But it’s a great deal safer here, Horst thought, ruefully. The Westerners have forgotten that their stability comes with a price.
He kept his face expressionless as Gudrun finally finished speaking to the recruits, then went on a walking tour of the growing defence lines. Berlin was huge, easily the largest city on Earth; Horst wouldn’t have cared to be the general who had to capture it against even minimal opposition. But at the same time, the population was so vast that starving the citizens out was a very real possibility. The SS might not have the time to wait for Berlin to surrender, yet if they did Horst doubted they would try an offensive at all. Why expend thousands – perhaps tens of thousands – of lives if they could get the city for minimal expense?
They can’t leave us alone indefinitely, he reminded himself. We’re a direct challenge to their view of the universe.
He had no illusions about just how ruthless the SS was prepared to be. He’d worked for them, after all. Starving out the population – forcing them to bend the knee – would work wonders, particularly given the growing contempt for the soft westerners among the easterners. Horst had heard, more than once, mutterings that the westerners should be brought to heel, a long time before the uprising had begun. The easterners could not allow themselves to go soft, knowing it would mean their destruction. But the westerners had forgotten that the world was red in tooth and claw. Those who had the strength and the will made the rules, while those who lacked one or both were doomed.
Gudrun nodded to him as the walking tour finally came to an end. “Shall we go back home?”
“If you wish,” Horst said, pensively. Most of the recruits were enthusiastic, he had to admit, but Sattler had been right. It would take months, months they didn’t have, to smooth out their rough edges and turn them into soldiers. He couldn’t help wondering just how many of them were going to die in the next month. “Your meeting is tonight, right?”
Gudrun nodded as they walked back to the car, the driver starting the engine at once and taking them back onto the roads. Horst eyed the traffic in grim disapproval, unable to keep from wondering just how many of the drivers truly needed to drive. They were wasting fuel, he knew, fuel that needed to be stockpiled for the military. And yet, the provisional government’s ability to coerce the population was very limited. They’d set the precedent for defying and overthrowing the government themselves. Horst knew Gudrun had been right – the previous government had been dragging the Reich into an early grave – but he couldn’t help fearing for the future. A government that was weak was just as bad, in many ways, as a government that was too strong.
“You’re very quiet,” Gudrun observed. “What are you thinking?”
“Far too many people are about to die,” Horst said.
He shook his head, grimly. He had no illusions about the Waffen-SS either. They drew most of their recruiting base from the easterners. There was no way they’d be gentle as they sliced into the defence lines, even when dealing with unarmed civilians. Anyone who didn’t take up arms against the provisional government, as soon as it was announced, would be a traitor as far as the stormtroopers were concerned. The Waffen-SS would unleash a nightmare of blood, rape and slaughter on Germany Prime. Holliston might seek to prevent atrocities – although Horst doubted that very much – but he would probably find it impossible. His servants wouldn’t see any profit in covering the iron fist with the velvet glove.
And they’ll be worried about their settlements too, he thought, as the car parked below the Reichstag and they walked up to their bedrooms. That will only make them more determined to smash us into a pulp.
“I wish we had more time,” Gudrun said, once they were in her room. “But…”
Horst nodded, ruefully. Sex was definitely one of the best ways to keep from thinking about the future, but they didn’t have time. Gudrun needed to shower and change before she went to the meeting or the old goats would refuse to take her seriously. Horst would have cheerfully strangled any of the bastards who insulted her to her face, but there was nothing he could do about hidden or not-so-hidden contempt. He gave her a kiss on the lips, then hurried out of the room before his passion could overwhelm him. They’d shared so much together that he knew there was nothing that could drive them apart.
He sighed to himself as he entered his room, shaking his head at how some of the social mores had remained firmly in place. Gudrun was a Councillor, yet she could not be seen to share her bedroom with a young man. Horst would have been surprised if the staff didn’t know, but so far most of the Councillors appeared to be unaware. And Gudrun’s father didn’t know either – or did he? He was a policeman, after all. Gudrun had once admitted that neither she nor any of her siblings had ever been able to lie to their father.
And he probably doesn’t know how to handle her any longer, Horst thought, closing the door firmly behind him. Getting pregnant is one thing, but living in sin…
He stopped, dead, as he saw the note on his bed. He’d made it clear to the staff – very clear – that they were not to enter his rooms. The small collection of weaponry he’d stockpiled under the bed, along with a handful of very useful tools, would only have upset them. And some of the other pieces of equipment would have raised questions he would have preferred not to answer. But the note had definitely not been there when he’d left the bedroom in the morning…
Cursing under his breath, he donned a glove and picked up the note. The SS had been known to use contact poisons, some of which had no known cure. He might have had to slice off his own hand, if he’d touched the paper with his bare skin…. if, of course, he realised he’d been poisoned before it was too late. His instructors had admitted, after discussing several interesting ways to booby-trap a desk drawer, that poisons spread very rapidly through the body. And the most dangerous of them had no antidote.
There was nothing on the paper, save for a handful of code phrases. Horst recognised them instantly; they looked innocuous, but only a handful of people could have written them, let alone known to send the note to him. His blood ran cold as he realised the implications. An SS stay-behind unit was operating in Berlin… and at least one of the people in the Reichstag was a traitor. Probably a servant, he thought numbly, as his heart began to race. No one would have questioned a servant coming in or out of a bedroom suite. It wasn’t as if the important people would be expected to do their own housework.
He smiled, rather wanly, at the thought, then sat down to have a think. The note specified a time and a place, a bare thirty minutes away. Had that been deliberate? Or was it merely a coincidence? There was certainly no time to contact Gudrun and tell her where he was going… if he went at all. He’d pretended to have been duped, the last time he’d been questioned by his former superiors, but that excuse would probably no longer hold water. There was no disputing – now – that Gudrun was deeply involved in the provisional government. And that the SS had had her in its claws, only to let her go.
And that was my fault, he thought. If I go to this meeting, I may walk right into a trap.