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The men remained silent. Hostner knew he carried little, if any, authority here. Chastising or threatening them would achieve nothing. He sought a different approach.

On your hands and knees, Jan… and talk to them at their level.

‘Look, I’ve got to find some men, Luftwaffe lads. No one’s in trouble, I just need to find them or else I’ll be in shit.’ He hoped he sounded like a common soldier, just carrying out orders, just trying to keep his head down and do as he’s told.

‘Why?’ A voice from the back of the truck.

‘I don’t know. I’m just following orders. Help me out, please.’

‘Yeah?… so that you bastards can shoot them?’

‘No, no, of course not. They — ’

‘Go on, piss off.’

Hostner pulled his head out from inside and let the canvas flap drop down. He jumped off the back on to the muddy road again.

This was a bloody nightmare. There was no way he was going to find these men like this. He decided to head back to his Kubelwagon, light up the oil heater he’d brought along, warm himself up and rethink his plan.

Hostner climbed the earthy bank at the side of the road to get away from the trucks. He walked slowly towards his vehicle, imagining how he would break the news to Major Rall that he’d been unable to locate the men despite his orders not to return without them. Surely the Major realised it was going to be a long shot, trying to find four men amongst tens of thousands?

He hadn’t been wrong back there in the truck when he’d said he’d be in shit if he failed to find them.

A long convoy of open-topped trucks were passing by. Hostner looked at the men shivering in the back. Their faces said it all. Win or lose, we want this over.

Maybe they had the right idea.

In a few weeks’ time, maybe even days, it would all be finished. So why not join them? Why not just lose the uniform and join the men heading back to Germany? Many of these men were no doubt contemplating finding American and British units to surrender to, once they were near enough to them to make a dash for it.

It was tempting.

He knew the Allies would be sifting their German POWs for SS. But amidst the hundreds of thousands of men he could easily hide. And if the worst came to the worst and he was uncovered as ex-SS… Well, Hostner could not recall being directly associated to some of the more disturbing activities of his colleagues. He had only been an intelligence officer. That was all.

Very tempting.

An open truck with Luftwaffe personnel in the back passed him by.

Hostner instantly dismissed his nebulous thoughts of desertion and descended the earth bank at the double, landing with a messy splash in the ankle-deep muck once more. He raced after the truck, his smooth-soled boots slipping perilously a couple of times, and reached out for the tailboard, only just managing to get a hold of it. With a gasp of exertion he pulled himself up.

There were twenty to thirty men huddled on the back and exposed to the open air. Few of them had winter coats, most of them shivered in just their uniform tunics. Hostner addressed the group of Luftwaffe men.

‘Do you men know if there’s anybody in this column from KG-301?’

One of them looked up at him. ‘Yeah, there are a few of us here.’

‘You’re from 301?’

‘Yeah. There’s a few ground crew in the truck behind. I don’t know where the rest are.’

Hostner sighed with relief. He was getting somewhere.

‘I’m trying to find an Oberleutnant Max Kleinmann. According to my records he was commanding Staffel 109f. Do you know if he is here, in this column somewhere?’

The man looked at him with suspicion. ‘What do you want him for?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘In that case I don’t recall seeing him. Now do the decent thing and piss off, Leutnant, before we throw you off.’

Hostner felt anger welling up inside him. He’d taken just about enough shit this morning. He instinctively reached down for his gun and pulled it out. ‘This is still a fucking army, and you are — ’

‘Put the gun away, unless you’ve got enough bullets in there for all of us,’ the man said quietly. Hostner looked around at the soldiers on the truck. They looked like they’d beat him to a pulp if he tried using it. Tense seconds passed by as he weighed up whether to risk continuing to assert his authority with the help of his handgun. The men in the truck weren’t even looking at it; they’d had their fill in recent weeks of agitated junior officers waving their guns menacingly and threatening death and damnation.

Hostner placed it back in his holster, and managed a conciliatory smile. ‘Look. I’m sorry… I — ’

‘There, wasn’t so hard, was it? Treating us with a little courtesy. You’re after Max Kleinmann?’

Hostner nodded.

‘Then you’ve found him. I’m Max Kleinmann.’

One of the other Luftwaffe men turned to face Max. ‘What the fuck — ’

‘Relax, Pieter, the bastards’ll track me down one way or the other.’

The SS officer looked at the other Luftwaffe men. ‘And these men are your crew?’