As he showered and changed into his uniform, he wondered again when they would be moving. If he had one fault, it was impatience. Throughout his life, he had striven for the next goal only to find that once he had achieved it, the rewards were something of an anticlimax. He had been first drawn to the Totenkopf by Eicke's insistence on its elite status, but he had quickly tired of guarding the Reich's enemies. With the boss, he shared a desire for Totenkopf Division to become the finest military unit in all of Germany. With the outbreak of war, the reconnaissance battalion had been sent to Poland, a prospect that had excited Timpke. Once there, however, they had been left to carry out mopping-up operations, rounding up suspicious elements and Jews. Capturing and shooting these people had quickly ceased to give him any kind of thrill and Timpke had realized that this role, in support of the Wehrmacht, was unworthy of them.
Eicke had preached patience. Their time would come, he had assured them, but as far as Timpke was concerned, it couldn't come soon enough. Everyone knew that the war was far from over, that at some point the stalemate in the west would crack, and when it did, Timpke was determined to be a part of it. Over the winter, more and more equipment had been acquired.
Eicke had sent Timpke and a number of other officers on several missions all over Germany to obtain guns, vehicles and ammunition. In Poland, Timpke had seen with his own eyes that the Wehrmacht infantry were poorly provided with vehicles and transport, and by spring had known that their Waffen-SS division was better equipped than any regular infantry unit. But still no move to the front had been ordered. It was, Timpke knew, a matter of perception. He had witnessed this first hand during a row with some Wehrmacht officers in Stuttgart, who had jeered at them for being concentration-camp guards rather than regular soldiers. Saalbach, and the others they were with, had wanted a fight, but Timpke had urged restraint. Instead he had secretly invited the Wehrmacht officers to a marksmanship contest at Ludwigsburg.
It had worked out exactly as Timpke had hoped. The Wehrmacht officers had been amazed by the massed vehicles and machinery the Totenkopf could boast, and in the shooting contest, Timpke and his fellows had won comfortably. Somehow, word had got back to Eicke. More importantly, word had also got back to Generaloberst von Weichs, commander of Second Army. In April von Weichs had paid a visit and had watched the division on exercise. Rumour had it that he had been duly impressed. Certainly, more guns had arrived soon after, and all leave had been cancelled. Something was brewing; Timpke had been feverish with anticipation. But the days had passed and no further word came. Every day Timpke trained his men, waiting, waiting, waiting for news that they would be deployed to the front.
Yesterday those orders had finally arrived. The relief had been overwhelming. Immediately trucks had been despatched to pick up sixty tonnes of rations and further ammunition from Kassel. Timpke had sent Oberscharfuhrer Schramm from his own company. It had been an overnight round trip, but Schramm, his men and the rest of the convoy would be back that morning and then they would be ready. At a moment's notice, the division could be on the move, heading west to the front at long last.
After conferring with his company commanders, Timpke took himself off to the range, hoping that by firing a few rounds he would keep himself distracted. He took great pride in his marksmanship. Practice, he knew, was essential, that and an intimate knowledge and understanding of each and every weapon, whether it be a machine-gun, rifle or semi-automatic pistol.
On the rifle range he was joined by Hauptsturmfuhrer Knochlein, a company commander from the 2nd Regiment and one of those who had been with them in Stuttgart the previous evening.
'Beeck told me I'd find you here. How's your head, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?' Knochlein asked.
'Fine, thank you, Fritz.' He aimed carefully at the paper target a hundred metres away, breathed out gently, made certain his head and hands were rock steady, then squeezed the trigger. He felt the rifle kick into his shoulder, his ears rang with the crack, and he turned to Knochlein with deliberate jauntiness. 'And what about you? Don't tell me, it was light by the time you crawled back.'
Knochlein looked sheepish. 'It wasn't quite,' he smiled, 'but not far off. Still, we had a good night, didn't we?' He grinned. 'I'm improving by the minute.'
He was older than Timpke by five or six years, with a square, unrefined face that Timpke had always felt betrayed his upbringing in the rougher suburbs of Munich. Timpke liked him well enough and considered him a friend, even though he knew Knochlein looked up to him in a way that was, frankly, a bit embarrassing. As with so many of Knochlein's age who had lived through the hard years of the 1920s, Timpke had detected resentment at his core. Poverty had forced him to abandon his schooling, and although he was no fool - and certainly had a streak of ruthless cunning - Timpke knew he was insecure about his lack of education. It was why the SS was so perfect for Knochlein and others like him: an organization that gave its members a sense of purpose and unity, rewarding performance rather than social standing.
Timpke was peering through his binoculars at the target, and smiled to himself. Not bad.
'It's incredible news, isn't it?' said Knochlein.
'What news?' said Timpke, immediately lowering them.
'Haven't you heard? We've attacked France and the Low Countries.'
'Without us! Damn them. What happened?'
'It's not entirely clear. The Luftwaffe have been busy, though.'
Timpke's heart quickened. So it had started! He glanced at his watch. 'Those supplies should be here soon.' He slung his rifle over his shoulder. 'How can you be so relaxed, Fritz? Let's get going. We might be ordered off at any moment.'
The trucks began arriving back at the Kaserne just before eleven that morning, filled with fresh supplies. Timpke sensed anticipation in the men, who were chattering and laughing loudly, a new spring in their step. Vehicles were soon lining up, engines rumbling, ready for the he move. The courtyard of the barracks was crammed with trucks, troop-carriers, half-tracks, armoured cars and staff cars. Behind the Kaserne yet more vehicles waited, as well as the division's anti-aircraft guns, anti-tank guns and field guns, including a dozen 150mm heavy howitzers. Timpke and Knochlein walked among them, marvelling with pride that the division would be heading to France with more than two thousand vehicles under its banner. A motorized infantry division about to move.
Timpke laughed and gripped Knochlein's shoulder. 'We'll show those Army bastards, and we'll show those French and Tommy soldiers too.' Briefly he took off his cap, and admired the silver skull-and-crossbones insignia - the death's head - emblazoned upon it, then fitted it back on his well-groomed head. He smiled. 'We'll let them see what the Totenkopf is capable of.'