Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) (33 page)

Horst looked down at the steering wheel.  “That bungling idiot of a spy...”

Gudrun had to smile.  “Which one?”

“Krabbe,” Horst said.  He sounded as though he wanted to say something worse.  “That bungling buffoon approached me when I was with Sven and Leopold and, if that wasn't bad enough, gave an excuse that wouldn't fool a drunken husband.  I should have shoved him down the stairs and sworn blind it was a terrible accident.”

“So they may know what you are,” Gudrun said, slowly.  “What do you want to do about it?”

“I’m going to put together a cover story, but I don’t know how well it will hold up,” Horst said, thoughtfully.  “I don’t think I could rely on that idiot to count to eleven without taking off his shoes, let alone stick to the script.  Still, if someone raises concerns about me, could you deflect them?  I think we’re going to have a lot of work to do in the next few months.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gudrun said.  “The mere fact you didn't betray us should count in your favour.”

“I hope so,” Horst said.  “But undercover groups have torn themselves apart before, just because one member became suspicious of another.  That’s what did in the French Resistance.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gudrun repeated.  She looked up at him, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.  “You’re braver than me, Horst.”

“I’m trained for this,” Horst said.  “I wasn't joking when I said I learned to carry and use a gun almost as soon as I could walk.  The insurgents made sure of it.  I came under fire a long time before I joined the Hitler Youth.  The SS only gave me better training.  You... you weren't taught how to be anything but a housewife.  No one would have thought any less of you if you’d married at sixteen and concentrated on turning out babies.  You’re far braver than I am.”

“Perhaps,” Gudrun said.  “Would you teach me?  To fight?”

Horst blinked.  “It wouldn't be easy to teach you how to fire a gun,” he said.  “The handful of private shooting ranges in the city are closely supervised.”

“But you could teach me how to fight hand-to-hand,” Gudrun said.  “If everyone in the east fights, doesn't that include the women?”

“They fight with guns,” Horst said.  He gave her a long look.  “All other things being equal, Gudrun, a man will always be stronger than a woman.”

Gudrun scowled.  “But if you taught me how to fight, their strength might not be a problem,” she argued.  “And I do need to know.”

“I can try,” Horst said.  “But it will hurt.  It will hurt a lot.”

“Thank you,” Gudrun said. 

She impulsively leaned forward and kissed him, gently.  Horst started in surprise, then kissed her back, his hands reaching out to hold her tightly.  Gudrun pulled back for a second, surprised at the sudden rush of feeling.  She’d survived another incident that could easily have ended her life, but this was different.  Horst had chosen to take a stand, rather than betray them, and she couldn't help feeling a rush of affection.  She kissed him again, harder this time.  His hands started to slip around to her breasts as his kisses became more passionate; she wrapped her arms around him and felt the strong muscles hidden under his clothes.  No wonder he’d always worn loose clothes.  The Hitler Youth might insist that boys spent most of their time engaged in healthy outdoors exercise, but Horst was far more muscular than Sven or Leopold...

“We shouldn't go any further,” Horst said, pulling back.  “Not here.”

Gudrun looked around and flushed with embarrassment.  There were only a handful of cars in the road, but anyone passing by could see them making out in the car.  Maybe they’d even call the police. 
That
would be embarrassing.  Horst gave her a final kiss, then let go of her and restarted the engine.  They drove back to her house in silence.

“My father might kill me as soon as I walk in the door,” Gudrun said, slowly.  She knew her father would be furious and, if she’d been missing for a day, he would have had plenty of time to grow angrier.  Her mother probably wouldn't be able to calm him down.  “But if he doesn't kill me...”

“He won’t,” Horst said, as he turned the corner and drove towards the house.  “I’ll see you at university, tomorrow.”

“If I’m allowed out of the house,” Gudrun said, although she had no intention of letting her father stop her.  The butterflies in her stomach might be nasty, but there were worse things to endure than parental disapproval.  “I might have to tell him we’re courting.”

“I would be happy to court you,” Horst said.  He held up a hand.  “But, for the moment, we have to be careful.  I’m not the only agent at the university.”

Gudrun nodded, then opened the door as soon as the car came to a stop.  She fumbled for her keys as she walked towards the door, but it opened before she could find them.  Her father was standing there, looking furious.  The butterflies in Gudrun’s stomach mated and produced babies.  Her father hadn't been so angry since Siegfried had mocked Konrad’s injuries to Gudrun’s face.

“Get inside,” he snapped.  “Now!”

“Yes, father,” Gudrun said.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Berlin, Germany

13 August 1985

It was hard, so hard, for Herman to remain calm.  He knew
precisely
what had happened to his daughter, even before he’d managed to get a glimpse of her file at the station.  Even if she hadn't been marked as anyone special, even if she’d only been in the wrong place at the wrong time, she would be processed like any other prisoner.  He'd administered the procedure himself, countless times.  His fists clenched in helpless rage as recalled forcing prisoners to strip, both to make sure they weren't carrying anything and to ensure they knew they were no longer the masters of their own destiny.  Gudrun... how
could
she put herself in such danger?

She stood in front of him, breathing hard.  Her clothes looked badly rumpled; her hair hung down in clumps, suggesting she hadn't been allowed to shower while she’d been in the prison cell.  She’d probably been left naked too - and, if they’d been feeling malicious, shoved in with a handful of tougher female prisoners.  What had she been thinking?  Didn't she
know
what
could happen to her?  She could have vanished into the penal system and never been seen again.  Even if she’d been exiled, as a young German lady of pure bloodline, she would still have had a very hard time of it.

He honestly didn't know what to say, let alone do.  Boys were easy to raise; it was simply a matter of letting them run free, combined with firm boundaries and strict discipline.  But girls?  His sisters had been good little housewives, obedient to their parents and then to their husbands.  Gudrun... it had been a mistake, he was sure now, to allow her to go to the university.  It had given her all the wrong ideas.  He wished, now, that he'd forbidden her to sit the exams, let alone remain as a student.  It would have been simple enough to find her a suitable man and ensure she married him.  Now...

Gudrun looked at him, her face a strange mixture of defiance and fear.  He’d seen it before on countless prisoners, mostly males; prisoners who weren’t broken, but unsure of themselves enough to remain quiet rather than risk compromising themselves.  It was easy to see her grandmother in her face, the mixture of a strong chin and long blonde hair... Herman wished, suddenly, that his mother had remained alive. 
She
would have known what to say.

And she never put up with any nonsense either
, he thought, feeling a twinge of pain.  Why had his mother died while Grandpa Frank, the drunken old bastard, survived? 
She would have taken Gudrun under her wing if I’d asked
.

Gudrun broke the silence, finally.  “Where’s mother?”

“Out,” Herman growled. 

He glowered at her until she lowered her eyes.  His entire world seemed to be shifting around him and he didn't like it.  His daughter was arrested and
then
his wife went out onto the streets with a gaggle of other housewives, bringing the entire city to a halt.  He’d get an earful from the Captain tomorrow, he was sure, while the other policemen jeered at him for being unable to control his wife.  But what was he supposed to do?  Handcuff her to the kitchen stove?  Beat her like a child?  Adelinde would cut his throat the moment he fell asleep or poison his food.  She was too proud to forgive him for such a humiliation.

“Tell me,” he said, as gently as he could.  “What
were
you thinking?”

Gudrun raised her eyes.  “I was thinking that I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

Herman blinked in surprise.  “And you thought being arrested would keep you from being scared?”

“I didn’t know I would be arrested,” Gudrun said.

“Strikes are illegal,” Herman pointed out, coldly. 
That
had changed, if the radio broadcast was accurate, but Gudrun had still gone to the scene of a crime.  “You could be arrested merely for supporting the strikers.  Several of your fellow students
died
supporting the strikers.”

Gudrun winced.  She hadn't known that, Herman realised.  The student who’d brought her home - and damn the government for refusing to allow him to collect his daughter - hadn't told her anything.  No doubt he’d kept his mouth firmly shut, rather than deal with a torrent of female emotion.  Young men tended to be cowards that way.

“You did something very stupid,” Herman told her, flatly.  “I don’t know what they’re teaching you at the university, but defying the government can be very dangerous.”

Gudrun tilted her head, defiantly.  She
did
look like her grandmother.  “
Someone
has to take a stand.”

“But not you,” Herman snapped.  “Did it occur to you that your family could have been destroyed?  Your older brother’s career would come to an end, your younger brothers would be under permanent suspicion, your father would lose his job... do you really imagine that the government would not have hesitated to make an example out of all of us?”

“They’d have to do it to the families of
everyone
who got arrested,” Gudrun pointed out, coldly.  “Father...”

Herman clenched his fists.  “You were lucky,” he told her.  “Do you know what could have happened to you?  You could have been
raped
, Gudrun!  You could have been sold to one of the combines as a farming wife...”

Gudrun looked shocked, then angry.  “Is that what you do to the girls you arrest?”

“You...”

Herman bit off his words.  He’d never taken advantage of his uniform - his wife would have been furious if he’d even
thought
about molesting a prisoner - but he knew what happened in some of the less pleasant prisons in the
Reich
.  Young girls, sometimes younger than Gudrun, were raped and abused by the prison guards or their fellow inmates.  No one in authority cared, either, not when the victims were criminals.  Anyone in jail, as far as the authorities were concerned, had done something to deserve it.

“The prison guards are less concerned with the niceties,” he said, finally.  “And you could easily have been sold to the farms, Gudrun.  You would have been given to some farmer and expected to be his wife.”

Gudrun shuddered, then gathered herself.  “But it didn't happen.”

“It could still happen,” Herman insisted.  “Gudrun...”

His voice trailed away.  He’d never been good with words.  He didn't know how to tell his daughter just how scared he’d been, when he’d heard she’d been arrested.  His sons were tough young men - he was proud of all three of them - but Gudrun was a girl, the apple of his eye.  The thought of her being stuffed into a brutal prison, even one solely for female prisoners, was horrifying.  Some of the female prisoners could be far nastier than the men.

“You will not return to the university,” he said, finally.  “You will remain here, at home, until we find you a suitable husband.”

***

Gudrun felt as if she had been punched in the belly.  That, or a beating, would have been far preferable to a strict ban on returning to the university.  Her father wouldn't give her an opportunity to sneak out, either.  She’d be working for her mother from dawn till dusk, if she wasn't being watched by Johan or Grandpa Frank.  The thought was maddening.  After everything she’d done, after even spending a night in jail, she was
damned
if she was becoming a housewife. 

She could see the fear on her father’s face.  He wasn't scared
of
her, she could tell, but
for
her.  She’d heard rumours about what happened to prisoners too, although she’d never dared ask her father before now if there was any truth in them.  She hadn't really wanted to know, not when her father might have been involved.  And there was something else bothering her father, something to do with her mother.  Where
was
she?

“No,” she said.  Perhaps it was a bad tactic - it might be better to pretend to surrender for the moment and argue later, when her father had calmed down - but she was no longer the young girl she’d been.  “I will
not
leave the university.”

Her father purpled.  “You are my daughter and you will do as I say,” he snapped.  “I will visit the university tomorrow and inform them that you are no longer a student...”

“You won’t,” Gudrun said.  She met his eyes, knowing he would take it as a challenge.  “I worked too hard to pass those exams to just throw them away.”

“Yes, you did,” her father snapped.  “And what will spending the next four years at the university
get
you?  A piece of paper that no one will respect?”

“The world may change,” Gudrun said.  She was sure demand for computers would only grow throughout the
Reich
.  If the stories of America were true, every household had a computer, perhaps even more than one.  “And computer experts will be much in demand.”

Her father snorted.  “You’re a young woman,” he said.  “You should be turning out babies, not trying to find a job.”

“My boyfriend is a cripple,” Gudrun shouted at him, feeling her temper snap.  “They didn't even have the decency to
tell
me what happened to him!  His father had to find out himself!”

She forced herself to calm down.  “Father,” she said, “I understand how you feel.  But I’m not going to throw this opportunity away because it could turn sour.  Being a housewife could also turn sour.”

“Not if you treat your husband with respect,” her father said.  There was a hint of something
ugly
in his tone.  “Gudrun...”

“I won’t quit,” Gudrun said, drawing herself up to her full height.  “And you can't make me.”

She braced herself, unsure just how her father would react.  He might order her to bend over the sofa for a thrashing or send her to her room while he called the university and informed them that she was no longer a student.  She was directly challenging his authority, after all, just as she’d challenged the government.  His pride in his role as head of the household wouldn't let her get away with it. 

But whatever he dishes out,
she told herself,
I can take it
.

“I will discuss your future with your mother,” her father said, finally.  “
And
your punishment for being so stupid as to put your life at risk.”

Gudrun bit down a comment about double standards - her father had congratulated her brothers for putting their lives at risk more than once, although she had to admit that they’d only ever risked themselves - and held herself at the ready.  She’d been arrested by the police and threatened with a whole series of unpleasant fates.  Her father’s punishments no longer sounded so fearsome.  If Kurt had been a different person after his first deployment into a combat zone, she was a different person too.

“Go to your room,” her father ordered, finally.  “Have a shower, then wait.”

“Yes, father,” Gudrun said.

Her father watched her through tormented eyes as she walked past him and up the stairs, but said nothing.  There was no sign of her brothers, she noted; Kurt would be at the barracks, of course, but she had no idea where the younger boys were.  Perhaps they were with friends, if her father had anticipated a row, or maybe they were just keeping their heads down, knowing their father was in a foul mood.  It wouldn’t be
safe
to be seen.

She closed the door behind her, then undressed rapidly.  Her skin felt unclean, reminding her she hadn't showered for over a day...
and
that she’d been groped by a couple of policemen, one of whom had inspected her private parts.  She shuddered at the memory - she no longer felt safe when she was naked - and then forced herself to don a towel rather than hastily dressing herself.  It was no longer easy to walk down the corridor to the bathroom, she discovered.  The sense of being watched was strong, even though she
knew
she was unobserved.  Being in prison, even for a day, had left her with mental scars.