Storm Front

Chapter Twenty-Two

Morgenstern Residence, Berlin

5 August 1985

Hilde Morgenstern would never have admitted it, at least not outside the privacy of her own mind, but there were times when she envied Gudrun and many of her other girlfriends. Their mothers might be strict, their mothers might insist that dinner and house chores came before their studies, their mothers might be willing to slap their faces if they talked back or disobeyed… and yet none of them came close to Frau Morgenstern for sheer overbearing obnoxiousness, let alone a burning desire to climb the social ladder until she was the mistress of Berlin’s social scene.

“Hilde,” her mother called. “Bring out the refreshments!”

Hilde groaned inwardly as she picked up the plate of homemade cakes and biscuits – she’d had to turn them out herself, while the foreign-born maids cleaned the house thoroughly even though there hadn’t been a speck of dust in sight – and carried them into the dining room, where her mother was holding court in front of a gaggle of middle-aged ladies who had money and time on their hands. They eyed her doubtfully as she passed the plate of cakes around, then resumed their discussion. Hilde was only marginally surprised to hear that the topic of the discussion was the leaflets.

“I’ve located seven families who have a son who has dropped out of touch,” one middle-aged lady said. Hilde had never tried to remember their names, if only because they came and went so quickly. “My husband says that one of the foremen at his factory has also lost a son, a son who was actually sent back to Germany – and no one told him!”

“Shocking,” Frau Morgenstern said. “And what are we going to do about it?”

Hilde found a seat and listened as the discussion raged around the table, genteel politeness mixed with a strange kind of fear and excitement. Frau Morgenstern and her friends did everything; they baked cakes for bake sales, they organised school trips for needy children, they even collected money for wounded soldiers or war widows. Hilde had long since learned to dread the days when her mother came up with another idea for poking her overly long nose into someone’s affairs; making friends had never been easy when her mother had seen Hilde’s friendships as just another foot in the door. She would have done anything to live on campus, as Sven and the boys did. At least she’d be a long way from her mother.

“We need to support the mothers and wives who have lost sons and husbands,” Frau Morgenstern said, finally. “But we also need to learn the truth about what’s actually happening.”

“The leaflet says that the government is lying to us,” one of her friends pointed out. She was someone important – her husband was a big wheel in the Ministry of Finance, Hilde had been told – and wasn’t particularly scared of the SS. “We need to force them to tell the truth.”

“So we need to get thousands of women to work with us,” Frau Morgenstern said. Her eyes were glinting with inspiration. “A full-sized protest movement, just like they have in America.”

Hilde swallowed. She had no way to know for sure what happened in America, but she did have a good idea how the SS would react to a public demonstration. The women would be greeted with clubs, whips and machine guns. And yet, would the SS dare to fire on German womenfolk when German men had been taught it was their duty to protect the women? The SS might start a riot or mutiny just by giving the order to fire.

“We already have strong ties to the Sisters of Mercy,” Frau Morgenstern added, after a moment. “There’s no reason we can’t use this to attract more people to the cause.”

And get yourself some more power, Hilde thought, cynically. You don’t give a damn about the dead or wounded soldiers, you just want to use their fates for your own purposes.

She scowled, inwardly. Her mother thought in terms of power and influence, rather than anything more feminine. No wonder her father spent as much time as he could at the office, working for the Ministry of Industry. When his wife wasn’t building her own power base, she was nagging her husband to work on his. Hilde was sure that her mother’s pestering had been what had turned her father’s hair grey before his time.

And yet, her mother’s concept might actually work. Frau Morgenstern sat in the centre of a spider’s web of tiny organisations, each of which might provide a core of women willing to help force the government to change. She smiled at the thought of her mother nagging the Reichstag – Frau Morgenstern was a hellishly efficient nagger – and then considered the possibilities more carefully. Gudrun and the rest of their tiny group might have started the ball rolling, but it was clear that events were already moving out of control.

Which is a good thing, isn’t it? She asked herself. We have to keep our heads down for a while, so if someone else takes up the cause…

She rose as her mother gestured to her, then hurried back into the kitchen to pick up the next tray of snacks. One of the maids was hastily pulling another cake out of the oven, her pale face marred where Frau Morgenstern had slapped her hours ago. Hilde felt a stab of pity – no one would give a damn if the maids were beaten to death – but she knew there was nothing she could do. The poor girls were Untermenschen. If they died while working in the Reich, her mother would just be able to get a couple more from the Reich Labour Commission.

And they have to sleep in the outhouse, Hilde thought, guiltily. She’d looked into the outhouse once, when she’d been younger. It was dark, dank and smelly; the maids had to take showers before they were allowed to enter the house. Mother can’t even give them a proper bedroom.

She picked up the tray and hurried back into the dining room. The discussion had turned into a working party, Frau Morgenstern taking ideas from her friends and working them into a coherent whole. Hilde would have been impressed if she hadn’t been so worried about just what her mother would do, once she had her protest groups organised. Or, for that matter, just what would happen if the SS arrested the women before they could do anything. Hilde had no illusions about her mother’s backstabbing tendencies and she had a nasty feeling that one or more of the well-dressed women sitting in the room shared them. A single word to the SS would be enough to bring Frau Morgenstern and her husband before a tribunal. And who knew what would happen then?

A hand touched her shoulder. She flinched and looked up. A maid was standing just behind her, looking terrified.

“My Lady, your father has returned home,” the maid said. Her voice was so quiet that Hilde had to force herself to listen just to make out the words. “He requests your presence in his study.”

“I understand,” Hilde said. At least it was an excuse for not listening to the older women for the next few hours. “Thank you.”

She saw a disapproving expression flicker across her mother’s face as she rose – one did not thank Untermenschen – and knew she’d be in trouble later, but she did her best to ignore it as she hurried out of the room and headed up the stairs. Her father rarely talked to her – Hilde was sometimes surprised that her parents had managed to produce a single child – and she was torn between a surprised delight and a gnawing fear at the sudden summons. Bracing herself, she tapped on the door and stepped into her father’s office.

“Hilde,” her father said, looking up from his ledgers. “Sit.”

Hilde nodded and sat down, resting her hands on her lap. She’d never been entirely sure of what her father did for a living, although she did know it was a high-paying job somewhere in the tangled web that made up the Ministry of Industry. And it granted social status as well, she knew, enough to turn her mother into a power on the social scene. It wasn’t the kind of life Hilde wanted for herself – she hadn’t gone to the university to become yet another gossipy housewife – but at least it made her mother happy.

She studied her father thoughtfully as he reached the end of the page and closed the book with a resounding thud. Unlike her big mother, Arthur Morgenstern was actually quite a small man, with a tacky suit, greying hair and a face that – she thought privately – resembled a weasel. She had wondered, from time to time, why her father hadn’t hired someone to give him a makeover, but she supposed he was rich and important enough not to need one.

“Hilde,” Arthur Morgenstern said. “I trust your marks are as high as always?”

Hilde hesitated, just for a second. Her father wasn’t a strong man, not in her opinion, although in some ways that was actually a blessing. She’d had friends with strong fathers and they had all been married off as soon as they’d reached legal age, practically given to men their fathers had chosen. And he had never tried to discipline Hilde, leaving all such matters to her mother. She sometimes wondered if he really cared for either his daughter or his wife.

“My marks are high,” she said, finally. “I’m still planning to study computers if I can get into the classes.”

“Good, good,” her father said. He looked up suddenly. “I hope you were not playing games with your tutors.”

Hilde coloured. She’d heard the rumours about Professor Murken – she had no idea who’d started them or why – but she had never touched or been touched by any of her tutors. Hell, as far as they knew, she hadn’t even had a boyfriend! Being with Martin had been fun, but she knew her parents would have hauled her out of the university if they suspected, even for a second, that she was having an ‘unsuitable’ relationship.

“No, father,” she said. “They have been nothing but proper to me.”

“Good,” her father said. He cocked his head, slightly. “I’ve heard a vague rumour that the leaflets came out of the university, Hilde. Would you care to comment?”

“I have heard the same rumour,” Hilde said. He didn’t suspect her, did he? She had no idea how he could have suspected her. Her parents practically treated her as an extension of themselves. “Father, I know no one at the university who would dare write such leaflets.”

“Your mother apparently received a copy,” her father said. “Did you give it to her?”

“No, father,” Hilde lied. If he knew already, if one of the maids had reported her slipping it into the pile of letters for her mother, she was doomed. He’d pull her out of the university and send her to one of the finishing schools in Switzerland, where young female brains were turned into mush. It wasn’t as if her parents couldn’t afford the fees. “I wouldn’t dare pass on one of those leaflets.”

“A sensible attitude,” her father said, blandly. “Should you discover who happened to write the leaflets, Hilde, you will inform me at once.”

“Yes, father,” Hilde said. She knew better than to argue openly. She’d just keep her mouth shut and pray the group was never uncovered by the SS. “May I ask a question?”

“You may,” her father said, after a moment. “I do not, of course, promise to answer.”

Hilde took a breath. “Are the claims in the leaflets true?”

“Of course not,” her father said, too quickly. “They’re lies, lies put about to weaken the Reich. We had similar problems in the sixties with radicals who were influenced by American ideals. They were rapidly crushed.”

He shook his head. “The fools who wrote and distributed these leaflets may think they’re doing the right thing,” he added, after a moment. “They’re young, of course; only a youngster would have the conceit to believe they could change the world by distributing leaflets. But they’re wrong. They’re very wrong. They’re undermining the Reich itself, Hilde.”

Hilde couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Is that wrong?”

Her father gave her a sharp look. “You studied Rome, didn’t you?”

“Yes, father,” Hilde said. She’d found history boring, but she remembered a few details. “I had to read about the Romans for school.”

“Brutus killed Julius Caesar,” her father said. “Do you recall that part of the story?”

Hilde shrugged. Her lessons had centred around the great Teutonic heroes who’d brought down the Italians and established, once and for all, that Germans would never be slaves as long as they stood united. She recalled Julius Caesar, but only in passing.

“Brutus and his comrades had no plan for what would happen after Julius Caesar was brutally murdered,” her father said, after a moment. “He had no idea how to capitalise on his success, so he did nothing as events slipped out of hand. And so, instead of the successful restoration of the Roman Republic, Emperor Augustus rose to power.”

“I see, father,” Hilde said.

“Go,” her father said. “I have a meeting now, but I’ll see your mother and yourself at dinnertime.”

Hilde nodded, rose and left the room. It might have been an accident, but her father had given her something to think about. And something, she knew, she would have to discuss with the rest of the group as soon as possible. Who knew what would happen if the Reich came apart at the seams?

“You weren’t seen, were you?”

“I don’t believe so,” Andrew Barton said. Walking through the richest part of Berlin was far safer than trying to sneak through the suburbs. “As long as the papers you provided are in good order, I shouldn’t have been in trouble even if I had been stopped by the police.”

He smiled as Arthur Morgenstern sat back in his chair. The man was deeply corrupt – and desperate for ready cash. Slipping him a few hundred thousand dollars had been more than enough to turn him into a source, although – as always – Andrew had to remember that the SS might be playing him, rather than the other way around. Morgenstern was genuine, as far as he could tell, but there was always a quiet nagging doubt.

“That’s good,” Morgenstern said, after a moment. “There have been developments.”

Andrew took a seat and leaned forward. “What sort of developments?”

“Threats of a new set of trade unions in various corporations,” Morgenstern said. “And people whispering about those damnable leaflets. Even my wife knows what they are.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Andrew said, sincerely. Frau Morgenstern would have made an excellent source, if she hadn’t been more determined to build up her own power base than assist the United States. “And your daughter?”

“Denies everything,” Morgenstern said. He looked up, suddenly. “Could you offer her a scholarship to Caltech?”

“I could arrange for her to be selected, if she puts her name on the lists,” Andrew said. The university would kick up a fuss – and the FBI wouldn’t be any happier – but the OSS had more than enough clout to make sure that Hilde Morgenstern was safely out of the Reich for a couple of years. “Does she have genuine potential?”

“Her marks are good,” Morgenstern assured him. “I’m sure she could pass the entrance exam.”

That proved nothing, Andrew knew. Caltech would try to reject her if she didn’t pass the exam – and they’d be furious if Andrew’s superiors insisted on allowing her to attend anyway. But competition was fierce at Speer University, he had to admit. Hilde Morgenstern wouldn’t have managed to get as far as she had if she hadn’t had genuine talent along with her family’s connections.

Morgenstern sighed, loudly. “First we had problems in France, now we have problems in the Reich itself,” he added, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like the idea of new trade unions.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Andrew agreed. “I thought they were banned.”

“Oh, they are,” Morgenstern said. “And the workers should know it. There are government unions to take care of their requirements. But they’re ignoring the rules.”

Andrew wasn’t surprised. The only hint of socialism in Nazi Germany lay within the Nazi Party’s name – National Socialism. In reality, the corporations made big donations to the Reich’s government and, in exchange, all independent trade unions were banned. Anyone who tried to found one could expect to be fired and jailed, perhaps exiled to the east, in short order. And yet, as the Reich’s economy tightened and pay checks grew thinner, it was harder and harder for the bosses to intimidate the workers into silence.

“That could be a problem,” he agreed, dryly. “What have your masters decided to do about it?”

“Nothing, as yet,” Morgenstern admitted. “I think they’re hoping the whole problem will just go away.”

“They thought that before the Great Depression too,” Andrew reminded him. “But it didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t,” Morgenstern agreed.

He was frightened, Andrew realised. Given his position in the Ministry of Industry, he had good reason to know the full scale of the problem. Andrew hadn’t been sure what, if anything, to make of the leaflets, but if Morgenstern was worried…

“And if it doesn’t go away,” he said carefully, “what do you think they’ll do?”

“Something drastic,” Morgenstern said. “And I want my daughter out of the Reich before that happens.”

Andrew nodded. “We’ll see what we can do,” he said. “But she will have to pass the exams, Herr Morgenstern. Anything else would be far too revealing.”