“Remain calm and let me do the talking,” he said. Thankfully, they did have a legitimate reason to be in the square. “If they split us up, remember your instructions and follow them.”
Penelope nodded, her face pale. Embassy staff, even the ones who rarely left the building during their entire term in Germany, were carefully briefed on what to do if they were arrested or otherwise taken into custody. Cooperate, within limits; inform the Germans, at once, that holding an embassy staffer prisoner would cause a diplomatic incident; don’t sign anything, no matter what the Germans said. Andrew hoped she'd be fine; there were limits, unfortunately, to just how far training could actually go.
They joined a line of civilians waiting to go through the barricade and watched, grimly, as the policemen frisked the civilians, sometimes removing copies of the leaflets, before allowing the civilians to go onwards. A couple of middle-aged men were sitting on the ground in handcuffs, although Andrew couldn’t tell what they'd done to get arrested. He braced himself as the line moved sharply onwards, then met the policeman’s eyes when his turn came.
“My card,” he said, holding up his diplomatic ID. “We’re attached to the embassy.”
The policeman’s eyes narrowed sharply. Andrew could practically see the internal debate behind his eyes. If he frisked them both and the embassy complained, his career would be sacrificed to avoid a diplomatic incident. But if he let them go and his superiors found out, his career would be smashed flat. It wasn't a surprise when the policeman motioned the two Americans to stand aside and called his superior on the radio. Moments later, a grim-faced man in an SS uniform arrived. Andrew was surprised to realise that he didn't have any rank insignia at all.
He glared at Andrew, then addressed him in heavily-accented English. “Why were you in the square?”
“We had a meeting with Mr. Aldrich of the Ministry of Finance,” Andrew said, calmly. “We are currently heading back to the embassy to file the paperwork for the latest trade deal.”
And if you treat us badly, the deal may be wrecked, he added, silently. He was sure the officer would pick up on the subtext. You should let us go right now.
The officer’s mouth worked for a long moment before he said anything. “I will check it with the Ministry,” he said. “Wait.”
Andrew gave Penelope’s hand a reassuring squeeze as the officer lifted his radio and called the Ministry of Finance. Aldrich, he was sure, would tell the officer that there had been a meeting and an important trade deal, encouraging the officer to just let them go without further ado. But if someone had pulled off a coup in the middle of Berlin, handing out leaflets to hundreds of people, who knew what would happen? The SS might even try to arrange accidents rather than risk the news getting out.
“Mr. Aldrich vouches for you,” the officer said, finally. He waved to a pair of policemen, who strode over and scowled at the two Americans. “Escort these two back to the American Embassy and ensure they don’t get lost along the way.”
“Jawohl, Mein Herr,” the policemen said.
“Come on,” Andrew said, as the policemen motioned for the two Americans to follow them past the barricade. “We need to get back home before it’s too late.”
Penelope looked as if she wanted to ask questions, but thankfully she had the sense to keep her mouth shut. Andrew had no doubt that the policemen would overhear anything they said and report back to their superiors. They could discuss the leaflets once they got back to the embassy and then decide what, if anything, they should do about them. He tried to remember what the girl had looked like, but - if he were forced to be honest - he’d paid more attention to her uniform than her face.
It could have been worse, he told himself, firmly. Crowds were already gathering past the barricades, staring into the square. It could have been a great deal worse.
***
“There’s a crowd gathering,” Caius muttered. “Word is spreading.”
Herman looked past the barricade and swore, inwardly. Frisking everyone and then letting them leave might have been a mistake. By now, word was spreading through Berlin that the police were holding nearly fifty BDM girls in the square and worried parents were heading to the centre of the city, despite the risks. And what would happen, he asked himself, if the SS insisted on taking the girls away for further interrogation?
No one would care if they were a bunch of Gastarbeiters, he thought. It was perfectly true, after all. But young German maidens... their parents will be up in arms!
He cursed the leaflet-writers under his breath. Whoever they were, they’d neatly put a finger right on the Reich’s weak spot. The SS couldn't take the girls, he told himself; they’d be riots, mutinies, even an uprising. He honestly wasn't sure what he’d do, if Gudrun had been among the girls who’d been arrested. Hell, there were at least a dozen policemen he knew who had daughters in the BDM. What if they’d been arrested?
His radio buzzed. “The girls don’t seem to have any of the leaflets,” a voice said. “We’re letting them go with a warning.”
Herman allowed himself a moment of relief as the girls were released, heading back to their parents, then found himself dragged into helping to pick up the leaflets and dump them into rubbish bags. They’d be transported to the RSHA, where the SS would pick over them in the hopes of finding something - anything - they could use to track down the writers and arrest them. Herman rather doubted they’d find anything. Whoever had written the leaflets wouldn't leave fingerprints; hell, gloves were part of the BDM uniform. He gritted his teeth in anger as he tossed the final bag into the SS truck. Bringing the leaflets to the centre of the Reich had been madness.
“We’ll be working late tonight,” Caius commented. “The Captain was saying we might be staying on duty until nine.”
“I’ll miss my wife’s dinner,” Herman muttered. He wasn't fool enough to say it any louder, not when his superiors might hear. “She won’t be pleased.”
“I dare say she doesn't have a choice,” Caius said. “And neither do the rest of us.”
***
She kissed me, Horst thought, as he returned the van to the garage. The owner examined it quickly, checked the gas in the tank and then grudgingly returned the deposit. She kissed me.
He couldn't help feeling excited, even though he knew it was probably nothing more than a reaction to stress and then the relief of knowing they’d managed to get clean away. Gudrun had a boyfriend. She’d think better of what she’d done in the morning, after she had a chance to sleep. She’d...
Sure, his own thoughts mocked him. How likely is it that Konrad will recover?
Horst was no doctor, but he’d read Konrad’s medical report - and the summery - very carefully. It was quite likely, when his family were informed about his condition, that they would be urged to pull the plug, cutting off his life support. The damage to his legs was quite bad enough - Horst had shuddered when he’d read the description - but the brain damage was worse. Konrad would be a drooling imbecile for the rest of his life. How long would Gudrun stay faithful when she knew, deep inside, that her boyfriend was gone?
And yet she doesn't know what you are, he reminded himself. What will she say when she finds out the truth?
It wasn't a pleasant thought. Sure, Gudrun had accepted Konrad - but Konrad had never tried to hide the fact that he was an SS trooper. Horst had; no, Horst had done a great deal worse, even though he was now trying to help Gudrun and her friends. He’d come to her, pretending to be a student, and befriended her, intending to betray her if she did anything worth reporting. How could she forget that, if she found out?
He sighed. He was no virgin. There were brothels near the Hitler Youth camps in Germany East - another feature that wasn't present anywhere else - and he’d been taken there by the older boys once he’d plucked up the nerve to ask. The women there had been Untermenschen, sterilised just to ensure they didn't become pregnant and give birth to half-caste children. They’d done whatever they’d been told...
&nb
sp; Gudrun is different, Horst told himself. She’d never just roll over for anyone.
He cursed his own feelings as he started the walk back to the university. He’d never tried to court a girl in Germany East, not when he’d known his duty would lead him elsewhere... and besides, he’d had to remain unattached at the university. He couldn’t allow himself more than a brief affair. Now, he found himself unsure of how to proceed, or even if he should proceed. He couldn't help cursing his own training. He’d been so sure that Gudrun was just reacting to her relief that he hadn't been able to bring himself to give in. And yet he’d wanted to give in...
And how much of that, he asked himself, is driven by your own relief?
It was a pointless argument, he told himself firmly. Gudrun probably wasn't really interested in him - and even if she was, it would be unwise for them to become involved until the whole affair was over. And yet, Horst knew just how likely it was that they’d all be arrested, tortured and executed. They might as well enjoy themselves while it lasted...
Confused and tired, Horst slowly made his way home.
Chapter Fourteen
Wieland House, Berlin
28 July 1985
Gudrun had received her first surprise when she’d returned home and opened the door. A leaflet - a copy of their leaflet - lay on the table, having been pushed through the letterbox and brought into the dining room by her mother. The second surprise had been Grandpa Frank sitting in an armchair, watching her mother as she fretted over the leaflet. He was holding a bottle of beer in one hand, but he seemed surprisingly sober.
“Don’t touch that leaflet,” her mother snapped, when Gudrun reached for it. “I’m going to show it to your father.”
“It’s one of the leaflets we had to hand out as children,” Gudrun said, pretending to be perplexed. “It’s nothing...”
“Don’t touch it,” her mother snapped. “Go upstairs and change into something proper and then come back down and help me with dinner.”
Gudrun nodded and hurried up the stairs, puzzling over the leaflet. She’d known that some of the boys were going to post them through letterboxes, but her letterbox? Had they thought it would help her avoid suspicion? Did they even know where she lived? She’d taken Hilde and Isla back to her home a couple of times, but Konrad had been the only boy who’d visited since she’d turned thirteen. Horst only knew where she lived because she’d had to tell him where to drop her off.
She closed and locked the door, then unpacked the BDM uniform and hid it at the back of her wardrobe. Hopefully, her parents wouldn't demand to see it in the next couple of days. She was expected to do the washing on Wednesday, when she had no classes at the university; she’d insert it into the washing pile before anyone had a chance to look at the uniform.
And for once it’s a good thing the boys aren't expected to do anything around the house, she thought as she changed into a skirt and blouse. Her father would have a fit if he saw her in tight jeans and an American t-shirt, even if he had other things to worry about. She had no way of knowing where he’d been stationed, but he would probably have been called to Victory Square to help round up the BDM girls. He’ll be hopping mad when he comes home from work.
She walked back down the stairs, almost running into her mother as she helped Grandpa Frank stagger back upstairs to his room. The drunkard looked surprisingly bright-eyed; he was normally drunk out of his mind when Gudrun came home. Her mother pointed to the kitchen; Gudrun nodded and hurried down the rest of the stairs, looking around for the vegetables she knew she’d have to chop. There was no sign of the leaflet.
And what, Gudrun asked herself, will mother do with it?
She worried over it as she donned an apron and set to work. They’d been told at school, time and time again, that seditious literature had to be handed in to the police at once. Gudrun remembered, at the time, trying to decide what counted as seditious; the definitions they’d been given were very broad, too broad to understand. Her mother would show the leaflet to her father and then... and then what? Who knew what her father would do?
The door opened. Gudrun looked up, just in time to see Kurt sneaking into the kitchen and making a beeline for the cookie jar. She hissed at him threateningly - their mother would be furious if he spoiled his appetite before the main meal of the day - and chased him back out of the kitchen. He raised his hands in mock surrender as he retreated; Gudrun was tempted to ask him why he wasn't in the barracks, but swallowed the thought as she realised he might well have seen the leaflets too. Who knew what the soldiers had made of them?
And he might guess I had something to do with them, she thought, as she put the chopped vegetables into water and put the pot on the stove. He knows Konrad’s a cripple - and unlikely to survive.
Her mother came back downstairs, muttering under her breath, and bustled into the kitchen, issuing orders with all the determination of an army officer. Gudrun pushed her fears out of her mind and set to work following them, silently grateful that her mother was doing her fair share of the work. One of her friends who’d married young had told her that the mother-in-law did nothing, apart from issuing instructions and moaning when they weren't followed to the letter. Gudrun had privately determined she wouldn't be marrying anyone unless they moved into a private home, well away from the in-laws. She hadn't been looking forward to the argument with Konrad...
She sagged against the table as it struck her, again. There wouldn't be any arguments with Konrad; there wouldn't be anything with Konrad, ever. He’d die in a hospital bed, his life support cut off, or he’d remain a cripple for the rest of his life. The nurse had talked about brain damage. Gudrun was no doctor, but she knew that brain damage could be impossible to repair. His body was still alive, yet his soul might have fled long ago.
“Gudrun,” her mother snapped. “What’s got into you, girl?”
“I’m sorry,” Gudrun said, pulling herself upright. “I... I’m just tired.”
Her mother gave her a considering look. “You had better go to bed early, after you’ve taken Grandpa Frank his dinner,” she said, finally. “You’ll be useless if you go to the university without a good night’s sleep.”
Gudrun was tempted to protest that she worked hard at home and at the university, but she kept that thought to herself as she heard the front door open. The one time she’d complained about having to do all the chores herself - her brothers were allowed to get away with leaving their rooms messy - her mother had pointed out that she needed to develop the skills to be a good wife and mother. There was no point in having the same argument a second time.
She looked up as her father entered the kitchen. He was wearing his green uniform - he normally changed at the station - and looked grim.
“I’m going to have to go back to the station tonight,” he said, after he gave his wife a hug and kiss. “The captain wants us all on duty.”
“I’ve got something to show you,” his wife said. She looked back at Gudrun. “Get the food on the table, please.”
“Yes, mother,” Gudrun said, feeling a chill running down her spine. “Beer?”
“No beer,” her father said, quickly. “Just coffee, please.”
Gudrun nodded and turned away before her father could see the guilt written all over her face. He’d always been good at spotting their lies, when they’d been children; Gudrun and her brothers had learned long ago that it was pointless to try to deceive their father. Did he know, she asked herself, that she was worried about something? Or was he too wrapped up in his own troubles to worry about hers?
“I told you not to read it,” her mother said, loudly enough for Gudrun to hear her even though the walls. “I told you...”
She picked up the pan and carried it through the door, into the dining room. Kurt was standing at one side of the table, the leaflet in his hand; their parents were standing at the other side, glaring at him. Gudrun kept her eyes lowered as she put the pan on the table, then looked up to see Kurt holding out the leaflet.
She took it, only to have it snatched out of her hand by her father.
“Father,” Kurt said.
“I will not have this... this seditious crap in my house,” her father snapped. He stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and glared at his son. “And showing it to your sister was unwise...”
“It concerns her,” Kurt said, calmly.
Gudrun looked up at him. “What does it say?”
“None of your business, young lady,” her mother said. “Go back and bring in the meat!”
“It says that soldiers who have stopped writing are crippled or dead and the government is covering it up,” Kurt said. “Soldiers like Konrad...”
Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) Page 14
