It was winter in Deutschland. Every rooftop in Berlin was adorned with a thick layer of snow, snow that had blanketed the whole countryside. The air was crisp, and the many copses of pines scattered about the city were rather picturesque, for their branches were still with icy frost. From everyman's lips arose a puff of steam with each breath. In the depths of such a freezing season, not a man, woman or child lingered indoors for long. At last it was the time of the winter solstice, and Yuletide had arrived. Such was a time for patriotic celebration and pageantry throughout the fatherland.

In one such display, SS-Obergruppenführer Wolfgang Görring stood atop an enormous podium in Berlin, his salute raised high above the masses. Over his uniform, he was garbed in a black leather trench coat, which was very reminiscent of a Teutonic cloak. Underneath him, flowing down from the balcony rail, was a blood red banner depicting the hooked cross of the swastika. On the broad streets below, ranks upon ranks of the Waffen-SS walked by, marching the goosestep with disciplined uniformity. Proud voices raised the words to "Deutschland Über Alles" throughout the streets, backed by the steady beating of drums and a thundering drawl of trumpets. Here his spirit soared, surrounded by his Übermensch kinsmen, borne on the breast of the fatherland. Here, he felt as though the whole world could see each and every one of them. Not a single man could deny that the power, grace, magnificence and wisdom of the Third Reich was unmatched. And here, standing atop a balcony in the heart of his home country, Herr Görring knew nothing but this - Germany was unstoppable!

As the remarkably large and numerous marching bands and Schutzstaffel divisions finally passed him by, he breathed a sigh of relief and slowly lowered his arm, relaxing his fingers and tucking them into his pocket. He turned to see one of his advisors, SS-Oberführer Oskar von Rhine. The staunch officer saluted his superior, smartly exclaiming, "Heil Hitler!"

"Indeed, my friend! Heil Hitler, indeed!" was Herr Görring's eager response. He then continued by asking, "Shall we retire, gentlemen? I'm sure my wife has cooked a grand meal."

The four men around Görring needed no further persuasion. They agreed to their SS-Obergruppenführer's generous offer, and the party departed through a rear doorway. Down through the old, dark halls of the building they moved, discussing tales of Nordic myths and Germanic conquests in the scant, dim lamplight. Such was the life of a good Aryan during the night of Yuletide.

At last the group of military commanders and politicians exited the ornate convention centre, heading towards the V.I.P. car park. Herr Görring jumped inside a black Mercedes whilst his other social companions climbed into their own assortment of prestigious cars. The party then drove out onto the jammed streets of Berlin, heading towards the Waffen-SS district, where the fabulously wealthy and influential families of Schutzstaffel officers and big business types usually resided. With a gleam in his eyes, Wolfgang Görring admired the myriad of blazing lights and towering skyscrapers in his city, awestruck at the sheer might of the Führer's Third Reich.

After a good twenty minutes of slow, progressive driving, Herr Görring pulled into a large crescent, where giant, dark mansions lined the street. Outside a manor that could have almost been a castle, Görring parked his luxury vehicle, sidling out of the car, shutting the door and tightening his trench coat as he walked onto the chilly lawn. Behind him, his friends followed, laughing and jesting at one another. It wasn't often that men of the SS were granted free time, and as such, they more than anyone else were eager to enjoy the fruits of Yuletide. They were all bachelors, because their professions in the Reich had not given them a moment for anything else. Görring, though, was a rarity, for he had been so brilliant in the theatre of war that he did not need to work hard for his rank. It came to him swiftly and easily, as is the sign of a great leader. Because of his talent, he had found plenty of time to raise a big family of proper, honourable Aryans.

Upon reaching the door, Görring placed his hand upon an engraving on the archway. It was a thick, bold inscription depicting a pair of ancient runes shaped like bolts of lightning. These were the sowilo symbols of Old Norse, and also the emblem of the Schutzstaffel.

With a sharp knock upon the oaken doors, Görring took a step back and waited. A moment later, a black girl, no more than fourteen-years-old, opened the door, head bowed. She was dressed very modestly in a plain, grey dress.

Herr Görring stepped through the door, briskly passing the slave as if she did not exist. Oskar von Rhine was the next to enter; he snarled at the girl, shoving her aside whilst following after the Obergruppenführer. Once all the officials had entered the house and hung their jackets and coats upon some hooks along the antechamber's rear hall, the girl slowly closed the door and disappeared into a small doorway that led to the cellars.

"For the life of me, I don't know why you keep that wretch around your household, Wolfgang," said von Rhine, referring to the slave girl.

"She's a hard worker, and I procured her quite cheaply from some Afrikaner friends of mine in South Africa. I have a large family, Oskar, and my wife and eldest daughter shouldn't have to do all the work by themselves. Besides, she causes no trouble to any member of my family," responded Wolfgang, before pushing the matter away quite abruptly.

"Now, let us celebrate Yuletide, and the success of our Führer in his latest expeditions. It seems we have now occupied most of the Middle East. It shan't be long until the entire world is under the thumb of the Third Reich," he said quite proudly.

"But what then, when we have no more aims to strive towards?" inquired SS- Standartenführer Gottfried Schumacher, a prominent lawmaker from Nuremburg.

"Then, my friend, our Übermensch brethren shall ascend into the outer reaches of space, and our conquests will be the colonisation of new, Germanic worlds," said Herr Görring, his voice bordering on a vibrant whisper.

As the party entered a large chamber, the SS-Obergruppenführer's face lightened, and a genuine smile pulled at the corners of his lips. His wife greeted him with a wave from across the hall, and his children ran over to him, racing past the crackling fireplace at the front of the dining hall. He knelt down and embraced his children, then stood up and nodded kindly to his wife, who was busy setting the very thick, very long table. Almost every piece of furniture in the room was dark, heavy and ornate in the old Bavarian fashion.

"Well, if you ask me, this planet alone won't be right until we purge every single non-white, if not every single non-Aryan!" barked Oskar von Rhine, his face turning a deep shade of red.

"Calm yourself, old boy. You're not a storm trooper anymore, my friend. You must learn to control that temper of yours. Had I known the sight of my slave would have put you in this mood, I would have had her locked in the basement for the night," commented Herr Görring.

"I'd rather have her locked in a gas chamber," mumbled von Rhine.

At this, the SS-Obergruppenführer scowled menacingly. His cruel eyes met with Oskar's, and immediately the SS-Oberführer knew he had gone too far. It had been a long time since the gassing of Jews, and even though it was an accepted, generally approved part of the Third Reich's history, it was still considered a barbaric, evil and dishonourable slaughter of innocents by most cultured people in German society. Herr Görring was known to be rather outspoken about the issue. Although he harboured no great love for the Jewish race, or any other non-Aryan race for that matter, he was a military man first and foremost, and such an industrial method of committing genocide disgusted him. It was the one issue on which SS- Obergruppenführer Wolfgang Görring held no pride in his volk, his Führer or his Reich.

"Let us cease this conversation before it turns foul," stated Görring commandingly. Oskar nodded inaudibly; glad that he would not feel the notoriously sharp words of Herr Görring.

The men all sat around the table, Wolfgang flanked on either side by his wife and his eldest son, SS-Rottenführer Reinhard Görring, a new recruit to the Waffen-SS, but already distinguished amongst his peers. He was a shining, exemplary soldier with noble ambitions for the future of the Reich; truly his father's son.

"Tonight, we drink and we feast in the name of Odin! Valhalla awaits us, my kinsmen!" roared Herr Görring, raising a firm Nazi salute.

All around the table, guests and household alike followed suit, cheering, "To Valhalla!" What followed was a resounding chorus of fists thumping steadily upon the tabletop, before all the men raised their pints of beer and drank the beverages thirstily.

Lady Görring hurriedly departed from the dining room, only to return a few moments later with the main course - meat and steaming vegetables. Sausages, hams, pork and an assortment of poultry now adorned the plates on the table. More beer ensued, followed by a few rounds of fine vintage wine from the Imperial days, and then some patriotic, bellowing hymns and songs in good old Nordic tradition. At last, the younger children who had been very excited at the beginning of the night had fallen asleep with exhaustion. Lady Görring and the eldest daughter, Ebba, carefully carried the sleeping children from the dining hall up to their lavishly furnished bedrooms.

To complete the event, Görring reached towards the middle of the vast table and gripped a big, perched horn. It was sealed, and inside it was a mouthful of dark red wine. After quickly calling, "Heil Hitler!" the SS- Obergruppenführer downed the contents of the Nordic horn, and then placed it back at the centre of the table. His son and his four guests thumped the table in applause for the tenth time that night.

Drunkenly, the SS-Obergruppenführer and his associates packed up their plates and left the table, walking down the halls of the mansion to the front door. Just as Görring was about to bid them goodnight, SS- Standartenführer Schumacher asked, "Why don't we all go out to the rural districts and light a bonfire to keep the celebrations going a few more hours?"

At this, Wolfgang blanched. "Sorry, friend, but I don't think I'm up to it tonight. Maybe next Yuletide, ja?"

Schumacher, von Rhine and the others thanked Görring rowdily for the evening, and then mockingly marched the goosestep to their cars, drunk and exhilarated. Deutschland, the Führer, the Third Reich and the Waffen-SS had served these proud, distinguished Germans well - certainly at the expense of the less fortunate, poorer folk - and for that they would strive onwards with the torch of strength and glory for the Aryan super race, to rule for a thousand years and beyond...

Such was social and political life for a Schutzstaffel man in 1980, in a world where the Triumphal Reich ruled supreme, as was predicted by its founders before the Welt Reinigend, or "World Cleansing" (known to us as World War II)...

By Sebastien C. Maru