We should just take over, Karl thought, as he rose to his feet. The Ministry of Territory was no match for the SS, but its master was not to be despised. Just make the French do as we tell them.
“Herr Reichsführer,” Kuhnert said, as Marie poured coffee for them both. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”
“It was my pleasure,” Karl said. Marie retreated through the door, which she closed firmly behind her. “What can I do for you?”
“The leaflets have spread to France and Norway,” Kuhnert said, flatly. “I don’t expect trouble from the Norwegians, but the French may become a problem.”
Karl swore under his breath. “The computer network?”
“Someone printed them off at the far end, then started to pass them around in a dozen cities,” Kuhnert said. “Vichy caught a couple of distributors, but they escaped before they could be taken for interrogation.”
“They escaped?” Karl asked. Losing prisoners was rare. It almost always spoke of gross incompetence – or a deliberate decision to allow the prisoners to flee. “How?”
“The French aren’t saying,” Kuhnert said. “But from what I picked up from my sources, they were simply allowed to escape by the security forces. Deliberately.”
He leaned forward before Karl could say a word. “That’s not the only problem,” he added, grimly. “There’s a rumour going around France that we’re planning to send French troops to South Africa.”
Karl let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Do they really expect us to send cowards to fight in a war?”
“The French lost – and lost badly – in 1940,” Kuhnert said, calmly. “But they were betrayed by their leaders, not their fighting men. And now there are many Frenchmen wondering if the chance of freedom is worth the risk of death.”
“Every time we have fought the French,” Karl countered, “we have beaten them. We would have crushed France in 1914 if the British hadn’t intervened and the Jews hadn’t stabbed us in the back. They are not fool enough to lift a hand against us now.”
“I’m not worried about them fighting us,” Kuhnert said. “Vichy knows what will happen if they challenge us and yes, they will do whatever it takes to root out their own rebels so we won’t do it for them. I’m more worried about the economic effects such rumours will have on our industry.”
“You sound like Krueger,” Karl said.
“The French supply us with various raw materials, foodstuffs and a considerable amount of manpower,” Kuhnert said, ignoring the jibe. “Their production level has been poor ever since the sixties, when they realised they weren’t going to get out from under our thumb. Why should they produce anything when nine-tenths of what they produce goes straight to the Reich? They’re still on pretty low rations and they resent it. Far too many of the best Frenchmen are immigrating to North Africa or fleeing to Britain.”
Karl frowned. “So?”
“Their government is, if anything, more repressive than ours,” Kuhnert continued. “The workers in France haven’t been allowed a proper trade union for years, ever since we defeated them in 1940, and the worker associations they do have are more concerned with pleasing the government than assisting the workers. There have long been rumours of plans to set up secret unions and demand change…”
“Which we will crush,” Karl interrupted.
“They may no longer care,” Kuhnert said. “The Spanish and Italians have the same problem, Herr Reichsführer. Their populations have long resented slaving for us. Now… they are starting to wonder what would happen if they simply refuse to work.”
Karl scowled. “And what will happen?”
“We’ll start having supply problems of our own,” Kuhnert said. He nodded towards the map hanging on the wall. “These issues aren’t going to fade away in a hurry, Herr Reichsführer.”
“I see,” Karl said.
He gritted his teeth in frustration. The only French department he’d thought the Reich could rely on was the Vichy government itself. Massively unpopular, caught between the Reich and its own people, it was hellishly effective at sniffing out trouble. But if the French security forces were starting to rot, if the French military thought it would be sent to fight in South Africa, Vichy might lose control. And who knew what would happen then?
We have contingency plans, he reminded himself. We could get the Panzers rolling into France within hours of trouble breaking out in Vichy… except those forces are earmarked for South Africa…
His blood ran cold. And if the Americans start to meddle in France itself…
“Thank you for letting me know,” he said. Something would have to be done, but what? “I will consider your concerns.”
“Thank you, Herr Reichsführer,” Kuhnert said. “I appreciate it.”
Chapter Twenty
Schulze Residence
31 July 1985
“Gudrun,” Liana said, as she opened the door. “How are you?”
“Well enough,” Gudrun said. It was hard to disguise her nervousness, but she had to try. “Are your parents in?”
“Father is in the living room, talking to mother,” Liana said. She gave Gudrun a wink. “I think they’re discussing my marriage.”
Gudrun blinked in surprise. Liana was sixteen, barely old enough to marry; hell, Konrad had been twenty and he hadn’t been married before he’d gone to the war. But Konrad’s father was a traditionalist, far more of a traditionalist than Gudrun’s own father. He’d want his daughter married off as soon as possible, after he presented her with a list of possible candidates. She winced in bitter sympathy. Liana could only hope that the list included someone she might like and grow to love, in time.
“They might have something else to discuss,” she said. “Can you tell them I’m here?”
“They’re always pleased to see you,” Liana said, catching Gudrun’s arm and hauling her into the small house. “Come on.”
Gudrun nodded and followed Liana into the living room. Konrad’s father was sitting in an armchair, holding court, while Konrad’s mother was seated on a sofa, her arms crossed under her breasts. She didn’t look very happy, Gudrun noted; she had a feeling that Konrad’s mother might never contradict her husband in public, but it would be a different story in private. God knew the BDM had told her, time and time again, that she should never argue with her husband publicly. Male pride didn’t like it.
“Gudrun,” Gerde Schulze said, rising to her feet. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Thank you,” Gudrun said, flushing in embarrassment as the older woman gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. She’d always liked Konrad’s mother, but Gerde was a little too tactile for her tastes. “Can we talk privately?”
“Of course we can,” Volker Schulze said, gruffly. “Liana, go to your room.”
Liana gave Gudrun a betrayed look, then turned a pleading gaze on her father. “Father, I…”
“Go,” her father ordered. “I’ll speak to you later.”
Gudrun winced inwardly as Liana turned and stalked out of the room, holding her back ramrod straight. She hoped the girl didn’t try to argue with her father later, but she knew Konrad’s sister had always been impetuous. Volker Schulze sighed out loud as Liana’s footsteps echoed through the house as she stamped up the stairs, then waved Gudrun to a seat facing him. Clearly, he didn’t think Gudrun had come to see Gerde alone.