And it probably is too good to be true, he thought, darkly. He’d been in the SS, after all; they might concede ground when it could not be held, but they refused to simply let it go permanently. They’ll start preparing for the next round.
“We won,” Joachim said. He sounded as surprised as Volker himself. “Didn’t we?”
“For the moment,” Volker said. They’d have to move fast to capitalise on their success before the government recovered its balance. “But this is only the first round. I imagine they’ll do what they can to undermine us.”
He sighed. “And they haven’t agreed to end the war, Joachim,” he added. “They’re making concessions, not surrendering. We have to be ready for their counterattack.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Berlin, Germany
13 August 1985
Gudrun had endured a naked and uncomfortable night.
The cell hadn’t been as unpleasant as she’d feared – it certainly smelled better than Grandpa Frank’s room – and once a policeman had removed the cuffs she’d been able to move around freely and drink water from a tiny nozzle, but it had been boring. When she’d been grounded as a young girl, she’d been able to read books even if she hadn’t been allowed out of her room, let alone into the garden or onto the streets. There was simply nothing to do in the prison cell, save for trying to sleep and fretting about what would happen to her. She wasn’t even sure just how long she’d been in the cell. Her watch, along with everything she’d been wearing or carrying, had been taken from her during processing and the light bulb never dimmed.
She was half-asleep, dozing fitfully, when someone knocked on the metal grating that ensured she had absolutely no privacy. The noise jerked her awake; she hastily covered her breasts and crotch with her hands as she sat upright, blinking. Her head hurt; it occurred to her, suddenly, that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours, perhaps days. How long had she been a prisoner in the cell? How long could someone survive on water alone? She didn’t know.
“Eat,” the guard said, slipping a tray through the bars. “And then be ready.”
Gudrun scowled at him. “Ready for what?”
The guard ignored her and walked onwards, pushing a trolley to the next cell. Gudrun stood, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and picked up the tray carefully. She had no idea what went into the stew, but it didn’t smell anything like the stew her mother made, while the piece of bread was hard enough to threaten her teeth. There were no knives or forks, let alone salt and pepper. It tasted, when she placed a piece of meat in her mouth, like pork on the verge of going bad. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating it, but she knew there was no choice. She forced it down her throat with plenty of water and pushed the tray back out of the cell. No doubt the ghastly food was yet another form of torture.
She looked up as the guard returned, jangling his keys as he stopped in front of her cell and peered in at her. Gudrun covered herself as best as she could, knowing that nothing would stop the guard if he decided to open the grate and have some fun with her. She promised herself that she’d fight, that she’d put a knee between his legs before she let him rape her, but she knew she was too tired and hungry, despite the food, to hold out for long. It was a relief when another guard arrived, spoke briefly to the first guard and then tapped on Gudrun’s grate. When she looked up, she saw he was holding a pair of handcuffs.
“Turn around and give me your hands,” he ordered.
Gudrun considered refusing, but she knew it was pointless. She turned and allowed him to cuff her, then shrank backwards as he entered the cell. He caught her arm in a vice-like grip, pulled her out of the cell and through a solid metal door that looked as though it should belong in a battleship. It banged closed behind her as she was shoved down the corridor and into another room. A familiar box, marked with her name and a number she didn’t recognise, was positioned neatly on the floor.
“Get dressed,” the guard ordered, as he removed the cuffs. He sounded bored, despite her nakedness. Perhaps he saw naked prisoners every day. “Make sure everything you had on you when you were arrested has been given back to you.”
Gudrun blinked at him. “I’m to dress?”
“Yes,” the policeman said, shortly. “Get dressed. Someone is on their way to pick you up.”
She fought down her surprise as she opened the box, reminding herself that it might just be a trick. But all of her clothes were inside, neatly folded; she shuddered at the thought of policemen pawing them before deciding it didn’t matter. She pulled on her panties and bra, then her trousers and shirt, feeling better with every piece of clothing she donned. By the time the box was empty – she hadn’t been carrying much, save for a couple of pens and a set of house keys – she felt almost human again.
The policeman snapped on the cuffs again, then marched her through another series of corridors into what she guessed was a waiting room. He removed one of the cuffs, locked it to a chair and walked off, leaving her alone. Gudrun scowled after him – did they really think she was that dangerous? – and then started to wonder who was coming to pick her up. Her father? Her brother? Either one might – might – have been able to get her released. There were no other prisoners in the room… maybe she was the only person being allowed to go free. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Her father would probably forbid her from returning to the university; he’d probably tell her to find a man within the next week or marry his choice, whoever it turned out to be.
She looked up as the door opened to reveal another female prisoner. The policeman escorting her cuffed her to another chair at the far end of the room, then left the two girls alone. It was impossible to talk without shouting, so Gudrun settled for sending the newcomer a reassuring look and waiting to see what happened. She didn’t seem to have any other choice, beyond demanding to be allowed to go to the toilet… and the toilet in the cell had been unspeakably vile.
It’s a prison, stupid, she reminded herself. It’s not a holiday camp.
It felt like hours before yet another policeman arrived, released her from the chair and marched her out of the room, into a lobby. Horst was standing there, looking nervous; Gudrun flushed with embarrassment as she realised he could see her in cuffs, then blinked in surprise as she tried to work out what he was doing there. He wasn’t her father, her brother or her boyfriend… why was he coming to pick her up? Did he think their kiss gave him a claim on her? Or…
“You are free to go,” the policeman said, removing the cuffs for the final time. Gudrun rubbed her wrists. The cuffs hadn’t been as tight as they’d been yesterday, but they’d still been uncomfortable. She had a feeling she’d be sore for days. “Go.”
“Come on,” Horst said. “I’ve got the car just outside.”
Gudrun followed him, feeling numb. “Where are we?”
“A police station on the outskirts of Berlin,” Horst said. He opened the door; Gudrun blinked and hastily covered her eyes as the sunlight shone down. “They wanted students rather than parents to pick up the prisoners.”
That sounded odd, Gudrun thought; every time she or her brothers had managed to get in trouble at school, their parents had been summoned to pick them up. Perhaps it was different for the police… or, perhaps, the police hadn’t wanted to make a fuss. Her father was a policeman, after all. Who knew what he would have said to the officers who’d processed his daughter?