Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Thirty

Berlin, Germany Prime

8 October 1985

Gudrun felt a stab of guilt, despite the gnawing pain in her stomach, as she walked towards the car, Horst following her. The hospital was crammed with casualties, soldiers wounded in the ongoing battle for Berlin. Their words haunted her, leaving her wondering if she had done the right thing after all. How many young men were dead – or crippled – because of her? And how many wives and girlfriends were never going to see their menfolk again – or would wish, afterwards, that their menfolk had died rather than returned as cripples?

She shuddered, bitterly. Some of the men had cursed her, others had been so lost in their pain that it was hard to tell who – if anyone – they were talking to. She’d heard a young man – younger than her, she thought – screaming for his mother as the doctors fought to save his life, watched helplessly as an older man begged to be killed rather than be forced to live without his legs. And the nurses – and the young girls who had volunteered to assist in the hospital – slowly giving into despair as more and more wounded flowed into the hospital.

I thought it was bad when Konrad was in hospital, Gudrun thought, fighting down the urge to start crying. But this is far worse.

“It isn’t your fault,” Horst said, quietly. The car lurched to life, the driver steering them onto the road. Civilian traffic had been banned the day the SS finally surrounded Berlin, leaving the streets clear. “It wasn’t you who decided to invade Germany Prime.”

Gudrun shook her head slowly, blinking away tears. Kurt was on the front lines; Kurt, her bigger brother who had alternatively tormented her and protected her. Kurt, who had helped her sneak into the hospital… had it really only been a few scant months ago? It felt like an eternity had passed between the girl she’d been and the woman she had become. And if Kurt was wounded or killed, she didn’t know what she’d do. The thought of being responsible for her brother’s death was horrifying.

“I know,” she breathed. Horst wrapped a warm arm around her, heedless of the driver’s presence. “But it doesn’t feel that way.”

She leaned into his arm, but said nothing as the car finally reached the Reichstag and passed through two checkpoints before driving into the garage. Security had been tightened, again, as the fighting wore on. The SS commando cell hadn’t launched any big attacks, thankfully, but a handful of policemen had been killed on the streets and a pair of soldiers badly wounded by a makeshift bomb. Gudrun’s father had said that the attacks might not be the work of trained professionals – there was an amateurish feel about the incidents that suggested inexperience – but there was no way to be sure. Either way, the original group of commandos hadn’t gone away. They would be planning something.

And Horst hasn’t heard anything since the fighting began, she thought. Who knows what that means?

She tossed possibilities around in her mind as they walked up to her bedroom. They might assume that Horst couldn’t sneak out of the Reichstag without being noticed… or they might have finally realised that Horst had turned against them. If the latter… Gudrun wouldn’t have bet on his survival, if he fell into their hands. The SS regarded betrayal as the worst of all sins. Horst would be executed, once they knew he was guilty. And who knew if anyone would be told what had happened to him?

It was hard to care, in her state, just who saw Horst following her into the room. The staff had probably noticed something, by now; they knew she’d shared both the upper bedroom and the bunker suite with him. Her father would be furious if rumours got out, she knew, but she was too tired to worry about it. And besides, her parents approved of her prospective marriage. That, at least, was a weight off her mind.

“It isn’t your fault,” Horst said, as Gudrun sat down heavily. “The SS made its own choices.”

He moved behind Gudrun and began to massage her neck. “None of this is your fault.”

“I don’t feel that way,” Gudrun said. She felt too hungry to do anything, but sit. She’d noticed how the price of food was slowly rising, long before the uprising, yet she’d never really been hungry. Little flickers of hunger, caused by turning down school food, were nothing compared to the gnawing pain in her chest. “How many people are going to die because of me?”

“It would have happened anyway,” Horst said. He let go of her neck and walked around the chair, kneeling in front of her. “The Reich was heading for a fall long before you were born.”

Gudrun swallowed. She found it hard to imagine what it had been like in 1944, when the Reich and the British Empire had finally signed a truce. Or in 1940-41, when panzers had rolled into France and Russia. Or even in 1919, when Germany had been unfairly blamed and penalised for all the woes of the world. Her history teachers had told her that Germany had been betrayed, from within and without, but now… the Reich might have built a towering edifice, yet they’d built on very shaky ground.

“Kruger said as much,” she said. “But I don’t believe it.”

Horst reached out and took her hands, holding them gently in his. “Gudrun,” he said, very quietly. “Gudrun… will you marry me?”

Gudrun stared at him, feeling her heart starting to race. A flurry of conflicting feelings ran through her mind; delight, fear, relief, terror… marriage would change her life, no matter who or what she was. It would be a change for the better and a change for the worse. She would be expected to be a mother as well as a politician – or, perhaps, a mother instead of a politician. It was hard to imagine staying at home – or within the restrictive circle of other married women – and preparing dinner for the moment Horst came home from work. Her life had expanded too far, too fast, for her to step back into a traditional role.

Horst was looking back at her, his blue eyes… vulnerable. It was a surprise. She’d never seen him vulnerable before, not when he’d confessed the truth or even when they’d slept together for the first time. But then, perhaps she wasn’t his first. Girls might be expected to remain virginal before marriage – or at least maintain a convincing pretence that they’d only ever had premarital sex with their future husband – but boys had far more latitude. Sex was one thing, marriage – to a boy – was quite another.

She hesitated, trying to think of an answer. A year ago, if they had been in a relationship, she would have answered yes without hesitation. Horst would have been a great catch, an up and coming SS officer… she would have been his wife, borne his children and shared his life, taking a payout from the government for every single child she brought into the world. But now… her life had changed too much. She couldn’t go back to where she’d been, before the uprising.

“I won’t try to stop you from being a politician,” Horst said, quietly. She wondered, suddenly, just what had happened to his remaining family. The SS wouldn’t have let them live if they knew Horst had betrayed them. “I understand you’ll want to continue being… being a councillor. There’s no need to have children.”

Gudrun swallowed. She did want children, one day. Most married women had their first child within a year or two of the wedding, if they weren’t already pregnant when they marched to the altar. Two little boys, perhaps; or two sweet little girls. She didn’t want more than two children…

…But that wasn’t the concern, was it? She was honest enough to admit the truth, if only to herself. Girls practically defined themselves as daughters, then wives. Or society made that definition for them. By marrying Horst, she would give up the independence she had won, at least in the eyes of the world. Her father hadn’t attempted to pull her back to the house, after the uprising, and she had no idea what would have happened if he’d tried. But by marrying Horst, she might be expected to resign…

…And if he changed his mind, if he decided he wanted her to stay at home, the law would be on his side.

And if I have children, she thought, taking care of them is going to consume my time.

“It won’t be easy,” Gudrun warned. “You’ll have to get used to the idea of having a politician for a wife.”

“It could be worse,” Horst said.

Gudrun shrugged. Her mother had pointed out, in some detail, that men rarely liked it when girls beat them, even in something as minor as a maths competition. She’d wondered, at the time, if the segregated school system – there had only been a handful of mixed-sex classes after she’d turned twelve – was designed to keep the boys from feeling inferior to the girls, rather than the other way around. Her mother had even advised Gudrun to hide her intelligence, just in case it provoked resentment. A teenage boy could be ignored…

…But a grown man – and a husband – could not.

Horst looked up at her. “I know it won’t be easy,” he said. “Not for either of us. But I am prepared to accept whatever it brings.”

Gudrun felt touched. She knew she wasn’t pregnant. Horst could have walked away, without consequences. And, with a little ingenuity, she could probably have avoided consequences for her too. If, of course, she decided to have another relationship. Instead, he’d approached her father and gained his permission to take the next step. She had to admit it, even if it had taken him several days to work up the nerve to speak to her.

And we may be dead in a month, she thought. And if that happens, it won’t matter if we are married or not.

She sucked in her breath. The reports made it clear that the SS was inching forward, even if every last building was taken and retaken time and time again before it was finally cleared. They would hardly be the only couple getting married quickly – she’d heard from two of her friends who were trying the knot, just so they could live with their partners before the city fell. If, of course, the city did fall.

And if it doesn’t, she told herself, we will just have to live with it.

She leaned forward, pulling him to his feet. He was big, taller and stronger than her, yet he’d never made her feel unsafe. Indeed, she hadn’t been wary of him even after he’d confessed the truth. Even when they’d argued, she’d never feared that he would hit her, beating her into submission like far too many wives. And that, perhaps, was all the answer she really needed.

“I will,” she said, meeting his eyes. A sudden surge of energy blazed through her as his eyes stared back at her. “I will marry you.”

Horst kissed her, pulling her into a tight hug. Gudrun wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back with all the intensity she could muster. His hands pulled at her dress, bunching it up around her waist as he fumbled with her panties; she undid his trousers and allowed them to fall to the floor as he half-pushed her towards the bed. She leaned back, allowing herself to land neatly on the bed, then pulled him down on top of her…

And then there was nothing in her world, apart from him.

Horst lay on the bed afterwards, feeling tired and yet almost deliriously happy at the same time. Gudrun lay next to him, her eyes closed; her deep even breathing was enough to tell him that she was sleeping properly. She’d had too many nightmares over the last few days, nightmares that had jerked her awake time and time again. Horst knew she wouldn’t be the only one – some of his bunkmates had had nightmares during training – but she had more reasons than most to feel guilty.

The Reich was definitely heading for a fall, Horst thought. But without her, things might have been very different.

He doubted, deep inside, that they would have been peaceful. The SS was too strong, too determined to maintain its perfect state. Mass protests, peaceful or not, would have been broken up, with machine gun fire if necessary. He’d watched, helplessly, as dozens of protesters had died… it would have been far worse, he was sure, if Gudrun hadn’t been involved. But there was no way to know.

Gudrun shifted slightly, pressing against him. She looked… happy, Horst decided, a faint smile crossing her lips even in her sleep. Her clothes were torn; they’d probably have to be replaced, if they couldn’t be repaired. Gudrun’s mother was probably going to have a few things to say about that, if she was anything like Horst’s mother and auntie. Clothes were not to be wasted, the women had said. They could be handed down to the next generation, if they weren’t passed aside to someone with a greater need for them. The family had a stockpile of baby clothes that were shared amongst the mothers, who would return them to the stockpile once their child had outgrown them…

The thought caused him a pang. His parents were dead. There would be no father, standing next to him, the day he and Gudrun were married. His aunt and uncle would be better served by staying as far from him as possible, although there was little point in trying to hide. He’d sent them a warning, when the uprising had finally begun, but he’d heard nothing from them, no hint that they might have escaped Germany East. And they’d been far enough from the border to need travel permits to head west.

They might be dead, he thought, grimly. Or held somewhere in Germanica.

There was nothing he could do about that, he knew. Certainly not now, not when the civil war was well underway. There was no way he could protect the man and woman who had taken him in, after his parents had been killed. All he could do was work as hard as he could to bring the civil war to a victorious end.

A low rumble echoed through the air, shaking the building. He shuddered, despite the girl curled up next to him. The Reichstag had remained safe, thankfully, but that wouldn’t last forever. Given time, the defences would eventually be worn down and the SS would break into the city. But would they be held off long enough for the relief force to arrive?

A race, he told himself, as Gudrun’s eyes flicked open. And whoever gets there first wins.

“They’re hammering the city,” he said, quietly.

“I know,” Gudrun said. Her moods had always swung erratically after sex, something that perplexed him. His uncle might have been able to offer advice, if he hadn’t punched Horst in the face for daring to run the risk of getting a nice girl in trouble. “When do you want to get married?”

Horst hesitated, considering the question. Gudrun was brave, the bravest woman he’d ever met. And to think she’d been born and raised in Germany Prime! Once she’d committed herself, she didn’t hesitate to move forward. The SS had very good reason to regret letting her go, after she’d been arrested. Her death would have solved all sorts of problems.

“Soon,” he said. “Do you want a church wedding?”

Gudrun shook her head. Horst felt a flicker of relief. He’d never been religious, even though he’d heard rumours of cults within the SS, cults dedicated to Odin, Thor and the other Norse gods. The idea of having the marriage solemnised in a church didn’t sit well with him. But if she’d wanted it, he would have accepted it. He wanted to keep her happy.

He kissed her, gently, then sat upright and climbed off the bed. It would be wonderful to stay in bed with her, but he knew he had work to do. And she had to approach her parents and tell them that she’d accepted his offer, pretending – all the time – that Horst hadn’t asked her father first. The tradition had always puzzled him, until now. It was far too easy for a girl to be pushed into marrying someone her father wanted, rather than someone she would have chosen for herself.

Not that Gudrun would have surrendered so easily, he thought, as he beckoned her to follow him into the shower. She wouldn’t have married someone she didn’t want.

He smiled at the thought, then turned on the water and washed himself quickly as she stepped into the shower. Water ran down her body, drawing his attention to her breasts and the tuff of hair between her legs. Desire rose up within him, but he forced it down savagely. There was no time, not any longer. When he looked back at her, she was smiling. She felt the same way too.

“There will be time later,” he promised, as he hugged her. Her bare breasts felt tantalisingly warm against his skin. It was all he could do not to make love to her again. She wanted it as much as he did. “But for now…”

And when he finally made his way down to his bedroom, he found another note waiting for him.