Storm Front

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Berlin, Germany

12 August 1985

“Ah, there you are,” Frau Morgenstern said, as Hilde stepped into the room. “I trust you are ready to go out?”

Hilde looked up, surprised. “Mother?”

“They’re arresting children on the streets,” Frau Morgenstern said, tartly. “Children who could be you, if things were different. Something has to be done.”

She went on before Hilde could say a word. “I’m heading straight to Silgan’s house,” she added. “The telephones are no longer working, so I want you to take a note to several others. We’re going out onto the streets in protest.”

“Mother,” Hilde protested. “You could wind up in jail…”

“So could you,” her mother said. “This is the one chance we have to make our voices heard, to ally ourselves with others who want change. And so I’m leading the way onto the streets.”

She picked up a sheet of paper and started to scribble a quick note. Hilde stared at her, unable to quite believe what was happening. Her mother had been holding dozens of meetings, some more civilised than others, but it was hard to imagine her bossy mother leading a small army of women onto the street like common workers. And yet, her mother had been outraged at the suggestion she was still under her husband’s thumb. The chance to insist on greater rights for women was not to be missed.

“Once you’ve delivered the note, I want you to come straight back home and wait,” Frau Morgenstern added, as she folded the sheet of paper and passed it to Hilde. “You are not to go onto the streets yourself or leave the house for any reason at all. The maids will take care of you until your father comes home.”

Hilde swallowed. She had no idea what her father would say, if he discovered his wife was leading the protests on the street, but she had a nasty feeling he’d take it out on her. He couldn’t stand up to his formidable wife, after all. Hilde had no idea why her father had even married her mother, unless there was money and a name involved somewhere. His career had probably benefited from her mother’s quiet politicking on his behalf. Maybe it had benefited enough for him not to want to discard his wife.

“I understand,” she said, finally. “Be careful…”

“They won’t shoot us,” Frau Morgenstern said, firmly. “Each and every one of the women in the group has a powerful husband or family.”

“Yeah,” Hilde said. “Just make sure the police know that.”

She glanced at the note – it was nothing more than a handful of lines, telling the recipients to assemble at the predetermined spot – and headed for the door. There hadn’t been any incidents in their part of Berlin, as far as she knew, but that was about to change. God alone knew what would happen when the wealthy and powerful women started marching in support of the strikers – and their list of demands.

Bitterly, half-wishing she’d never heard of Gudrun or allowed herself to be lured into the Valkyries, she hurried though the door and down the drive to the gates. She could be arrested, if the police saw her on the streets; she could be taken into the RSHA and tortured until she confessed everything. The emergency broadcasts had taken over everything, even the handful of privately-owned television sets. There was no excuse for being caught outside the home. But the thought of her mother’s anger – and her own position – drove her on.

They won’t be patrolling the streets here, she told herself, hoping desperately that she was right. Her father’s house – it was effectively a mansion – was in the safest part of the city, where the wealthy and powerful lived. The men who owned these houses were among the chief supporters of the regime. They’ll be sending the police to the industrial zones…

But she knew she wouldn’t feel safe until she was back home, praying her mother returned safely.

“They arrested Gudrun?”

“It looks that way,” Leopold said. “I didn’t get a good view from my vantage point, but they were arresting and cuffing just about everyone on the streets. I’m pretty sure I saw Gudrun being manhandled into a police van. The factories are sealed off and isolated.”

“Write down a list of names,” Horst ordered. The telephone lines might be down – some bright spark in the RSHA had turned the civilian network off – but the computer network had barely been hampered. There was no way the state could cripple it without rendering it useless to themselves, as well as the Valkyries. “Make sure you only list the students you know were taken into the vans.”

He thought fast. Gudrun had said she was going down to the factories, along with hundreds of other students, so it was likely she’d been arrested. He didn’t think any other Valkyries had joined the protest – Leopold had found a place to watch, rather than go all the way into the sealed zone – yet there was no way to know for sure. It was unlikely Gudrun would be given any special treatment, once she reached the processing centre, but being strip-searched would be so outside her previous experience that it might break her. And if she provided a list of names to the SS, Horst and the other Valkyries would have bare hours to live.

It would be simple enough to run, he knew. He’d been trained in escape and evasion; he could make it to the American Embassy, if he tried, or head south to Switzerland. Or head west to Vichy France. It wouldn’t be too hard to steal a fishing boat and flee to Britain. And yet, leaving now would mean abandoning all his hopes and dreams – and Gudrun. He didn’t want to leave her in the Reich’s clutches.

Particularly as she might have kept her mouth shut, he thought. Gudrun might not have endured the worst of the Hitler Youth, but the BDM matrons had been thoroughly unpleasant, if not outright sadists. She knows to say nothing and hope.

“Here,” Leopold said. “These are the students I know were arrested.”

Horst glanced at the list. It was shorter than he’d expected, but in all the confusion a great many students would have been arrested or injured without anyone noticing. The police would have refrained from using lethal weapons, he was sure, yet tear gas alone could be nasty if the protesters were unprepared for its use. He’d have to make sure the next message that went out on the computer network included instructions for dealing with it.

“Put it on the net,” he ordered. Sven took the list and hastily tapped it into the computer, then uploaded it. God alone knew how many people it would reach – the regime could turn off the power in most of Berlin, simply by pushing a switch – but they had to try. “And see who you can send to their homes. Tell them that their children have been arrested.”

“I can ask someone from downstairs,” Leopold said, after a moment. “But that might be too revealing.”

“Be careful,” Horst advised. Whatever happened in the days and weeks that would come, a line had been crossed. “And watch your back.”

There was a knock on the door. Horst swore inwardly as Sven hastily blanked the screen, then brought up a computer game he’d written himself. He’d told Horst that he had high hopes of selling millions of copies; Horst, privately, suspected it would be pointless to try until there were more than a handful of computers in civilian hands. Pushing the thought aside, he leaned over Sven’s shoulder as the door opened – he’d rigged the doorknob to be harder to open quickly – and pretended to watch the game.

“Horst,” a gruff voice said. “There’s a telephone call for you.”

Horst had to fight to keep his expression under control. He’d never thought highly of Krabbe – the would-be spy was suitable for nothing more than cannon fodder – but this was a new low. The telephone lines were down and everyone knew it. Krabbe might just have blown his cover in one stupid moment. And even if there was a telephone line that was isolated from the rest of the landlines, which was technically possible, some of the students would still wonder.

He could have said there was a message for me and it would be less revealing, he thought, straightening up. Something would have to be done about Krabbe. Horst’s handler would probably be annoyed if he beat the idiot to within an inch of his life, but a careful report might see the stupid bastard reassigned to mine-clearing duty in Germany East. And now I have to come up with a cover story.

“I’m coming,” he said. It was rare for parents to ring the university – and if they did, it was almost always an emergency. He glanced back at Sven, hoping the computer expert wasn’t paying close attention. “I’ll see you later.”

Somehow, he resisted the temptation to punch Krabbe as soon as they left the computer lab and headed down the stairs. There were only a handful of students within earshot, but fighting in the corridors would be enough to get them both expelled – or, if their superiors intervened, raise yet more questions about why they hadn’t been expelled. Horst silently wrote the report in his head, then decided it would be better not to write it. Krabbe was an idiot, but an idiot would be safer than someone competent. Unless, of course, he was a decoy…

“You’re wanted at the main office,” Krabbe said, as soon as they were alone. “Take one of the cars from the accommodation block and drive there.”

“And get arrested by the police, no doubt,” Horst sneered. What had happened to the sterilisation camps? People like Krabbe shouldn’t be allowed to breed. “None of our cars have any special plates to keep the police from flagging them down.”

He shook his head. Being close to Krabbe was killing his brain cells. “I’ll walk,” he said, firmly. “And you can go back to the apartment block and stay there.”

Gritting his teeth, he hurried towards the gates. It could be a trap, he knew; his superiors might have reasoned out his role in the whole affair and called him in for interrogation. But Krabbe didn’t seem to be trying to follow him. If Horst had wanted to arrest someone on suspicion, he would have made sure the suspect didn’t have a chance to saunter off into the backstreets and escape. A public arrest would be easy enough – and, he was sure, it would arouse no comment. Unless that was what he was meant to think.

It makes no sense, he reassured himself, firmly. They wouldn’t ask me to visit if they knew what I’d been doing, they’d grab me before I could escape. And so… whatever they want me for, I’m not in trouble myself.

Hoping to hell he was right, he headed onwards through nearly-deserted streets.

The sound of the riot – or protest march, or whatever the hell it was – quietened alarmingly, much to Herman’s relief, as the military police took over the sealed zone and marched the hundreds of prisoners away to an uncertain destination. Herman was relieved just to see the back of some of the prisoners, particularly the ones who just would not shut up about how important they were and how the policemen would be shovelling shit in Germany East tomorrow if they didn’t release their prisoners immediately. Let the military police handle the assholes, Herman told himself, and take whatever punishment was due.

“We’re to head back to the muster point,” Caius said. The radio network had been having hiccups. Some idiot back at the station, according to rumour, had scrambled all the channels for some silly reason. “The military police are to take over the barricades.”

Herman shrugged. The barricades were no longer necessary, now that most of the watching civilians had gone back home as soon as the military police arrived. God alone knew what they were saying, what rumours were spreading through the city, but for the moment he found it hard to care. The buildings within the sealed zone had either been locked up tight by the strikers, who were now trapped, or emptied by the military police. Herman rather doubted that anyone taken into custody by the military policemen would be enjoying the experience.

He followed Caius back to the van and scrambled inside. The vehicle roared to life; he sat back and forced himself to relax, despite the tension. He’d expected worse, somehow, than merely putting up the barricades. But then, the military policemen had done the real job…

And it isn’t over yet, Herman thought. The strikers will still have to be handled, somehow.

“We’re being diverted,” the driver called. “There’s a new crowd of people spilling out onto the street.”

Herman said nothing, but he worried as the van lurched. The strikers were bad enough; who else was joining the protests and why? Caius and several of the other policemen hurled questions at the driver, but he didn’t know anything more than what he’d already said. All they could do was wait, checking their weapons and equipment, until the van came to a halt one final time. The door opened, revealing a residential street… and hundreds of women of all ages marching down it, wearing their finest clothes.

Caius gasped. “What the hell…?”

Herman could only agree. He’d been prepared for rampaging students or workers, perhaps even Gastarbeiters, not women. Many of them were middle-aged, the same age as his wife, wearing outfits that cost more money than he cared to think about. They all looked to be respectable German womenfolk, wives and mothers; indeed, some of the women were even carrying their children in their arms or pushing prams. He knew how to handle rioters, but women? The thought of charging them, of using tear gas to break up their ranks, was unthinkable. And then his blood ran cold as he saw his wife in the throng.

“Adelinde?”

“Your wife?” Fritz asked. “You’d better get her out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

Herman nodded, then hurried away from the clump of uncertain policemen. At least he had something to focus on, besides absolute confusion and unwillingness to treat the women as just another bunch of rioters. The Captain would have to be insane to order the police to attack the crowd, not when it was so clearly composed of women and children. Herman knew he would go deaf if the order was ever given… and, if his superiors were wise, they’d accept it rather than risk triggering a mutiny.

“Adelinde,” he said, as his wife looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Marching,” Adelinde said. She’d never argued with him in public before, even though she ruled the household with an iron hand. “They’ve arrested our daughter.”

Herman staggered backwards. Gudrun had been arrested? Of course she had, his thoughts yammered at him. It wasn’t as if he had any other daughters. And yet… he hadn’t seen her among the prisoners, but that proved nothing. Hell, Adelinde could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and stuck to it in defiance of all logic and reason.

“You have to go home,” he said. He was the man of the house, damn it! His wife shouldn’t be embarrassing him, let alone defying him, in front of his comrades. “Adelinde…”

His wife tilted her head, looking alarmingly like his strong-willed mother. “Our daughter is under arrest,” she said, “merely for being a student. I’m not going home when she’s in danger.”

Herman found himself unsure what to say, let alone do. Adelinde had always defended her children, even as she meted out strict discipline. He pitied the teacher who’d sent home a note accusing her children of atrocities. But coming out onto the streets, risking arrest or worse… he felt sick as he realised what Gudrun might have gone through already and what might be waiting in her future. His daughter was no criminal, no Gastarbeiter bitch with no rights; she was a good little German girl, smart enough to be a university student, old enough to be a wife and a mother.

His wife read the expression on his face. “She’s your daughter,” she hissed. “Start doing your duty as a father and find her!”

“We’re not going home,” an older woman said. She was well-dressed enough that Herman had no trouble believing that her husband was both wealthy and very well connected. God knew she certainly sounded snooty enough to believe herself above rebuke, let alone punishment. “We want change.”

“We want our sons home,” another woman said. A dozen other women took up the cry. “We want an end to the war.”

Defeated, Herman could only turn and walk back to the other policemen, uncertain what he could say to them. Women were meant to obey their menfolk, first their fathers and then their husbands. But Adelinde had defied him, publicly. And, if she was right about Gudrun being arrested, he couldn’t blame her.

Fritz eyed him as he rejoined the small clump of policemen. “Well?”

“I have to make a few calls,” Herman said. “Until then, we do nothing.”

And hope to hell our superiors don’t do something stupid, he thought, privately. Almost every policeman he knew was married. How many other wives and daughters of policemen had joined the marching women? He was damned if he was firing on a crowd that included his wife, the mother of his children. But what do we do if we are ordered to fire?