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.”
Chapter Ten
Berlin
26 July 1985
He was committed now, of course.
Horst had no illusions. Like the rest of the little group, he’d crossed a line. In his case, he’d crossed it when he’d refrained from reporting the group’s existence to his superiors. He should have reported Gudrun and her friends at once, then let his seniors decide how best to handle the matter. Instead, he’d not only kept it to himself, he’d offered Gudrun some practical advice on how best to conceal her identity when the shit finally hit the fan. If he were caught, now, he’d be sent to one of the camps, if he wasn’t executed out of hand. His execution would probably be used to set an example to everyone else…
If the Reichsführer didn’t want to hush the whole affair up, Horst thought. A quiet execution was the most likely outcome, even though Horst had betrayed the SS. The Reichsführer wouldn’t want anyone else seduced into apostasy. My family would probably be told I died in a training accident somewhere and that would be that.
“Horst,” Sven hissed. “Take these, quickly.”
Horst shook himself and hastily dropped the leaflets into his bag. Sven had done a good job, he had to admit; the leaflets looked authentic until the reader opened them up, whereupon they would be confronted with Gudrun’s message. Horst rather suspected a number of them would be covertly dropped into trash cans, unopened and unread, but enough would be read to allow the message to spread. And who knew what would happen then? People would talk, of course, despite the omnipresent aura of fear. And then?
I wish I knew, he thought. And I wish I could talk to her openly.
Gudrun, for all her intelligence, lacked practical knowledge and experience. The BDM hadn’t taught her anything beyond being a good housewife; she’d certainly never applied for one of the rare female positions within the SS. Horst knew, without false modesty, that his experience was far more useful, but how was he to slip it to her without being exposed? If he told her the truth, she’d be horrified. And then…?
She either runs or tries to arrange an accident for me, Horst said. And that will leave her without any qualified help at all.
“Leopold is still keeping the old man busy,” Sven said, as he printed out the last set of leaflets. “We spent all night devising a particularly buggy program.”
Horst had to smile. Sven might be a wimp – he’d quit the Hitler Youth as soon as he could and worked hard to get into the university – but he did have a devious mind. The tutor – who wasn’t as capable a programmer as some of his students – could be held up indefinitely, if someone came to him with a problem. Horst had half-expected to need to grab everything and run for his life, but so far everything had gone according to plan.
“Good thinking,” Horst said. Thankfully, the computer labs were almost always deserted at this time of night, save for the tutor. He took the final set of leaflets and dropped them into his bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” Sven reminded him. He took a breath. “Why did you want additional leaflets?”
“Just to make sure we had plenty,” Horst said. “I’ll stick them with a friend – better you don’t know who – and distribute them later.”