Storm Front

Chapter Four

Wieland House, Berlin

17 July 1985 (Victory Day)

“And where have you been all day, young lady?”

Gudrun grimaced as her mother’s voice echoed out of the kitchen. She might be eighteen years old and a university student, having passed the hardest set of exams in Germany, but her mother still talked to her as though she was a little girl. It just wasn’t fair, particularly when her thoughts kept returning to Konrad’s broken body. But she had no choice, but to swallow it and stick her head into the kitchen.

“I’ve been with Hilde, watching the parade,” she said. Her mother was bent over the oven, cooking something that smelt heavenly. “Watching the soldiers trooping by…”

“You should have been here to help,” her mother said, straightening up. “I don’t recall saying you could leave the house.”

“I’m eighteen, mother,” Gudrun said. When she was a mother, she was not going to keep her daughters locked in a gilded cage. “And…”

“And as long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules,” her mother said, sternly. “I have told you, many times, that you are to ask before you go out, particularly this week.”

Gudrun sighed as her mother turned to face her. Adelinde Wieland was tall and blonde, but her hair was slowly shading to grey after bringing up four children on a policeman’s salary and what little she could claim from the government. It had often baffled Gudrun how people could compare her to her mother, although Grandpa Frank had been heard to claim that Gudrun was the spitting image of his wife. Her mother’s face was very different from Gudrun’s and her hair a shade or two lighter before it started to go grey.

“I have a boyfriend, mother,” she said. She felt an odd pang at the memory. Adelinde had never really approved of Konrad, but her husband had approved the match. “I’m not going to get into trouble.”

“That’s what they all say,” her mother said. “A soldier in a pretty uniform, perhaps a glass or two of beer… who knows what will happen?”

Gudrun felt her face heat. Her mother could be uncomfortably blunt at times; she still cringed at the memory, years ago, of having her mother explain where babies came from and why she should be very careful until she was actually married. There was a black market in contraception, she’d been told, but condoms and American-made pills couldn’t be purchased unless the user already had three children. University student or not, Gudrun had no idea where she might obtain any condoms, let alone how she might convince her boyfriend to use one. Men could be such idiots at times.

She shuddered. Konrad wasn’t going to recover. It was unlikely, the nurse had said, that he could survive without the machine. And even if he did, he’d be unable to do anything with her. Part of her even wished she’d pulled the plug on him before leaving, even though it would probably have set off alarms. Her boyfriend deserved better than to remain a vegetable for the rest of his life.

“I’m glad you’re thinking about it,” her mother sneered. It took Gudrun a moment to realise that her mother had seen the shudder and misinterpreted it. “Go take Grandpa Frank his dinner before your father comes home. He’ll want to eat as soon as he arrives.”

Gudrun groaned. “Mother, can’t Johan do it…”

“Go,” her mother ordered, pointing at the tray. “Now.”

There was no point in arguing with her mother when she was cross, Gudrun knew from bitter experience. There were two younger boys in the house, yet they never had to do any cooking or washing up. It didn’t seem fair, somehow; she picked up the tray, swallowing the curse that came to mind when she saw the bottle perched next to the covered dish, and headed for the door. She’d once dumped the beer down the sink, hoping it would make Grandpa Frank more pleasant, but her mother had been furious. Gudrun had never dared do it again.

She walked slowly up the stairs, stalling as long as she could. Grandpa Frank’s room was at the far end of the corridor, forcing her to walk past the room shared by Johan and Siegfried and her own door before she reached her grandfather’s door. Johan had complained, loudly, that he hadn’t been allowed to move into Kurt’s room, now that his elder brother spent most of his time in the barracks, but their father had flatly refused to allow him to take the empty room. Gudrun smiled at the memory. There weren’t many advantages to living in a patriarchal household, but watching her brothers forced to share a room was definitely one of them.

“Come,” an imperious voice bellowed.

Gudrun flinched – she’d never worked out how Grandpa Frank could tell when there was someone waiting outside his room – and pushed the door open, wrinkling her nose at the stench. As always, the room was an odd combination of orderly and disorderly; the bed looked neat and tidy, but there were beer bottles lying on the floor and the remains of a snack sitting on the bedside table. Grandpa Frank himself was sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper and drinking from a half-full bottle of beer. Gudrun’s stomach turned at the thought of helping the disgusting old man to the toilet, although – to be fair – he’d never seemed to have any problems staggering out of bed and doing his business as far as she knew.

“Victory Day,” Grandpa Frank said. “You must be very proud.”

“Yes, Grandpa,” Gudrun said. She’d never been sure just who Grandpa Frank thought she was, half the time. Half of what he said made no sense at all. “But my boyfriend…”

Her voice caught. Grandpa Frank was… a cripple. No, not quite a cripple, but he needed a wheelchair if he wanted to leave the house. And Konrad wouldn’t even have that, if by some dark miracle he survived. He…

“The paratrooper,” Grandpa Frank said, darkly. “I heard he was planning to become a policeman. It’s no place for a young man.”

Wonderful, Gudrun thought. The paratrooper-turned-policeman was her father. He thinks I’m my mother.

She eyed her grandfather carefully as she placed the tray on the table beside him. Grandpa Frank’s mood changed rapidly; she’d seen him go from maudlin, mourning his long-dead wife, to angry and raging at the world within seconds. Only his daughter could talk sense into him when he was angry; Gudrun honestly didn’t understand why her mother allowed the old man to stay in the house. Grandpa Frank had come alarmingly close to clobbering Johan’s brains out when the younger boy had snuck up on him for a dare.

“My boyfriend didn’t take part in the parade,” she said, flatly. It was honest enough, to be sure. “I miss him.”

“Just stay faithful to him,” Grandpa Frank advised. “It’s no service to a decent lad to trade him in when another one comes along.”

Gudrun felt her cheeks heat. The idea of Grandpa Frank, of all people, giving her relationship advice was horrifically embarrassing. She honestly had no idea what he’d done in the war, but he’d had enough nightmares to make it clear that it had been something thoroughly unpleasant. Maybe he’d been in Stalingrad, during the brutal house-to-house fighting, or invaded Moscow towards the end of the war. He was certainly old enough…

But mother won’t let us ask him any questions, she thought. And she slapped Johan when he tried.

“I’ll do my best,” she said. She stepped back from the older man, never taking her eyes off him. “I hope it’s good food.”

Grandpa Frank ignored her as he took a long swig from the bottle and started to mutter to himself in a dialect Gudrun didn’t recognise. Careful to breathe through her mouth, she looked around the room, picked up the used plates and cutlery and headed back downstairs to the kitchen. Her mother was waiting, hands resting impatiently on her hips. Gudrun rolled her eyes as her mother pointed to the sink, then emptied the plates into the bin, put the dishes in the water and washed them hastily. Grandpa Frank never seemed to finish a meal.

Too busy drinking, Gudrun thought, as her mother started to hand out more tasks before she could make her escape. And trying to drown his sorrows.

She looked at her mother, who was just taking a tray of sausages out of the oven. “Why do we keep Grandpa Frank here when we could send him to one of the veteran homes?”

Her mother turned and gave her the look that generally preceded a hard slap. “When your father and I are old and grey,” she said coldly, “will you look after us or will you send us to a home?”

Gudrun flinched. “Of course I’ll look after you…”

“My father practically raised me since my mother died young,” Adelinde said. “Whatever his flaws, and he has many, he managed to raise a daughter despite never remarrying. I cannot put him into a home to die, young lady, and you’re being thoroughly unpleasant to suggest it.”

“Yes, mother,” Gudrun said, feeling tiny under her mother’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“And we get an extra stipend from the government for taking care of a veteran,” a new voice said. Gudrun turned to see her father standing there, wearing his policeman’s uniform. “It isn’t to be sniffed at, you know.”

“Herman,” Adelinde said, tightly.

Gudrun gave her father a hug. “How was work?”

“Your daughter was out with a friend half the day and your eldest son has yet to return,” Adelinde said, before her father could say a word. “I expect you to speak to them both after dinner.”

“Yes, dear,” Herman said, as he let go of Gudrun. “Gudrun, speak to me after dinner.”

Gudrun nodded, hoping he couldn’t see the amusement on her face. She’d been taught, in school, that a wife was to be obedient to her husband, cook his dinners, have his children and treat him like a king. Whoever had written the stupid textbooks she’d been forced to read, she was sure, was either a man with a female penname or a woman who’d never actually married anyone. Adelinde didn’t even pretend to be obedient to her husband. The household was her realm and God help anyone who questioned her right to rule.

“There was the usual run of pickpockets and other trouble-causers,” her father added, picking up a biscuit from the jar while his wife’s back was turned. “A group of children ran riot in the square, but someone very high up ordered that they were merely to be sent back to school rather than face punishment. It was quite strange.”

“Poor kids,” Gudrun said. She’d been lucky to escape a full Victory Day parade while she’d been at school, but she’d had to stand for hours for smaller parades and, by the time they were finally dismissed, she’d been aching and sore. “Are they going to be all right?”

“Probably,” her father said. “They…”

“Gudrun, take the potatoes and put them on the table,” her mother interrupted. “Herman, if you’re going to stand around here, take the bottles of beer and put them by the plates.”

“Yes, dear,” her father said. “Shall I give Johan the big mug?”

“Probably not,” Adelinde said. She normally banned alcohol from the table, save for Grandpa Frank. But this was Victory Day. “I don’t want him drinking too much and winding up being sick over my nice clean carpet.”

Gudrun winced inwardly as she carried the potatoes out. Johan and Siegfried were already sitting at the table, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. They might as well be twins, she’d often thought, although Johan was blonde while Siegfried was brown, taking more after their father. He was growing up quickly too, she noted; he was the baby of the family, at twelve, but he’d already lost his childlike appearance. Like everyone else at school, he’d been forced to exercise on the playing fields until he’d shed every last trace of fat from his body.

“That looks good,” Johan said, eying the potatoes with interest. “You think mother cooked them in gravy?”

“Go ask her,” Gudrun snapped. Johan needed to learn, the sooner the better, that she wasn’t there to answer his every whim. It was a service to his future wife. “And seeing you’re just sitting there, why don’t you put out the knives and forks?”

“Do it,” their father agreed, stepping into the room carrying a pair of bottles in one hand. “If you want to be lazy, you can go join the Luftwaffe and sit on your bottom all day.”

“I like flying,” Johan protested. “I’m going to sign up for the Luftwaffe next year.”

Gudrun smiled. “You might not learn how to fly,” she needled. She’d looked up the figures when one of her fellow students had started to date a pilot. “For everyone who gets accepted for pilot training, there’s three or four who get accepted for work on the ground. That’s not quite as impressive.”

Johan’s face fell. “But I’m a natural pilot.”

“The Luftwaffe needs more than just pilots,” their father said. He gave Gudrun a look that sent her scurrying back into the kitchen, just as Kurt arrived, still wearing his uniform. “And if you learn how to maintain a fighter jet, Johan, you will have something to build on when you return to civilian life.”

“I’m going to become an astronaut,” Johan said. Gudrun could still hear him, even over the sound of sizzling sausages. “If I manage to do well as a pilot, I can put in for space training and go to the moon.”

Gudrun smirked as she took the sausages and carried them back into the dining room, her mother following her with the vegetables. Johan was hardly alone in wanting to fly aircraft – a third of the boys she’d known in school had had the same ambition – but the odds were against him. And if he did manage to join the Luftwaffe without actually becoming a pilot, he’d be forever branded a REMF, rather than a fighter. His chances of winning the hearts and bodies of countless girls, as he had seen on television programs, would be sharply reduced.

“This is Victory Day,” her father said, once the food had been served and the beer had been poured. “Let us remember, just for a moment, how we became the most powerful nation in the world.”

Now tell me, Gudrun thought. Is that actually true?

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it had to be faced. The state had lied, at least once, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t think of anything that disproved her theory that Konrad wasn’t the only wounded soldier to be kept away from his family. And if the state had lied once, who knew what else it had lied about? How much of what she’d been taught had been a lie? She was pretty sure they couldn’t have lied about basic maths – she could prove that two plus two equalled four – but it was a great deal easier to lie about the social subjects. Had there really been a great war?

Grandpa Frank fought in the war, she thought. He was hardly the only old man with a military background. She had several friends who had elderly relatives living with them or staying in veteran homes. So there must have been a war. But what really happened?

She ate her food slowly, barely tasting the sausages and potatoes as she thought. What could she do? Konrad’s family might make a fuss, if she told them the truth, but it was equally possible they’d report her for sneaking into a hospital. She could keep it to herself, yet the part of her that loved Konrad wanted to do something about his case. But what? If she tried to protest herself, she’d wind up in an asylum, if she was lucky.

“I need to speak to you,” her father said, once the dinner was over. Gudrun had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that the meal was coming to an end. “You too, Kurt.”

Kurt gave Gudrun a sharp look as their father rose to his feet. Gudrun shrugged; their father might know they’d slipped out of the house, but he didn’t know where they’d been. As long as they stuck to the cover story, they’d be safe. Or so she hoped. If the nurse Kurt had been trying to flirt with reported their presence, after he stood her up, the SS might start looking for a pair of intruders. And if they got lucky, they might catch her before she could tell anyone what they’d seen.

Two more days of parades, she thought, and then I can go back to university. And then…

She sucked in her breath. Officially, the university was politically neutral. Unofficially, students talked all the time. They were, after all, among the smartest people in the Reich; many of them had worked hard to escape conscription by passing the exams and winning a place in the university. And almost all of the students would know at least one person in the military. How many students had seen a relative go to South Africa and not return?

But it wasn’t something she dared discuss with Kurt. Who knew which side he’d take?

Talk to the students, she told herself, as she led the way into her father’s office. She had a feeling her father would just tell them both off, but there was no point in dawdling. And then decide what to do next.