She flinched as someone spoke into the darkness. “What are they going to do to us?”
“Kill us,” someone else said. “Or put us in the camps.”
Gudrun shuddered. There had always been dark rumours, even before she’d started the Valkyries; there had always been suggestions of what happened to those who failed to fit into the Reich. And, after what Grandpa Frank had said… they might be driven to a camp, forced into a gas shower and exterminated. She thought – she still thought – that the Reich wouldn’t dare harm so many Berliners, in plain view of the entire city, but it was hard not to fear the worst. Her family might never know what had happened to her.
Tears welled at the corner of her eyes as the vehicle lurched one final time, then came to a halt. She would have given anything to see her parents one last time, to make her apologies in person, to ask them if they were proud of her… hell, she would have given up her university career. And yet, Konrad and the hundreds of others like him had never had that option. Surrendering now would mean that they’d died – and been wounded – for nothing, that the government had got away with its crimes. She flicked her head, forcing the tears away as she heard the door slowly being unlocked. There would be a chance to escape, she told herself, and if she saw it, she would take it.
“Climb out of the vehicle and walk straight through the door in front of you unless you are drawn aside,” a voice ordered. Gudrun flinched away from the light pouring in through the open door. “Sit down on the floor, then wait. Do not speak to your fellows.”
Gudrun looked around as she was helped out of the van, then pushed towards the door. They were in a garage, she thought; a chamber large enough to house several giant prisoner transports. A policeman was standing by the door, eying her with cold blue eyes; she forced herself to keep her head up straight as he held up a hand to stop her, then frisked her with brutal efficiency. She was tempted to point out that she’d already been frisked once, but she suspected there was no point. Inside, there was another large chamber, totally bare save for a large portrait of the Fuhrer, looking unrealistically stern. The painter had done something to the image, she realised as she sat down on the hard floor; the eyes looked as though they were following her around the room. It should have been funny, but it was actually alarmingly intimidating.
No men, she realised, as she looked around carefully. The only prisoners in the room were female. They must have been sent to a different room.
She forced herself to try to remember what her father had said, back when he’d been trying to interest Johan in joining the police force rather than volunteering for the military. The policemen on the streets handed prisoners over to the policemen in the station, who processed them and determined their fate. It all seemed rather slapdash to her, but if her father was to be believed, prisoners were rarely innocent. The only real question was if they would be sent to jail or transported east to help make Germany East safe for German citizens. She shuddered bitterly, remembering what Horst had said, then forced herself to relax as best as she could. The long wait, in handcuffs and freezing cold clothes, was probably just another attempt to wear her down before the interrogation began.
The door opened. A grim-faced policeman entered the room, picked a girl at random and marched her back through the door, which closed behind them with a loud thud. Gudrun wondered briefly what the girl had done to deserve being picked first, then decided it didn’t matter. She had a feeling she’d go through the whole process herself soon enough. The door opened again, revealing a different policeman who took a different girl. Gudrun almost giggled as her dazed mind wondered if the girls were being taken for a dance.
Her blood ran cold. There were horror stories – darker horror stories – about girls who went to semi-legal dances and raves. Her father had never let her go, even with Konrad; she’d never dared to defy him, not when many of her friends were also forbidden to attend. And the policemen were taking the girls… she suddenly felt very vulnerable and helpless. They wanted her to feel that way, she was sure, and yet… it was working.
Patience, she told herself firmly, as the door opened again and a policeman walked towards her. Konrad went through worse. You can get through this.
The policeman helped her to her feet with surprising gentleness, then escorted her into a corridor and down towards a large metal door set within the stone wall. It opened with a series of clicks – Gudrun couldn’t help wondering just how many locks had been worked into the door – revealing another cold chamber. It was bare, save for a single metal table; two stern-faced men sat behind it. The table – and their chairs – were firmly fixed to the floor.
“You are under arrest,” one of the men said. The policeman who’d escorted her to the room stepped backwards until he was standing in front of the door. The only door. There was no hope of escape. “If you cooperate, it will be noted. Do you understand me?”
Gudrun nodded, feeling her heartbeat starting to race. Any hope she’d had of escaping, of vanishing into the streets, was gone. She fought to keep her breathing under control, knowing it was a losing battle. This was worse, far worse, than being forced to write lines, or having her hand swatted with a ruler…
“Good,” the man said. “Name?”
“Gudrun Wieland,” Gudrun said.
It was hard to speak. Her thoughts ran in all directions. She hoped her parents wouldn’t get into trouble. She’d known some parents who had got into trouble because their children were little brats, but the kids had been much younger than eighteen. Gudrun was old enough to be accountable for herself, yet she was also a girl – an unmarried girl. Her father could be punished if she stepped too far out of line.
“Noted,” the man said. His voice was flat, utterly atonal, but there was a hint of something unpleasant in it. “There are checks we have to perform. If you cooperate, everything will go smoothly and swiftly; if you refuse to cooperate, we will carry them out by force and you will find them thoroughly unpleasant. Are you going to cooperate?”
“Yes, sir,” Gudrun said.
“Remove the cuffs,” the man ordered.
Gudrun let out a sigh of relief as her hands were released. She brought them around and stared at her wrists. The skin was badly bruised; she rubbed them frantically, trying to get some sensation back into her hands, but she felt nothing. She couldn’t help wondering if she’d lost all feeling in them for good. The policeman let her have a moment to work her hands, then tapped the table impatiently. Gudrun couldn’t help feeling a flicker of amusement as she realised there were three men guarding her, as if they considered her a deadly threat. She knew, without false modesty, that she couldn’t hope to beat even one of them in a fight.
One of the policemen produced an ink pad and a pad of paper. Gudrun had had her fingerprints taken before, the day she’d entered school; she recalled, with a hint of bitter shame, that she’d considered it fun. Now, it was terrifying. Her anonymity was being stripped from her, piece by piece. If there was a single fingerprint of hers anywhere on the leaflets, they’d know who she was. And then it would be over.
“Very good,” the policeman said, once the whole process was complete. His companion removed the fingerprint paperwork, then produced a small metal box from under the table and put it on the top. “Now, I want you to remove your clothing, piece by piece, and pass each item to me.”