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.

The unit was also taught basic fighting tactics, such as methods for taking machine-gun posts, setting ambushes, clearing buildings, dealing with snipers and using bayonets. In all these activities, Lockhart set an example, taking firm control of the men when they were practicing such engagements. By this stage, it was becoming evident that the men were even enjoying themselves, as the effects of physical fitness combined with a sense of purpose put a sparkle into their once-tired eyes.

Nevertheless, it was not as though the unit had completely transformed. Arguments and fights still broke out, the cause usually being a difference of political opinion fanned by alcohol. It was also clear that Maclaren, Pugh, Simpkin, Smith and Prain—the fascist cell—were hardly Lockhart’s biggest fans, a fact relayed to him by Worstead. Not that Lockhart needed telling, but he was grateful to Worstead, who had also told him that the others—Catchpole, Marston, Hull, Andreae, Allan, Stafford, Malcolm and Nichols—all thought the Hauptsturmführer a “top bloke.” This was excellent news, thought Lockhart, because including Worstead, he now had a core of nine men who were showing loyalty to him. And what of Butcher? Lockhart asked Worstead. He was a mystery, said Worstead; one just couldn’t tell what he was thinking inside that black-eyed skull.

The man who was outstandingly happy was of course Strasser, who was firing off memoranda twice a week to Berger, telling him that the unit was in fantastic shape, and would be a useful addition to any front line. Berger’s replies were noncommittal, revealing a lack of interest that annoyed Strasser. As far as Strasser could tell, the efforts of Sturmbannführer Stranders were ineffective, and for the time being, Stranders had come nowhere near Hildesheim.