A dozen German teenagers spent the day aboard FGS Pegnitz as part of a taster week with the German marines in Kiel, Germany. Photo / Kate Brady, The Washington Post
On the FGS Pegnitz, a German mine-hunting boat off the northern Baltic coast, a sharp command cut through the sea air.
“Portside 10!” shouted Mathis Kramer, 17. “Portside 20!” Kramer shouted moments later, as the Navy vessel tilted into a tight turn towards a bright orange buoy – today’s stand-in for a man overboard.
Another would-be sailor leaned over the rail and hauled it aboard, water streaming from the “rescue”.
Kramer was among a dozen young Germans spending a week on a “taster” programme with their country’s Navy.
The initiative is part of a nationwide effort to boost enlistment, aiming to attract 40,000 recruits annually by 2031 and expand the Bundeswehr, Germany’s federal armed forces, to 260,000 active personnel from about 182,000 in the next decade.
Unlike most of their peers, the teenagers in the taster programme already have a genuine interest in the military.
Awen Klinzmann, 18, said he imagines himself working aboard a submarine, inspired by childhood visits to a naval base with his grandmother.
During a morning exercise, Klinzmann spotted a small drone bobbing on the water “before any of the professionals did”, he said, grinning. “I have to say, that felt pretty cool.”
For Klinzmann, joining the marines is about family tradition – and belonging. “I’ve heard that at the end of the day, it’s like one massive family,” he said.
The German Government wants that military family to grow. The Bundestag, the federal Parliament, is set to vote on a new military service bill by the end of November.
Under the plan, all 18-year-old men would receive a letter requiring them to fill out a questionnaire about their willingness to serve for six months. For women, the questionnaire would be optional.
With Russia’s war in Ukraine providing a daily reminder of the modern threats facing Nato allies, Germany, the European Union’s biggest and richest – but hardly strongest – country, is racing to beef up its defences.
Out on deck on the Pegnitz last month, phones buzzed with news alerts that drones had disrupted flights at another Danish airport.
It was the second such incident that week, and part of a pattern of unexplained drone incursions that officials believe could be part of Russia’s hybrid warfare, despite denials from Moscow.
Berlin, long criticised by allies for its tight purse strings, earlier this year approved a massive spending plan of up to US$1 trillion ($1.7t) in defence and infrastructure investments over the next decade.
In response to the Russian threat and demands by United States President Donald Trump, Chancellor Friedrich Merz and other Nato leaders have pledged to devote 5% of gross domestic product annually to military expenditures by 2035.
Defence Minister Boris Pistorius has said he wants Germany to be kriegstuchtig, or “fit for war”, by 2029 – when some experts believe Moscow could be in a position to attack a Nato state. One of Germany’s biggest challenges, however, remains a shortage of personnel.
In a nation that has been defined by pacifism since World War II, the question of how to fill the ranks has ignited fierce debate – especially over voluntary enlistment versus compulsory service.
Earlier this month, Merz’s centre-right party, the Christian Democratic Union; its Bavarian sister party, the Christian Social Union; and their junior partner in the Government coalition, the centre-left Social Democrats (SPD), appeared to agree on a compromise – including a “lottery” system that would randomly select some young men for service.
At the last minute, the SPD blocked the plan, and Pistorius cancelled a news conference at which he had planned to unveil the updated proposal.
Public opinion remains just as divided.
A Forsa poll for Stern magazine found that 54% of Germans support mandatory service.
Yet a strong majority of young people – those who would be forced into uniform – oppose it, with 63% against compulsory service.
The idea of a random selection system is also not popular, with just 21% of respondents in another Forsa survey saying they considered it fair.
That number rose to 34% among men aged 18 to 29. One protester compared the idea to the Hunger Games, calling the proposed lottery a “tributes of Panem” scenario.
In a sign of the growing public unease, more than 3000 people have filed letters pre-emptively declaring conscientious objection during the first eight months of this year – even though compulsory military service has not been reinstated yet.
The teenagers aboard the Pegnitz – who would be among the first required to fill out the questionnaire if the Bill passes – were still in preschool when Germany suspended obligatory service in 2011.
Back then, 73% of eligible men chose civilian community service over joining the military.
Among today’s potential young recruits, motivations for serving vary: family tradition, curiosity, a growing sense of duty.
“It doesn’t absolutely have to be the marines,” Kramer said.
What began as a childhood fascination through cartoons and games has turned into real-world experience. “What I really like the most here is the camaraderie,” he said.
Kramer said he believes a short period of national service – military or civilian – could help his generation, the tail end of Gen Z, “gain perspective”.
“I feel that if more people came here, they would just improve in general,” he said.
Recently, he has been training for fitness tests and considering volunteering after finishing school.
His mother is worried: “She’s caring, and she doesn’t like me being in danger,” he said.
Kramer has also been confronted by a sibling about far-right extremism in the Bundeswehr, an issue that dominated headlines a decade ago. “From what I’ve experienced so far, that’s really not a problem,” Kramer said.
Germany’s suspension of compulsory service in 2011 reflected a belief that Europe was at peace and a professional, volunteer army would suffice.
Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 shattered that assumption, prompting then-Chancellor Olaf Scholz to declare a Zeitenwende – a historic turning point.
“I think that many German citizens simply take it for granted that we live in peace,” Kramer said. “But it can still happen that we find ourselves in a situation of war, and it’s not simply a given that we live in peace.”
After a fire drill and a tour of the engine room, lunch was served below deck. The smell of chilli con – and sin – carne drifted up the stairwell as the trainees dug in. “Mahlzeit,” the German midday greeting, was mumbled across the tables.
“I’ve noticed personally that interest has increased among young people in particular,” said Marcel, 35, a senior crew member responsible for training aboard the Pegnitz, who spoke on the condition that he be identified only by his first name for security reasons.
The motivations vary, he said: family history, curiosity stoked by ad campaigns, or browsing the job market. The taster weeks are valuable for decision-making, Marcel said.
“Someone might realise after this week that going to sea isn’t for them after all,” he said. “And that’s just as important as when someone is completely impressed.”
For two teens in the group, seasickness proved too much; pale-faced, they stared toward the horizon.
Back on land, the prospect of restoring compulsory service after a 14-year hiatus has stirred old anxieties.
In Berlin, Bundeswehr ads now fill bus shelters. “Do what really counts,” proclaims a slogan plastered on yellow trams.
When the Bundestag convened in mid-October for the first reading of the draft legislation, a handful of protesters gathered outside.
Members of the German Society for Peace (DGF) demonstratively shredded mock copies of the Bill beside inflatable arms snapping a weapon in half. Next to them, members of Greenpeace Youth unfurled a bright yellow banner declaring: “We don’t want to march into our future”.
Thilo Trosien will turn 18 next year and hopes to study natural sciences after high school, not spend time around weapons.
“The best way forward is simply not to reintroduce military service,” Trosien said. “The Bundeswehr needs professionals, not interns.”
He said the voluntary system would be a slippery slope to conscription.
“I’m afraid that the Bundeswehr will then have all my data and, if necessary, could single me out and send me to war zones,” he said.
“I’m also afraid of having to do my basic training in the barracks, because I’ve already heard about many awful experiences.”
If the legislation passes, he and others will have no choice but to fill out the questionnaire.
Trosien said he hasn’t ruled out declaring conscientious objection. The Ministry for Family Affairs is responsible for approving such declarations, which must be made in writing.
The DGF, which advises on conscientious objection, said it has seen a surge in interest.
“The chances are really good,” said DGF’s Yannick Kiesel. “But we don’t know how it’s going to be if there’s more and more objections,” he said, pointing back to the 1980s, when protests against US nuclear missiles drove a wave of objection applications.
After eight hours at sea, the Pegnitz approached the harbour to the sound of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s 1969 hit Bad Moon Rising blaring over the boat’s intercom system: “I see the bad moon rising. I see trouble’s on the way.”
The crew always chooses a song to accompany their departure and return to shore, one member explained, with the captain making the final call.
Any irony in the lyrics, it seemed, was lost on German ears.
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