Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (13 page)

And whatever happens, the Reich will never be the same
, he thought.  He’d been a very junior officer when Adolf Hitler had died, but he’d been aware - far too aware - that the different factions in Berlin had nearly come to blows. 
A civil war will tear us apart
.

He cursed, again, wishing he could talk openly to his subordinates.  He was loyal - of course he was loyal!  And yet, he knew all too well just what would happen when the war started in earnest.  A military machine that had dominated the entire continent would be badly weakened, even if the war lasted no longer than Holliston expected.  Rebuilding the economy would be very difficult, ensuring that the panzers and aircraft lost in the war could not be replaced quickly.  The Americans would move ahead - far ahead - and the
Reich
would no longer be able to keep up.

But the merest whiff of disloyalty will get me killed
, he thought grimly, as he looked up at the stars. 
And who will take command then?

The stars offered no answer.  But then, he hadn’t expected one.  He gazed at the twinkling lights, reminding himself that not all of them were natural.  Some of them would be orbiting satellites: German and American.  The battle for control of the satellites had been savage, with both sides trying to lock the other out.  In the end, neither side had really won.

He dropped the cigarette on the ground and trod it into the dirt with his toe.  There was nothing to be gained from worrying himself, not now.  The offensive was due to kick off in less than seven hours, once the troops had moved up to their final jump-off positions.  And then ... who knew?  Maybe the war
could
be ended quickly.

Sure
, he told himself, as he walked back into the complex. 
And maybe Untermenschen will learn to fly.

***

Leutnant
Kurt Wieland couldn't help feeling a shiver running down his spine as he toured the darkened town, even though he knew he should be catching some sleep before he had to go back on duty.  The sentries were awake - they would have regretted it for the rest of their careers if he’d caught them sleeping - but the entire town was so silent it was almost eerie, as if he was walking through one of the monster-infested villages of legend.  He’d read all of the
Beowulf
stories when he'd been a child and the memories lingered, even after he’d learned that the worst monsters in the world walked on two legs.

He stopped at the edge of town, peering into the distance.  There was a minefield there, along with a handful of traps that probably wouldn't slow down a panzer for very long but give an infantry force a very nasty surprise.  Several of his men had competed to produce the nastiest trap; digging trenches, filling them with broken glass and then camouflaging them with artistically-placed trees and bushes.  A couple had even been filled with flammable material, harvested from a couple of the houses.  Kurt didn't feel right about stealing items from the former inhabitants - he’d already put four of his men on punishment duties for stealing ladies underwear - but there was no choice.  He rather doubted the town would still be standing when the
Waffen-SS
had finished with it.

“
Herr Leutnant
,” Loeb said.  “Can’t sleep?”

Kurt shook his head.  He'd worked all day - he
should
have been able to sleep - but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes closed.  It was frustrating, after mastering the old trick of sleeping whenever he had a chance, yet perhaps it was understandable.  He’d never had so much responsibility in his career.  The men under his command were going to war, a war none of them wanted.  And very few of them were truly
ready
for the war.  Kurt was hardly the only combat virgin in the platoon.

You did fire on the SS in Berlin
, he reminded himself. 
But they weren’t expecting you to open fire
.

“The waiting is never easy,
Herr Leutnant
,” Loeb said.  “But you really should sleep.”

Kurt gave him a ghostly smile.  He
knew
he should sleep.  But lying in his cot wouldn't make him feel better, not when time was slowly running out.  Everyone knew the big offensive couldn't be far off, not when it was already growing colder.  No one in their right mind would want to fight in the eastern winter, after all.  The SS would want to get as much of the fighting over with as possible before winter started to hamper their operations.

“We should get some warning of their advance,
Herr Leutnant
,” Loeb reassured him.  “They can’t just drop in on us.”

“They did drop in on Berlin,” Kurt pointed out.

“And it cost them a number of highly-trained commandos, for nothing,” Loeb said.  “I don’t think we’re important enough to risk another commando unit.”

“I hope you’re right,” Kurt said.

He sighed, inwardly, as he peered into the darkness.  They were only twenty kilometres from the border, which was hardly a solid line.  There had been enough outbursts of firing between patrol groups to keep everyone on their toes.  A Panzer division could cross the border and reach the town within an hour, perhaps less, if nothing slowed them down.  It was quite possible the war would end, for him, on the day it started.

“We’re only a handful of soldiers,” Loeb pointed out.  “Their commandos are worth far more than any of us.”

Kurt shot him a sharp look.  “Thanks.”

But it was true, he knew.  SS Commandos went through absolute
hell
to qualify.  Indeed, if the more striking rumours were true, a third of each class of volunteers didn't survive the training program.  The survivors were tough, willing to do anything for the
Reich
, but they couldn't be expended lightly.  There were nowhere near enough commandos for them to be treated like ordinary soldiers.

“Get some rest,
Herr Leutnant
,” Loeb advised.  “It won’t be long now.”

Kurt nodded and took one last look into the darkness.  It was unbroken; there wasn't a single light for miles, not after the military had declared martial law and threatened to arrest anyone who showed a light.  He couldn't help wondering if they’d gone back in time, to the days before electric light and other modern conveniences.  Fredrick the Great would have told him he was being an idiot, if they’d spoken. 
His
men had campaigned under far more disagreeable conditions.

“I know,” he said.  “They’ll be on their way soon.”

Chapter Twelve

Near Warsaw, Germany Prime

13 September 1985

Obergefreiter
Hugo Stellmann hated to admit it, but he was bored.  He'd hoped for an exciting assignment when he’d joined the
Heer
, yet so far the only real excitement had come from marching up and down in front of Hamburg’s Town Hall.  Even the uprising hadn't brought him any excitement, save for an assignment to the border and orders to guard one of the
autobahn
bridges over a river.  He’d found himself checking refugees as they headed west, ordering them to wait until they could be processed and entered into the system, but it hadn't been particularly exciting.  And even the trickle of refugees had dried up, over the last four days. 

He scowled as he glared eastwards.  He’d never liked the SS, although - if he were being honest with himself - it had more to do with their success with women than any moral objections.  There wasn't a blonde-haired girl his own age or near it who hadn't done her duty with one of the black-shirted men, marrying him and bearing his children while Hugo himself remained without a wife or a girlfriend.  They were overrated, he felt; they had hundreds of little blessings from the government while men like Hugo, the ones who did all the work, had nothing.  Surely, a wife wasn't too much to ask.

At least the bastards won’t be chasing women over here any longer
, he thought, as he peered into the darkness.  The first hints of sunrise were slowly rising above the horizon. 
They can ravish their way through Germany East for all I care
.

He lit a cigarette, shaking his head slowly.  His father had died when he was very young, leaving his mother struggling to bring up four children on their father’s pension.  She didn't have the connections to organise marriages for her children, even if she’d wanted to.  It was yet another reason to hate the SS.  Everyone
knew
that SS dependents not only received bigger pensions, they were regularly introduced to prospective partners as soon as they reached marriageable age.  And the SS made sure that their men were rewarded for marrying and bringing more black-shirted brats into the world.

And they blew up the economy while they were doing it
, he thought. 
They just couldn’t pay for all their children.

He snorted to himself.  It would have been funny, if he hadn't been so sure that men like him were going to get the shaft as a result of their gross carelessness.  He didn't pretend to understand basic economics - he’d never done very well at school - but it was evident, to him, that one couldn't spend more money than one earned.  God knew the bank managers had laughed at him when he’d gone, cap in hand, for a loan. 
They
knew better than to loan money that probably couldn't be repaid.

The sound of engines echoed in the air.  He glanced up, one hand reaching for the pistol at his belt, then relaxed as he realised they came from the west.  Their relief was due early in the morning, thankfully.  They’d be rotated back to the inner defence lines, where they’d probably wind up digging more trenches ... it was unlikely they’d have any hope of actual
leave
.  But who knew?  Perhaps some enterprising bastard had set up a brothel near the front lines and started charging soldiers for entry.  Hugo didn't like the idea of dipping his wick in some
Untermensch
bitch on a work-contract, but it was better than nothing.  And there was no hope of a little Hugo popping out, nine months later.  The bitches in the brothels were always sterile.

He turned as the truck approached, a simple troop transport.  There were literally hundreds of thousands, perhaps
millions
, of them in the
Reich
.  Many were sold to civilians, allowing the factories to make a profit while keeping careful track of where the transports could be found, if there was a sudden demand for additional logistic support.  The driver waved cheerfully to Hugo as he parked on one end of the bridge, then beckoned him forward.  Hugo nodded and walked over to the cab ...

... And found himself staring straight into the barrel of a gun.

“Shout and you’re dead,” a voice hissed.  He looked up into a pair of merciless eyes.  “Do as I tell you and you
will
live this day.”

Hugo swallowed, hard.  He felt liquid trickling down his legs as his bladder gave way.  He was dead.  He was
so
dead.  He’d been watching for trouble from the east, but it had never occurred to him that he should be wary of
anyone
approaching the bridge.  The man covering him
had
to be a commando.  He would shoot Hugo down without hesitation if Hugo gave him the slightest excuse.  And there was nothing he could do.

The back of the lorry opened, revealing a dozen men wearing standard grey urban combat uniforms.  They moved like trained professionals, their eyes scanning the bridge for signs of trouble while holding their weapons at the ready.  None of them paid much attention to Hugo save for brief glances to confirm he was no threat.  For once, Hugo was almost grateful.  The SS would kill him in a moment if they believed otherwise.

“Call your men,” his captor ordered.  “Now!”

Hugo wanted to refuse, but he knew it would be pointless.  His men were already trapped within the guardhouse.  Resistance would last as long as it took the commandos to roll a grenade into the tiny room ... he’d been a fool, allowing them to remain in the concrete guardhouse.  It would have been smarter to have an Observation Post established near the bridge.

He cleared his throat.  “Out, now,” he shouted, hearing fear in his voice.  Maybe one of his men would realise that something was wrong and ... and do what?  There was nothing they
could
do.  “Come out ...”

The commandos caught the handful of guards as they came out, searched them roughly and then bound their hands with plastic ties.  Hugo’s captor did the same, grunting in distaste as he inspected Hugo’s sodden trousers, then marched Hugo over to the wall and positioned him against it.  The charges affixed to the bridge, the charges Hugo was supposed to detonate if it became clear the bridge was about to be lost, were rapidly removed.  He watched, helplessly, as the truck moved past them, crossed the bridge and vanished into the east.

He heard the dull rumble of engines and knew, with a sickening certainty that admitted of no doubt, just what was coming his way.  Moments later, he recoiled inwardly as the first panzer came into view, a giant tank easily large enough to knock down his house without ever noticing the impact.  Its main gun traversed threateningly as it hunted for targets, the smaller machine guns mounted on each side of the turret passing over the helpless captives before ignoring them.  Hundreds of other tanks followed, their crews waving cheerfully at the commandoes as they headed westwards.  Hugo closed his eyes in bitter pain, unable to shut out either the growing racket or the terrifying awareness that he had failed.  The door was open, the SS was on the march ...

... And it was all his fault.

His captor leered down at him as another lorry parked near the bridge and unloaded two platoons of heavily-armed soldiers.  “I shouldn’t worry,
Mein Fraulein
,” he said.  He patted Hugo on the shoulder, then hauled him to his feet and pushed him towards the lorry.  “For you, the war is over.”

***

Marlene Johan kept her face expressionless as she peered into the squadron ready room, where thirty-two young men were laughing, talking or trying to get some sleep while they waited for the call to action.  Four of them were already aloft, flying their ME-347s in Combat Air Patrol over the border between east and west, but the others knew they might have to grab their jackets and rush to their planes at any moment.  There should have been four more men in the room, yet they were missing.   Marlene had a feeling that they’d successfully managed to seduce some of her staff and talk them into the private bathrooms.

They’ll be in deep trouble if they’re caught
, she thought with dark amusement, hearing the noise from one of the closed doors. 
And they will be caught, if they keep making that racket.

She smirked at the thought as she made her way into her office.  The pilots were on duty.  They weren't
supposed
to be caught diddling the cleaning staff.  She might even feel sorry for them, after the base’s commander finished tearing strips off their hides and threatening them with instant dismissal - and perhaps castration - if they allowed themselves to be distracted again. 
She
would have had a word with her staff too, under other circumstances.  No one really cared
what
the pilots did when they were off-duty - their uniforms were enough to attract any number of women from the nearby town - but when they were on-duty they were supposed to
remain
on-duty.  If someone was shot down and killed because one of his comrades was late to his plane, they’d never hear the end of it.

Yes, they will
, she thought, as she carefully removed the assault rifle from her locked cupboard and slotted the ammunition into place. 
None of them will survive this day
.

She shook her head as she put the grenades into her pocket, wondering just why the guards hadn't bothered to search her office.  A pistol would have been hard to explain, let alone an assault rifle.  But then, she’d been inside the wire - part of the furniture - long before the uprising had cast the shadow of civil war over Germany.  Too old and unattractive to interest the pilots, too female to be considered dangerous ... she’d kept an eye on the young men for disloyalty, even as she’d cleaned up the mess they left behind.  They thought nothing of her, if they bothered to think of her at all.  She’d take a certain delight in showing them the error of their ways.

If you survive the day
, her own thoughts reminded her. 
And the odds are not in your favour
.

She picked up the rifle, then opened the door and glanced outside.  The noise of two bodies slamming together was growing louder, but there was no one in sight.  Marlene smirked as she hurried out of the door towards the ready room, one hand taking a grenade from her belt and removing the pin.  None of the pilots had bothered to think about the fact - it was hardly a secret - that she’d been born in Germany East.  She might be a woman - old and ugly to them - but she’d been using weapons since she was nine.  An assault rifle was nothing more than a tool to her.

Opening the door, she tossed the grenade into the room and braced herself.  There was a shout - the pilots were sloppy, more used to showing off in the air than fighting for their lives - before the grenade detonated, shaking the building. 
Everyone
would have heard the blast, including the guards.  Marlene hefted the rifle and stepped into the room, her eyes scanning for pilots who had survived the blast.  She put the handful of lightly-wounded survivors down with single-shots, ignoring the badly-wounded men.  They’d be a drain on resources, if they were left alive ...

She heard the sound of a door banging open behind her and hurried back out into the corridor.  Isabel was standing there, her bare breasts bobbling as she looked from side to side in shock; behind her, one of the more odious pilots was trying to draw his pistol from his belt.  Marlene shot him down without hesitation, then aimed at Isabel.  The dark-haired girl crumpled to the ground, fainting in shock.  Marlene was tempted to put a bullet through her head anyway - Isabel was too stupid to be allowed to breed - but thought better of it as she heard the sound of running footsteps.  The guards were finally coming to stop her.  No doubt they thought that one of the pilots had turned on his fellows.

Bracing herself, she took another grenade, removed the pin and hurled it down the corridor as the guards came into view.  They were on the alert; two of them threw themselves to the ground as the grenade detonated, while another one hurled himself backwards.  Marlene fired a long burst of bullets towards them, then turned and ran, using another grenade to cover her tracks.  The explosion shook the building, sending pieces of debris crashing towards the floor.  There were a handful of shots behind her, but none of them even came close.

No training for an internal assault
, Marlene thought, gleefully.  The guards had trained hard, she recalled, but all their training had been based around an external assault on the airbase.  It hadn't seemed to occur to them that one of the charwomen might be an SS operative, ready to turn on them when she received the signal. 
They’re not ready for me
.