Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (34 page)

He pushed the thought aside with an effort.  “It is a way to solidify my grip on her,” he said, lightly.  “A wife finds it hard to disagree with her husband, even when the man is clearly in the wrong.”

Schwarzkopf snorted, rudely.  “You’ve never been married, have you?”

Horst frowned.  “No,” he said.  “Have you?”

His handler ignored the question.  “How many guests are you inviting to the wedding?”

“Just her family,” Horst said.  He’d had very few true friends in Berlin, even before the uprising.  Friendship could be very dangerous if one was trying to maintain a cover story.  “I won’t have anyone to stand beside me when I sign the papers.”

“She’ll hate that,” Schwarzkopf said.  He sounded perversely amused.  “Just a simple registry wedding.  No ceremony, no speakers, no famous guests.  And to think you could probably get most of the council in one room.”

“They vetoed that idea,” Horst said, flatly.  It was true enough.  Any security officer worth his salt would go ballistic at the thought of gathering hundreds of important people in a single location.  “It will have to wait until after the war.”

“And won't happen at all,” Schwarzkopf said.  “I trust you
do
recall your duty?”

“I have never forgotten my duty,” Horst said, stiffly.  “What do you wish of me?”

“We require more precise scheduling details,” Schwarzkopf said.  “Particularly of your lovely wife.”

“She isn't my wife yet,” Horst said, feeling ice trickling down the back of his neck.  The limited pieces of information he’d sent them had probably been useful, but he knew they would be keeping him in reserve until they finally needed him.  He was just too well-placed to risk.  And yet, the sound of gunfire and explosions echoing over the city made it clear that time was running out.  “What sort of information do you want?”

“Just her routine schedule,” Schwarzkopf said.  “We’ll give you more information nearer the time.”

Horst thought fast.  Assassinating Gudrun was a very real possibility, but - as far as Schwarzkopf was concerned - he had an agent who literally slept next to her.  Snapping Gudrun’s delicate neck while she slept would be easy.  There was no point in trying to sneak a kill-team into the
Reichstag
when Horst could do the deed and then make his escape, hours before anyone realised that something was wrong.  And if they doubted his loyalty, it would be an excellent test. 

They want to kidnap her
, he thought, numbly. 
Taking her out of the Reichstag would be impossible, but grabbing her off the streets would be far easier.

“Her schedule changes frequently,” he said.  He carefully did
not
mention that altering her plans at a moment’s notice had been his idea.  “I can give you the schedule I know, but I cannot guarantee that it won’t change.”

Schwarzkopf leaned forward.  “You cannot ensure your wife is in the right position at the right time?”

Horst knew he should probably make a crude joke, something to make it clear that he thought nothing of Gudrun, but he couldn't muster the determination.  Instead, he met his superior’s eyes.

“She generally has a handful of places to choose from,” he said, carefully.  “And while I can
try
to propose a particular destination, I don’t think I can guarantee that she will go there.”

Schwarzkopf lifted his eyebrows.  “Indeed?”

“She is flighty,” Horst lied.  “Four days ago, she went to a hospital and chatted to the wounded men; three days ago, she decided she would be going to the hospital again, then changed her mind and insisted on visiting a school instead.  I think she enjoyed terrifying her old schoolmasters.”

“I’m sure she did,” Schwarzkopf said.

Horst nodded in agreement.  It was an article of faith in the west, he’d discovered, that girls had an easier time of it at school than boys.  But he had a feeling that it wasn't particularly true.  Girls who failed to conform could expect little better than boys who failed to conform, even though girls had less use for educational certificates than boys.  And their parents might eventually be told to make them conform or else.

And now Gudrun is in a position to seek revenge
, he thought.  He would have smirked, if he hadn't been trying to keep his face blank. 
I bet that upset quite a few of her old teachers
.

“I can give you a provisional list,” Horst added.  “And I can try to slant it, but there will be no guarantees.”

“So you keep saying,” Schwarzkopf said.  “Do the best you can.  We will act as we see fit.”

“I know,” Horst said.

“And congratulations on your wedding,” Schwarzkopf added.  “I trust you will have a pleasant honeymoon?”

Horst laughed.  “We can’t get out of the city,” he said.  It was traditional for newly-weds to go off for a honeymoon, but leaving Berlin was impossible.  “We’ll just have to take a day or two off and pretend we’re in Bavaria.”

“Pathetic,” Schwarzkopf said.

“There’s no way to leave,” Horst said.  He moved quickly to dismiss the next possibility, before Schwarzkopf could suggest it.  “Even finding a hotel is impossible, these days.”

“What a pity,” Schwarzkopf said, dryly.  A hotel would have made an ideal spot for a quick kidnap, although getting Gudrun out of the city afterwards would have been tricky.  “You’ll hear from us after the wedding, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Horst agreed.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Berlin, Germany Prime

15 October 1985

Gudrun stood in front of the mirror and slowly disrobed, removing her clothing piece by piece until she was as naked as the day she was born.

She studied her body as dispassionately as she could, despite the churning morass of emotions that threatened to bubble up into her mind.  It was a good body - both Konrad and Horst had said so - and she knew it was satisfactory.  Her skin was pale, with barely a blemish; her long blonde hair hung down to brush against the tops of her breasts.  She’d been lucky not to have darker skin or anything else that would have suggested that there had been a non-Aryan somewhere within the family tree.  There had been a handful of girls who
had
been darker, she recalled all too well.  They’d had papers proving that they met the standard definition of Aryan - no hint of non-Aryan blood for at least four generations - but it hadn't been enough to keep them from becoming social outcasts.  In hindsight, she admitted quietly, she’d treated them as cruelly as everyone else.

Because you didn't want to be an outcast yourself
, she told herself. 
It was safer to pick on the girls who were
.

She cursed the younger person she’d been, then continued to scrutinize her body, her eyes trailing down her legs to her feet.  Her arms were strong, but she was nowhere near as muscular as Horst or her father.  She would never be, she knew, no matter how hard she exercised her body.  Horst had warned her, bluntly, that girls needed to learn to fight dirty, if they wanted to fight at all.  A man would almost certainly be stronger and faster than any woman.  The only way to win was to fight dirty.

There was a knock at the door.  “Gudrun,” her mother called.  “It’s me.”

“Come in,” Gudrun said.  There was no one else in the suite, but she still tensed when the door opened.  “Did you bring the dress?”

“I did,” her mother said, briskly.  “Did you have a quick shower?”

“I showered this morning,” Gudrun said, rather disdainfully.  Water rationing was starting to bite, even in the
Reichstag
.  A five-minute shower was nowhere near long enough to wash her hair.  Some of the maids had even started cutting their hair short to make it easier to wash.  “I don’t want to shower again.”

Her mother looked her up and down, then nodded.  “You look very much like I did at your age,” she said, as she passed Gudrun her undergarments.  “I was expecting shortly afterwards.”

Gudrun coloured.  “I’m not expecting, mother,” she said.  “Really.”

“You soon will be,” her mother predicted, bluntly.  “A virile young man like yours?  He’ll want to share your bed all the time.”

“Mother,” Gudrun said, cringing.  “
Please
.”

Her mother gave her a droll look.  She’d been remarkably informative after Gudrun had discussed Konrad with her, even though Gudrun still winced at the thought of her parents actually having sex.  Gudrun knew she should be grateful that her mother was willing to tell her anything - what she’d learned in school hadn't been particularly informative - but there were details she hadn't wanted to know.  Man-management was apparently a science all of its own in the
Reich
, with secrets passed down through successive generations of mothers and daughters.   But she really hadn't wanted to know about some of the problems her parents had faced.

Gudrun sighed, heavily.  She was twenty years old.  And yet, far too many of her old classmates from school were already married.  They hadn't gone to university, they hadn't dreamed of an independent career ... she’d looked them up, out of curiosity, and discovered that twenty-seven out of thirty girls had married within six months of leaving school.  A number even had children of their own now, children who would be entering nursery school within two years.  And of the remaining three, two of them were practically old maids.

Twenty years old and yet no husband
, she thought, morbidly. 
Their parents will be pushing them to accept the first man who comes calling
.

She pulled her undergarments on, then closed her eyes as her mother lowered the wedding dress over her head.  Gudrun had been offered her mother’s old dress, one that had been in the family for five generations, but she’d declined, pointing out that it wasn't a formal ceremony.  Her mother hadn't objected - Gudrun knew she was quietly planning a huge ceremony for after the war - yet the dress they’d selected in its place was whiter than Gudrun would have preferred.  But then, white wedding dresses were often nothing more than polite fictions within the
Reich
.

“You look good,” her mother said, as she fussed around the dress, loosening some of the seams and tightening others.  “Very like a bride on her way to the registry hall.”

“Oh
good
,” Gudrun said.  She knew her mother wanted a formal ceremony, but that wasn't going to happen until after the war.  “That’s the look I was trying for.”

Her mother snorted.

Gudrun hid her amusement with an effort, then glanced at the door.  Normally, it took at least a week to get a marriage certificate, but the flood of couples trying to get married had done the impossible and forced the bureaucrats to speed up the process.  Horst and her father had flatly refused to allow her to go to the registry hall herself - there was too great a risk of being assassinated or kidnapped - and the register had, reluctantly, been escorted to the
Reichstag
.  The wedding itself would be held in a small room on one of the lower levels ...

“This is your last chance to back out,” her mother said.  “Are you sure you want to marry him?”

“Yes,” Gudrun said.

She shook her head.  Her mother’s words were just as much a polite fiction as the white wedding dress.  A relationship that had come so far simply could not be cancelled and forgotten, not after both sets of parents had paid for the marriage certificate and what other pieces of paperwork were required.  Maybe a girl who got cold feet could run, but it would be a major scandal and tongues would be wagging for years.  Her family would probably disown her, just to make it clear that they didn't condone her actions.

And if I was pregnant
, she thought,
I could never leave
.

She looked at her mother, wondering if she dared ask a question that - on any other day - would probably get her slapped.  But her mother had been open with her - disconcertingly open with her - after she’d started making her plans ...

“Mother,” she said.  “Do you ever regret marrying father?”

Her mother’s lips thinned, just for a second.  “Marriage is ...
different
to being a daughter,” she said, finally.  “This morning, you are a daughter; tomorrow morning, you will be a wife.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Gudrun said.

“Marriage ... is two people learning to live and work together,” her mother said.  “It has its ups and downs.  We have fought, sometimes quite badly, over everything from the household budget to your education.  And yet ... I have learned to be supportive of him and he has learned to be supportive of me.  Gudrun ... you’ll find you won’t truly
know
your husband until you have spent years with him, sharing his life.”

She shook her head.  “No, I don’t regret it.  I have four lovely children and a husband who does his very best for them - and me.  There are worse husbands out there, but few better ones.  Your father is a good man.”

Gudrun cocked her head.  “Even if he did have shouting matches with Kurt?”

“That’s what happens when a young boy grows into a man,” her mother said.  “He starts clashing against the older man in the house.”

She smiled, rather tiredly.  “The sooner Kurt gets married, the better.”

“I’ll see if I can find anyone who might be interested,” Gudrun said.  “I owe him that much, I think.”

She finished dressing and checked her watch, then allowed her mother to lead her out of the door and down towards the wedding chamber.  It was bare, save for a single desk placed at the rear of the room.  A man stood behind it, wearing the drab uniform of a bureaucrat; he gave her a single look, then nodded to himself as she entered the room.  There was nothing obviously wrong with her, Gudrun guessed.  It would have been a different story if she’d had dark skin or anything else that marked her out as - perhaps - not being racially pure.

“Gudrun,” her father said, as he stepped into the chamber.  He held a brown envelope in one hand.  “Are you ready?”

“Yes, father,” Gudrun said.

She looked back as Horst entered the room, flanked by Kurt, Johan and Siegfried.  Horst wore a simple
Heer
uniform without any rank badges, very unlike the black dress uniform he would have worn as an SS stormtrooper - as
Konrad
would have worn, if things had gone differently.  She felt a sudden stab of guilt, as if she was betraying his memory, even though she knew it was absurd.  Konrad wouldn't have wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone, no matter what else happened.  And yet ...

Kurt and Johan wore their uniforms, she noted, while Siegfried wore a simple black suit that had been tailored to fit him.  He hadn't yet entered his final growth spurt, but he was already tall and muscular for his age.  He’d thrown a colossal fit when his father had banned him from joining the boxing club and then sulked for days before finally subsiding.  Gudrun hoped that he hadn’t said anything nasty to Horst.  But then, Kurt would have walloped him if he had.  Horst was alone, his family on the far side of the border.  And there was no way to know if they were even alive.

“I love you,” she mouthed.

“I love you too,” Horst mouthed back.

Siegfried made gagging motions, which stopped abruptly when their father turned his gaze on him.  Gudrun allowed herself a moment of relief, then looked at her father, wondering just what thoughts were going through his head.  His little girl was getting married, leaving the family home for the last time.  Gudrun hadn't set foot in her home for nearly a month, now, but it hardly mattered.  Her relationship with her father would never be the same again.

Her father cleared his throat.  “Shall we begin?”

The register looked up at them as they approached the table.  Up close, he had a bland featureless face that seemed completely unremarkable.  His eyes flickered over Horst, then moved to Gudrun.  Her father put the brown envelope on the desk; the register opened it with a knife, then pulled out the documents and checked them, one by one.  Gudrun felt her heart beginning to race as time seemed to slow down, even though she
knew
it was an illusion.  The slightest mistake with the paperwork would be enough to get the ceremony cancelled, at least until the mistake could be sorted out ...

He’d have to be an idiot to say no now
, she thought, with a flicker of amusement. 
Doesn’t he know who we are?

“Everything appears to be in order,” the register said, finally.  He looked at Horst.  “Your documentation is very limited.”

“That was covered when we obtained the marriage certificate,” Horst said, flatly.  “The original copies of my documents - my file - are in the east.”

The register nodded.  “Understood,” he said.  “And now ...”

He spoke casually, almost as if he were bored.  “This ceremony will make you husband and wife in the eyes of the
Reich
,” he said.  “From the moment you sign the documents and take the marriage certificate, you will be married, whatever ceremony you plan to hold afterwards.”

Gudrun nodded.  This was it, the end of her life as a daughter, the start of her life as a wife ...

“I must ask you both to swear, now, that you carry no taint of non-Aryan blood within you,” the register said.  “Do you swear?”

“I swear,” Horst said.