Storm Front

Chapter Twenty

Schulze Residence

31 July 1985

“Gudrun,” Liana said, as she opened the door. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” Gudrun said. It was hard to disguise her nervousness, but she had to try. “Are your parents in?”

“Father is in the living room, talking to mother,” Liana said. She gave Gudrun a wink. “I think they’re discussing my marriage.”

Gudrun blinked in surprise. Liana was sixteen, barely old enough to marry; hell, Konrad had been twenty and he hadn’t been married before he’d gone to the war. But Konrad’s father was a traditionalist, far more of a traditionalist than Gudrun’s own father. He’d want his daughter married off as soon as possible, after he presented her with a list of possible candidates. She winced in bitter sympathy. Liana could only hope that the list included someone she might like and grow to love, in time.

“They might have something else to discuss,” she said. “Can you tell them I’m here?”

“They’re always pleased to see you,” Liana said, catching Gudrun’s arm and hauling her into the small house. “Come on.”

Gudrun nodded and followed Liana into the living room. Konrad’s father was sitting in an armchair, holding court, while Konrad’s mother was seated on a sofa, her arms crossed under her breasts. She didn’t look very happy, Gudrun noted; she had a feeling that Konrad’s mother might never contradict her husband in public, but it would be a different story in private. God knew the BDM had told her, time and time again, that she should never argue with her husband publicly. Male pride didn’t like it.

“Gudrun,” Gerde Schulze said, rising to her feet. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Thank you,” Gudrun said, flushing in embarrassment as the older woman gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. She’d always liked Konrad’s mother, but Gerde was a little too tactile for her tastes. “Can we talk privately?”

“Of course we can,” Volker Schulze said, gruffly. “Liana, go to your room.”

Liana gave Gudrun a betrayed look, then turned a pleading gaze on her father. “Father, I…”

“Go,” her father ordered. “I’ll speak to you later.”

Gudrun winced inwardly as Liana turned and stalked out of the room, holding her back ramrod straight. She hoped the girl didn’t try to argue with her father later, but she knew Konrad’s sister had always been impetuous. Volker Schulze sighed out loud as Liana’s footsteps echoed through the house as she stamped up the stairs, then waved Gudrun to a seat facing him. Clearly, he didn’t think Gudrun had come to see Gerde alone.

He always was perceptive, Gudrun reminded herself. And if his loyalties haven’t changed, I may be putting my head in the noose.

She braced herself and looked up, meeting Volker Schulze’s eyes. “On Sunday, someone handed out thousands of leaflets in Victory Square,” she said. She had no idea if Volker Schulze had received a copy of his own through the letterbox. “Have you seen them?”

Volker Schulze’s eyes narrowed. “I have seen the leaflets,” he said, neutrally.

Gudrun swallowed. Volker Schulze was a former SS officer, after all. If he decided his loyalties still lay with the SS…

“The leaflets claim that wounded or dead soldiers have been concealed by the government,” she said. She tried to put a pleading tone into her voice. “Is there any way you can check up on Konrad? Ask what happened to him? You must have contacts…”

“Most of the people I knew have retired or moved on to other posts,” Volker Schulze said, carefully. His face was completely expressionless, denying her any chance to glimpse his emotions, but his wife looked worried. “It wouldn’t be easy to get any information on Konrad’s current location…”

Gerde leaned forward. “But you are going to try,” she said, sharply. Gudrun had never heard her speak in such a tone before, even when she’d been asking questions about Gudrun’s family and future prospects. “Just for our peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Volker Schulze gave his wife a sharp look. “There’s no proof that Konrad is wounded or dead,” he said. “And I…”

“We should have been told if he was dead or wounded,” Gerde insisted. “My father was visited by two officials when my brother was killed in the Middle East. If Konrad has been wounded, or killed, we should have been told.”

“But we haven’t been told anything,” Volker Schulze said, irritated. He couldn’t be pleased with Gerde arguing with him, not in front of a visitor. “Konrad is fine.”

“Konrad used to write to us every third day,” Gerde said. “Even if it was just a short note saying he was fine, he’d write to us. We haven’t heard anything from him for months.”

“Nor have I,” Gudrun said, quietly.

“Konrad would hardly have stopped writing to his girlfriend,” Gerde snapped. “He wouldn’t have wanted to lose her through neglect.”

“Asking questions could also get us in trouble,” Volker Schulze reminded his wife. “Do you really want to risk our family…?”

“Konrad is our family,” Gerde snapped. “And Gudrun is going to marry him. She’s practically part of the family already!”

Gudrun winced, inwardly. Volker Schulze wasn’t looking happy at all. She understood his refusal to ask questions – he had a wife and daughter at risk – but she needed him to ask questions. And he wouldn’t be very pleased with his wife afterwards. Gudrun hoped – prayed – that they wouldn’t have a colossal fight after she left. She wasn’t sure she could bear the guilt of splitting up Konrad’s family as well as concealing the truth from them.

“I just want to know what’s happened to him,” she said, lowering her eyes and trying to sound plaintive. “I miss him.”

“We do understand, my dear,” Gerde said. “We miss him too.”

“Konrad knew he would be parted from his friends and family for months, if not years,” Volker Schulze reminded her, sternly. “We knew there would be a long separation when he graduated.”

“But we also knew he’d be writing to us,” Gerde reminded him. “He was raised to stay in touch, was he not? So where are his letters? The censors might have covered the pieces of paper in black ink, Volker, but they wouldn’t destroy them altogether.”

Volker Schulze rose to his feet. “I shall contact an old comrade,” he said, stiffly. He gave Gudrun a sharp look that made her cringe. “And if Konrad is fine, young lady, your conduct will be reported to your parents.”

“Her worries are understandable,” Gerde said. “Volker…”

“There are limits,” her husband snapped. “And I think she’s crossed them.”

He stalked out of the room before his wife could reply. Gudrun watched him go, feeling a yawning despair opening within her heart. Her father would be angry, if Volker Schulze carried out his threat, but her mother would be furious. Gudrun knew she’d probably spend the rest of the week in the kitchen, barred from leaving the house, if her mother found out what she’d said to Konrad’s parents. And yet, she knew she’d had no choice. The only way to ensure that Konrad’s parents knew what had happened to him was to make his father use his contacts to check up on his son.

“Don’t worry,” Gerde said, reaching out to squeeze Gudrun’s hand. “Volker may try to put a brave face on it, but he’s worried too.”

“You got one of the leaflets,” Gudrun said. She hadn’t had one sent specifically to Konrad’s house, but whoever had been distributing them had clearly stuffed one through their letterbox. “I… I worry about him.”

“That’s the curse of being a grown woman, my dear,” Gerde said. She patted Gudrun’s hand gently. “We bring the men into the world, we marry them, we bear their children… and then we have to stay at home when they march off to war, knowing that they may never come home – or, when they do come home, that a demon might come back with them.”

Like Grandpa Frank, Gudrun thought. He was so horrified by what he’d done that he tried to drown himself in drink.

She shuddered. Grandpa Frank wasn’t the only one who’d gone off to war and come back a changed man. She’d heard horror stories, filtered through the grapevine at school and then at university, about men who woke up screaming, fathers who beat their children bloody, husbands who bragged to their wives about how they’d slept with whores while at the front… she’d wondered, at the time, why anyone would want to get married to a soldier. And yet, her father was strict, but he wasn’t a drunken monster – and nor was Volker Schulze.

Mother must have had a hard time of it, she thought. She wasn’t quite sure how the dates added up, but she suspected that Grandpa Frank had come back from the wars shortly before he’d married, long before his daughter had married Gudrun’s father. How did Grandpa Frank treat his wife and daughter?

Gerde cleared her throat. Gudrun realised, suddenly, that Konrad’s mother had been speaking… and she hadn’t heard a single word.

“I’m sorry,” she said, softly. “I was miles away.”

“I understand,” Gerde said. “I was wondering if your brother is still unmarried.”

“None of my brothers are married,” Gudrun said. Gerde couldn’t be planning to marry her daughter to Kurt, could she? Johan would be a better fit, if only because they were the same age. “I don’t think Kurt plans to marry in a hurry.”

“Handsome young man like him?” Gerde asked. “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

“If he does, I don’t know about it,” Gudrun said. She didn’t really want to think about Kurt having a girlfriend, let alone a wife. “Why do you want to know?”

“Liana needs a man,” Gerde said. “And your brother is already an established soldier…”

Gudrun shook her head, sadly. “I don’t know what he’d want,” she said. The thought of her brother marrying Konrad’s sister was… icky, even though it wouldn’t be technically illegal or immoral. But she knew now she wasn’t going to marry Konrad. He’d be lucky if they didn’t turn the life support off in a few weeks, if he showed no signs of recovery. “You’d have to talk to my parents.”

She felt a sudden flicker of envy. Kurt could refuse, if pressed; he didn’t have an obligation to listen to his parents when it came to choosing a wife. He had a career, he had a life… he could marry a whore from the brothels if he wanted and no one could say no. But Gudrun herself? She had to listen to her parents when it came to getting married.

“I will,” Gerde said, briskly. “And…”

She looked up as her husband returned, his face very pale. Gudrun took one look and knew what he’d been told. Volker Schulze looked like a man who had been punched in the belly, repeatedly.

“Konrad is in hospital,” he said, numbly. “He’s not expected to survive.”

Gerde gasped. “How? Why?”

“There was an ambush, apparently,” Volker Schulze said. He sounded shaken; Gudrun watched with growing concern as he walked over to the cabinet, produced a bottle of expensive imported whiskey from Scotland and poured himself a glass. “Konrad was badly wounded. They did what they could to keep him alive, but… but there was apparently some brain damage. He’s not expected to survive.”

He swallowed the whiskey in one gulp and poured himself another glass. “Gerde, I…”

“My son,” Gerde said. “Where is he?”

“I couldn’t find out,” Volker Schulze said. He downed the second glass of whiskey and refilled it once again. “My contact couldn’t open the entire file. It seems that certain parts of Konrad’s dossier have been sealed. They don’t want anyone to know where he is.”

“He may already be dead,” Gudrun said, shaken. How long had it been since she’d seen his torn and broken body. “They…”

“They’d have listed him as dead and closed the file,” Volker Schulze said, sharply. He stared down at his glass, but didn’t drink. “Konrad… they should have told us.”

“Then the leaflets are correct,” Gudrun said. “Konrad isn’t the only soldier to be wounded or killed in South Africa.”

“They told us it would be a walkover,” Volker Schulze said. He glared at the radio as if it had personally offended him. “That only a handful of soldiers would be killed in the fighting.”

“And if they lied about Konrad,” Gerde added, “how many others have also been killed or wounded?”

Gudrun looked at her. “So what do we do about it?”

“You do nothing, young lady,” Volker Schulze snapped. He swallowed the whiskey, then returned the bottle to the cabinet. “You cannot, obviously, marry my son. I wouldn’t expect you to honour your commitment, such as it was, under these circumstances. I shall speak to your father and inform him that the arrangement has to be cancelled.”

“He isn’t dead,” Gudrun protested. She’d come to the same conclusion herself, but somehow, having it put so bluntly hurt. “I could still…”

“He is a cripple with brain damage,” Volker Schulze snapped. The raw anger in his tone shocked her to the bone. She’d never seen Konrad’s father drink before, let alone lose his temper. “He is certainly no longer capable of fathering children. You would be condemning yourself to life as a permanent nursemaid, assuming he could ever be taken off the machine and go home. I would not ask you to marry him under those conditions.”

He looked down at the empty glass in his hand. “I may have to ask them to turn the machine off and let him die,” he added, sadly. “What sort of life could he have after… after…”

Gerde rose and embraced her husband, holding him tightly. Gudrun looked away, torn between embarrassment and guilt. She’d stripped away the lies they’d told themselves, the hopes they’d clung to… and now, Volker Schulze was drinking and his wife was crying. It was her fault.

But they would have found out sooner or later, she thought, as she rose herself. They would have guessed the truth after Konrad remained silent…

She could feel her own eyes tearing up. If she’d allowed herself to cry for Konrad earlier… she pushed the thought aside. She’d avenge her boyfriend if it was the last thing she did.

“I will speak to your father,” Volker Schulze said, stiffly. “And it would not be proper for you to visit again.”

“Volker,” Gerde snapped.

“I understand,” Gudrun said. As Konrad’s girlfriend, she could go to his house even when he wasn’t present; as an unmarried girl, it wouldn’t be proper for her to visit. “Please tell Liana that I am sorry I won’t be able to speak to her again.”

“You can talk to her outside the house,” Gerde said, sharply. She made a visible effort to calm herself. “If you want to sit here for a while, you can…”

“I’d better go,” Gudrun said. She had no idea what she’d started. What would Konrad’s parents do, now they knew their son was a brain-damaged cripple? Volker Schulze was a stubborn man, one experienced in the ways of the SS. What would he do? “And… I’m sorry.”

“So are we,” Gerde said. “You would have made a good daughter-in-law.”

Perhaps, Gudrun thought. Or perhaps you would have found me a tiresome girl who wanted a career of her own.

She pushed the thought aside as she strode out of the room and out onto the streets, silently grateful that Liana was nowhere in sight. Gudrun wasn’t sure she could have faced Konrad’s sister, not now. And to think Gerde wanted to try to marry Liana to Kurt! Was there a reason they wanted to marry their daughter off at such a young age? What age had Gerde been when she’d married Volker Schulze?

Gudrun was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she was barely aware of her surroundings until she was standing in front of her door, fumbling for the key. Her mother opened the door before she could get the key into the lock, then pulled Gudrun into a hug. Gerde must have called her, Gudrun realised, as she allowed her mother to hold her tightly. Her father probably wouldn’t be home from the station until the evening, unless he came home especially for her. It didn’t seem likely, somehow.

“I’m sorry,” her mother said, as she helped Gudrun into the living room. “I know you loved him.”

Gudrun shuddered, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. “He… he deserved so much better,” she said. “I loved him. We were going to marry and…”

“I know,” her mother said, wrapping an arm around Gudrun’s shoulders. “You and he would have been good together.”

We would have been better than good, Gudrun thought, miserably. She’d bottled up her tears, knowing she dared not cry without a reason she could tell her mother, but now she let them flow freely. Konrad wasn’t dead, yet his life was effectively over. We would have lived together, built a life together and…

“Hey, cry-baby,” Siegfried called, peering into the room. “What’s…”

“Get up to your room and wait until your father gets home,” his mother snapped. Siegfried recoiled in shock. Their mother rarely told off her youngest child. “He’ll have more than a few words to give you.”

She turned back to Gudrun as Siegfried fled up the stairs. “I do understand, my darling,” she whispered into Gudrun’s ear, rocking her like a baby. “Cry all you like. Let it out. There’s nothing else you can do.”

But there is, Gudrun thought, bitterly. The leaflets were just the beginning. We can make the state pay for what it’s done.