Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) (7 page)

“Unless the Germans become more reasonable, we can’t really do much more than we already are,” Andrew said.  “We cannot trust them to honour any agreement they make; they cannot take the risk of being backed into a corner... sir, the
Reich
is hellishly unstable.  If it goes down, it could easily go down into war.”

Penelope leaned forward.  “We could offer to mediate peace in South Africa.”

“We’d have problems finding a solution everyone involved could live with,” Hamilton said, darkly.  “The South Africans themselves will want to remain Top Dog in the manger for the rest of eternity, while the blacks will want - at the very least - self-rule and an end to the apartheid system.  And the Nasties will want to exterminate the blacks and probably add South Africa to the Third
Reich
.

“Remove the German forces and the South Africans will either have to flee the country or be brutally murdered by the blacks.  Stop supplying the blacks with weapons and the Germans will probably shove them all into gas chambers - if there are any left alive by the end of the war.”

Andrew shuddered.  The South African Government had imposed a complete lockdown on newsmen travelling to South Africa, but a handful of intrepid reporters had made the long journey to the front.  They’d sent back horrific stories and pictures, including one of hundreds of villages being firebombed from high overhead and refugees gunned down mercilessly.  It had shocked America, particularly the black population.  The President might find it politically impossible to stop sending weapons and supplies to the insurgents.  He’d be deserted by every black congressmen and senator in the country.

“And if the Germans do abandon South Africa, the chaos will spread to Germany South,” he added.  It might not be a bad thing - Germany South was the world’s largest source of uranium - but it would definitely worry the German leadership.  “And then it will spread upwards into French and Italian territory.”

“The Germans would be wise to consolidate what they’ve got,” Penelope said, flatly.  “If they try to hold on to their entire empire, they’ll likely lose everything.”

“They seem to disagree with you,” Knox said.

“I’d be surprised if they truly understood the problem,” Penelope said, mildly.  “I’ve met a great many political and military leaders who refused to even
try
to understand economics.”

Ouch
, Andrew thought, as Knox’s face flushed with anger. 
A palatable hit
.

The Ambassador tapped the table sharply.  “I’m due to speak with the President tomorrow,” he said.  “Do I advise him, then, to do nothing and just wait for the
Reich
to fall apart on its own?”

“I suggest you advise him to take some extra precautions, just in case,” Knox advised.  “If they’re planning to strike against us, they’re not going to tell their own people until the rockets are in the air.  Putting the air and missiles bases on alert might make the difference between survival and destruction.”

“They’d just be committing suicide,” Penelope argued.  “It makes no sense.”

She had a point, Andrew knew.  The
Reich
and the NAA didn't share a border.  They
might
be able to launch an invasion force across the English Channel, but getting the
Wehrmacht
to Washington DC was a fool’s dream.  They’d have to contend with the United States Navy, the United States Air Force, the Royal Navy and the Canadian Navy.  Andrew privately doubted the Germans would get halfway across the ocean before every last one of their ships were sunk.  The Germans could make America miserable - tracking down Nazi sleeper cells was a persistent headache for the FBI - but they couldn't invade and occupy territory.

“They may not realise the truth,” Hamilton said.  “Or they might not care.  Just because they look like us doesn't mean they
think
like us.”

Andrew nodded.  He’d seen what passed for education in German schools.  It was long on physical exercise and quasi-military training, short on teaching boys and girls how to be anything other than interchangeable cogs in a machine.  He still shuddered at visiting a school, one day, and watching the children mouth their hatred of non-Aryans.  The only good thing about the whole affair was that the pictures they were shown of Jews were so horrifically caricatured that the children wouldn't
recognise
a Jew if they saw one.

“See what else you can gather from your sources,” the Ambassador added.  “Maybe we can find a way to let them down gently.”

“They’d hate us for making the offer,” Knox said.

“They’re already placing orders for more computers and other advanced electronics,” Hamilton added.  He looked at Penelope.  “How long can they pay for them?”

“Unknown,” Penelope said.  “But the
Reich’s
stockpile of foreign currency is quite low.  I’d advise the sellers to make sure they get cash in advance.”

Knox scowled.  “Does that not present a threat to us?”

“Possibly,” Andrew said, before Penelope could say a word.  “But you try convincing the corporations that they shouldn't sell their outdated crap to the Germans.”

The Ambassador finished his coffee and rose.  “I’ll see you all after I speak with the President,” he said, checking his watch.  It was nearly midnight.  “Until then, goodnight.”

Andrew smiled as he departed, followed by Knox.  The military attaché would have his own report to write; Andrew, thankfully, could put his off until the following morning, when he’d had a chance to think about what he’d seen.  Hamilton finished his own coffee, then headed for the door himself.  Andrew watched him go, then looked at Penelope.  She looked tired and cross-eyed.

“I plan to go for a walk in a couple of days,” he said.  He wasn't asking for a date, although he knew that some people wouldn't be able to tell the difference.  “Do you want to accompany me?”

Penelope hesitated.  Andrew understood.  No real harm would come to them, they’d been warned when they accepted the posting, but the SS sometimes harassed American visitors to Berlin.  It was no great secret that spies were based in the embassy, even though Andrew, Hamilton and Penelope herself had cover stories that should explain their activities.  The SS might hope that harassing the Americans would lead them to German traitors.

“It might be fun,” she said, finally.  She understood what they’d be
really
doing, all right.  A young couple out on a stroll would attract less attention than a man on his own.  “Why not?”

Chapter Six

Albert Speer University, Berlin

20 July 1985

Walking into the Albert Speer University for the first time, Gudrun recalled as she walked towards the doors, had been like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in her life.  Like every other child in the
Reich
, she had endured fifteen years of schooling where she’d been expected to regurgitate answers and otherwise do exactly as she was told.  She’d quite lost count of the number of times she’d been forced to run laps around the school, stand in the corridor or undergo other humiliating punishments for daring to actually question the teacher’s words, let alone the letters they’d sent home to her parents.  And yet, despite that, university had seemed a more attractive option at seventeen than trying to become a nurse, a housewife or entering one of the few careers open to women.  It had been a surprise when she’d been told that the traits that had got her in trouble at school were precisely the traits the university wanted from its students.

“You have not been taught to
think
,” her first tutor had said, when he’d addressed the class on the very first day.  It had been the first mixed-sex class Gudrun had ever had, but she’d been too fascinated to notice the presence of young men mixed in with the young women.  “Here, we will attempt to teach you to
think
.”

Her first year at the university had been fascinating, to say the least.  She’d learned how to use a computer, one of the blocky American-made machines that were imported into the
Reich
at great expense, and dozens of other skills that made up the background for STEM courses.  She knew she had to choose a major by the time she turned twenty, when she would be expected to specialise in one particular field of study, but she was honestly tempted to try to delay that as long as she could.  No one had shown her anything of the sort while she’d been at school, let alone allowed her to come to her own conclusions.  Hell, she’d never heard of anyone being expelled from the university for asking questions.  They were all too eager to
learn
to make trouble.

“We don’t take everyone,” the tutor had said, a year ago.  “The exams we set look for the underlying
potential
for intelligence, not
developed
intelligence.  You are here because we believe we can help your minds to flourish and, in return, you will advance the
Reich
.”

She took a moment to admire the statue of Albert Speer, architect, minister and one of the three guiding minds of the
Reich
after Hitler’s death, then hurried into the building.  As always, it was packed; students who had been given the week off for Victory Day had hurried back as soon as they could, preparing for the exams they knew to be coming in three months, exams that would determine their future.  Far too many of them actually
lived
on campus, sharing rooms in university accommodation that were strictly segregated and chaperoned; Gudrun remembered, with a flicker of envy, how she’d begged her mother and father to allow her to apply for one of the university rooms.  But her mother had flatly refused to allow Gudrun to live away from home.

Probably thought I’d spend all my time in bed with Konrad
, she thought, bitterly.  There
were
housemothers, she’d been told, but they couldn't hope to chaperone everyone. 
And abandon my studies completely if I fell pregnant
.

She gritted her teeth at the thought as she hurried into the lecture hall.  Some of her friends were already there, pens and paper at the ready; they knew better than to be late when a lecture was about to begin.  The doors would be closed a minute after the deadline and anyone who failed to make it would be marked as absent, which would lead to a thoroughly unpleasant discussion with the dean.  Gudrun had never faced the man himself, thankfully, but she’d heard rumours that anyone who missed more than two classes in a row was given a punishment so awful that no one ever spoke of it...

Which raises the question of just how people know that something happens
, she thought, dryly. 
The dean probably started the rumours himself, just to keep us in line
.

She took her seat and nudged Hilde Morgenstern, a dark-haired girl who’d been her friend ever since the first week at university.  “Meeting in the private study room this afternoon after lunch,” she hissed.  “Pass it on.”

Hilde gave her a sharp look - their private study group wasn't exactly a formal organisation - and then nodded, turning to whisper in Sven’s ear.  Gudrun hadn't been entirely sure that a group composed of both males and females could work - the handful of dances she’d endured at school had been marred by male behaviour as they grew older - but she had to admit that Sven and the others were
very
focused on their work.  Sven in particular was going to be a computer designer, or so he’d said.  He already had an uncanny insight into how the computers they used at university actually worked.

“I think that’s everyone told,” Hilde muttered, once the whispered message had gone down the row.  “Isn’t it a little early to be panicking over exams?”

“It’s not about the exams,” Gudrun muttered back.  The tutor closed the doors with a loud
thud
and strode to the podium, his dark eyes searching for troublemakers.  “I’ll tell you this afternoon.”

The lecture would have been interesting, she had to admit, if she hadn't been thinking about Konrad and everything she’d deduced.  Thankfully, the tutor didn't call on her to answer questions - she’d barely heard half of what he’d said - and by the time the class finally came to an end, she’d reluctantly struck a deal with Hilde for a copy of her notes.  She’d have to work extra hard, if she could muster the energy, to catch up.  The tutors rarely showed any sympathy to anyone who attended the lectures and
still
needed to beg for advice and assistance.

“That’s not like you,” Hilde observed, as they headed for lunch.  “Are you all right?”

“I’ll tell you in the study room,” Gudrun said.  She caught Leopold’s arm as he passed.  “Can you bring your stereo?”

Leopold blinked in surprise.  “Of course I can,” he said.  “I’ll see you after lunch.”

Hilde stuck with Gudrun all through lunch, but had the common sense to keep her questions under wraps while they joined the line for food and drink, then ate as quickly as they could at a small table.  The refectory was crammed with students, some wearing uniforms from the nearby military college, others daringly wearing American jeans and t-shirts that had been either smuggled into the
Reich
or sold at an enormous mark-up in one of the few American stores in the city.  Gudrun winced inwardly as she saw one girl swaying past, her jeans so tight around her buttocks that she thought they were going to split open at any moment, then followed Hilde up the stairs and into the study room.  Leopold was already there, attaching his stereo to the socket.

“So,” he said, as he turned on the machine.  “What’s all this about, then?”

“Wait and see,” Gudrun said. 

She sat down and waited as the remainder of the study group - five girls, seven boys - entered the room, then waved to Hilde to close and lock the door.  Konrad, the one time he’d visited, had shown her where the bug was hidden, within the spare power socket.  She motioned for Leopold to put the stereo next to the bug, then tapped the table for attention.  Konrad might never recover from his wounds, but at least he would have a little revenge.  She hesitated, knowing that a single traitor within the group would spell her death, and then took the plunge.

“This isn't about our studies,” she said.  “It’s... it's political.  If any of you are uneasy, please leave now and we won’t mention it to you again.”

There was a long pause.  No one left. 

Gudrun shuddered, inwardly.  No one said anything overtly, but everyone knew that the SS had eyes and ears everywhere. 
Anyone
could be a spy, anyone.  Children were induced to betray their parents, if they said something against the
Reich
; wives could be convinced that their duties to the
Reich
were more important than their duties to their husbands.  The university might be a lair for free-thinkers, it might have been designed to allow young Germans to think, but that only meant the SS would have more invested in keeping an eye on it.  Hell, the only reason she believed Konrad had been a genuine visitor to the university, the first time they’d met, was that he’d worn his uniform.

And I will not let him down
, she thought, savagely.  There were some risks that had to be taken, even if the consequences were severe.  She was
damned
if she was letting them get away with crippling her boyfriend and then lying to his family. 
I will do whatever it takes to take revenge
.

“As you know, my boyfriend was sent to South Africa,” she said.  It was a nice easy way to start the conversation.  “I received two letters from him after his deployment began, then nothing.  His family heard nothing too.  It was only through a friend in the medical office that I heard he’d actually been sent back to the
Reich
, that he is currently in hospital right here in Berlin.”

She swallowed hard, then outlined what she’d done, careful not to mention that Kurt had also been involved.  His CO would be furious, at the very least; Kurt would probably find himself attached to a punishment battalion and sent to clear a minefield or chase insurgents in Russia, the insurgents who’d been defeated, according to the news, several times over.  The more she looked at the news with a cynical eye, the more she saw the discrepancies.  If Russia was
safe
, why were so many soldiers dying there?

“They lied to us,” she said.

“Konrad was nothing special,” Leopold said.  He’d never liked Konrad.  The SS was rarely popular outside Germany East.  “Why would anyone bother to cover up his wounds?”

“They wouldn't,” Gudrun said, and outlined what she’d deduced.  “They must be lying about more than just one wounded soldier.  How many others have died, or been wounded, in South Africa?”

“The news says that only a few hundred soldiers have been killed or wounded on deployment,” Hilde said.  She sounded shaken.  “My... my boyfriend... could he have been killed or wounded too?”

Gudrun winced.  Hilde’s boyfriend was a tanker who’d been deployed to South Africa a month after Konrad.  Martin had never seemed a decent guy to her, but Hilde had clearly liked him, even loved him. 

“I don’t know,” she said.  “Has he been writing to you?”

“He sends letters, but they’re always delayed,” Hilde said.  “I only get them two or three weeks after they’re posted.”

“They’re censored,” Sven said.  Too late, Gudrun remembered that Sven’s older brother was a soldier too.  It was rare to find a German family who didn’t have at least one member in the military.  “The REMFs always insist on reading letters before they’re forwarded to their recipients.”

Hilde coloured.  “But he wrote...”

Gudrun could guess.  “I don’t think they really care about endearments,” she said.  She had a feeling that Martin had written something a little more passionate than Konrad ever had, but the censors probably wouldn't care.  It wasn't as if he was sending racy postcards of himself back to his girlfriend.  “However, they probably do black out anything to do with the war itself.”

Leopold frowned.  “Do you have any idea how dangerous this conversation is?”

“Yes,” Gudrun said, flatly.  “Yes, I do.”

“She did offer to allow us to leave,” Hilde pointed out.

Gudrun shot her a grateful look.  “We’re being lied to,” she said, bluntly.  “And many of us have relatives who may already be dead or wounded - and we don’t know.”

“This
could
be just an absurd coincidence,” Leopold said, after a moment.  “Konrad” - his face twisted for a moment - “might have been caught up in a covert operation of some kind.”

“This isn't a story from one of those damned Otto Skorzeny books,” Sven snapped.  “Konrad wasn't a superhuman commando, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”