He cursed the leaflet-writers under his breath. Whoever they were, they’d neatly put a finger right on the Reich’s weak spot. The SS couldn’t take the girls, he told himself; they’d be riots, mutinies, even an uprising. He honestly wasn’t sure what he’d do, if Gudrun had been among the girls who’d been arrested. Hell, there were at least a dozen policemen he knew who had daughters in the BDM. What if they’d been arrested?
His radio buzzed. “The girls don’t seem to have any of the leaflets,” a voice said. “We’re letting them go with a warning.”
Herman allowed himself a moment of relief as the girls were released, heading back to their parents, then found himself dragged into helping to pick up the leaflets and dump them into rubbish bags. They’d be transported to the RSHA, where the SS would pick over them in the hopes of finding something – anything – they could use to track down the writers and arrest them. Herman rather doubted they’d find anything. Whoever had written the leaflets wouldn’t leave fingerprints; hell, gloves were part of the BDM uniform. He gritted his teeth in anger as he tossed the final bag into the SS truck. Bringing the leaflets to the centre of the Reich had been madness.
“We’ll be working late tonight,” Caius commented. “The Captain was saying we might be staying on duty until nine.”
“I’ll miss my wife’s dinner,” Herman muttered. He wasn’t fool enough to say it any louder, not when his superiors might hear. “She won’t be pleased.”
“I dare say she doesn’t have a choice,” Caius said. “And neither do the rest of us.”
She kissed me, Horst thought, as he returned the van to the garage. The owner examined it quickly, checked the gas in the tank and then grudgingly returned the deposit. She kissed me.
He couldn’t help feeling excited, even though he knew it was probably nothing more than a reaction to stress and then the relief of knowing they’d managed to get clean away. Gudrun had a boyfriend. She’d think better of what she’d done in the morning, after she had a chance to sleep. She’d…
Sure, his own thoughts mocked him. How likely is it that Konrad will recover?
Horst was no doctor, but he’d read Konrad’s medical report – and the summery – very carefully. It was quite likely, when his family were informed about his condition, that they would be urged to pull the plug, cutting off his life support. The damage to his legs was quite bad enough – Horst had shuddered when he’d read the description – but the brain damage was worse. Konrad would be a drooling imbecile for the rest of his life. How long would Gudrun stay faithful when she knew, deep inside, that her boyfriend was gone?
And yet she doesn’t know what you are, he reminded himself. What will she say when she finds out the truth?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Sure, Gudrun had accepted Konrad – but Konrad had never tried to hide the fact that he was an SS trooper. Horst had; no, Horst had done a great deal worse, even though he was now trying to help Gudrun and her friends. He’d come to her, pretending to be a student, and befriended her, intending to betray her if she did anything worth reporting. How could she forget that, if she found out?
He sighed. He was no virgin. There were brothels near the Hitler Youth camps in Germany East – another feature that wasn’t present anywhere else – and he’d been taken there by the older boys once he’d plucked up the nerve to ask. The women there had been Untermenschen, sterilised just to ensure they didn’t become pregnant and give birth to half-caste children. They’d done whatever they’d been told…
Gudrun is different, Horst told himself. She’d never just roll over for anyone.
He cursed his own feelings as he started the walk back to the university. He’d never tried to court a girl in Germany East, not when he’d known his duty would lead him elsewhere… and besides, he’d had to remain unattached at the university. He couldn’t allow himself more than a brief affair. Now, he found himself unsure of how to proceed, or even if he should proceed. He couldn’t help cursing his own training. He’d been so sure that Gudrun was just reacting to her relief that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to give in. And yet he’d wanted to give in…
And how much of that, he asked himself, is driven by your own relief?
It was a pointless argument, he told himself firmly. Gudrun probably wasn’t really interested in him – and even if she was, it would be unwise for them to become involved until the whole affair was over. And yet, Horst knew just how likely it was that they’d all be arrested, tortured and executed. They might as well enjoy themselves while it lasted…
Confused and tired, Horst slowly made his way home.
Chapter Fourteen
Wieland House, Berlin
28 July 1985
Gudrun had received her first surprise when she’d returned home and opened the door. A leaflet – a copy of their leaflet – lay on the table, having been pushed through the letterbox and brought into the dining room by her mother. The second surprise had been Grandpa Frank sitting in an armchair, watching her mother as she fretted over the leaflet. He was holding a bottle of beer in one hand, but he seemed surprisingly sober.
“Don’t touch that leaflet,” her mother snapped, when Gudrun reached for it. “I’m going to show it to your father.”
“It’s one of the leaflets we had to hand out as children,” Gudrun said, pretending to be perplexed. “It’s nothing…”
“Don’t touch it,” her mother snapped. “Go upstairs and change into something proper and then come back down and help me with dinner.”
Gudrun nodded and hurried up the stairs, puzzling over the leaflet. She’d known that some of the boys were going to post them through letterboxes, but her letterbox? Had they thought it would help her avoid suspicion? Did they even know where she lived? She’d taken Hilde and Isla back to her home a couple of times, but Konrad had been the only boy who’d visited since she’d turned thirteen. Horst only knew where she lived because she’d had to tell him where to drop her off.
She closed and locked the door, then unpacked the BDM uniform and hid it at the back of her wardrobe. Hopefully, her parents wouldn’t demand to see it in the next couple of days. She was expected to do the washing on Wednesday, when she had no classes at the university; she’d insert it into the washing pile before anyone had a chance to look at the uniform.
And for once it’s a good thing the boys aren’t expected to do anything around the house, she thought as she changed into a skirt and blouse. Her father would have a fit if he saw her in tight jeans and an American t-shirt, even if he had other things to worry about. She had no way of knowing where he’d been stationed, but he would probably have been called to Victory Square to help round up the BDM girls. He’ll be hopping mad when he comes home from work.
She walked back down the stairs, almost running into her mother as she helped Grandpa Frank stagger back upstairs to his room. The drunkard looked surprisingly bright-eyed; he was normally drunk out of his mind when Gudrun came home. Her mother pointed to the kitchen; Gudrun nodded and hurried down the rest of the stairs, looking around for the vegetables she knew she’d have to chop. There was no sign of the leaflet.