Storm Front

Chapter Twenty-Four

Albert Speer University, Berlin

7 August 1985

If Horst had been genuinely interested in rooting out dissidents, he would have filed a whole series of complaints about the ‘transfer students’ he was forced to supervise. They were laughably underprepared for their roles; indeed, they fitted in so badly that he couldn’t help wondering if his superiors had deliberately intended to make their watching eyes so noticeable that even a rank amateur would have spotted them before they opened their mouths. Maybe their real goal was to divert attention away from Horst and his fellow agents, the men and women who actually blended into the university’s population… it was, he felt, the only explanation that suggested his superiors weren’t terrifyingly incompetent.

And no one pays any attention to us, he thought, while the goons make their way through the university.

It was clear, astonishingly clear, that none of the new students had any real experience with academic life, let alone passed the exams necessary to attend the university as new students. No one could possibly mistake them for real students – and, if that wasn’t bad enough, they were crashing through the classrooms, asking so many dumb questions that Horst was tempted to report them as potential dissidents. He couldn’t help wondering if some of the other spies, the ones who weren’t charged with supervising the assholes, had already reported them. It wouldn’t be the first time that an intelligence operation had been ruined by two different people working at cross-purposes.

At least they know not to bother me on campus, he thought, as he left the lecture hall and headed up to the meeting room. That would have blown their cover as well as my own.

He caught sight of one of the spies, looming over a young girl and sighed inwardly. Of all the people they had to send, did they really have to send someone so… so entitled that he thought he could press his attentions on a student? Horst had met his kind before, the men who thought that being in the SS gave them licence to harass any woman they liked; he had no doubt that the idiot would blow his cover sooner rather than later. After all, the poor girl would probably report him to the university authorities, who wouldn’t be able to expel him because of his connections…

Idiot, he thought. He briefly considered reporting that to his handlers, then dismissed the thought. A corps of visible spies was more useful than a handful of agents who genuinely blended into their surroundings. Unless, of course, the visible spies were meant to distract attention from the invisible spies. And if the game was that easy, anyone could play.

He pushed the thought out of his mind as he walked up the stairs and stepped into the meeting room. Half of the group – it struck him, suddenly, that they still didn’t have a proper name – was missing, unable to get away from classes or practical work to attend. Horst understood; there were just too many outsiders tramping through the university for them to risk doing anything out of the ordinary, even though the meetings were important. Sven sat at one end of the table, next to Hilde; Gudrun sat at the other end, looking tired and wan. Horst couldn’t help feeling a flicker of concern. Unlike him, she hadn’t been trained for long periods of stress, with the risk of capture permanently looming over her shoulder.

“We should be safe now,” he said, once he’d closed the door and turned the jukebox on, deafening the bug with American music. He had no idea if someone – anyone – was actually listening through the bug, but better safe than sorry. “There are at least nine new spies within the student body.”

“I noticed,” Gudrun said. She sounded vaguely amused. “That Rudolf has never touched a computer in his life. He sat next to me in the lab and stared at it before the professor showed him how to turn it on.”

Horst smiled. “That isn’t uncommon in the east,” he said. “Computers? What can you do with a computer that you can’t do with a gun, farming tools and a great deal of grit, spunk and determination?”

“Play computer games,” Sven said, wryly. “Send messages across the entire continent in the blink of an eye. Access files everywhere and change them, if necessary.”

“True,” Horst agreed. German bureaucracy was famed across the entire world for sheer bloody-minded thoroughness. There were copies of SS files right across the Reich; he knew, if he walked into an office in Germany South, the officers on duty would be able to access a copy of his file and confirm his identity with ease. “But they rarely see anything more advanced than a tank or a CAS aircraft.”

He shrugged as he sat down. “There have been other developments,” he added. “Have you heard about the unions?”

Sven smiled. “My father’s a member at the plant,” he said. “He’s been bitching for months about having to work longer hours for less pay; now, he’s banding together with most of his fellows to demand higher pay and shorter work hours.”

“I’m not sure he’ll get anywhere if he demands more money for less work,” Hilde said, quietly. “My mother has been organising protests through her network of female organisations. She’s even been gathering information from the Sisters of Mercy. The crisis is far worse than we assumed.”

“Things are moving faster,” Gudrun said. She didn’t sound as enthusiastic as Horst would have expected. “How do we make them slow down?”

“We don’t,” Horst said. “The government isn’t going to slow its response to suit us.”

Hilde leaned forward. “Are we doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” Gudrun snapped.

“My father said that we were weakening the Reich,” Hilde said, after a moment. “That we were fools who were threatening order and stability…”

“That’s an interesting argument,” Horst said. He’d actually expected the government to use a similar line to dismiss the leaflets, even though it would have been a de facto confession that the leaflets actually existed. “But tell me… will anything change if we do nothing?”

He took a breath. “The government got us into a war that seems to be unwinnable, the government is lying to us and the government has no reason to change,” he added, after a moment. “We have to force them to change before the whole edifice breaks apart and shatters.”

“So what do we do,” Hilde asked, “if we win?”

“We worry about it when we win,” Horst said, dryly. The leaflets might have upset the government, but they hadn’t really threatened its grip on power. “You do realise the odds of us ending up hanging from meat hooks are alarmingly high?”

“True,” Gudrun said. She sounded more cheerful, although it was apparent that something was bothering her. “So… what do we do about the unions?”

“I can use the computer network to spread the word,” Sven offered. “The corporations are quite dependent on computers, these days, and their security is terrible. Blinking messages through the network shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Then do it,” Gudrun said.

“Do more than that,” Horst said. He smiled, rather coldly. “Put out rumours as well, rumours that will be believed. The corporations are about to cut wages, again; the demand for production is about to skyrocket… rumours that will be believed by the people at risk.”

“Perhaps even add a suggestion that hundreds of workers are going to be fired,” Gudrun offered. “Maybe even replaced with Untermenschen.”

Sven looked doubtful. “They wouldn’t believe that, would they?”

Horst snorted. “What makes you think the corporations wouldn’t replace their labour force with Untermenschen if they thought they could get away with it?”

“Write out a list of rumours and start spreading them,” Gudrun said.

“We need more than that,” Horst said. “People will only move if they believe that they will not move alone, Gudrun. We need to create a legend. We need something people will believe in, an organisation that unites all the disparate interest groups against the government.”

“A brotherhood,” Sven said.

“A super-union,” Horst agreed. “We need a name for ourselves and a figurehead.”

Gudrun frowned. “The Reich Reform Commission?”

“I’d have thought something more striking,” Horst said. “The Valkyries, perhaps. And their leader, Sigrún.”

“That might work,” Gudrun said, thoughtfully.

“You’d be Sigrún,” Horst told her. There were few Germans alive who wouldn’t be aware of the name’s origins. They’d all been forced to study the Norse myths in school. “We’d issue proclamations in your name, using them to create an impression of vast numbers – and, in doing so, make them true.”

“That would tell the government that our leader was a girl,” Sven objected.

“They’d be unlikely to believe it,” Horst assured him. “Why would they believe it? They don’t think much of women.”

“My mother is likely to take advantage of that,” Hilde observed. “She’s already starting new groups.”

“We need to work on women’s rights too,” Gudrun said. “Get all of the women on our side.”

Horst nodded. “Shall we work on the first proclamation?”

He’d been told, years ago, that a committee was the only animal in existence with multiple bodies and no brain. It wasn’t something he’d really understood until the four of them had put their heads together and drafted out the first set of demands: free elections, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of association, an end to the war in South Africa and, above all, an end to the climate of fear. Horst had to admit, as he read the prelude, that Gudrun knew how to turn a phrase. She might lack the polish of the writers who wrote the regime’s propaganda, but that only made it stronger. Her words came from the heart.

“Upload it onto the network,” Gudrun said, when they were finally finished. “And, for God’s sake, don’t let any of the spies see you typing it into the computer.”

“We’ll need to print out more leaflets too,” Horst observed. “And then start scattering them around the city.”

“Maybe we can hide them around the university,” Sven said, “with notes asking the finders to hand them out. They wouldn’t have any direct link to us if they got caught.”

“True,” Horst said. “But be careful this time, understand. No fingerprints!”

He threw a look at Gudrun as Sven and Hilde left the room, motioning for her to stay. She looked oddly reluctant – he wondered if she was still embarrassed about the kiss – but remained seated, studying her fingertips as if they were the most fascinating thing in the universe. Horst checked the door, then sat down next to her. If anyone glanced inside, they’d hopefully assume that Horst and Gudrun had found a private place for some alone time. He just hoped the spies didn’t see them together.

“Konrad’s father is involved with the unions,” he said, flatly.

Gudrun’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?”

“I have a… friend who’s just joined up,” Horst lied. In reality, his handler had told him that Volker Schulze had already been tagged as a union leader by the SS – and ordered Horst to watch for anyone at the university who might have a connection to him. “Volker Schulze may not be the sole leader, but he’s definitely involved. Tell me… your engagement to Konrad …”

“Is over,” Gudrun said, bitterly. “His father terminated it.”

Horst hesitated, unsure what to say. He liked Gudrun – if things had been different, perhaps he would have courted her himself. And there had been that kiss… the nasty part of his mind was almost tempted to applaud. But Gudrun had loved Konrad and he hadn’t deserved to wind up a cripple, alone and helplessly dependent on a life support machine. She certainly didn’t deserve to lose her boyfriend so casually, to have her relationship dismissed by his father. The only consolation was that it wasn’t a declaration that she wasn’t suitable as a prospective bride.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. He practically swallowed his tongue to keep from pointing out that Gudrun and Konrad would never have been able to have a normal life together. A young man as badly wounded as Konrad was nothing more than a drain on the Reich. Some bean-counting bureaucrat who had never met him would order the life support turned off, sooner or later. “But I need to know. Was your engagement ever formalised?”

“Not really,” Gudrun admitted, after a moment. “We’d exchanged letters, of course, but we hadn’t registered the engagement.”

Horst let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “So there’s nothing formal to tie you to Konrad?”

“No,” Gudrun said, miserably. She looked up, suddenly. “Do you think they might draw a line between myself and Konrad’s father?”

“It’s a possibility,” Horst admitted. He’d gone through the files as thoroughly as he dared, but he hadn’t been able to tell if anyone had reported an intruder visiting Konrad’s bed. The SS already believed that the leaflets had come from the university; if they knew about Gudrun and Konrad, they’d certainly have grounds for hauling Gudrun into the RSHA for a long interrogation session. “You need to consider the prospect of someone asking you a few questions.”

“Konrad wasn’t a student,” Gudrun objected.

“They know the leaflets came out of the university,” Horst said. He covered for his slip instantly. “There wouldn’t be so many spies in the building if they didn’t know. They must have figured out that the professor they arrested was innocent – or, at least, that he had nothing to do with the leaflets.”

Gudrun snorted, rather sourly. Horst understood. He had no idea who’d started the rumours about the arrested professor sleeping with some of his students, but they just wouldn’t go away. It was a standard tactic – undermining the professor’s reputation to make it harder for anyone to defend him – and it seemed to be working. The students were still discussing the leaflets, but very few of them still respected the professor.

“I’ll watch myself,” Gudrun assured him, finally. “And I won’t tell them anything.”

“Just stick to the basics,” Horst said. He had no illusions. If the SS had good reason to link Gudrun to the leaflets – to the Valkyries – it was unlikely she would be able to hold out for long. There were plenty of ways to make someone suffer without ever laying a finger on them. “And try to say as little as possible when they ask questions.”

“I’ll try,” Gudrun said. She took a nervous breath. “Do your parents think you should get married?”

Horst blinked in surprise. “That’s… an odd question,” he said, finally. “They do want me to find a nice girl and move back east, but I don’t think I want to give them the satisfaction.”

Gudrun looked up at him. “Why not?”

“The east… is very strict,” Horst said, carefully. “If you were born there, you’d probably be a farmwife. You would live and die on the farms, while the menfolk go off to war or man the ramparts against terrorists. There is very little to do beyond working on the farms. I was lucky – very lucky – that I was able to sit for the exams.”

“I know,” Gudrun said.

“I might be expected to marry two women,” Horst said. “Or more. I knew men who had three or four wives, women who’d been married before only to have their husbands killed on deployment. I’d bring up a flock of children and watch the girls marry soldiers and the boys march off to war. And heaven help anyone who asked questions.”

“You make it sound awful,” Gudrun said, after a moment.

“It does have some compensations,” Horst admitted. What he’d said was true enough, but incomplete. “People are more… connected in the east, Gudrun. Everyone knows everyone else. You know who you can rely on in the settlements, who you can trust with a gun at your back. And the SS is much less overbearing in the east, even though it is far more numerous. But I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life there.”

He cleared his throat. “Why do you ask?”

“My father spoke to me yesterday,” Gudrun said, slowly. “He wants me to marry soon, to choose someone even though Konrad is still alive. I wanted to know if you faced the same pressure.”

“I do,” Horst admitted. “But it’s a little different for me.”

“They don’t seem to nag Kurt to marry,” Gudrun said. “It isn’t fair.”

“Kurt’s a young officer,” Horst pointed out. “He might be in position to marry a girl with excellent family connections.”

Gudrun shook her head. “I don’t know how long I can keep putting it off,” she said, reluctantly. “It could turn nasty if father finds someone for me…”

“Say you need at least six months to mourn Konrad,” Horst said. Part of him was tempted to push his luck, but it would only make her hate him. “As far as they know, you only just found out what happened to him. After that, you can start looking for someone suitable and promise to let your father offer suggestions if you don’t find someone within a year.”

Gudrun blinked. “A year?”

“We may be arrested and brutally executed tomorrow,” Horst said. Maybe, after six months had passed, he’d feel better about courting Gudrun himself. “Or we may win. Or the horse may even learn to sing.”

“My father’s singing is a deadly weapon,” Gudrun said, wryly.

“And if that isn’t enough, find someone willing to pretend to be your boyfriend,” Horst added, after a moment. “They’ll understand you rejecting someone after a few weeks of casual courting.”

He glanced at his watch, then rose. “I have a lecture in ten minutes,” he said. He watched as she rose and unplugged the jukebox. “I’ll see you later.”

“You too,” Gudrun said.