How did Rolf know it was his birthday? And did he know that Max was only sixteen today?

Max had done what his father had instructed before they came and never told anyone his real age.

As if he’d asked the question out loud, Rolf said, ‘Your father tells us it’s time for you to handle one of these.’ With that, he pulled out a pistol from its holster and handed it to Max.

The pistol felt heavy in his hands. As Max studied it, Rolf went on. ‘You want to see some real action? Not just sitting behind a desk or pacing up and down the perimeter?’ he asked.

The tiniest shiver went through him. Rolf and Karl were both in their twenties. They’d been here longer than Max. They talked a lot about things like ‘real action’. Always keen to show how brave they were, how strong, how violent. Max was used to men like them. In many ways he admired them. In many ways, he aspired to be like them.

But sometimes he couldn’t stop himself. Sometimes he wondered how much of the talk was real, how many of their words they truly believed – and how many were for the benefit of others.

Sure, he joined in with the talk himself, laughing at jokes he didn’t always get, talking louder than came naturally to him, sneering at the prisoners as they lumbered by, heads bowed, ragged clothes hanging off them.

But just occasionally, it was as if the veneer slipped and Max caught a glimpse of something underneath it all. He wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t a little boy any more. They might not tell him directly, but he knew what happened over at the other camp where the chimneys blew out smoke every hour of every day.

He also knew what Karl meant when he said there wouldn’t be ‘any more trouble’ with the prisoners who’d tried to escape. What ‘real action’ was likely to mean.

Sometimes, before he managed to check himself, Max allowed a tiny voice in his head to ask questions: Was this what he had yearned for? Was this what being the greater race truly meant?

Then he wondered if he was the only one to think those questions. Or if soldiers like Rolf and Karl sometimes thought the same? Soldiers like his father, even, who had always been committed to Hitler and the Reich? Did he ever question it all?

He would never know the answers as he knew he could never voice any of his questions. He could never show he had moments of doubt. He could never even hint at it. He was in far too deep for that now.

So he plastered a grin on his face and turned to his colleague. ‘Absolutely!’ he said.