Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (20 page)

Traitors
, he reminded himself. 
They deserve to lose everything
.

He lit a cigarette as he took stock of the situation.  He’d lost nineteen men in all, not counting the panzer crews.  Crushing the town had cost him badly, too badly.  It was far too much ... he wondered, absently, if he would be relieved for it.  The upper ranks would be looking for a scapegoat and the panzer commander, the one who had driven right into the trap, was probably dead.  Unfortunately, he’d probably had a chance to breed first ...

“Orders from HQ,” the radio operator said.  “They want us to hold the town until they get reinforcements up to us.”

“Understood,” Hennecke said.

He shrugged.  It wasn't as if the remains of the town were going anywhere.

We’ll just have to bulldoze the debris out of the way
, he thought, as he directed his men to start patrolling the outskirts. 
And then we can start running supply lines down the road towards the autobahn
.

***

Kurt had expected trouble when they retreated, but he’d badly underestimated just how quickly the SS could throw a ring of steel around the town.  Indeed, if he hadn't reacted quickly himself, punching through the stormtroopers and escaping into the countryside would have been impossible.  He had no intention of seeing the inside of a POW camp - he’d be used against Gudrun, once his captors figured out who he was - but escaping had cost him two more men.  By the time he reached the RV point, he was tired, drained and thoroughly sick of the war.

“Grab something to eat,
Herr Leutnant,
” the
Oberfeldwebel
running the RV point said.  “The CO will be reorganising the formations over the next couple of hours.”

Kurt nodded, too tired to argue.  He wasn't blind to the implications, either.  He’d hurt the enemy, but he’d taken heavy losses to do it.  And the next engagement might be just as bad, costing him worse.  And then ... he shook his head slowly at the thought.  They might run out of manpower before the SS reached Berlin.

He took a bottle of water and sipped it, trying to be optimistic.  They'd met the SS and given them a bloody nose - and they’d never
planned
to hold the town.  Five panzers destroyed or damaged was hardly a
small
bloody nose.  But there was no denying that the enemy was still advancing, doing their best to push the defenders back.  And the defenders
were
falling back.

We have more firepower
, he told himself, firmly. 
All we need is time to get it into position
.

***

Oberstgruppenfuehrer
Alfred Ruengeler totted up the reports with a pronounced feeling of displeasure, mixed with a grim pride in his men.  After the first set of victories - the bloodless capture of one of the bridges would definitely go down in the history books - his men had started to run into a wily and elusive enemy determined to make them fight for every last inch.  Each encounter had cost him badly, forcing him to slow the advance as he ran more panzers and supporting vehicles over the bridges.  Indeed, if he hadn't had air superiority, he suspected the offensive would have been stopped in its tracks.

He stood outside the command post, watching the sun sinking slowly in the west.  Darkness was falling over the land, bringing the panzers to a halt ... although he knew it wouldn't stop the fighting.  His stormtroopers were trained and experienced at pushing forward under cover of darkness, keeping the enemy jumpy as the logistics officers struggled to keep the panzers fuelled and armed.  They hadn't had a
real
war in far too long, he admitted.  And smashing the joint logistics network into rubble hadn't helped either.

But we’re advancing towards Berlin
, he told himself, firmly.  It
was
technically accurate, even though the advance was proceeding at a far slower pace than planned. 
And we will reoccupy the city soon
.

He shook his head as he lit a cigarette.  His troops were good, but their officers and NCOs were reporting increasingly harsh anti-westerner sentiments.  So far, most of the towns and villages they’d stumbled across had been evacuated, yet it was only a matter of time before they encountered civilian populations.  And then ... he dreaded to think what would happen then.  None of his men had been trained to
avoid
civilian casualties.

And the Führer won’t give a damn
, he thought.  He dropped the cigarette on the ground, then stamped on it. 
He’s already got a list of men and their families he wants to purge.

Alfred shuddered.  There was no way they were going to be able to avoid an incident, no matter how harshly the men were disciplined.  And then ... if nothing else, the traitors would be able to use it to rally support.  No one cared what happened to a bunch of
Untermenschen
, but good Germans? 
That
was important.

And if they become committed to their cause
, he asked himself,
what happens to us
?

Chapter Nineteen

Berlin, Germany Prime

16 September 1985

Horst followed Gudrun through a hospital, silently marvelling at just how well she was able to connect with the wounded - civilians and soldiers - who had been brought to the building for treatment.  She stopped and spoke to all of them, from the soldier who had been shot in the leg by a sniper to the little girl who’d been wounded when flying debris broke her arm, her words - perhaps - making it easier for them to believe that they hadn't been wounded in vain.  Gudrun had worried over sounding fake, as if she didn't really care, but her hesitations and moments of silence only added to the effect.  She wasn't a radio broadcaster, reading the script; she was someone trying her best to be
real
.

He kept his face impassive as a pair of wounded soldiers flirted cheerfully with her - they would never have dared flirt with anyone else on the council - and tried hard to resist the temptation to organise an extremely dangerous posting for both of them.  They
had
been wounded in combat, true, and such wounds carried high status in the
Reich
, but they were flirting with
his
girl.  And yet, they didn't
know
Gudrun was his girl.  How could they?  She wore no wedding ring, nothing to suggest she was anything other than an unmarried young girl.  Someone who flirted with a married woman would be in deep shit, but not someone who flirted with an unmarried girl ...

You’re being an idiot
, he told himself, sternly. 
She’s being nice to them and they are trying to keep themselves from falling into depression
.

Gudrun looked relieved as the tour finally came to an end and they made their way back to the car.  Horst felt relieved too, even though they were out in the open without anything like enough security to suit him.  Volker Schulze or Hans Kruger would have had a small army protecting them, if they left the bunkers, but Gudrun had only two bodyguards: himself and the driver.  Maybe they didn't consider Gudrun
that
important, compared to the two older men ... Horst knew, deep inside, that Gudrun
would
be a target.  There was such a thing as malice and revenge.  Holliston would definitely want Gudrun alive so he could make her death memorable.

“I think you need more security,” he said, once the car doors were closed.  “You’re naked out here with only me.”

“I’m not naked,” Gudrun said.  She glanced down at her jacket, which obscured the shape of her breasts.  “Really ...”

“You know what I mean,” Horst said.  Three days of fighting had seen the SS slowly advancing forward, pushing the defenders back.  He’d heard nothing from the stay-behind cell, but his training told him that it was merely a matter of time before they got back in touch with him.  “You need more security.”

Gudrun shook her head.  “I don’t feel so close to people” - she nodded towards the hospital as they drove away - “when I have a dozen men surrounding me.”

“It only takes one person to kill you,” Horst said.  He’d been nervous all the time they’d been outside the car, although really the car was no true protection.  It was bulletproof, but a single RPG or antitank missile would be more than sufficient to turn it into scrap metal.  Or a carefully-placed IED.  “He might be posing as one of your admirers until the moment he stabs you with a knife.”

He signed, knowing he was going to lose the battle.  There was no way he could
force
Gudrun to accept more bodyguards, if she didn't
want
to accept more bodyguards, any more than he could force her to stay in the bunker.  And she had a point, he had to admit.  None of the common citizens had ever seen the
Reich
Council, not without hundreds of bodyguards, detailed security vetting and a strip search before they entered the dome.  Gudrun, walking the streets without bodyguards, was far more capable of making a connection with the common citizens.

“I have to take the risk,” Gudrun said, stiffly.  “There’s no choice.”

Horst gave her a sharp look.  Didn't she
know
the danger?  But then, Gudrun had always been brave, sometimes to the point of recklessness.  Her family connections wouldn't have saved her, if she’d been fingered as an underground leader, any more than they would save her now from a bullet through the head.  A single sniper, perched on a nearby rooftop, could pick her off before anyone realised he was there.  But hiding in the bunker would only undermine her connection to the rest of the city.

He said nothing as the car pulled into the underground garage and they made their way down to the bunker.  The guards checked their names and faces, then waved them through without comment.  Horst had hoped there would be a chance to pick up a briefing from one of the military officers, but the note waiting for them in their suite made it clear that there wouldn't be another formal meeting until later in the day.

“I know you worry about me,” Gudrun said, once the door was closed.  “But I owe it to myself to take some risks.”

“You don’t have to,” Horst snorted.

“That’s the point,” Gudrun said.  “I don’t have to, but I’m going to take them anyway.”

She did have a point, Horst conceded, reluctantly.  He wouldn't have wanted to be a woman, not when a woman’s opinions could be easily dismissed - and her life ruled by the men in her life - but there were
some
advantages.  No one in the west expected women to actually fight, to stand and die in defence of the
Reich
.  Gudrun might stand up and tell men to fight, yet she would never be asked to fight herself.  And while a man would be called a coward if he shirked duty on the front line, a woman would be spared that particular insult.

But she needs to prove herself to the men
, he admitted, silently. 
Or they won’t take her seriously.

He gave her a quick kiss, then walked out of the bunker, up the stairs and into his bedroom, hoping his habit of checking the room each day hadn't gone unnoticed.  The spy - whoever he or she might be - had to be keeping an eye on him.  He worried, constantly, about finding the bastard, but a covert check of everyone in the building had turned up nothing.  And yet, it wouldn’t.  The SS would hardly have failed to make sure that their observers had genuine covers.  Horst himself was proof of that!

His blood ran cold as he saw the note, positioned provocatively on top of his bed.  He sucked his breath in, sharply, as he picked it up, unsure if he should be damning the spy for sheer lack of tradecraft or not.  Putting the message in such a blatant position was stupid, but it was also a warning that he was under observation.  He’d already known that, of course, yet the message rubbed it in.  He wondered grimly just what the observer - and his handler - was thinking, then opened the message.  It gave a location, a date and a time, two days in the future. 
That
struck him as more than a little odd.

He retrieved the street map of Berlin he’d obtained from the library and checked the location, hoping his memory had failed him.  But it hadn't.  The location the cell had selected was quite some distance from the
Reichstag
, a place where it would be easy for them to make sure that Horst was alone before he met them.  Bringing a small army with him would be impossible, Horst conceded reluctantly.  Even getting a pair of covert observers into position to watch proceedings would be fraught with difficulty. 

Damn it
, he thought.  Schwarzkopf - or whoever had taken over, if Schwarzkopf wasn't in charge - had picked a very good spot. 
And if I don’t show, all hell is going to break loose
.

He sighed.  It was time to talk to the Chancellor.  Again.

***

Herman wasn't entirely sure why he had been called off duty and told to report directly to the
Reichstag
.  Ordinary policemen were
never
invited into the
Reichstag
, even when they were in very deep shit indeed.  Gudrun was the only person who might have called him, but he found it hard to imagine his daughter summoning him as though he was her minion.  She would know better, surely.  And yet, who
else
would call him?

It has to be something to do with the missing refugee
, he thought, as he passed through security. 
Someone has taken my concerns seriously.

He watched the security guards, gauging their performance.  The security procedures were admirably tight, although they were more concerned with removing his pistol than anything else he could use as a weapon.  Given just how innovative some suspects could become, when it became clear they were going to spend the rest of their lives in a work camp - if they were lucky - he rather suspected the guards needed a crash course.  But that, thankfully, wasn't his concern.

“
Leutnant
Wieland,” a man said, when he was shown into a small room.  Another man - it took Herman a moment to recognise him as one of Gudrun’s friends - was standing by the window, watching Herman through bright blue eyes.  “Thank you for coming.”

“I wasn't aware I had a choice,
Mein Herr
,” Herman said, tartly.  Even now, with soldiers and reservists joining the police on the streets, Berlin remained uneasy.  “Why did you call me off the streets?”

“You have an interesting record,
Leutnant
Wieland,” the man said.  He hadn't bothered to introduce himself, which in Herman’s experience probably meant he was either SS or an intelligence officer.  Hopefully, the latter.  “You’ve moved from being a street cop to a detective and then back to being a street cop ... may I ask why?”

“It’s in my file,
Mein Herr
,” Herman said.

“But I am asking
you
,” the man said.  “Why did you choose to return to the streets?”

Herman took a moment to formulate his answer.  “I grew frustrated with being a detective,
Mein Herr
,” he said, finally.  “It was rare, very rare, to solve a case - and there were quite a few times when the perpetrator enjoyed political cover.  There was no hope of bringing the guilty man to justice.  I requested a transfer back to the streets and it was accepted without comment.”

The man lifted his eyebrows.  “Why?”

“Policemen, as they grow older, often try to get
off
the streets,” Herman said.  “An experienced officer who volunteers to return to the streets is a blessing.”

“For his superiors, I imagine,” the man said.  “What did your wife say about it?”

Herman shrugged.  “Kurt had joined the military by that point, so we didn't need so much income,” he said.  “But she wasn't too pleased about it.”

He sighed, inwardly. 
That
was an understatement.  Adelinde had thrown a colossal fit, shouting and screaming in rage when she’d heard he was going back to the streets.  A street policeman had a significantly higher chance of being injured or killed on duty than a detective, meaning that she would fear for his life every time he went on patrol.  But he couldn't remain as a detective.  The work had crushed his soul.

“I don’t blame her,” the man said.  He sighed, then pointed to a chair.  “Please, sit.  We have a job for you.”

He waited until Herman had sat, carefully not relaxing, then went on.  “I read your report about the murder at the transit barracks,” he added, slowly.  “Do you stand by your conclusions?”

“Yes,
Mein Herr
,” Herman said.  Was this it?  Was he about to be rebuked for writing an absurd suggestion into his reports?  But surely his immediate superiors would have handled it, wouldn’t they?  “I believe they fit the facts.”

The man frowned.  “Why?”

Herman took a breath.  “As I stated in my report,
Mein Herr
, an
experienced
police officer would not allow a male refugee so close to him without preparing himself for the possibility of a fight,” he said.  “The refuges have not been happy about being uprooted from their homes and there have been a number of violent incidents.  A female refugee, on the other hand, would have seemed harmless until it was too late.”