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‘Has your little brother come to help you?’ He laughed. ‘We’ll soon see who the stupid one is. It’s still three against two, and we’re older and stronger.’
    The size and strength of the opposition seemed to make no difference to the newcomer, who was suddenly in their midst, standing with his hands on his hips in a defiant, mocking posture.
    ‘And what are you going to do, little man?’ Günther continued. ‘Do you want some of the same med—’
    Günther wasn’t allowed to finish his sentence. The newcomer cracked his fist into Günther’s nose with such speed and determination, it would have been impossible to see it coming. The other two boys backed away, as though suddenly less sure of themselves.
    Günther quickly recovered. He wiped the blood from his nose and studied it momentarily before looking up again. ‘You’re going to pay for that!’ He lunged at the newcomer and landed a glancing blow to his chin, jolting his head sideways. Then Günther leapt at him and pulled him to the ground. ‘Can you wrestle, little man?’
    The newcomer lashed out again, but this time his punch was easily blocked.
    ‘I’m a very good wrestler,’ Günther said as he twisted his legs around the other boy and rolled him over, pinning him onto his back.
    The newcomer jabbed again, and now he cut his opponent’s lip. He threw another punch, but any advantage he might have had was fleeting.
    Günther blocked him again and he knelt on his upper arms, immobilising them. ‘See how you like this,’ he said, and then he began to rain blow after blow into the newcomer’s face, like a blacksmith hammering steel, until his knuckles were wet with blood.
    Beside them, the boy stirred. He sat up and the pain in his ribs caused him to wince and clutch his side. He saw Günther’s friends move closer and he knew he would not be allowed to help this bright-haired boy who had come to his aid. He could do no more than watch and hope that the bully would soon let up. Blow after blow continued to fall until the boy saw the fight go from the newcomer. He had stopped bucking and twisting, and his head seemed limp now as it rocked from side to side as Günther kept hitting him. The boy thought Günther would never let up. He thought he was going to kill the newcomer if he didn’t do something. He was about to, for what good he thought it would do, but the beating suddenly stopped. Günther seemed to freeze mid-blow.
    He groaned. ‘Oh, Scheisse !’
    Very slowly Günther began to fall sideways towards the boy. He landed heavily just a few feet from him, and it was then that the boy saw the reason he had stopped the beating. Protruding from his side was the unmistakable black and polished nickel plate handle of the newcomer’s Hitler Youth dagger.
    The newcomer began to move again. He slowly sat up, blood in his teeth and all over his face from the beating he’d just taken. He kicked Günther’s legs away from him and the other two boys who had been with him turned and ran for the doors at the end of the corridor.
    The newcomer got to his feet. ‘You must learn to stand up for yourself—show your enemies you’re not scared. I’ll teach you.’ He straightened his shirt and tie. ‘Well, are you just going to sit there all day?’ He extended his arm to help the boy up. ‘I’m Volker. Volker Strobel.’
    ‘Johann Langner,’ the boy said. ‘Is he dead?’
    Volker kicked Günther and he groaned again. ‘He’ll live. He’s probably just in shock, that’s all.’
    Günther stirred and tried to remove the dagger from his side.
    ‘You should leave that,’ Volker said. ‘If you take it out, you’ll bleed to death.’ To Johann, he added. ‘It’s true. I’ve seen it happen.’
    Johann scrunched his brow. ‘You have?’
    Volker nodded. ‘It was a pig, but what’s the difference?’ He turned back to Günther. ‘Lie still, Schweinchen, or you’ll make things worse.’
    Volker took Johann’s arm. ‘Come on. We