“They’re probably making a statement,” Gudrun said. “Trying to tell us they won’t be pushed around any longer.”
She rolled her eyes in irritation. Being a councillor - even one without portfolio - had been an education in more ways than one. She’d known there was something deeply wrong about the Reich ever since she’d discovered just what had happened to her former boyfriend, but she’d never truly grasped the full extent of its evil. The Vichy French had been Germany’s unwilling allies since 1940, trapped within the Reich’s network of satellite states, unable to move to partnership or escape Germany’s grasp. The slightest hint of nationalist sentiment would have been enough to get the panzers moving, back before the coup.
And the French were lucky, compared to some of the others, she thought, numbly. At least there’s still a nation that calls itself France.
“Here we are,” Horst said, as a man in a light brown suit opened the car door. “Just remember not to give away more than we have to give away.”
Gudrun shot him a dark look as she stepped out into the warm air. France was warmer than Germany, she’d been told, particularly as the world inched remorselessly towards winter. A number of her teachers had even made fun of the French, insisting that they were weak because they’d grown up in such a pleasant climate. Gudrun wasn't sure if that was true - she’d been told thousands of lies at school - but she put the thought firmly out of her mind anyway. This was a bad time for a three-sided war.
“We cannot afford major trouble on our western borders,” Volker Schulze had said, before she’d departed Berlin. “If we have to make concessions to keep the French quiet, we will make concessions.”
Horst stayed behind her as she was escorted through a pair of doors and into a sitting room that was, quite evidently, a place for holding clandestine discussions. She’d half-expected to travel to Compiègne Forest, where Hitler had laid down the terms for France’s surrender and submission to the Reich, but the French had offered the Chateau Picard instead. In some ways, it was a relief. Her predecessors might have enjoyed rubbing France’s collective nose in just how helpless it was before Germany, but she had to admit it would make it harder to hold talks now. They needed the French in a reasonably cooperative mood.
“Fraulein Wieland,” the French Premier said, in excellent German. “Welcome to Chateau Picard.”
Gudrun took his hand and shook it, firmly. Premier Jean-Baptiste Jacquinot was an old man, easily in his seventies. Vichy France didn't bother to hold elections. Jacquinot had been deemed suitable by the Reich and any attempt to undermine him would have drawn the wrath of the Reich Council, as long as Jacquinot served them faithfully. His position now was somewhat ambiguous, according to Horst. Vichy might not overthrow him, for fear of what the Reich would do, but his real power was declining by the day.
The younger man beside him underlined it. Bruno Ouvrard was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. It was hard to be sure - the files hadn't been clear - but Gudrun suspected he was only five or six years older than her. Old enough to be experienced, young enough to gaze upon her with interest. His mere presence was a sign of just how badly events in Vichy were slipping out of control, she knew. It said a great deal about the situation that the official government and the growing independence movement knew perfectly well how to talk to one another - and had probably done so for some time.
They should have locked him up, she thought. They could have locked him up.
She sighed, inwardly. The files had made it clear that Vichy had promised to do its upmost to keep the growing movement from disrupting food supplies to the Reich - and failed, miserably. France had been on the verge of starvation for years now, as German demands grew harsher and harsher. It was hard to blame the French for wanting to fight - or simply downing tools and refusing to serve the Germans at the expense of their own population. But they didn't realise they might face a far worse threat in the near future.
“Thank you, Premier,” she said. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Of course,” Jacquinot said. He nodded towards the comfortable chairs. “Please, take a seat.”
Gudrun sat, schooling her face into the impassive mask that every German schoolchild learned to master before reaching their second decade. Showing what one was really thinking in school could mean a beating or worse. She still shivered when she remembered one of her friends being expelled for questioning their teacher over a relatively minor point, even though her family were good Germans. Gudrun had no idea what had happened to her after that, but she doubted it had been anything pleasant. The SS hadn't tolerated any open dissent.
“I am curious,” Ouvrard said. “Why have they sent you, Fraulein?”
He made Fraulein sound like an insult, Gudrun noted with some amusement. Perhaps it was, to him. Fraulein was hardly used to address French girls, let alone Untermenschen servants and slaves. The Racial Purity Laws insisted that good Germans could not marry French women, let alone have children with them. Gudrun could marry a Norwegian or a Dane, if she couldn't find a pure-blooded German, but a Frenchman would be right out. They were forever isolated from the Reich, trapped between the Volk and the Untermenschen.
“I started the movement that brought down the Reich Council,” she said, simply. “Chancellor Schulze felt you would listen to me.”
“We would listen to anyone, Fraulein,” Jacquinot assured her. He didn't make it sound like an insult. “But doing what you want is quite another matter.”
“I would expect as much,” Gudrun said. She cursed under her breath. She knew how to haggle in the market - her mother had taught her - but not how to hold a sensitive diplomatic discussion with a foreign power. “May I be blunt?”
“Of course, Fraulein,” Jacquinot said.
Gudrun leaned forward. “Right now, the SS is readying its offensive against us,” she said, curtly. There was no point in trying to hide it. The BBC and Radio Free Europe had been broadcasting the truth for the last week. Normally, the Reich would have tried to jam the outside broadcasts, but right now the jamming stations were offline. “If they successfully retake Berlin, the most you can expect is a return to your previous status - servitude to Germany.”
“Unacceptable,” Ouvrard said.
“You do not have the firepower to keep them from pushing into Vichy France and putting your people to the sword,” Gudrun said, bluntly. “And you have already compromised yourselves, in the eyes of the SS.”
“Just by being born French,” Ouvrard sneered.
Gudrun nodded. “If we win the war, however, we will be in a position to make a number of concessions,” she added. “And we have no inclination to keep France permanently subjected to Germany.”
“A pretty speech,” Ouvrard said. “Why don’t I believe you?”
He met her eyes. “Why should we not ally with the SS to regain our independence?”
Gudrun stared at him in genuine astonishment. The French ally with the SS? Were they out of their minds? It was so absurd that she refused to believe it was anything more than a negotiating gambit, yet it was worthless. The SS had tormented France ever since 1940, conscripting slave labourers and purging the French of anyone they deemed anti-German. No Frenchman in his right mind would ally with the SS.
“That’s what the Arabs said,” Horst said, into the silence. “And remind me - what happened to the Arabs after they were no longer useful.”
“They were slaughtered,” Jacquinot said, flatly.
“Quite,” Gudrun said. She regained her balance and pushed forward. “If we have to fight you, now, it may well cost us the war. Therefore, we would prefer to avoid fighting you ...”
“So would we, Fraulein,” Jacquinot said.
“But we also need food supplies from you,” Gudrun continued. “Our stockpiles are already dangerously low.”
“So we have leverage,” Ouvrard said.
“Not as much as you might think,” Gudrun countered. “We might simply take what we want, devastating Fran
ce in the process ... or we might lose, leaving you exposed to a vengeful SS that intends to use you as the enemy to reunify the Reich.”
“You make a convincing case, Fraulein,” Jacquinot observed.
Ouvrard leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his lap. “There are terms, of course.”
“Of course,” Gudrun echoed.
She looked from one Frenchman to the other, wondering precisely what the balance of power actually was. Jacquinot controlled the government, in theory, but Gudrun knew from bitter experience that the government was hardly a solid monolith. Who knew which way the different departments would jump, if their loyalty was tested? The French generals had to know they were badly outmatched, if push came to shove, but the French soldiers might want to fight. And, while the French were constantly mocked as military weaklings, they did have a hard core of tough professional soldiers, men who had served multiple terms defending French North Africa from insurgents. Overrunning France would be a distraction the Reich could not afford.
“First, we want political and economic independence,” Ouvrard said. “Once the war is over, we want complete freedom to make whatever political alliances we like and trade with whoever we like, on even terms. You will no longer be allowed to dominate us.”
Gudrun nodded. Volker Schulze and Hans Krueger had expected as much, when they’d discussed the different possibilities with her. The French economy was in a mess, at least in part, because they were forced to sell their wares to Germany at ruinously cheap prices. They wouldn't want to remain under the Reich’s economic thumb. She was just surprised they hadn't demanded military independence too.
But that would worry us, she thought. She’d taken the time to study the true history of German-French relations and they hadn’t proved encouraging. France and Germany had been at loggerheads from the very first day of the Second Reich. A France armed with modern weapons - and perhaps even nukes - would be a lethal threat.
“Those terms are acceptable, with one caveat,” Gudrun said. “You may not join any outside military alliance or allow outside forces to station troops, aircraft, ships or anything else within your territory.”
The two Frenchmen exchanged glances, but neither of them looked particularly surprised by her response. Only the Americans or the British could have moved forces into France - and they had to realise that the Reich would not tolerate such a move. France would become the first battleground of the final war.
“Understood,” Ouvrard said. “Second, we demand the return of our stolen territories.”
Gudrun reminded herself, savagely, to keep her face impassive. Alsace-Lorraine was historically German, she’d been taught in school, even though it had changed hands several times in the last century. Every German schoolchild was told about French atrocities against the Germanic population ... atrocities that were far outmatched by the horrors the SS had committed against almost everyone, even the Germans themselves. She could not simply abandon German territory to the French ...
... And if she did, she knew Volker Schulze would renounce it as soon as she returned home.
Because the SS will turn it into a propaganda ploy, she thought, numbly. They’ll tell the Volk that the government is planning to surrender German territory ... and they will be right.
It wasn't just Alsace-Lorraine either, she knew. There was a swath of French territory - the entire western coastline - that had been annexed by the Reich. It was now dominated by hundreds of military bases and fortifications, preparations to meet an Anglo-American invasion that had never come. Much of the native population had been moved out too, when they hadn’t been quietly ‘encouraged’ to leave, and replaced by Germans. The French settlers in French North Africa had been uprooted from their homes and bitterly resented it, but they couldn't return. There was no way she could make any territorial concessions.
“Let me be blunt,” she said. “Occupied France - and Alsace-Lorraine - have been thoroughly Germanized. The people living there are Germans. Forcing them to move will only spark off another major confrontation at the worst possible time.”
She scowled, inwardly. The vast majority of the troops in Occupied France, certainly the reservists, had homes and families there. They would not be keen to force their own people to leave, nor would they sit there quietly while outsiders did the dirty work. And the SS would be delighted to offer support to any insurrection. A major crisis in the rear would be at least as bad - perhaps worse - as going to war with France.
And the loyalty of our own military could not be taken for granted, she thought, grimly. Our entire government could disintegrate, allowing the SS to come back and take over.
“Those territories are ours,” Ouvrard insisted. “They cannot be surrendered!”
“You did surrender them,” Horst said, amused.
Gudrun gave him a sharp look as Ouvrard purpled. Horst was no more a diplomat than she was. The SS had never been about diplomacy. It rarely even bothered trying to be polite.
“That was when we lay prostrate before you,” Ouvrard said. “Now ... you need us.”
Horst leaned forward. “There’s such a thing as overplaying your hand,” he said. “I concede that we need your help, but we don’t need it so badly that we’re ready to deal with the consequences of giving you what you want. If you push this too far, you may wind up with the SS on the border instead of us.”
Jacquinot smiled. “So you’re saying we should quit while we’re ahead?”
“Yes,” Horst said. “You can get some concessions from us now - and we will honour them - but you can't get everything.”
“True,” Jacquinot said. “Fraulein, with your permission, we will write up the terms of the agreement and make them public, once they are signed. Our public needs to know that we are making progress.”
Gudrun nodded. The French economy had been hit by multiple strikes, but - unlike in the Reich - the strikers hadn't gained any real concessions. They were growing tired of waiting for change, she’d been told. It wouldn't be long before Jacquinot and Ouvrard found themselves on opposing sides, if they failed to put the brakes on now. A civil war in France might keep the French from causing trouble, but it would definitely interfere with the shipment of supplies to the Reich.
“That would be acceptable,” she said.
“There is one other condition,” Ouvrard said, softly. “We want the conscripted labourers returned from the Reich.”
Gudrun wasn't entirely sure if that was a good idea or not - for France. Hans Krueger had pointed out that hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen were in Germany, Frenchmen who would have problems finding employment when they got home. Dumping so many workers onto the French economy would probably cause all sorts of headaches for the French Government, which might be why Ouvrard wanted it. But it wasn't as if anyone in Germany wanted to keep the Gastarbeiters.
“They will be returned home,” she said, bluntly. She had no idea what would be done - if anything could be done - about the Gastarbeiters from Germany East, but that wasn't her problem. “Do you have any other demands?”
Ouvrard smiled. “Not at all, Fraulein.”
“We thank you for coming, Fraulein,” Jacquinot said. “And we will have the terms of the provisional agreement written up now.”
“Of course,” Gudrun said.
She watched the two Frenchmen leave, then sat back and waited - doing her best to keep her face impassive - until Jacquinot returned with the provisional agreement. It was nothing more than a list of points, but it covered everything they’d discussed. She signed both copies, then passed one back to Jacquinot. The provisional government would have to hold a formal signing ceremony later, once the agreement was approved.
And there’s no reason why they won’t approve it, she thought. It gives us what we want.
As soon as both copies were signed, she rose and followed the escort out of the room, back to the car. Horst walked beside her, looking pensive. He hadn't liked the idea of negotiating with the French at all
, Gudrun knew, even though he’d seen no alternative. But then, as far as everyone was concerned, he was nothing more than her bodyguard. His objections had been strictly private.
“Well,” Horst said, as the car passed through the gates and back onto the road leading to the private airfield. “That could have gone worse, I suppose.”
“Yeah,” Gudrun said.
She wanted to hug him - they’d been lovers ever since the Reich Council had fallen - but she didn't know if she could trust the driver. He might well be keeping an eye on her for his superiors. God alone knew what having a premarital affair would do to her reputation, now everything was up in the air. Once, it would have been harmless, as long as she’d intended to get married. Now ...
“They didn't offer us troops,” Horst added. “Did you notice?”
“We were going to refuse, if they offered,” Gudrun reminded him. “I don’t know how well they’d fight, but the SS would turn them into a propaganda weapon.”
Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) Page 6