“Safer not to risk your parents noticing,” Horst said. He glanced up at her. “There’s no point in taking risks. I’ll give the radio to Sven and he can break it back down into its component parts before it occurs to them to search the university.”
Gudrun nodded, feeling suddenly sober. They’d done it. They’d crossed another line, one that would lead rapidly to jail if they were caught. She didn’t understand how Horst managed to remain so calm, when they’d thoroughly compromised themselves. Her entire body began to shake as it hit her, suddenly, just how far they’d gone. And how far they had yet to go, if they weren’t caught.
“It’s all right,” Horst assured her. He put a hand on her shoulder as she shook. “You’ve done fine, really.”
Gudrun leaned forward and kissed him, hard. There was no conscious thought in it, just a desire to feel someone pressing against her. For a second, Horst kissed her back and then he pulled away, gently holding her at arm’s length. Gudrun stared at him, her emotions spinning madly. For all she’d done with Konrad – and the thought of her boyfriend added an extra stab of guilt to the mix – she’d never felt the simple burning need for his touch. Part of her wanted to slap Horst for not kissing her as hard as he could, the rest of her felt ashamed. This was neither the time nor the place.
“It’s a natural reaction,” Horst assured her, gently. “You just want to feel alive.”
Gudrun stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around his refusal to kiss her back, let alone go further. She’d been told that a man would go as far as the woman would let him – and further, if he thought he could get away with it. And yet, Horst was gently refusing her unspoken offer. They could have made love in the back of the van and no one would have been any the wiser.
“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. “I…”
“Ask me afterwards, if you like,” Horst said. “But right now, Gudrun, you’re not thinking straight.”
“Bastard,” Gudrun muttered.
Horst climbed back into the driver’s seat and restarted the engine. “I’ll drop you off in two minutes,” he said. “Remember to come into university as normal tomorrow, but be careful what you say and do. There’s no way to know how the government will react.”
“I understand,” Gudrun said. She removed a small mirror from her pocket and inspected her face carefully. She looked normal, thankfully. “And thank you.”
“Thank me afterwards,” Horst grunted. “Not before.”
Chapter Thirteen
Victory Square, Berlin
28 July 1985
“They want us to do what?”
“Round up the BDM girls,” Caius said. “All of them.”
Leutnant der Polizei Herman Wieland blinked in surprise. The Ordnungspolizei rarely had anything to do in Victory Square, although they were required to keep a strong presence near the Reichstag to make sure nothing happened to the tourists. It made a change from patrolling the darker and grittier streets on the edge of Berlin – or, for that matter, being stationed in Germany East. Herman had heard too many stories from policemen who’d gone there, after being offered bonuses that would allow them to retire early, to feel willing to go there himself.
He shook his head in disbelief as he looked over at the nearest group of girls. They were young; the oldest was at least a year younger than Gudrun. And yet, he was to round them up? He knew how to handle rioting Gastarbeiters, he knew how to handle drunken soldiers celebrating their last few days of leave, but arresting young girls? How the hell was he supposed to handle them?
“Get them into the centre of the square,” he ordered, finally. Orders were orders – and besides, such innocent girls wouldn’t be in any real danger. “You keep an eye on them once I get them there.”
He strode over to the nearest matron and frowned at the expression of fear, mixed with indignation, that flickered across her face. He’d never liked the BDM matrons, particularly the one who’d written outraged screeds about Gudrun. Herman had never been one to spare the rod for any of his children, but there were limits. Gudrun’s hand had ached for weeks after she’d been forced to write thousands of lines and Herman would have happily arrested the matron, if there had been any grounds to throw her in jail. His daughter might have lost the use of her hand for the rest of her life.
“This is a police emergency,” he said, fighting down his annoyance. There was no point in frightening the girls, no matter how much he wanted to frighten the matron. “Get the girls into the centre of the square and wait there.”
The matron stared at him. “But…”
Herman met her eyes – he could have sworn she was growing a moustache – and cowed her into silence. The girls tittered, nervously. They had to know that something was wrong, but watching their matron taken down a step or two had to delight them. Herman felt a flicker of sympathy – the matron would take her embarrassment out on the girls once they were alone – and made a mental note to have a few words with her before she was released. The youngest girl in the group couldn’t be more than ten years old.
“Get the girls into the square,” he ordered, coldly. “Now.”
The matron hurried to do as she was told. Herman watched her for a long moment, then turned and walked over to the next set of girls. Their matron, at least, seemed a little more reasonable; she listened to him politely, then started to steer the girls into the square. Herman moved from group to group as more policemen flowed into Victory Square, some keeping a sharp eye on the girls while others were collecting leaflets and examining them with grim expressions.
“Herman,” Caius called. “Take a look at this!”
Herman took the proffered leaflet and read it in growing disbelief. The outside was normal – another set of exhortations to sacrifice for the good of the Reich – but on the inside… he stared in horror as he realised that it was seditious. A writer, an unknown writer, was claiming that thousands of soldiers had been killed or wounded in South Africa, despite the claims that the war was nothing more than a simple police action. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a call for action, a call for free elections to the Reichstag and an end to the omnipresent terror. Herman shuddered, suddenly unwilling to even touch the leaflet. How many of the damned pieces of crap had been handed out?
“Someone was given this by a maiden,” Caius said, very quietly.
“Shit,” Herman muttered.
He looked at the girls – and their matrons. They were scared, he saw; whatever humour they’d seen in watching their matrons bossed around by the policemen had faded as the remainder of the square cleared rapidly. Berlin hadn’t seen a major police action since the Gastarbeiter riots in the sixties, but few Berliners were prepared to stand around and risk being arrested. The girls… he swallowed, hard. It was impossible to believe they’d handed out the material wittingly, let alone willingly, but the SS might be harder to convince.
And, as if his thoughts had been enough to summon them, a handful of SS stormtroopers headed into the square, carrying weapons and looking dangerous.
Herman winced, inwardly. Technically, the Order Police and the SS were separate organisations, both reporting to the RSHA, but he knew better than to think he could stand up to the SS. The SS had lost its grip on the police after Hitler’s death, yet they were still very much the senior service. If they wanted the girls, they could take the girls and no one could stop them.