must go and see the men.”

Lange looked a little crestfallen.

“Come on, Oskar,” said Strasser. “There will be plenty more later.”

“Ach—you’re right. Fine—I’m coming.”

They walked out into the night. It was snowing, and Lockhart felt cold under his tunic. He rubbed his hands together.

“I’ll see if I can get you a coat and some gloves,” said Strasser.

“I’d appreciate that,” Lockhart replied, genuinely grateful. It must have been ten below.