“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Hans protested, without heat. “Legally…”
“Legal is what the people in power say it is,” Schulze snapped. “You taught the entire Reich that lesson, Herr Krueger.”
He paused. “I might add that the Reichsführer and the SS are unlikely to roll over and play dead for us,” he warned. “You may be taken from our detention centre and thrown into an SS detention centre, if we lose the war.”
“I have no illusions about what they’ll do to me,” Hans said. Holliston had a whole string of grudges to pay off. “Or you, if you lose.”
It wasn’t a hard choice. The prospect of being put on trial chilled him to the bone. He understood the value of scapegoats – the Reich Council had turned quite a few people into scapegoats merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and the rebels, if they used him as a scapegoat for the Reich’s ills, could draw some political advantage out of his death. He’d done the best he could, he knew, but the population wouldn’t see it that way. The unionists alone had good reasons to want him dead.
And Holliston wants me deader, he thought, wryly. The rebels would probably shoot him out of hand, but the SS would torture him first, then slaughter his entire family. Joining the rebels is the only hope for any kind of survival.
“I’ll join you,” he said, simply.
“Glad to hear it,” Schulze said. “You can have some sleep, then you can start work tomorrow morning. By then, hopefully, we should have a clear idea of just what’s going on.”
Hans shuddered. It was possible, he supposed, that most of the military would join the rebels, just like the Berlin Guard. But it was equally possible that Holliston would take control of the entire Reich, save for Berlin itself. If that happened, the city would come under siege… and no one, not even newborn children, would be spared the consequences when it finally fell. He might just have joined the losing side.
But it doesn’t matter, he told himself, as the guards reappeared. I’m dead anyway.
He frowned. “If I may ask,” he said, “what happened to the Fuhrer?”
“He’s going to make a nice speech handing over power to the provisional government,” Schulze said, “and then he’s going to go into exile. There’s nothing to be gained by killing him.”
“I suppose not,” Hans agreed. He had no particular dislike of the Fuhrer. Besides, killing him would give the SS a martyr they could use for their propaganda. “He was always a harmless fool.”
“Gudrun,” Herman said, as he entered the office. It had taken him nearly an hour to work up the nerve. “Can I have a word?”
His daughter looked tired, too tired. She didn’t have any experience in administration – hardly anyone did, outside the bureaucracy – but she was doing her best. Herman couldn’t help wondering just how long she’d keep the post, even though she’d been a student leader; there were others who were far more experienced. And yet…
“Yes, father,” Gudrun said. She sounded tired too. She’d changed her shirt, at some point, but she looked as though she needed a shower and several hours of sleep. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to say I’m proud of you,” Herman said, closing the door behind him. “And of your brother.”
“It could have gone very badly without him, father,” Gudrun said. She waved him to a chair in front of her desk, pushing her paperwork to one side. “And you.”
Herman nodded. He’d believed in the new order, he’d believed in the state… but, in the end, the state had tried to gun down his daughter and thousands of innocent Germans. And his entire family had turned against the state. How could he argue with his wife, his daughter and all three of his sons?
“I do wish you hadn’t done it,” Herman said. The thought of his daughter in jail, or hanging naked from meat hooks under the RSHA, or being raped to death was terrifying. Even now, even after the regime had been crippled, he still shivered at the thought. “I…”
He shook his head, unable to find the words. His father had told him that there would come a time when he’d look at his daughter and see a different person, but he hadn’t believed the old man until now. Gudrun was no longer a girl, or a young woman; she was an adult who’d taken her destiny into her own hands. He still wanted to protect her, but he could no longer try to control her life.
“It had to be done,” Gudrun said, stiffly. “I wrote those leaflets.”
“Yes, it did,” Herman said. “And I’m proud of you for doing it, but I wish it hadn’t been you…”
He blinked in surprise as he registered what she’d said. “You wrote those leaflets?”
“I did,” Gudrun said. She met his eyes with a defiant stare that reminded Herman, once again, of his own mother. Gudrun’s grandmother had never taken any backtalk from her son when he’d been a child. “I lied to you, father, but I’m not sorry.”
Herman shook his head. A month ago, he would have exploded with rage. He hadn’t raised his children to lie to him, even if they did have to be less than honest with their teachers and the BDM matrons. Now… now he understood. Gudrun’s boyfriend had been crippled and the state had lied about it… and she’d taken a terrible revenge. The rebellion might still be crushed – Herman rather doubted they’d rounded up all the SS personnel in Berlin – but the state would never be the same again.
“I understand,” he said, finally. “Please don’t lie to me again.”
“I’ll try not to,” Gudrun assured him. She changed the subject hastily. “Did you get mother and the others here?”
“I did,” Herman said. He would have preferred to keep the rest of his family well away from the Reichstag, but Gudrun was a known rebel and Kurt might well have been marked too. If there were roving SS officers on the streets, Gudrun’s family might be targeted. There just weren’t enough police officers to ensure their safety anywhere else. “They’re all in rooms in the Reichstag, even Frank.”
Gudrun’s face flickered. Herman frowned, inwardly. Gudrun had never liked the disgusting old man, even though her mother insisted that Gudrun clean his room every day. Frank had never been a particularly decent man. Hell, he’d been slipping into the bottle long before Herman had met and married Frank’s daughter. The wretched drunkard had been a plague on the family ever since he’d moved in with his daughter. And yet, there was something on Gudrun’s face…
He dismissed it. There were too many other things to worry about.
“Get some sleep,” he advised. “You’ll need it, I think.”
Gudrun yawned. “There’s too much to do,” she said, softly. Another yawn put the lie to her words. “I have to work…”
“You’ll be making mistakes if you’re tired,” Herman told her, firmly. “You have a bedroom here, do you not? Get a shower, get into bed, get a good night’s sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
“Yes, father,” Gudrun said. “And you get some sleep too.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Reichstag, Germany