Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) (16 page)

“And he will need to eat a proper meal for breakfast tomorrow,” their mother said.  She'd never disagreed with any of their father’s punishments, but she’d sometimes acted to moderate them.  “He’s got school in the morning and Hitler Youth in the evening.  He doesn't need a bad fitness report from his teachers.”

Gudrun winced as she hurried back into the kitchen, wiping the tears from her eyes.  A bad fitness report could be disastrous, particularly if Siegfried wanted to get into the air force or the navy.  It was at least four years before he could join, but if the recruiters had too many volunteers they might look as far back as the Hitler Youth to decide who should be given a chance.  Siegfried had always been a little nastier than her other brothers - she dreaded to think of what would happen if he ever worked out that she’d helped write the leaflets - yet he didn't deserve to have his life ruined by being too hungry to march, run or play football with the other children.

She put enough food aside for him, then carried the rest of it back into the dining room and placed it on the table.  Kurt and their father were seated, staring at each other, while their mother was standing behind their father, wringing her hands together.  Gudrun didn't really blame her for being worried.  There had been arguments before, of course, but
then
her children had been
children
.  Now, Kurt was an adult with his own life, Gudrun was old enough to marry and Johan would be going into the army next year, unless he passed the university entrance exams.  Only Siegfried was still a child and he was growing up fast.

Kurt waved cheerfully to Johan as he entered the room, then took a potato from the pan and leaned forward.  “What happened at work?”

“Those damnable leaflets were being handed out by young women in BDM clothes,” their father said.  “We had to round up every girl in the square, which naturally brought dozens of parents to mass on the other side of the barricades...”

“The girls were handing out the leaflets?”  Kurt asked.  He made a show of stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “How...
strange
.”

“As I said,” their father snarled, “the girls handing them out wore BDM uniforms, but they were apparently not BDM.”

“And yet they wore those uniforms voluntarily,” Kurt mused.  He winked cheerfully at Gudrun.  “They must have escaped from the madhouse.”

Gudrun kicked him under the table.  Her mother smacked her on the head, then sat down and started to ladle food onto her plate.  Gudrun ate quickly, trying to follow the argument; Kurt seemed more inclined to wonder at how many soldiers hadn't been writing home, while her father flatly refused to consider the matter.  The leaflet itself was nowhere in sight; she guessed her father had shoved it into his pocket, then buttoned it up.

“The discussion is closed,” her father said, finally.  “There will be no more talk of it within my house.”

Kurt scowled at him.  “How many soldiers haven’t come home?”

“The discussion is closed,” her father repeated.  “When are you going back on duty?”

“We’re supposed to start prepping for deployment in a month,” Kurt said, shortly.  “I’m not sure where we’re going yet, but the CO is insistent we get ready for intensive training.”

Gudrun felt her blood run cold.  “South Africa?”

“Probably,” Kurt said.  He didn’t sound pleased.  “We may be stationed in Germany Arabia, but South Africa or Germany East sounds likelier.”

“You’ll do fine, wherever you go,” their father said.  He gave Kurt a look of approval that twisted Gudrun’s heart.  What did
she
have to do to earn her father’s approval?  “I’m proud of you.”

“You might die - or be wounded,” Gudrun said.  She shuddered as the full implications struck her.  Kurt could wind up as badly wounded as Konrad - or worse - and they’d never know what had happened.  “What would it mean if
you
stopped writing...?”

“That will do,” her father snapped.  He fixed Gudrun with an icy glare that rooted her to the spot.  “The university has done nothing for your mind, young lady.  It’s high time you and Konrad were married and started raising children.”

Gudrun stared at him in shock.  She'd known her father was a traditionalist, but she’d always thought he was proud of her university career.  The exams she’d passed to enter were among the hardest in the
Reich
.  Once she graduated, she’d be in a good position to make a professional life for herself, rather than becoming just another housewife.

“Father...”

“I mean it,” her father said.  His eyes never left her face.  “I should never have agreed to let you go to the university when you had a perfectly acceptable suitor.  Young girls...”

“My boyfriend is a cripple,” Gudrun shouted, feeling her temper snap.  “There won’t be a marriage!”

“You don’t
know
he’s a cripple,” Kurt said, quickly.  He looked at their father, clearly trying to draw his wrath away from Gudrun.  “You should have let her see the leaflet.”

Their mother slapped the table, hard.  “Gudrun, take Grandpa Frank his dinner,” she ordered, as silence fell like a hammer.  “And then go to your room.  Your father and I will discuss your future when this affair is over.”

Gudrun swallowed.  If Kurt hadn't covered for her, she might have revealed far too much to their father.  “I...”

“Go,” her father ordered.  Her voice brooked of no objection.  “I’ll speak to you before I go out.”

“Yes, father,” Gudrun said.  There was no point in arguing.  She’d be lucky, after the shouting match, if they allowed her to go into the university tomorrow.  “I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Fifteen

Wieland House, Berlin

28 July 1985

I shouldn't have lost my temper like that
, Gudrun thought, as she walked slowly up the stairs, the tray balanced neatly on one hand. 
Father is not going to be pleased
.

She shuddered as she reached the top of the stairs.  Her father was the master of the house, as far as he was concerned, and even his adult children couldn't defy him without punishment - if, of course, he considered her an adult at all.  She was, after all, a girl... she’d pass straight from her father’s authority to her husband’s without ever having any true freedom of her own.  Konrad had seemed willing to accept her as anything but a housewife, yet would that have lasted once they were married?  He might have changed his mind when his comrades starting mocking him for having a wife who actually
worked
.

Gudrun gritted her teeth in helpless fury.  She wasn't scared of her father’s punishments, even the threat of his belt, but she
was
scared of being told she couldn't go back to the university and study.  Even if she hadn't been involved in the... whatever they came to call their little group... the threat would have scared her.  She needed her father’s permission to study at the university and, no matter how clever she was, they wouldn't allow her to stay if her father changed his mind.  The
Reich
wouldn't allow the university to call into question a husband’s or father’s role as head of the household.  Hell, she knew girls who had been withdrawn a few weeks after entering the university because their parents had thought better of it.

I’m not going to let him take me out
, she thought, grimly.  But what could she do?  Her father had ultimate authority over her, as long as she was unmarried.  And it wasn't as if she could marry Konrad tomorrow. 
What do I do
?

She paused outside Grandpa Frank’s door, feeling beaten and defeated.  It wasn't
fair
!  She knew she was smarter than her brothers, she knew she was a better student than half the boys at university, yet the mere fact of being born a girl hampered her future.  She’d never be truly free, she’d never be truly independent; she’d never even be able to get married without her father’s consent.  Unless, of course, she allowed herself to get pregnant out of wedlock, which would have its own complications.  Her parents would be furious and her in-laws wouldn't be very pleased either.

Rapping on the door, she pushed it open.  The stench of beer and smelly old man seemed weaker, somehow; Gudrun wondered, savagely, if her mother had given the room an airing out while her grandfather had been downstairs, then dismissed the thought as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.  Grandpa Frank was sitting up in bed, reading a small leather-bound book; he looked up at her, then slipped the book under the sheets.  Gudrun guessed, as she put the tray down and cleared away the remains of his lunch, that it was a dirty book.  A handful of French books had been passed around at school before the teachers confiscated them and they’d been very explicit indeed.

“Here’s your dinner,” Gudrun said shortly, as she picked up the tray and put it on the bedside table.  “Mother will be up later...”

She broke off as Grandpa Frank’s hand lunged out with terrifying speed and caught her wrist, pulling her towards him.  Gudrun struggled, trying to pull free, but his hand felt like a band of steel.  She couldn't understand how he was so strong, when he spent most of the day in bed, yet it hardly mattered.  All that mattered was that she was trapped.

“Sit down,” Grandpa Frank hissed.  “Don’t make a noise.”

“Let go of me,” Gudrun said.  If she shouted... what did Grandpa Frank
want
?  Her imagination supplied too many possibilities.  “Please...”

“It was you,” Grandpa Frank whispered.  “You helped write those leaflets.”

Gudrun stared at him in shock.  “How do you...?”

“It was written all over your face when you saw the leaflet on the table,” Grandpa Frank rasped.  He pulled her into a sitting position on the bed, then met her eyes.  It struck her, suddenly, that he sounded surprisingly sober.  “You
knew
what it was before you opened it, before your mother snapped at you for even trying.  I hope your father didn't read
that
on your face.”

“I hope so too,” Gudrun said, trying to keep her voice level.  She'd feared her father somehow guessing her involvement, she'd suspected
Kurt
would deduce her involvement... but Grandpa Frank?  He was a drunkard.  She’d assumed he wouldn't pay any attention to anything beyond the next bottle of beer.  “How...?”

“I read the leaflet,” Grandpa Frank told her.  “Not a bad piece of work, really.”

“Thank you,” Gudrun said.  He hadn't let go of her wrist and it was starting to ache.  “I... Grandpa... let go of me?”

“I have something to tell you,” Grandpa Frank said.  He met her eyes.  “Promise you won’t run?”

“I won’t,” Gudrun said.  What choice did she have?  Maybe her father wouldn't believe Grandpa Frank, but if he took one look at her former uniform the game would be up.  “What do you want to tell me?”

Her grandfather let go of her wrist.  “I never told anyone this,” he whispered, hoarsely.  “Not even your grandmother, may she rest in peace.  She knew I had nightmares - your mother knows I have nightmares - but she never knew why.  There are...
things
... I never wanted your mother to know.”

Gudrun shivered.  She'd been woken, sometimes, by Grandpa Frank screaming in his sleep, calling out names of people she didn't recognise.  Her father had said that it was a legacy of the war, but he’d refused to say anything more and forbidden her from talking to her grandfather about it.  No doubt he knew something about his father-in-law’s military service - he’d have needed Grandpa Frank’s permission to marry his daughter - yet he’d never seen fit to share the secret.  In time, Gudrun had decided that there was
no
secret.

Her grandfather sat upright and pulled up his right sleeve, revealing a blue tattoo.  Gudrun stared; she’d seen Konrad’s tattoo, more than once, but Konrad hadn't had a skull and crossbones over his ID number.  She’d never even
heard
of anyone having anything more than a number, as long as they were in the military.  Kurt had once asked for a tattoo and his father had bawled him out for even thinking of it before he completed his time in the Hitler Youth, let alone the military.

Gudrun tried to think about what it meant.  “You were an SS stormtrooper?”

“I was
Einsatzgruppen
,” Grandpa Frank said.  “Do you know what that means?”

He answered the question before she could find the words.  “Of course you don’t know what that means,” he said, bitterly.  He gave a harsh little laugh that chilled her to the bone.  “We were the
Reich’s
dirty little secret.  You don't know, none of you know, just what the
Reich
did to secure itself.  How can you know?  You’ve been lied to from the very start.”

Gudrun swallowed.  “What secret?”

“I drink to forget,” Grandpa Frank said.  He eyed one of the bottles - an unopened bottle, she noted with some surprise - and then shook his head.  “I always wondered why they didn't round us up and kill us all, Gudrun.  It wasn't as if we could have stopped them from exterminating us.  The secret would have died with us.”

He caught her wrist again, holding it tightly.  “You weren't there,” he said.  “You couldn't understand.  I joined the SS when it started; I helped purge the SA when the
Fuhrer
decided their leader had gone a little too far.”  He snickered.  “But you won’t have heard of them, will you?  Röhm is an unperson now, serves the bastard right.  I did well in my work, too well; they offered me a chance to transfer to the
Einsatzgruppen
when they were founded and told me there was a promotion in it for me if I did well.  And they were right.  I did very well.

“We went into Poland and Russia behind the armies, Gudrun.  We rounded up soldiers, political leaders, everyone on the hit-list... we marched them into the camps, at first, and then we killed them.  Hundreds of thousands of men, women and children were killed - and, after they were dead, we stripped them bare; we even stole their
teeth
.  The bodies were dumped in unmarked mass graves, which were soon wiped from the records.  I watched as entire villages were given to the flames, their populations destroyed so that new German settlers could be moved eastwards.  Germany East is
built
on a giant mass grave.”

Gudrun stared at him.  She'd been told, at school, how Hitler had taken Russia as living space, but she’d never thought through the implications.  What had happened to the original inhabitants?  They’d been subhuman, she’d been taught; they’d deserved to be displaced...

“But it was in Warsaw that it happened,” Grandpa Frank said.  “It was 1944; the Americans had invaded Japan, the Russian armies were being destroyed and we were clearing the city of Jews.  I was in charge of one block... there was a Jewess living there.  She was the mother of a little girl, but she was pretty.  I made sure she got to remain there as long as she was my lover.”

“A Jewess,” Gudrun repeated, shocked.  The pictures she’d seen of Jews had all shown misshapen figures, so dirty and filthy they could hardly pass for human.  “You started an affair with a stinking
Jewess
?”

Her grandfather squeezed her wrist, hard.  “You’ve been lied to,” he said harshly, as she winced in pain and tried to pull away.  “They were
human
.  They didn't have horns, or cloven feet, and they certainly didn't stink.  You couldn't tell the difference between a Jew and a German if you met them in the streets.  Tell me - how could the misshapen monsters you’re taught to recognise at school possibly pass for Germans?”

Gudrun swallowed.  She’d never thought about it.

“That woman... I was her lover for nearly a year,” Grandpa Frank said.  “Her child... she started to call me
papa
.  I used to bring her little gifts as well as ration packs; I even fiddled the records so she’d be classed as a Pole, rather than a Jew.  It wasn't much, but I thought it would keep them alive for longer.  Maybe it did.  But in the end they found out.”

He laughed harshly.  “They weren’t too pleased at me sticking it in a Jewess, I can tell you,” he said, darkly.  “I might have sired a child on her, you know; a half-German child. 
That
really would have upset the Race Classification Bureau.  They might even have had to class the child as something other than a Jew.  But I didn’t get her pregnant.  My CO told me that I had to take her to the camps myself.  I had to sentence her to death to save myself.  And I did, Gudrun.  I bound her hands, put her in the car and drove her to the camps.  All the way, the little girl was asking me where we were going, what had happened to her mother...”

“No,” Gudrun said.

“Yes,” Grandpa Frank said.  “They took them both at once, of course; they added them to the next batch for extermination.  I was forced to watch as they were both stripped naked and marched into the showers, accompanied by dozens of other Jewesses.  And then the gas started pumping into the chamber and they started to die.  The little girl kept looking at me, as if she couldn't believe what I’d done to her, until she collapsed and died.  And after they were dead, we had to burn the bodies...”

He shuddered, violently.  “Do you understand why I drink?”

Gudrun stared at him.  She'd never imagined, not in her worst nightmares, that the state could do anything of the sort.  Everything she’d been told had been curiously hygienic, as if the natives had merely disappeared after the Germans had arrived.  And yet... it never occurred to her to doubt his words.  They had the ring of truth and they chilled her to the bone. 

She found her voice, somehow.  “What happened to you?”

“Oh, they never trusted me after that,” Grandpa Frank said.  “I had betrayed the
Volk
, you see, by making love to a Jewess.  There was no hope of promotion.  I took early retirement and went back to Berlin.  Your grandmother was kind enough to marry me; I never told her the truth, of course, even when my nightmares drove her out of bed.  We had the nastiest arguments before she fell pregnant and left her job.  And then she died four years after your mother was born.  I brought her up on my own.  Never married again, either.”