Storm Front

Chapter Nine

Albert Speer University, Berlin

23 July 1985

“I checked with a number of people I know,” Gudrun said, once the room was locked and the bug was listening to bad American music. “Konrad’s father is still unaware that his son is anywhere other than South Africa, while four other families have not heard anything from their children, even censored letters, for the last couple of months. Three of their children had a habit of writing at least once a week before suddenly going silent.”

She took a breath. The fourth… she’d had to screw up all her courage to visit, for she’d known the father by reputation and nothing she’d heard had been good. His wife had left him shortly after the children had reached adulthood, which proved he’d treated her badly; the Reich wouldn’t look too kindly on a wife who abandoned her husband, denying her both a divorce and the right to remarry. Two minutes of standing on his doorstep, feeling his eyes leaving trails of slime across her breasts, had convinced her that the bastard’s son had every reason not to write to his father. There was no way to know if he was dead or alive.

I should have taken Kurt, she thought, although that would have been far too revealing. He would have asked too many questions.

“That’s what I found anyway,” she said. “What about the rest of you?”

“I checked with my maternal auntie,” Sven said. “She told me that her eldest son has gone silent too, although his letters are always irregular. My paternal grandfather, however, said he’d received a heavily-censored letter from his middle son only last week. It wasn’t very detailed, but it was something.”

Gudrun listened, quietly, as the remaining students offered their own observations. If they’d had doubts, she realised, they’d lost them. Too many of their military relatives had gone silent at once. Even the ones who rarely wrote home had gone completely silent. It chilled her to the bone when she considered the implications. Statistically, for a group of eight students to know over thirty soldiers who’d stopped writing to their families, the casualty rates had to be terrifyingly high.

“I came across something else,” Horst said, once everyone else had finished. “My second cousin is married to a soldier on deployment. She got a letter from him asking after a friend who’d been wounded and sent home. So she checked with the guy’s wife – she knew the lady personally – and the wife didn’t know anything about it. The poor woman went to ask questions and then… nothing.”

Gudrun blinked. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” Horst confirmed. “Someone told her to keep her mouth shut or else.”

Hilde leaned forward, her face pale. “How can you be sure?”

“I can’t think of any other explanation,” Horst said. “They could have easily told her that her husband was fine, if he was fine. But they were clearly unwilling to admit he was wounded.”

He looked at Gudrun. “You might want to ask the person who helped you sneak into the hospital just how many other soldiers are held there,” he added. “I’d bet good money that there are more wounded distributed around the Reich.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Sven said.

“Me neither,” Gudrun said. She looked from face to face, bracing herself. They had already crossed the line, but it wasn’t too late. “We know the government is lying to us – that it has lied to us many times before. What do we do about it?”

“What can we do?” Hilde asked. “If we start asking questions, we will get kicked out of the university.”

Gudrun nodded. The one topic that was off-limits at the university was the Reich itself. A few students had questioned that, back in the early days, and been unceremoniously expelled. Hell, they weren’t encouraged to study more than the STEM subjects. Any student who showed more than minimal interest in the social sciences was likely to run into trouble.

“Then we can’t ask questions here,” she said. She’d been thinking about it ever since she’d discovered what had happened to Konrad. “We need to spread the word.”

“We could send messages through the computer network,” Sven offered. “People like me have been sending covert messages without the SS reading them ever since the network was established.”

“Or they just don’t care,” Horst pointed out, darkly. “What are you actually doing online anyway?”

Sven coloured. “Could you send a message without it being trapped in the filters and read?”

Horst looked back at him. “Could you send a message without it being traced back to you?”

“Easily,” Sven said. “You just wipe the record of it being sent from the network. It looks as though the message spontaneously appeared in the recipient’s inbox.”

Gudrun held up a hand. “Yes, but we need to reach as many people as possible,” she said, carefully. “How many people do you know who have access to a computer?”

There was an awkward pause. “Very few, outside the university network,” Sven conceded, finally.

“That’s true,” Gudrun said. “I don’t have a computer at home. Is there anyone in this room who does have a private computer?”

“No,” Michael Sachs said. “My father would explode if I suggested spending ten thousand Reichmarks on an American computer.”

Gudrun nodded. Her father would have pretty much the same reaction. It would cost much of his yearly salary, assuming he could purchase one in the first place… and, once he had it, it wouldn’t be much use. Gudrun had a typewriter she shared with her younger brothers and that had been quite expensive enough. Buying a printer would cost another five thousand Reichmarks and linking it up to the national computer network would be impossible. The Reich wouldn’t want to put such a powerful communications tool in everyone’s hands.

“So… what do we do?” Hilde asked. One hand toyed with her hair as she spoke. “We cannot risk adding more people to our group, can we?”

Gudrun shook her head. There would be spies within the university – SS, Gestapo, Abwehr – and the more people she recruited, the greater the chance of accidentally bringing a traitor into the group and being betrayed. Guarding one’s mouth was hard enough when one wasn’t doing something the state would consider treacherous. Hell, the rowdier students might easily be the spies. They hadn’t been kicked out despite skimping on their lessons.

“We can send a message through the computer network to every student in the university,” Sven said. “I can make it look as though it came from outside the building. Hell, there are other campuses in other cities…”

“Yes, but they’ll stamp down hard,” Horst warned.

“They’d have to stamp on all of us,” Sven said.

“That’s one idea,” Gudrun said. “But I have another.”

She braced herself. “Do you recall distributing leaflets when you were in the Hitler Youth?”

“I never had to distribute leaflets,” Sven said, after a moment. “Is that something you had to do?”

“Yeah,” Hilde said. “While you boys were going camping and playing with weapons, we used to hand out papers exhorting greater efforts for the fatherland and other such pieces of crap.”

“It wasn’t all wine and roses,” Sven objected. “They used to make us run for miles and chased us with whips.”

“Poor dear,” Hilde said. “At least you got to be away from home for a couple of weeks every year.”

Gudrun winced in memory. The Bund Deutscher Mädel – the female wing of the Hitler Youth – hadn’t been fun. Maybe it had had its moments – she’d always enjoyed playing sports and she’d been healthy enough to avoid the public humiliations meted out to overweight girls – but she hadn’t enjoyed it. Walking around in ugly uniforms and handing out leaflets to passers-by had been annoying. Even at the time, she’d doubted that many of the recipients did anything other than use the leaflets to start fires.

“The point is that we can print out leaflets of our own,” she said. “Wearing our old uniforms, we can then walk through the streets and hand them out.”

“The police will notice,” Sven objected.

“Not if we do it on a day when the real BDM is also handing out leaflets,” Horst mused. “It won’t take them long to discover what we’re doing, but they’ll have to sort you out from the younger girls.”

“And they’ll be having a competition,” Gudrun said. “They’ll have several groups of youngsters out on the streets, passing out leaflets, just to see who can hand out the most.”

Sven snorted. “Why don’t they just dump the leaflets in the nearest bin and claim victory?”

“Because if they get caught,” Hilde said with icy patience, “they’ll be forced to stand in the cold air in their underclothes, without dinner.”

Gudrun shuddered. The matrons – the thoroughly unpleasant women who ran the BDM – hadn’t hesitated to pit one group of girls against the others. Those who won got to watch as those who lost were humiliated in front of their fellows. And then reports were sent back to the schools and homes, just to ensure the losers received further punishment. By the time she’d grown old enough to leave, she’d been thoroughly sick of the whole organisation.

“Maybe we can get a few of the matrons into trouble,” she said. Could they do it? Could they walk into one of the tents and exchange leaflets? God knew she’d never bothered to read the leaflets she’d handed out. But that would get the girls into trouble as well. “If the SS wants to ask them a few questions…”

“They’ll have contacts,” Horst said. “Better keep it as simple as possible.”

Gudrun looked at Sven. “Can you print out copies of the standard leaflet, but with our message inside?”

“Easily,” Sven said. “We have the equipment. It’ll just take us some time to print them out without being noticed.”

“And then we have to see when the BDM is handing out leaflets next,” Gudrun mused.

“It’ll be Sunday,” Hilde predicted. “They always try to hand out the leaflets to people coming out of church. If we can’t put together enough leaflets by Sunday, we can simply wait until the next Sunday.”

“There’ll be more of them on the streets too,” Horst added. “They don’t like taking the younger girls out of classes if it can be avoided.”

“And to think you men had it so much easier,” Hilde teased.

Gudrun coughed, loudly, before an argument could break out and turn nasty. “I have my old uniform at home,” she said. Her mother had never allowed her to get rid of it, even though Gudrun had begged to be allowed to burn the ugly piece of trash. “I can probably alter it to fit me with a little effort.”

“Better let me do it,” Isla said. “You’re not a good seamstress.”

“We also need to make sure we’re not recognised,” Horst said. “The girls can distribute leaflets in their old uniforms, but we will find it a little harder to pass unnoticed.”

Gudrun frowned. “You could wear your own uniforms,” she said. “Or we could borrow some others for you…”

“No one expects to see the Hitler Youth distributing leaflets,” Horst reminded her. “So we wear our regular clothes, but instead of giving leaflets to people we put them through letterboxes, as if they were advertisements. No one will think twice of it until it’s far too late.”

“I see,” Gudrun said. She looked down at the table for a long moment. “Sven and the computer experts will send messages to everyone, the day we start distributing the leaflets. Horst and the boys ready themselves to put messages through letterboxes; I and the girls prepare to start handing out leaflets in the streets.”

“Wear wigs,” Horst said. “Tie your hair up and wear a striking wig, one you can remove in an instant if necessary.”

He looked embarrassed for a second. “And stuff your bras too,” he added. “You want to draw their eyes to your chests rather than to your faces.”

Gudrun blushed. “We don’t want to look too old,” she said. “Passing for a sixteen-year-old isn’t going to be easy.”

“Most people won’t notice as long as you look striking,” Horst assured her. “Just make sure you are striking in ways you can easily remove, if necessary. If the SS start looking for a red-headed girl, you can walk past them because you’re blonde.”

“Clever,” Sven said. “How do you know all this?”

“I was in the Hitler Youth,” Horst said.

“So was I,” Sven said. “And we were never shown anything like this.”

“Of course not,” Horst said, crossly. “You, you see, were in the Hitler Youth here. I was in the Hitler Youth in Germany East. You went on camping trips, we went on partisan hunts; you pretended to build fortresses, we dug trenches and sited mortars; the only danger you faced was a minor injury or a belting from the supervisors for falling asleep on watch, we ran the very real risk of being shot. I have more practical experience than any of you in remaining concealed.”

“I’m glad you’re with us,” Gudrun said. She’d known that Horst was from Germany East, but she hadn’t understood the implications. “Do you have any other pieces of advice?”

“Getaway vans,” Horst said. “We hire a handful of vans, fiddle a little with their number plates and use them to get away from the scene. The distributors can change in the rear while the drivers get them to safety.”

Leopold snorted. “And when someone makes a note of the number?”

“That’s why we change it,” Horst said. “Not much, not enough to make it obvious, but just enough to mislead someone watching from a distance. We return the vans in perfect condition and no one asks any questions.”

Gudrun nodded. “Good thinking,” she said.

“We won’t have long,” Horst added. He ran his hand through his hair. “I’d honestly suggest not sticking around for more than an hour, at the most. Someone will report the leaflets to the police and then they’ll move in and try to catch us.”

“Your father is a policeman,” Leopold said, looking at Gudrun. His voice was thoughtful. “Is there no way you can keep track of his movements?”

“He doesn’t take me to work,” Gudrun pointed out, sarcastically. The very thought was absurd. Her father would have refused, she was sure, if she’d ever asked. “And how am I supposed to hand out leaflets with him right next to me?”

“We could monitor the police radios,” Sven said, before Leopold could manage a sharp rejoinder. “It isn’t as if it’s difficult to adapt one of the radios to tune into their bands.”

“That’s illegal,” Isla protested.

Horst snorted. “And handing out illicit leaflets isn’t?”

Gudrun smiled. “Let’s be brutally honest, shall we? We’ve already crossed the line.”

“That’s true,” Horst agreed.

“If any of you don’t want to help distributing leaflets,” Gudrun said, “say so now.”

She waited. Her throat was dry. Everything they’d done so far might be excused – they were among the best and brightest of the Reich – but actually handing out leaflets would get them in deep trouble. They’d be kicked out of the university, at the very least; it was far more likely they’d go to jail or be summarily exiled to Germany East. Or…

“I think it has to be done,” Hilde said. She looked down at her hands. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of not knowing what’s happened to my boyfriend!”

“I’m sick of having to watch my words,” Leopold said. “Of being worried that the next person I talk to will report me to the SS. And of being told I’m not allowed to ask questions.”

“And if there are hundreds of others who feel the same way,” Gudrun said, “all we have to do is get them working together.”

“No,” Horst said. “All we have to do is make them realise that there are others who feel the same way.”

He leaned forward. “The state works hard to ensure that no one asks questions,” he said, flatly. “We are taught not to ask questions from birth until death – and, because none of us ask the questions we want to ask, we never realise that there are others who feel the same way. It may be too dangerous to add more recruits to our little band, but if we can prime the rest of the population to feel the same way… others will start their own groups. The SS will be unable to keep track of us all.”

“I’ve heard about what happens to people the SS take away,” Isla said, nervously.

“It isn’t pleasant,” Horst agreed. “For the moment, we say nothing if we are taken into custody, nothing at all. And we don’t write anything down.”

“Save for the leaflets,” Sven said.

“We can also pay children to take the leaflets and hand them out,” Horst said.

“Too risky,” Gudrun said.

“The SS wouldn’t brutalise children,” Leopold protested. “Their parents would never stand for it.”

“They’ll do whatever it takes to root us out,” Horst said. His voice was very firm. “Whatever it takes. Once we start the ball rolling, we have to be committed to the very end.”

“And, if that’s true,” Sven asked, “what do we want?”

“The truth,” Gudrun said.

“Freedom,” Hilde added.

“Free elections to the Reichstag,” Leopold said. “Let the Nazi Party fight to win elections.”

“They won’t like the challenge,” Horst said. He gave Leopold a long considering look. “And that is why we have to brace ourselves for the moment they push back. Because they will.”

Gudrun nodded. “I think we’re committed now,” she said. She smiled grimly at their expressions. “I think it’s time to become traitors.”