If the next six weeks were hellish for Lockhart, they were doubly so for the men. The new training program Strasser had devised was as tough as anything Lockhart had been put through at Arisaig. The men found the going deeply unpleasant.

The least popular part of the day was the hour-long gymnastics session at six o’clock in the morning. Although the fitter members of the unit, such as Hull, Butcher, Catchpole, Malcolm and Lockhart himself, were up to the exertions, for the first two weeks the others were a coughing and collapsing mass of physical incompetence. But they improved, because the physical trainer Strasser had unearthed—a limping veteran of the war in Africa—was fearsome and took no nonsense.

The route marches and the cross-country runs were no fun either, especially as they were made to carry full kit, including unloaded rifles and many rounds of blank ammunition. Strasser had even got hold of a heavy machine gun, a weapon that required at least two men to lift it, let alone run with it. The men, especially the fascist element, complained bitterly and often, distressed that their easy life of lectures and language classes was over.

It was during the runs and the marches that Lockhart saw the opportunity to prove himself in the eyes of the men, his men. His lung was in good shape, and he had quickly regained the same level of fitness he had enjoyed in Crete. Thus he was able to help the men as they sweated kilometer upon kilometer through the cold Saxon drizzle, encouraging them, coaxing them, cajoling them and, of course, yelling at them. He also took his turn carrying the machine gun, at one point even relieving Pugh, much to Pugh’s surprise.

The sessions of unarmed combat and boxing seemed relaxing in comparison. Lockhart found that the only men with whom he had any difficulty were Hull and, more surprisingly, Pugh, who Lockhart found had the vicious tactics of a seasoned street fighter. Hull, who had been a professional strongman, could take on anybody, even three at a time. His favorite trick, which won him many drinks at the Rosenstock, was to tie a rope around his neck, leaving an end on each side dangling free. He then challenged any two of the men to pull on the rope in an attempt to make him pass out. So strong were Hull’s neck muscles that nobody succeeded, not even Strasser and Lockhart. Such sessions started to build up a reluctant camaraderie among the men, even if there was still a strong antipathy between the two camps.

Although the ideological lectures continued, many of them were replaced with classes on weaponry. The unit was taught how to use nearly every German weapon in existence, from flamethrowers to antitank weapons, as well as how to use explosives and lay mines. Their instructors were somewhat surprised by Lockhart’s familiarity with most of the weapons, with which he had trained at Arisaig. He merely gave the instructors a wink, and told them not to be so nosy. He had to admit to himself that the level and intensity of training was impressive, and he could see why the Waffen-SS was such a capable fighting force, notwithstanding the belief of its soldiers that they were members of an elite—almost holy—order, who were willing to die for their Führer.