Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (28 page)

And that means that Horst is smarter than he looks
, he reminded himself. 
He couldn't have passed for a student if he wasn't
.

Horst leaned forward and closed the partition, ensuring that the driver couldn't eavesdrop on them.  “
Herr
Wieland,” he said, formally.  “I have a question.”

Herman kept his amusement off his face.  He had a feeling he knew
precisely
where this was going.  But he merely nodded, inviting Horst to continue.  There was nothing to be gained by making life
too
easy for the younger man.

“I would like to marry your daughter,” Horst said, after a moment.  He sounded nervous, too nervous.  Herman found himself torn between amusement and concern.  “I ... I believe I could make her happy.”

Herman considered it, carefully.  He knew that Horst and Gudrun had
some
kind of relationship, if only because he wasn't blind.  They inclined towards each other, particularly when they thought they weren't being watched.  They'd been careful, he had to admit, but nowhere near careful enough to conceal the truth from him.  And, even a mere
year
ago, it would have been cause for a number of pointed questions.

And yet, the thought bothered him.  Gudrun was hardly his youngest child, but she
was
his only daughter.  Putting her into the hands of an unworthy man would torment him for the rest of his life, if the marriage went sour.  Divorce was almost unheard of in the
Reich
, if there were children.  He’d been called out to far too many domestic battlegrounds where the husband had beaten the wife, or the wife - desperate and unable to escape - had mortally wounded the husband.  He was damned if he would allow Gudrun to remain in such a household ...

“I see,” he said, carefully.  He kept his face carefully blank.  At least Horst was doing it properly, seeking his approval before formally popping the question.  There were no shortage of horror stories about young couples, fancying themselves in love, who ran away when their parents rejected the match.  “Is she pregnant?”

Horst flushed bright red.  “Not ... not to the best of my knowledge.”

Herman allowed himself a moment of relief.  Everyone joked that a blushing bride could deliver a baby in six months, rather than nine, yet it wasn't something he would have wanted for Gudrun.  Most people would politely ignore the proof that a happy couple had been sleeping together before exchanging vows, but Gudrun was a politician.  She had enemies, he suspected - and if she didn't have them already, she'd have them soon enough.  One of them would be happy, no doubt, to call her out for sleeping with her husband before the actual marriage.

And then he frowned.  If Horst and Gudrun had been sleeping together, she might already be pregnant and not know it.

He met the younger man's eyes.  “And how do you plan to support her?”

Horst looked back at him, evenly.  “Right now, I am drawing a salary from the
Reichstag
,” he said, simply.  “If I lose that position, for whatever reason, I
am
a trained commando and covert operative.  I should have no difficulty volunteering my services to the
Wehrmacht
.”

He smiled.  “Technically, I am also entitled to an SS stipend, but I suspect that won’t be paid.”

Herman had to smile, despite his concern.  “And how will you treat her as a wife?”

“I recognise that she has a career,” Horst said.  “And I will do nothing to interfere with it.”

“Really,” Herman said.  “And will you be a house-husband?”

“If necessary,” Horst said.

Herman frowned, inwardly.  House-husbands were vanishingly rare in the
Reich
, more common in dramas about the horrors of living in America than in the real world.  A man was expected to work to support his family, leaving the wife to take care of the home and raise the children.  Indeed, the only house-husband he’d ever met had been a cripple, whose wife worked as a secretary to pay the bills.  And no one could have denied he was unable to work.

But for a young man, barely out of school, the humiliation would be unbearable.

He put that thought aside for later consideration, then glanced out of the window and nodded towards a destroyed building.  “One would argue that this is hardly the time to get married,” he pointed out.  “You might both be dead tomorrow.”

“We are aware of the dangers,” Horst said, stiffly.

Herman nodded, considering it.  He had no reason to dislike Horst personally, even though the young man had been in the SS.  At least he’d done the right thing at the right time, saving Gudrun’s life before she'd ever realised it had been in danger.  And he’d been willing to approve Konrad as a prospective husband ...

“I must discuss the matter with my wife,” he said, finally.  Adelinde would
kill
him, perhaps not metaphorically, if he made the decision without consulting her.  “But then you will have to convince
Gudrun
to marry you.”

“I know,” Horst said.  He looked relieved.  If Herman had said no, it would have made his life very awkward.  “But I wanted your approval first.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Berlin, Germany Prime

29 September 1985

Horst found it hard to keep the relief off his face as the car pulled into the underground garage and came to a stop.  He’d done a number of hard things in his life, but asking Herman for his daughter’s hand in marriage had to be the hardest.  And yet, perhaps, it would soon be the second-hardest.  Herman might have approved the match - he certainly hadn't said no - but asking Gudrun would be the hardest of all.  She might say no, or insist that they waited until the end of the war, or ...

He shook his head.  It wasn't going to be easy, but if he’d wanted an easy life he would have stayed on the farm.  He could have avoided joining the military or the SS, simply by being in one of the protected categories of jobs.  And yet, if he hadn't, he knew the uprising wouldn't have taken place.  The spy who was sent in his place might not have been so inclined to listen to Gudrun, let alone decide to join her.

Herman had a point, he admitted silently as they made their way up to their office.  A pair of trusted guards stood outside, with strict orders not to admit anyone unless they had been cleared by Herman personally.  There
was
a war on ... and Gudrun was almost certainly at the top of the list of people Karl Holliston intended to purge, if he won the war.  And Horst himself might not be on the list now, but he certainly would be if Holliston ever found out just how badly he’d betrayed his masters.  Horst knew the SS too well to imagine they would ever be satisfied with vague reassurances and evasions, not after the uprising.  They would strip him down to the bedrock, then shoot whatever was left for the single greatest act of treason since Von Braun had fled the
Reich
for the United States.

And so we may as well live while we can
, he thought, morbidly. 
Enjoy the war, for the peace will be terrible
.

A handful of reports sat on the desk.  Herman sat down and started to go through them while Horst poured two mugs of coffee.  The coffee was already starting to run out, he’d heard, although the
Reichstag
had a huge cellar crammed with everything from fancy French wines to imported food from America.  It wouldn't have done for the
Reich
Council to be deprived of the good things in life, even though the rest of the
Reich
was slowly starting to starve as food prices went up.  Volker Schulze had ordered half the food handed out to the civilians, keeping them alive ... in hindsight, that might have been a mistake.  They'd have done better to start rationing from the very beginning.

“Police coffee,” Herman commented, as he took a sip.  “You do very good coffee.”

Horst kept his expression carefully blank, suspecting he was being needled.  The coffee was as dark as Karl Holliston’s soul, with no milk nor sugar to lighten it.  Gudrun had winced, the first time he’d made coffee for her, although he did have to admit she’d drunk it anyway.  But then, such coffee was intended to keep the drinker awake, rather than anything else.  The sour taste was a bonus.

“Over the last week, seventeen staff went out of the
Reichstag
,” Herman said, when Horst didn't deign to reply.  “As you can see” - he held out the papers - “fifteen of them were absent for more than three hours, two of the remainder only returning to start their shifts the following morning.  And yet all seventeen of them sleep in the building!”

“That doesn't prove anything,” Horst pointed out.  Indeed, he was tempted to dismiss the two who’d clearly spent the night elsewhere.  The SS wouldn't want to run the risk of having their agents dismissed, just because they’d gone to a bar or a brothel.  “They may have friends or family within the city.”

“Some of them do,” Herman said.  “But they’re very much in the minority.”

Horst nodded.  The
Reich
Council had been reluctant to hire Berliners to work in the
Reichstag
, although he'd never been sure why.  Indeed, there were nearly five hundred staffers in the building and only fifty of them had been born and raised in Berlin.  But it hardly mattered now ... unless, of course, the Berliners could be dismissed from consideration because they stood out like sore thumbs.  Or was that what they were supposed to think?

“So we have seventeen possible suspects,” he mused.  And he knew that he’d given three intelligence packets to the spy, all of which had been removed.  “How many of them went out more than once?”

“Five,” Herman said.  “One staffer stayed out overnight twice, according to the records; the other four went out five times in the past week.”

Horst scowled.  If there was one spy, logically it had to be one of the five suspects.  And he could see why a spy’s handlers would want him to stay out overnight, allowing them to be pumped for further information, even though it
would
raise eyebrows.  But if there was more than one spy, they could be rotating courier duty ... which meant that all of the original seventeen had to be considered possible suspects.

He looked at Herman.  “A battlefield is far simpler, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Herman said.  “But there's also a greater chance at being blown away by a random shot.”

Horst had to smile.  He doubted he would have the patience for detective work, let alone the mindset of a street policeman.  Patrolling the streets in Russia was deadly dangerous, but Berlin was well on the way to turning into a nightmare in its own right.  Even without the SS commando cell - or whatever - that had burned down the warehouse, the city was slowly collapsing into chaos.    And with an army just outside the city, sniping at everyone who showed his face, a major riot might just be enough to give the city to the SS.

And if that happens, I grab Gudrun and run
, Horst promised himself. 
There will be no hope of savaging the situation
.

Herman cleared his throat.  “I’ll have all seventeen shadowed, if they try to leave the
Reichstag
again,” he said.  “It isn't as if this is a dangerous place to be.”

Horst nodded.  None of the shells had landed within a kilometre of the
Reichstag
, accounting for the growing number of refugees squeezing into the magic circle.  Karl Holliston, it seemed, wanted to recover the building intact, although Horst had a private suspicion that he wanted to ensure that the provisional government could actually surrender.  Killing the only people who
could
order a full-scale surrender would be very unwise. 

But then
, he thought,
who would want to surrender
?

He sighed as he started to pace the room.  The reports were very clear, even if some of the details had been hidden from the general public.  Soldiers, sailors and airmen who fell into enemy hands were being marched eastwards to an uncertain fate.  Horst would not have cared to put money on their survival.  The SS might not be machine-gunning surrendered prisoners, but they could easily be kept in concentration camps and starved to death.  Hell, the SS had even started shipping women and girls eastwards too.  Horst had a nasty feeling he knew what
that
meant.

They’re of good blood
, he thought.  It was rare for German women to be executed, although he suspected the women might wind up wishing that they
had
been allowed to die. 
And in the east, they can be turned into brood cows without anyone giving a damn.

Herman was saying something.  Horst flushed.  He hadn’t been listening.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Can you repeat that?”

“I said that the
Reichstag
is the safest place in Berlin,” Herman said, patiently.  “Who would want to leave?”

“It is the safest place until they actually storm the city,” Horst replied.  “And far too many of those refugees” - he nodded towards the wall - “are going to be ground up like sausage when the shit finally hits the fan.”

***

Gudrun had had a busy day, even though she hadn't left the
Reichstag
.  Her mother hadn't been able to offer her much advice, but she
had
urged Gudrun to spend time talking to the older women who had taken over the Woman’s Institute.  Gudrun hadn't enjoyed the experience - the older women seemed torn between clucking in disapproval and being pleased that a female had finally climbed into a position of power - but she had to admit that
Frau
Morgenstern was a formidable advocate.  Under her command, the Woman’s Institute had swallowed up its rivals and was plotting reform ... after the war was finished, of course.

She looked down at the list of proposed legal amendments and sighed.  Some of them were ones she wanted for herself, ranging from the right to refuse a suitor to guarantees for protection if a marriage broke down, while others were troublesome and contradictory.  The older women might want some degree of freedom for themselves, but they were reluctant to extend such freedom to their daughters.  Gudrun
definitely
felt sorry for Hilde, even though she’d been more than a little spoilt.  Having
Frau
Morgenstern run her life couldn't have been fun.

And she’s now in America
, she thought. 
I wonder if she’ll want to come home
.

There was a tap on the door.  “Come in!”

She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw her father stepping into the room.  He looked tired - he would have been woken at the same time as Horst - but his face was under careful control.  Gudrun rose to her feet, unsure quite why he’d chosen to visit.  He’d never visited her office before, not even after she'd invited him.  She had a private suspicion that his mind had separated her into two people, Gudrun-The-Daughter and Gudrun-The-Politician.  Maybe it was the only way he could cope with having a daughter who outranked him.

He wouldn't be so stuffy if Kurt was promoted to Field Marshal
, she thought, feeling a flicker of resentment. 
But then, father would still be the head of the household.

“Father,” she said, carefully.

Her father closed the door.  “We need to talk,” he said, firmly.  He’d used the same words, she recalled with a shiver, when he’d approached her about Konrad.  Had her mother spoken to him?  Or ... or what?  “Please, sit down.”

Gudrun sat, irked.  It was
her
office.

Her father sat facing her, his eyes meeting hers.  “Your boyfriend spoke to me today,” he said.  “Did you know he was going to do it?”

“No,” Gudrun said.  She found herself torn between joy and fear.  On one hand, there was only one thing Horst could have said to her father that would have brought him to her office, but - on the other hand - her father might be inclined to say no.  “What did he say to you?”

“He asked for your hand in marriage,” her father said.  He cocked his head, slightly.  “Are you pregnant?”

Gudrun flushed, angrily.  “No,” she snapped.  She was already feeling her body’s warning signs.  Her period was due within a day, perhaps two.  “And I know for sure,
father
.”

Her father showed no visible reaction, somewhat to her disappointment.   Mentioning female issues in her house had always caused male deafness, as if they didn't want to admit that they were real.  Gudrun’s mother - and her teachers, on the other hand - had been brutally frank, but most of them had been women.  The male teachers hadn't discussed the matter at all.

“Very good,” her father said.  He studied her for a long moment.  “Do you want to marry him?”

“I love him,” Gudrun said.

“That isn't an answer,” her father pointed out.  “Do you
want
to marry him?”

Gudrun closed her eyes for a long moment.  She’d often thought that having a policeman for a father wasn't
fair
!  He’d always been able to pick up on her lies, or half-truths, or when she’d been unwilling or unable to tell him everything.  And he’d even told her, more than once, that he met more experienced liars on the streets.  He’d certainly had no trouble detecting her own doubts and concerns.