Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) (14 page)

“I didn't,” Gudrun said.  She giggled, again.  “We got away with it!”

“Don’t get overconfident,” Horst warned.  “We haven’t even
seen
their official response to our leaflets.”

***

He was right, Gudrun knew.  The police were acting faster than she’d feared, but they weren't going to catch anything beyond a few hundred innocent girls.  Chances were they’d confiscate the leaflets from everyone caught within the barricades, not keep the girls behind bars for very long.  Who knew how their parents would react after finding out that their daughters, some as young as twelve, were being held by the police?

She found herself giggling, once again, as she realised just what they’d done.  They’d walked through Victory Square itself, handing out seditious leaflets, and no one had noticed in time to try to stop them.  That matron was going to be in deep trouble when she confessed she’d seen Gudrun and done nothing... and, if she gave the SS an accurate description of what she’d seen, it would lead them in entirely the wrong direction.  Who knew?  Maybe someone would assume the BDM itself had been handing out the leaflets, perhaps a rogue matron with a grudge against the state.  It might even sound plausible...

“I feel funny,” she said.  It reminded her of when she’d drunk a little wine the day she’d turned sixteen.  Her head had felt strange for hours and she’d giggled like a little girl at everything, even unfunny jokes.  “Is that normal?”

“It’s fairly normal,” Horst said.  He parked the van in a lay-by, clambered out of his chair and came into the rear.  “Did you hand out all of the leaflets?”

“Yep,” Gudrun said.  She had to fight to hold down another fit of giggles.  “Everything’s gone.”

Horst nodded, then opened a bag and packed the remains of her BDM uniform away.  Gudrun was too giggly to help him, even though she hated leaving the task to him.  His eyes swept the vehicle, looking for anything else that might prove incriminating.  But there was nothing, save for the radio itself.  Gudrun watched as he packed it into another bag, then placed both bags near the door.

“I’m going to drop you off near your house,” he said.  “Take your uniform and return it to wherever you kept it.  You probably shouldn't be carrying it around at all.”

“I’d sooner burn it,” Gudrun said.  “Can't we just toss it into the fire?”

“Safer not to risk your parents noticing,” Horst said.  He glanced up at her.  “There's no point in taking risks. I’ll give the radio to Sven and he can break it back down into its component parts before it occurs to them to search the university.”

Gudrun nodded, feeling suddenly sober.  They'd done it.  They’d crossed another line, one that would lead rapidly to jail if they were caught.  She didn't understand how Horst managed to remain so calm, when they’d thoroughly compromised themselves.  Her entire body began to shake as it hit her, suddenly, just how far they'd gone.  And how far they had yet to go, if they weren't caught.

“It’s all right,” Horst assured her.  He put a hand on her shoulder as she shook.  “You’ve done fine, really.”

Gudrun leaned forward and kissed him, hard.  There was no conscious thought in it, just a desire to feel someone pressing against her.  For a second, Horst kissed her back and then he pulled away, gently holding her at arm’s length.  Gudrun stared at him, her emotions spinning madly.  For all she'd done with Konrad - and the thought of her boyfriend added an extra stab of guilt to the mix - she’d never felt the simple burning
need
for his touch.  Part of her wanted to slap Horst for not kissing her as hard as he could, the rest of her felt ashamed.  This was neither the time nor the place.

“It’s a natural reaction,” Horst assured her, gently.  “You just want to feel
alive
.”

Gudrun stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around his refusal to kiss her back, let alone go further.  She’d been told that a man would go as far as the woman would let him - and further, if he thought he could get away with it.  And yet, Horst was gently refusing her unspoken offer.  They could have made love in the back of the van and no one would have been any the wiser.

“I’m sorry,” she said, finally.  “I...”

“Ask me afterwards, if you like,” Horst said.  “But right now, Gudrun, you’re not thinking straight.”

“Bastard,” Gudrun muttered. 

Horst climbed back into the driver’s seat and restarted the engine.  “I’ll drop you off in two minutes,” he said.  “Remember to come into university as normal tomorrow, but be careful what you say and do.  There’s no way to know how the government will react.”

“I understand,” Gudrun said.  She removed a small mirror from her pocket and inspected her face carefully.  She looked normal, thankfully.  “And thank you.”

“Thank me afterwards,” Horst grunted.  “Not before.”

Chapter Thirteen

Victory Square, Berlin

28 July 1985

“They want us to do
what
?”

“Round up the BDM girls,” Caius said.  “All of them.”

Leutnant der Polizei
Herman Wieland blinked in surprise.  The
Ordnungspolizei
rarely had anything to do in Victory Square, although they were required to keep a strong presence near the
Reichstag
to make sure nothing happened to the tourists.  It made a change from patrolling the darker and grittier streets on the edge of Berlin - or, for that matter, being stationed in Germany East.  Herman had heard too many stories from policemen who’d gone there, after being offered bonuses that would allow them to retire early, to feel willing to go there himself.

He shook his head in disbelief as he looked over at the nearest group of girls.  They were young; the oldest was at least a year younger than Gudrun.  And yet, he was to round them up?  He knew how to handle rioting
Gastarbeiters
, he knew how to handle drunken soldiers celebrating their last few days of leave, but arresting young girls?  How the hell was he supposed to handle
them
?

“Get them into the centre of the square,” he ordered, finally.  Orders were orders - and besides, such innocent girls wouldn't be in any real danger.  “You keep an eye on them once I get them there.”

He strode over to the nearest matron and frowned at the expression of fear, mixed with indignation, that flickered across her face.  He’d never liked the BDM matrons, particularly the one who’d written outraged screeds about Gudrun.  Herman had never been one to spare the rod for
any
of his children, but there were limits.  Gudrun’s hand had ached for weeks after she’d been forced to write thousands of lines and Herman would have happily arrested the matron, if there had been any grounds to throw her in jail.  His daughter might have lost the use of her hand for the rest of her life.

“This is a police emergency,” he said, fighting down his annoyance.  There was no point in frightening the girls, no matter how much he wanted to frighten the matron.  “Get the girls into the centre of the square and wait there.”

The matron stared at him.  “But...”

Herman met her eyes - he could have sworn she was growing a moustache - and cowed her into silence.  The girls tittered, nervously.  They had to know that
something
was wrong, but watching their matron taken down a step or two had to delight them.  Herman felt a flicker of sympathy - the matron would take her embarrassment out on the girls once they were alone - and made a mental note to have a few words with her before she was released.  The youngest girl in the group couldn't be more than ten years old.

“Get the girls into the square,” he ordered, coldly.  “Now.”

The matron hurried to do as she was told.  Herman watched her for a long moment, then turned and walked over to the next set of girls.  Their matron, at least, seemed a little more reasonable; she listened to him politely, then started to steer the girls into the square.  Herman moved from group to group as more policemen flowed into Victory Square, some keeping a sharp eye on the girls while others were collecting leaflets and examining them with grim expressions.

“Herman,” Caius called.  “Take a look at this!”

Herman took the proffered leaflet and read it in growing disbelief.  The outside was normal - another set of exhortations to sacrifice for the good of the
Reich
- but on the inside... he stared in horror as he realised that it was seditious.  A writer, an unknown writer, was claiming that thousands of soldiers had been killed or wounded in South Africa, despite the claims that the war was nothing more than a simple police action.  And if that wasn't bad enough, there was a call for action, a call for free elections to the
Reichstag
and an end to the omnipresent terror.  Herman shuddered, suddenly unwilling to even
touch
the leaflet.  How many of the damned pieces of crap had been handed out?

“Someone was given this by a maiden,” Caius said, very quietly.

“Shit,” Herman muttered.

He looked at the girls - and their matrons.  They were scared, he saw; whatever humour they’d seen in watching their matrons bossed around by the policemen had faded as the remainder of the square cleared rapidly.  Berlin hadn't seen a major police action since the
Gastarbeiter
riots in the sixties, but few Berliners were prepared to stand around and risk being arrested.  The girls... he swallowed, hard.  It was impossible to believe they’d handed out the material wittingly, let alone willingly, but the SS might be harder to convince.

And, as if his thoughts had been enough to summon them, a handful of SS stormtroopers headed into the square, carrying weapons and looking dangerous.

Herman winced, inwardly.  Technically, the Order Police and the SS were separate organisations, both reporting to the RSHA, but he knew better than to think he could stand up to the SS.  The SS had lost its grip on the police after Hitler’s death, yet they were still very much the senior service.  If they wanted the girls, they could take the girls and no one could stop them.

“Herman, Caius, get over here,” his superior bellowed.  “You’re needed on the barricades!”

Herman took one last look at the girls, then did as he was told.  They’d just have to fend for themselves.

***

“Andrew,” Penelope said.  “Is this normal - or have I just forgotten how to read German?”

Andrew turned to look at her.  She'd unfolded her leaflet and was reading it, carefully.  Her German was perfect - German was the second global language, after all - and Andrew would have been surprised if she’d had any trouble reading it, yet she sounded as if she didn't quite believe what she was reading.  He took the leaflet when she offered it to him and stared in disbelief as he read the words.

“No, it’s not normal,” he said.  The British had had some links with the German underground, he’d heard through the grapevine, but the underground had largely gone dormant since the end of the war.  He’d always assumed that its members had made their peace with the regime or had been quietly purged.  “It isn't remotely normal.”

He swore under his breath as he heard shouting ahead of him.  A line of policemen had appeared out of nowhere and were hastily setting up metal barricades, trapping the two Americans - and hundreds of Germans - within Victory Square.  He looked behind him and saw a number of young girls, wearing the same strikingly ugly uniforms he’d seen on the girl who’d given them the leaflets, being herded into the centre of the square.  There would be no point in trying to go back, he was sure.  The Berlin Police would have sealed off all the exits by now.  If the girl they’d seen was trapped within the square, she was dead.

“I can hide the leaflet in my pants,” Penelope said.  “I...”

“They may check,” Andrew said.  He had to smile.  He hadn't expected Penelope to suggest hiding the leaflet anywhere intimate, although it was pointless.  “And if they find a hidden leaflet, they will try to make life uncomfortable for us.”

Penelope blinked.  “They can't do that, can they?”

Andrew frowned.  “You should have read your briefing notes,” he said.  He put both of the leaflets in his pocket and gave her a wink.  “They have been known to take Americans into custody if they think they have good cause.  It’s happened to me before.”

He gritted his teeth at the memory.  In theory, the policemen should either wave them on or provide an escort back to the embassy; in practice, they might be taken into custody and held until their credentials were checked against the Foreign Ministry’s records.  The Berlin Police might be relatively gentle, but the SS would insist on a strip search, perhaps even a cavity search.  They’d
certainly
insist on a full search if they thought Penelope was hiding something in her underwear.  The embassy would protest, of course, and there would be a series of unpleasant exchanges, but nothing effective would be done.

“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
.

***