The Captain barked more orders. Herman, Caius and Fritz got the job of stripping, handcuffing and searching the Gastarbeiters one by one, while other policemen searched the barracks or headed off to find the corporate officials responsible for supervising the Gastarbeiters. There was no resistance, even when Herman used a knife to remove clothes and pushed the prisoners out into the cold morning air, where they squatted on the ground and awaited their fate passively. The only moment of excitement came when a policeman found a small packet of German chocolates hidden within a bedroll, probably stolen from a German shop. Herman was almost disappointed with the lack of action by the time the prisoner vans arrived from the station. The Gastarbeiters were herded into the vans, their hands still cuffed, and told to sit down. No one would care if they suffocated inside the vehicles before they reached the station.
“You’ll be escorting them to the processing camp,” the Captain said. “The SS will take them from there.”
“Understood,” Herman said.
He nodded to Caius and led the way to the nearest van, where they clambered up beside the driver. The stench of unwashed bodies was strong, despite the air conditioning; he forced himself to breathe through his mouth as the driver started the engine and drove back onto the streets. So early in the morning, there was almost no traffic in the suburbs. He smiled to himself as they drove past another set of barracks - they’d be having their own visits from the police soon enough - and then past one of the brothels. A handful of bleary-looking soldiers were staggering out of the door, clearly somewhat the worse for wear. The sight brought back happy memories of his own premarital days.
“They’ll be in deep shit when they get back to the barracks,” Caius predicted. “I bet you ten Reichmarks they overslept in the arms of a whore or two.”
“No bet,” Herman said.
His lips curved into a smile. Soldiers were allowed to slack off for a few weeks after Victory Day - it was why Kurt was still at home, rather than in the barracks with his unit - but there were limits. He suspected that some Oberfeldwebel would make them regret they’d ever been born after they staggered back through the barracks, if they were lucky. Being officially charged with desertion would probably get them sent to a punishment battalion somewhere in the east.
“Approaching the camp,” the driver said. “You want to get out first and check the prisoners?”
Herman nodded as they passed through two sets of gates and came to a halt beside the entry building. A handful of SS stormtroopers were already waiting, one of them eying the police vehicles with barely-concealed contempt. Herman shook his head - there was little room for elegance in police transports - and clambered out of the cab, jumping down neatly to the hard concrete ground. The SS stormtrooper threw a sharp salute and nodded to the rear of the transport.
“These the Untermenschen?”
“Yes,” Herman said. As if regular prisoners were ever brought to the SS camps. “They’re cuffed and naked.”
The driver flicked a switch in the cab, unlocking the rear of the van. The SS troops threw open the doors, then recoiled at the stench. Several of the prisoners had fouled themselves, clearly convinced they were going to die. Others were lying on the floor, seemingly unconscious or dead. Herman sighed inwardly - dead prisoners would mean more paperwork when he got back to the station - and watched as the stormtroopers ordered the living prisoners to climb out of the van, one by one. Naked, bound; they were prodded through the gates by rifle barrels and into the building, where they would be processed and then made to wait until their fates were decided.
Untermenschen, he thought, again. None of the prisoners seemed capable of offering even the slightest resistance - and a handful were crying. There isn't a real man amongst them.
Caius elbowed him as another van passed through the gates and came to a halt. “You think we can slip back to the station once the prisoners are handed over?”
“We might have to wash out the van first,” Herman muttered, resentfully. Prisoners fouling themselves was not unusual - and no one really cared if a couple died on the way to the jail - but it wasn't as if they had to clean up the mess. “You just know who’ll inspect the vehicles this evening.”
Caius opened his mouth to answer, then stopped and stared as the second van was opened and the prisoners marched into the camp. They were all women, as naked as the day they were born, their hands cuffed behind their backs. Herman stared, despite himself; they looked to be maids, young women hired to assist German housewives after they turned out their fourth child and earned the Mutterkreuz. Adelinde had flatly refused to allow one in her house, even though she was technically qualified to have one; Herman didn't know if his wife feared he might fancy the girl or if Adelinde’s father would play games with her...
And what sort of message would it send to the children, he asked himself, if I played around with the maid right in front of their mother?
“Untermenschen,” the SS stormtrooper said. “Such whores can never be good Germans.”
Herman nodded. It wasn't safe to disagree. Besides, back when he’d been in the military, there had been strict regulations banning relationships with Untermenschen women. He’d regarded them as a killjoy - far too many other soldiers had felt the same way - but the Race Classification Bureau had made it clear that good German genes were not to be introduced to the Slavs. There were so many Slavs that even a small handful of German-Slav hybrids might allow them to fight and win a war against the Reich.
He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he scrambled back into the van - once the last of the girls was through the gates and into the processing centre - and they were driven back to the station. He’d hoped for a break, but instead he was ordered to supervise a handful of German prisoners - the corporate officials who owned the Untermenschen - and watch as they were interrogated by the SS. Herman couldn't help feeling a little sorry for them, even though they were unwilling participants in treason. They might be released, if they weren't guilty of actually writing the damn leaflets themselves, but it would cast a long shadow over the rest of their lives. They would probably find themselves exiled to the east.
“Get a bite to eat,” the Captain said, when the last of the prisoners was finally escorted down to the cells and locked in. “And then report to my office in thirty minutes.”
Herman and Caius exchanged looks, then hurried down to the canteen and hastily ate a quick snack before heading back up to the Captain’s office. There were hardly any policemen in the corridors as they walked up the stairs. It looked, very much, as though most of the policemen attached to the station were out on the streets or supervising prisoners. Herman shuddered inwardly at the thought of one of them searching his house - he reminded himself, again, to destroy the leaflet as soon as he returned home - and knocked on the Captain’s open door. The Captain was sitting behind his desk, examining a set of folders, while Fritz was sitting in front of him.
“Come in,” the Captain said. “I have a specific job for you.”
Herman nodded and took the proffered seat. Caius sat next to him.
“We have not learned much,” the Captain said, shortly. “The Gastarbeiters were apparently hired to hand out the leaflets by a person who remains unidentified. There are no pictures available of this individual and the descriptions we have are so imprecise that it is impossible to narrow down the field. Most of the fingerprints on the leaflets belong to the Gastarbeiters or the Germans who handed them in. However, we may have had one lucky break. One of the fingerprints matched an individual on file.”
Herman leaned forward, feeling his heart starting to race. Fingerprints were not altogether reliable, but if they’d matched one fingerprint to the files... they might just have caught the ringleader. And that would mean promotion...
“Herr Doctor Professor Claus Murken,” the Captain said. He picked up one of the files and passed it to Herman. “Professor of Computer Studies at Albert Speer University.”
Caius smiled. �
�And you want this man arrested, Herr Hauptmann?”
“I do,” the Captain confirmed. “Arrest him and bring him to the station, now.”
Chapter Eighteen
Albert Speer University, Berlin
29 July 1985
Gudrun had been relieved when she’d woken up and discovered, as she helped her mother make breakfast, that her father had had to stay at the station overnight. It wasn’t common - her father normally worked from nine till five and then headed straight home - but it was a relief. Kurt might have spoken to their father for her, yet she’d been dreading their next meeting. Walking out of the house, carrying her bag of university books, had left her with the sensation that she was escaping a destiny mapped out by someone else. By the time she reached the university itself, she felt almost as if there was nothing she couldn’t do.
Horst met her by the gates. “There’s a lot of chatter,” he said, as Gudrun flushed with embarrassment. She’d kissed him - and she would have gone further, if he’d let her. “Just remember to be careful what you say.”
“Of course,” Gudrun said, a little tartly. Part of her would have been relieved if she’d never seen Horst again, even though she was sure he wouldn’t tell anyone about the kiss. But she needed to ask him and the others why the leaflets had been distributed far more widely than she’d expected. “Can we sneak up to the meeting room?”
“Better to wait for a while,” Horst said, as they stepped through the gates. “The entire university is buzzing.”
He was right, Gudrun discovered. Students were talking in small groups about the leaflets, comparing notes about soldiers who’d gone to South Africa and dropped out of contact; fathers, brothers and friends who seemed to have vanished. Gudrun listened, careful not to say too much, as the chatter grew stronger; hundreds of students, it seemed, were realising for the first time that they’d been told lies by the state. And, the more they compared notes, the clearer the picture became.
They can't arrest everyone, she told herself. She had no idea if that was actually true, but there were over two thousand students in the university itself, all with friends and family who would be upset if they were arrested. They can't take us all away, can they?
She shuddered, remembering Grandpa Frank’s words. The Reich had slaughtered untold millions - perhaps billions - of human beings, men and women who weren't so different from the Germans themselves. It was a crime so vast as to be almost beyond her comprehension, an atrocity so staggering that it would be easy to believe it had never happened. And yet, reading between the lines, it was clear that it had happened. Grandpa Frank might have told her what he’d seen, but... but she’d read the books and noted carefully what they didn't say.
“My father wasn't too pleased,” she muttered to Horst. “He was demanding to know when I’d get married and out of his house.”
Horst shrugged. “Fathers are like that,” he said. “Mine certainly told me I’d be expected to marry as soon as I decently could, no matter what I did with my life.”
Gudrun shook her head, tiredly, as they made their way to the classrooms. Konrad was unlikely to recover, but her father didn't know that. Not yet. As long as he thought she was engaged to Konrad - or close to engaged - he wouldn’t insist that she looked for another suitable husband. But once he found out the truth, he would tell her to find someone or to allow him to suggest potential candidates. Her stomach turned at the thought of who her father would consider suitable. A boring man, she was sure; a man who’d want a housewife and nothing more. And her father would keep shoving candidates at her until she gave in...
She looked at Horst, thoughtfully. He was handsome enough, she supposed; strong, smart - he’d have to be to get into the university - and all-too-aware of what she was doing instead of studying. Marriage to him wouldn't be too bad, but she’d have to go to the east once she finished her studies... unless he decided to stay in the west with her. She opened her mouth to ask him what he'd do, then dismissed the thought. It was unlikely in the extreme that they’d live long enough to get married and make a future together.
Horst gave her an odd look. “Are you all right?”
“It’s just... it’s just the excuse,” Gudrun lied. They’d called their periods the excuse in the BDM. Horst frowned, then blushed with embarrassment. Gudrun couldn't help smiling, despite her own embarrassment. Konrad had affected a selective deafness whenever female issues were mentioned. “I’ll be better soon, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure of it,” Horst agreed. He gave her a bland smile. “Gudrun, I...”
He broke off as a rustle ran through the students behind them. Gudrun turned and saw a trio of green-clad Order Policemen making their way through the crowd, their mere presence parting the students as effectively as Moses had parted the Red Sea. Horst caught her arm and gently pulled her out of the way, slipping down a side corridor as the policemen walked past their position. Gudrun tensed as she realised one of them was her father. Had he come to look for her? Or had he been called to the university on other business?
“That’s my father,” she breathed. Panic started to bubble up within her mind. “Horst...”
“Remain calm,” Horst whispered. Students were scattering in all directions, unwilling to risk doing anything that might draw attention from the policemen. “Just...”
He looked around, then drew her into an alcove. “We need to see what they’re doing here,” he added, at her bemused look. “Or do you want to run and hide?”
Gudrun, stung, drew herself up to her full height. “If he’s here for me,” she said, “is there any point in hiding?”
“Probably not,” Horst said, after a moment. “But if he was here for you, why would he bring two of his friends?”
***
Herman had never set foot in the university before, not even when Gudrun had been accepted as a student. Parents weren't meant to supervise their children’s education and, while the university had thrown out many traditions, it had made sure to keep that one. Indeed, Herman had only visited his children’s schools after the teachers had complained about their behaviour. Kurt had often been in trouble for fighting and Johan, it seemed, was going the same way.
Good for him, Herman thought, as he made his way through the corridors. He’d never been in the building before, but there were helpful signs everywhere. A fighter is better than a coward.
The university struck him as odd. It was nothing like a school; indeed, the mandatory portraits of Hitler and the Reich Cabinet were at a bare minimum, while the walls were covered with bright maps, abstract paintings that looked as though someone had splashed ink randomly on paper and photographs of spacecraft, space stations and the tiny base on the moon. Kurt had wanted to be an astronaut, Herman recalled; he’d been disappointed for weeks after he failed to get into the air force, the first step towards flying into space. Johan had been talking about being the first man on Mars too...
And this place is where they design the next generation of spacecraft, he thought, as he paused in front of a drawing of a massive space rocket. It looked too big to be realistic, unless there was something special about the rocket drive; the tiny image of a teenage boy, a sea captain and a bald professor at the bottom caught his eye for a long moment. Maybe Johan will fly that rocket into space.
He pushed the thought aside as they walked on until they reached the computer labs and stepped through the door. Inside, there were fifty computers lined up in neat rows, dozens of students sitting in front of them tapping on keyboards. Their eyes went wide as they saw the policemen, guilt written all over their faces. Herman smirked inwardly - everyone, it seemed, remembered guilty secrets when they saw a policeman - and raked the room with his eyes, searching for Herr Doctor Professor Claus Murken. The Professor was standing behind a female student - Herman was irrationally grateful it wasn't Gudrun - one hand resting on her shoulder as he explained something to her.
“Herr Doctor Professor Claus Murken,” he said, as the policemen stepped fo
rward. Murken didn’t look dangerous, but they had strict orders to bring him in alive and relatively unharmed. “You are under arrest.”
Murken’s eyes widened in shock. He offered no resistance as he was roughly searched and his hands were cuffed behind his back. Herman had been curious to discover what a professor of computer studies might carry in his pockets - he’d tried reading one of Gudrun’s books and found it completely beyond his understanding - but Murken wasn't carrying anything apart from a pair of pencils, an American-made pocket calculator and a tiny device Herman couldn't identify. He bagged everything, then nodded to Fritz and Caius, who frog-marched the professor through the door and out into the corridor.
Herman braced himself as they marched past a number of students. Many of them had their faces frozen in the expressionless masks they learned as children, when showing the wrong emotion could lead to a beating or worse, but a number were staring in horror - and hatred, even though it could be dangerous. Herman was tempted to snap and snarl at them as they passed, or to drag them in for interrogation, yet he knew it would be pointless. Instead, he merely ignored the students, counting on their uniforms to clear a pathway for them. It worked; no one barred their way as they half-carried the shocked professor through the corridors and out through the gates. They'd get Murken back to the station, where the SS would interrogate him harshly.
Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) Page 18
