Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The door opened. A grim-faced policeman entered the room, picked a girl at random and marched her back through the door, which closed behind them with a loud thud. Gudrun wondered briefly what the girl had done to deserve being picked first, then decided it didn’t matter. She had a feeling she’d go through the whole process herself soon enough. The door opened again, revealing a different policeman who took a different girl. Gudrun almost giggled as her dazed mind wondered if the girls were being taken for a dance.

  Her blood ran cold. There were horror stories - darker horror stories - about girls who went to semi-legal dances and raves. Her father had never let her go, even with Konrad; she’d never dared to defy him, not when many of her friends were also forbidden to attend. And the policemen were taking the girls... she suddenly felt very vulnerable and helpless. They wanted her to feel that way, she was sure, and yet... it was working.

  Patience, she told herself firmly, as the door opened again and a policeman walked towards her. Konrad went through worse. You can get through this.

  The policeman helped her to her feet with surprising gentleness, then escorted her into a corridor and down towards a large metal door set within the stone wall. It opened with a series of clicks - Gudrun couldn't help wondering just how many locks had been worked into the door - revealing another cold chamber. It was bare, save for a single metal table; two stern-faced men sat behind it. The table - and their chairs - were firmly fixed to the floor.

  “You are under arrest,” one of the men said. The policeman who’d escorted her to the room stepped backwards until he was standing in front of the door. The only door. There was no hope of escape. “If you cooperate, it will be noted. Do you understand me?”

  Gudrun nodded, feeling her heartbeat starting to race. Any hope she’d had of escaping, of vanishing into the streets, was gone. She fought to keep her breathing under control, knowing it was a losing battle. This was worse, far worse, than being forced to write lines, or having her hand swatted with a ruler...

  “Good,” the man said. “Name?”

  “Gudrun Wieland,” Gudrun said.

  It was hard to speak. Her thoughts ran in all directions. She hoped her parents wouldn't get into trouble. She’d known some parents who had got into trouble because their children were little brats, but the kids had been much younger than eighteen. Gudrun was old enough to be accountable for herself, yet she was also a girl - an unmarried girl. Her father could be punished if she stepped too far out of line.

  “Noted,” the man said. His voice was flat, utterly atonal, but there was a hint of something unpleasant in it. “There are checks we have to perform. If you cooperate, everything will go smoothly and swiftly; if you refuse to cooperate, we will carry them out by force and you will find them thoroughly unpleasant. Are you going to cooperate?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gudrun said.

  “Remove the cuffs,” the man ordered.

  Gudrun let out a sigh of relief as her hands were released. She brought them around and stared at her wrists. The skin was badly bruised; she rubbed them frantically, trying to get some sensation back into her hands, but she felt nothing. She couldn't help wondering if she’d lost all feeling in them for good. The policeman let her have a moment to work her hands, then tapped the table impatiently. Gudrun couldn't help feeling a flicker of amusement as she realised there were three men guarding her, as if they considered her a deadly threat. She knew, without false modesty, that she couldn't hope to beat even one of them in a fight.

  One of the policemen produced an ink pad and a pad of paper. Gudrun had had her fingerprints taken before, the day she’d entered school; she recalled, with a hint of bitter shame, that she’d considered it fun. Now, it was terrifying. Her anonymity was being stripped from her, piece by piece. If there was a single fingerprint of hers anywhere on the leaflets, they’d know who she was. And then it would be over.

  “Very good,” the policeman said, once the whole process was complete. His companion removed the fingerprint paperwork, then produced a small metal box from under the table and put it on the top. “Now, I want you to remove your clothing, piece by piece, and pass each item to me.”

  “I can't,” Gudrun objected. She hadn't taken off her clothes in front of a stranger since her last medical examination - and the doctor had been female. Even Konrad had never seen her naked. “I...”

  “You can either undress on your own, in which case the clothing will eventually be returned to you, or you will be cuffed and your clothing will be cut away,” the policeman said. He didn't show any hint of anticipation, but his companion was clearly looking forward to the display. Gudrun shivered as his eyes crawled over her body. “There will be no second chance to cooperate.”

  “They’ll want to degrade you,” Horst had warned, back when he’d talked about how prisoners were treated. “They’ll want to make it clear that you are no longer in control of your own life.”

  Gudrun shuddered. She’d never been allowed to wear something revealing, not even when she’d been at home. Tight jeans had shown off her curves, but not her bare skin... her cheeks burned with shame at the thought of being so exposed. And yet, she knew they weren't joking. If they stripped her themselves, it would be far worse. Gritting her teeth, she undid her shirt slowly, trying to pretend that she was undressing for bed. She was damned if she was going to give them a strip show.

  She was grimly aware of their gazes - one lustful, one cold and dispassionate - as she removed her trousers and stood in front of them, wearing only her bra and panties. Bracing herself, she slowly removed her last protections and stood naked in front of them. The policeman by the door was breathing heavily; she wanted to curse him, even as the policeman inspected her last few articles of clothing and dropped them into the box, covering her breasts with one hand and the crack between her legs with the other. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go; she wanted to cry, but she didn't dare admit weakness. It would be disastrous.

  “Hands on your head,” the policeman ordered.

  Gudrun hated him in that moment, hated him with a helpless fury she hadn't felt for anyone else, not even the worst of the BDM matrons. But she did as she was told, trying not to look at them studying her. She had never been so exposed in her entire life. Their eyes were trailing over her breasts, drinking in every detail. They had to know she was completely clean. Where could she hide anything now she’d been stripped naked?

  “Turn around,” the policeman ordered, coldly. He rose to his feet and walked around the table. “Bend over and grab your ankles.”

  Gudrun stared at him in disbelief, but there was no point in trying to argue. All she wanted was to get it over with as quickly as possible. She turned and bent over, grimly aware that they were seeing far too much of her. Cold hands gripped her buttocks and pulled them apart... she cringed, half-expecting to feel a finger poking up inside her most private parts, before she was released.

  “Stand,” the policeman ordered. He was already walking back around the table, as if violating Gudrun’s most intimate parts was nothing. “Cuff her, then take her to the holding cell.”

  It had been nothing, Gudrun realised, as the policeman snapped the cuffs back on, trapping her hands behind her back. They didn't know who she was, or what she’d done; they were just showing off their power. It was crude, it was effective...

  ... And yet it had failed. They hadn't broken her.

  You don’t know who I am, she thought, as she was pushed into a small holding cell. She might be naked, she might be cuffed, but she felt as though she had won. You don’t know who I am and that means I still have a chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Berlin, Germany

  12 August 1985

  “Ah, there you are,” Frau Morgenstern said, as Hilde stepped into the room. “I trust you are ready to go out?”

  Hilde looked up, surprised. “Mother?”

  “They’re arresting children on the streets,” Frau Morgenstern said, tartly. “Chil
dren who could be you, if things were different. Something has to be done.”

  She went on before Hilde could say a word. “I’m heading straight to Silgan’s house,” she added. “The telephones are no longer working, so I want you to take a note to several others. We’re going out onto the streets in protest.”

  “Mother,” Hilde protested. “You could wind up in jail...”

  “So could you,” her mother said. “This is the one chance we have to make our voices heard, to ally ourselves with others who want change. And so I’m leading the way onto the streets.”

  She picked up a sheet of paper and started to scribble a quick note. Hilde stared at her, unable to quite believe what was happening. Her mother had been holding dozens of meetings, some more civilised than others, but it was hard to imagine her bossy mother leading a small army of women onto the street like common workers. And yet, her mother had been outraged at the suggestion she was still under her husband’s thumb. The chance to insist on greater rights for women was not to be missed.

  “Once you’ve delivered the note, I want you to come straight back home and wait,” Frau Morgenstern added, as she folded the sheet of paper and passed it to Hilde. “You are not to go onto the streets yourself or leave the house for any reason at all. The maids will take care of you until your father comes home.”

  Hilde swallowed. She had no idea what her father would say, if he discovered his wife was leading the protests on the street, but she had a nasty feeling he’d take it out on her. He couldn't stand up to his formidable wife, after all. Hilde had no idea why her father had even married her mother, unless there was money and a name involved somewhere. His career had probably benefited from her mother’s quiet politicking on his behalf. Maybe it had benefited enough for him not to want to discard his wife.

  “I understand,” she said, finally. “Be careful...”

  “They won’t shoot us,” Frau Morgenstern said, firmly. “Each and every one of the women in the group has a powerful husband or family.”

  “Yeah,” Hilde said. “Just make sure the police know that.”

  She glanced at the note - it was nothing more than a handful of lines, telling the recipients to assemble at the predetermined spot - and headed for the door. There hadn't been any incidents in their part of Berlin, as far as she knew, but that was about to change. God alone knew what would happen when the wealthy and powerful women started marching in support of the strikers - and their list of demands.

  Bitterly, half-wishing she’d never heard of Gudrun or allowed herself to be lured into the Valkyries, she hurried though the door and down the drive to the gates. She could be arrested, if the police saw her on the streets; she could be taken into the RSHA and tortured until she confessed everything. The emergency broadcasts had taken over everything, even the handful of privately-owned television sets. There was no excuse for being caught outside the home. But the thought of her mother’s anger - and her own position - drove her on.

  They won’t be patrolling the streets here, she told herself, hoping desperately that she was right. Her father’s house - it was effectively a mansion - was in the safest part of the city, where the wealthy and powerful lived. The men who owned these houses were among the chief supporters of the regime. They’ll be sending the police to the industrial zones...

  But she knew she wouldn't feel safe until she was back home, praying her mother returned safely.

  ***

  “They arrested Gudrun?”

  “It looks that way,” Leopold said. “I didn’t get a good view from my vantage point, but they were arresting and cuffing just about everyone on the streets. I’m pretty sure I saw Gudrun being manhandled into a police van. The factories are sealed off and isolated.”

  “Write down a list of names,” Horst ordered. The telephone lines might be down - some bright spark in the RSHA had turned the civilian network off - but the computer network had barely been hampered. There was no way the state could cripple it without rendering it useless to themselves, as well as the Valkyries. “Make sure you only list the students you know were taken into the vans.”

  He thought fast. Gudrun had said she was going down to the factories, along with hundreds of other students, so it was likely she’d been arrested. He didn't think any other Valkyries had joined the protest - Leopold had found a place to watch, rather than go all the way into the sealed zone - yet there was no way to know for sure. It was unlikely Gudrun would be given any special treatment, once she reached the processing centre, but being strip-searched would be so outside her previous experience that it might break her. And if she provided a list of names to the SS, Horst and the other Valkyries would have bare hours to live.

  It would be simple enough to run, he knew. He’d been trained in escape and evasion; he could make it to the American Embassy, if he tried, or head south to Switzerland. Or head west to Vichy France. It wouldn't be too hard to steal a fishing boat and flee to Britain. And yet, leaving now would mean abandoning all his hopes and dreams - and Gudrun. He didn't want to leave her in the Reich’s clutches.

  Particularly as she might have kept her mouth shut, he thought. Gudrun might not have endured the worst of the Hitler Youth, but the BDM matrons had been thoroughly unpleasant, if not outright sadists. She knows to say nothing and hope.

  “Here,” Leopold said. “These are the students I know were arrested.”

  Horst glanced at the list. It was shorter than he’d expected, but in all the confusion a great many students would have been arrested or injured without anyone noticing. The police would have refrained from using lethal weapons, he was sure, yet tear gas alone could be nasty if the protesters were unprepared for its use. He’d have to make sure the next message that went out on the computer network included instructions for dealing with it.

  “Put it on the net,” he ordered. Sven took the list and hastily tapped it into the computer, then uploaded it. God alone knew how many people it would reach - the regime could turn off the power in most of Berlin, simply by pushing a switch - but they had to try. “And see who you can send to their homes. Tell them that their children have been arrested.”

  “I can ask someone from downstairs,” Leopold said, after a moment. “But that might be too revealing.”

  “Be careful,” Horst advised. Whatever happened in the days and weeks that would come, a line had been crossed. “And watch your back.”

  There was a knock on the door. Horst swore inwardly as Sven hastily blanked the screen, then brought up a computer game he’d written himself. He’d told Horst that he had high hopes of selling millions of copies; Horst, privately, suspected it would be pointless to try until there were more than a handful of computers in civilian hands. Pushing the thought aside, he leaned over Sven’s shoulder as the door opened - he’d rigged the doorknob to be harder to open quickly - and pretended to watch the game.

  “Horst,” a gruff voice said. “There’s a telephone call for you.”

  Horst had to fight to keep his expression under control. He’d never thought highly of Krabbe - the would-be spy was suitable for nothing more than cannon fodder - but this was a new low. The telephone lines were down and everyone knew it. Krabbe might just have blown his cover in one stupid moment. And even if there was a telephone line that was isolated from the rest of the landlines, which was technically possible, some of the students would still wonder.

  He could have said there was a message for me and it would be less revealing, he thought, straightening up. Something would have to be done about Krabbe. Horst’s handler would probably be annoyed if he beat the idiot to within an inch of his life, but a careful report might see the stupid bastard reassigned to mine-clearing duty in Germany East. And now I have to come up with a cover story.

  “I’m coming,” he said. It was rare for parents to ring the university - and if they did, it was almost always an emergency. He glanced back at Sven, hoping the computer expert wasn't paying close attention. “I’ll see you later.”

&n
bsp; Somehow, he resisted the temptation to punch Krabbe as soon as they left the computer lab and headed down the stairs. There were only a handful of students within earshot, but fighting in the corridors would be enough to get them both expelled - or, if their superiors intervened, raise yet more questions about why they hadn't been expelled. Horst silently wrote the report in his head, then decided it would be better not to write it. Krabbe was an idiot, but an idiot would be safer than someone competent. Unless, of course, he was a decoy...

  “You’re wanted at the main office,” Krabbe said, as soon as they were alone. “Take one of the cars from the accommodation block and drive there.”

  “And get arrested by the police, no doubt,” Horst sneered. What had happened to the sterilisation camps? People like Krabbe shouldn't be allowed to breed. “None of our cars have any special plates to keep the police from flagging them down.”

  He shook his head. Being close to Krabbe was killing his brain cells. “I’ll walk,” he said, firmly. “And you can go back to the apartment block and stay there.”