Volk by Piers Anthony Page B

became ‘the rotten bones are trembling in the ass.’”
    Krista tittered. She gave no sign of objecting to the manner his hand was traveling. But she would have to, soon.
    â€œAt that point I was compelled to call off the singing,” he continued. “There could have been serious repercussions if anyone in authority had overheard.”
    â€œI have heard of that song,” Krista said. “I don’t know the words, of course.”
    â€œOf course,” he agreed with a chuckle. He gave her thigh a squeeze through the cloth of her skirt. Still she did not object. Could she be unaware?
    â€œThen we encountered a contingent traveling south from Leipzig, and one of my boys yelled ‘Beefsteak!’ and almost started a pitched battle between groups. For it is known that in the larger cities a good many Communist youth groups had converted to the Hitler Youth under pressure, and many Communists had joined the Nazi storm troopers. Thus we referred to them derisively as ‘beefsteak Nazis’: brown on the outside, red on the inside. It takes more than a brown shirt to make a good Nazi.”
    â€œBeefsteak!” Krista exclaimed, giggling. “That’s good! You should have fought them.”
    His hand continued past her knee and made the turn. He found the hem of her skirt and touched her bare leg. “But what kind of a marching exhibition would my troop have put on, if it had gotten beaten up by beefsteaks?” Ernst inquired. “They outnumbered us, and some were pretty large steaks.” But in truth he was rather proud of the episode. He hated Communism.
    â€œTrue,” she said with similar regret.
    â€œThe Rally was phenomenal. It lasted almost a week, with different programs scheduled each day. There were so many people there that they filled the streets and courtyards. All day there were marches and parades, with banners and standards, the magnificent black swastika symbol of the
Volk
set in a white circle against a bright red background. There was singing and cheering in unison, a mighty chorus from thousands of throats. Bands played stirring military music; drums beat out the thrumming cadences. Emotion built up. It was terrific.”
    â€œYes,” she whispered.
    His hand was now sliding back up her leg, taking the skirt with it. Still no protest. Where was her limit?
    â€œThen the
Führer
spoke, thundering out his enthusiasm for Germany, for the great ideals of this great nation, for the thousand year empire of the Third Reich. The crowd responded passionately, and I was one with it. ‘
Ein Reich! Ein Volk! Ein Führer!
’ over and over, louder and louder. The Nation, the People, the Leader— what inspiration! The emotion of the occasion charged the air; it was as if the very soul of the
Volk
issued forth from these massed bodies. Individual response no longer existed; there was only the passion of the moment.”
    â€œOh,” she said, her eyes shining. How could she be oblivious to the progress of his hand? He was now passing the knee again, inside her skirt. He had expected her to balk before this, to start drawing away, to be repulsed by the discovery that he was only interested in forbidden touching. That he was, in short, a typical young man. She was supposed to be turned off by this revelation, and to lose her fascination with him.
    â€œAt night there was a torchlight procession. The drumbeat grew deafening, compelling every foot, even among those who only watched. I had never experienced a more moving demonstration. The beat and image pulsed in my brain long after the marches passed. I could hardly sleep.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen came the Party Day of Unity, and the Youth Rally. This was the biggest moment of all. My troop was one of those privileged few to march in the sight of the
Führer
. And Adolf Hitler spoke directly to the Youth, praising the boys for their past achievements and for their