Gudrun took his hand and shook it, firmly. Premier Jean-Baptiste Jacquinot was an old man, easily in his seventies. Vichy France didn’t bother to hold elections. Jacquinot had been deemed suitable by the Reich and any attempt to undermine him would have drawn the wrath of the Reich Council, as long as Jacquinot served them faithfully. His position now was somewhat ambiguous, according to Horst. Vichy might not overthrow him, for fear of what the Reich would do, but his real power was declining by the day.
The younger man beside him underlined it. Bruno Ouvrard was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. It was hard to be sure – the files hadn’t been clear – but Gudrun suspected he was only five or six years older than her. Old enough to be experienced, young enough to gaze upon her with interest. His mere presence was a sign of just how badly events in Vichy were slipping out of control, she knew. It said a great deal about the situation that the official government and the growing independence movement knew perfectly well how to talk to one another – and had probably done so for some time.
They should have locked him up, she thought. They could have locked him up.
She sighed, inwardly. The files had made it clear that Vichy had promised to do its upmost to keep the growing movement from disrupting food supplies to the Reich – and failed, miserably. France had been on the verge of starvation for years now, as German demands grew harsher and harsher. It was hard to blame the French for wanting to fight – or simply downing tools and refusing to serve the Germans at the expense of their own population. But they didn’t realise they might face a far worse threat in the near future.
“Thank you, Premier,” she said. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Of course,” Jacquinot said. He nodded towards the comfortable chairs. “Please, take a seat.”
Gudrun sat, schooling her face into the impassive mask that every German schoolchild learned to master before reaching their second decade. Showing what one was really thinking in school could mean a beating or worse. She still shivered when she remembered one of her friends being expelled for questioning their teacher over a relatively minor point, even though her family were good Germans. Gudrun had no idea what had happened to her after that, but she doubted it had been anything pleasant. The SS hadn’t tolerated any open dissent.
“I am curious,” Ouvrard said. “Why have they sent you, Fraulein?”
He made Fraulein sound like an insult, Gudrun noted with some amusement. Perhaps it was, to him. Fraulein was hardly used to address French girls, let alone Untermenschen servants and slaves. The Racial Purity Laws insisted that good Germans could not marry French women, let alone have children with them. Gudrun could marry a Norwegian or a Dane, if she couldn’t find a pure-blooded German, but a Frenchman would be right out. They were forever isolated from the Reich, trapped between the Volk and the Untermenschen.
“I started the movement that brought down the Reich Council,” she said, simply. “Chancellor Schulze felt you would listen to me.”
“We would listen to anyone, Fraulein,” Jacquinot assured her. He didn’t make it sound like an insult. “But doing what you want is quite another matter.”
“I would expect as much,” Gudrun said. She cursed under her breath. She knew how to haggle in the market – her mother had taught her – but not how to hold a sensitive diplomatic discussion with a foreign power. “May I be blunt?”
“Of course, Fraulein,” Jacquinot said.
Gudrun leaned forward. “Right now, the SS is readying its offensive against us,” she said, curtly. There was no point in trying to hide it. The BBC and Radio Free Europe had been broadcasting the truth for the last week. Normally, the Reich would have tried to jam the outside broadcasts, but right now the jamming stations were offline. “If they successfully retake Berlin, the most you can expect is a return to your previous status – servitude to Germany.”
“Unacceptable,” Ouvrard said.
“You do not have the firepower to keep them from pushing into Vichy France and putting your people to the sword,” Gudrun said, bluntly. “And you have already compromised yourselves, in the eyes of the SS.”
“Just by being born French,” Ouvrard sneered.
Gudrun nodded. “If we win the war, however, we will be in a position to make a number of concessions,” she added. “And we have no inclination to keep France permanently subjected to Germany.”
“A pretty speech,” Ouvrard said. “Why don’t I believe you?”
He met her eyes. “Why should we not ally with the SS to regain our independence?”
Gudrun stared at him in genuine astonishment. The French ally with the SS? Were they out of their minds? It was so absurd that she refused to believe it was anything more than a negotiating gambit, yet it was worthless. The SS had tormented France ever since 1940, conscripting slave labourers and purging the French of anyone they deemed anti-German. No Frenchman in his right mind would ally with the SS.
“That’s what the Arabs said,” Horst said, into the silence. “And remind me – what happened to the Arabs after they were no longer useful.”
“They were slaughtered,” Jacquinot said, flatly.
“Quite,” Gudrun said. She regained her balance and pushed forward. “If we have to fight you, now, it may well cost us the war. Therefore, we would prefer to avoid fighting you…”
“So would we, Fraulein,” Jacquinot said.
“But we also need food supplies from you,” Gudrun continued. “Our stockpiles are already dangerously low.”
“So we have leverage,” Ouvrard said.
“Not as much as you might think,” Gudrun countered. “We might simply take what we want, devastating France in the process… or we might lose, leaving you exposed to a vengeful SS that intends to use you as the enemy to reunify the Reich.”
“You make a convincing case, Fraulein,” Jacquinot observed.
Ouvrard leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his lap. “There are terms, of course.”
“Of course,” Gudrun echoed.
She looked from one Frenchman to the other, wondering precisely what the balance of power actually was. Jacquinot controlled the government, in theory, but Gudrun knew from bitter experience that the government was hardly a solid monolith. Who knew which way the different departments would jump, if their loyalty was tested? The French generals had to know they were badly outmatched, if push came to shove, but the French soldiers might want to fight. And, while the French were constantly mocked as military weaklings, they did have a hard core of tough professional soldiers, men who had served multiple terms defending French North Africa from insurgents. Overrunning France would be a distraction the Reich could not afford.
“First, we want political and economic independence,” Ouvrard said. “Once the war is over, we want complete freedom to make whatever political alliances we like and trade with whoever we like, on even terms. You will no longer be allowed to dominate us.”
Gudrun nodded. Volker Schulze and Hans Krueger had expected as much, when they’d discussed the different possibilities with her. The French economy was in a mess, at least in part, because they were forced to sell their wares to Germany at ruinously cheap prices. They wouldn’t want to remain under the Reich’s economic thumb. She was just surprised they hadn’t demanded military independence too.