Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (22 page)

He forced himself to take a breath.  “What is the current situation?”

“We’re advancing, slowly but surely,” Ruengeler said.  “Unfortunately, they’re holding back their airpower.”

Karl frowned.  “I was told that we were grinding their aircraft out of existence.”

“They’re holding them back,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Ruengeler said.  “And that worries me.”

“That makes no sense,” Karl told him, flatly.  “If they had the airpower to take control of the skies, they would have used it.”

“We haven't shot down anything like enough aircraft to weaken them,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Ruengeler said.

“And yet they are allowing us to strike at Berlin,” Karl sneered.  Bombing the capital gave him no pleasure, but at least it made it clear to the citizens that the traitors had brought war to their city.  “Why would they do that unless they were running out of aircraft?”

“They’re conserving their strength,” Ruengeler said.  “I suspect they are preparing a counteroffensive of their own.”

Karl snorted.  “Take Berlin and it won’t matter
what
they’re planning,” he snapped.  “We can win the war and put an end to the traitors, then save the
Reich
from the Americans.”

He went on before Ruengeler could say a word.  “Push the offensive forward,” he added, sharply.  “And don’t hesitate to relieve any officers who are insufficiently aggressive.”

“
Jawohl
,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Ruengeler said.

Karl put the phone down, hard.  Ruengeler was starting to annoy him, even though he was one of the most experienced officers in the
Reich
.  Couldn't he see that there was more at stake than simple military victory?  A long drawn-out war would be disastrous, no matter which side actually won.  They’d inherit a broken state.  The satellites would be making a bid for freedom, the
Untermenschen
would be rising up against the SS.  Everything the
Reich
had built over the past fifty years would be in doubt.

And I will not allow the Reich to collapse
, he thought, as he tapped the intercom. 
Whatever the cost, I will not allow the Reich to collapse
.

“Maria,” he said.  “I want to see Frank at once.”

It was nearly five minutes before
Standartenfuehrer
Frank entered the chamber and saluted, smartly.  He was a man who could easily have stepped off a recruiting poster: tall, blond, handsome and
very
muscular.  Karl had wondered, back when he'd first met Frank, why he had never joined the
Waffen-SS
, but a glance in his file provided the answer.  Frank’s father had been a researcher who’d worked on nuclear weapons and his son, while lacking his father’s intellectual gifts, had done his best to follow in his footsteps.  Karl could hardly disapprove.  His
own
father had been among the very first men to join the SS.

“
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank said.

“I need a progress update,” Karl said.  “Have you managed to unlock the nuclear warheads?”

“Not as yet,” Frank said.  His face was carefully impassive.  “The Permissive Action Links have proved unpleasantly resilient to tampering.”

Karl scowled.  “And the missiles cannot be fired?”

“The missiles
can
be fired at their preset targets,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank told him.  “However, they cannot be
detonated
.  The warheads cannot be detonated without the correct command codes.  Even selecting new targets will be very difficult.”

Karl scowled.  “And the missile crews cannot help?”

“They were never trained to work on warheads,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank said.  “Their only task was launching the missiles, should the command ever come.  Any maintenance work was handled by engineers who would be flown in from Berlin.”

“And so the Americans have us over a barrel,” Karl breathed.

“I don't believe so,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank said.  “If the Americans
did
fire on us, I’m sure we’d be able to get the arming codes from Berlin.”

Karl snorted, rudely.  The early-warning network was in shambles.  If the Americans decided to gamble and launched a massive first strike, it was quite possible that their missiles wouldn't be detected until the nukes actually started to detonate.  And by then it would be far too late.  The
Reich
would have been utterly shattered.  Hell, if they were lucky, the Americans would destroy the
Reich’s
missiles on the ground.

And the traitors are already in bed with the Americans
, he thought, darkly. 
They might refuse to send us the arming codes
.

“We should never have placed so much faith in our system,” he growled.  “It never occurred to us that we would lose control of Berlin.”

“The government didn't want anyone using nukes without their approval,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank pointed out.

“I know,” Karl growled.  “They didn't trust us.”

He shook his head.  Deploying tactical nukes in 1950 might have been the only way to end the Arab Uprisings quickly - the
Reich
had been reeling after Hitler’s death and really didn't need more problems - but it had come at a cost.  The Americans, who had been going back to sleep, had started pouring money into defence, while the
Reich
Council had worked hard to ensure that no one could detonate a nuke without their blessing.  No one at the time had realised that the
Reich
would be sundered in two.  They’d known that unity was the only thing that kept the
Reich
from being ripped apart by its enemies.

“If you had a tactical nuke,” he said flatly, “could you detonate it?”

“Perhaps,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank said.  “We are working on readying a number of tactical warheads now.  However, the PAL system is designed to be extremely tamper-resistant, to the point of destroying the warhead if it isn't handled very carefully.  It may be impossible to guarantee that the nukes will detonate.”

Karl sighed.  “And if we start building our own nukes?”

“It would take years,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank said.  “We may have a number of breeder reactors under our control, but assembly has always been done in Germany Prime.  I think we would be starting from scratch.  Building the machines to make the machines, if you will pardon the expression, will be costly - if we can do it at all.”

“Another mistake,” Karl said.  Germany East’s industry was limited.  In hindsight, that had been a mistake too.  “We can’t get the tools without winning the war.”

“Yes,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Frank said.  “Producing them for ourselves will take too long.”

“Do a study, see if there’s any way to speed up the process,” Karl ordered.  He didn't hold out much hope, but at least they could try.  “Dismissed.”

He watched Frank leave, then turned his attention to the map.  His forces were advancing forward slowly, too slowly.  Their gains would be worthless if they couldn't consolidate them by capturing Berlin, destroying the traitorous government.  And yet, if they
couldn't
take Berlin ...

I’ll make the world burn before I surrender
, he told himself, savagely. 
And the traitors will pay for their crimes
.

Chapter Twenty-One

Berlin, Germany Prime

18 September 1985

Horst wrapped his greatcoat around his body as he walked slowly down the darkened street, wishing he could wear a hood.  A chilly breeze was coming from the east, sending shivers down his spine, but he needed to be recognised.  The cell had picked an excellent spot for their meeting, he had to admit.  A watcher lurking near one of the warehouses would be able to recognise Horst - and ensure he was on his own - long before Horst saw him.  He’d worked through a dozen possible ways to have a police observer nearby - Gudrun’s father had had quite a few good ideas - but none of them had been workable.  The merest
hint
that he wasn't alone would be enough to get him killed.

He glanced up as he heard the sound of aircraft engines buzzing over the city, wondering if they were friendly or very hostile.  Berlin had been bombed several times, the bombers dropping their bombs seemingly at random.  Horst had never served in South Africa - or on any campaign, if he were forced to tell the truth - but some of his friends had insisted that the
Waffen-SS’s
pilots could drop their bombs with startling precision.  If that were true, the bombers had
definitely
been bombing at random, more to frighten the civilians than for any actual military value.  They hadn't struck any targets within half a mile of the
Reichstag
.

And they might even hit their own people
, he thought, feeling a flicker of grim amusement. 
I doubt the pilots know there’s an SS cell beneath them
.

He waited, ready to seek cover, but no bombs fell.  The sound of aircraft engines slowly faded into the darkness.  Horst allowed himself a moment of relief, then kept walking slowly towards his destination.  The warehouses had long-since been stripped of anything useful, the guards and workers relocated elsewhere.  There were quite a few homeless Berliners squatting in them, according to the police, but no one really cared.  They weren't causing trouble - and, in any case, there was nowhere else to put them.  He kept a sharp eye out for trouble as he kept moving, knowing that the crime rate had also skyrocketed in the less-pleasant parts of Berlin.  The omnipresent fear of the police and the SS was gone.

And now people know they can change the world
, he thought, as he reached the location and checked his watch.  He was two minutes early. 
Who knows what will happen the next time the government becomes unpopular
?

He pushed the thought aside as he leaned against the building and waited, feeling unseen eyes watching him from the shadows.  Covertly, he checked around, but saw nothing.  It didn't really surprise him.  An experienced SS observer wouldn't let himself be seen, in any case, nor would they bother with any games.  If they suspected his loyalties, he would probably have been picked off by a sniper as he walked down the road.  Unless, of course, they thought he could be manipulated.

My life was much simpler before the uprising
, he thought. 
Back then, I thought I knew how the world worked
.

“Horst,” a quiet voice said.

Horst tensed, then turned to see Schwarzkopf emerging from the shadows.  The SS handler looked like a homeless man, smoking a homemade cigarette and wearing a tattered outfit that was too large for him.  If Horst’s experience was any guide, he’d be wearing something else underneath, something that would pass without comment anywhere in Berlin.  Dump the clothes, lose the cigarette and comb his hair ... he’d look very different.  It wasn't a very clever disguise, but it didn't have to be.  All it had to do was work.

“I came, as ordered,” Horst said.  He didn't like Schwarzkopf’s surprising stealth.  He’d always assumed that the handler was nothing more than a bureaucrat.  But then, he’d presumably been a field agent himself before he’d been promoted.  “I am at your disposal.”

“Of course,” Schwarzkopf said.  Horst couldn't tell if he was being mildly sarcastic or stating a fact.  “I have a great many questions for you.”

Horst inclined his head, then waited.

“I have heard that the Americans have been reaching out to the provisional government,” Schwarzkopf said, bluntly.  “Is that true?”

“I haven't heard of any American contacts,” Horst said.  “But I am not allowed to attend the council meetings.”

It was only half true.  He didn't attend meetings, but Gudrun told him everything.  And yet,
he
hadn't mentioned it to anyone else - and nor would any of the other councillors.  The American contacts
had
to remain a secret.  And yet ... was Schwarzkopf fishing ... or was someone playing both sides of the field?  There were several councillors who might be able to switch sides - again - if they made themselves useful to Karl Holliston.  They might be passing information to the east.

“I see,” Schwarzkopf said.  “And you heard nothing through pillow talk?”

Horst felt his cheeks turn red.  “We don’t talk about the war when we are in bed,” he said, trying not to sound embarrassed.  If Schwarzkopf suspected he had actual
feelings
for Gudrun, he’d be in deep shit.  “We spend most of it trying to
forget
the war.”

“Pump her, gently,” Schwarzkopf ordered.  “We need to know
precisely
what is going on.”

“
Jawohl
,” Horst said.  What did Schwarzkopf know?  There was no way, short of catching and interrogating the traitor, to find out.  “But if I ask too bluntly,
Mein Herr
, she may suspect something.”

“It is natural for a man to want to know what his woman is doing, is it not?”  Schwarzkopf asked.  He snorted, rudely.  “Use your best judgement, but get us some answers.”

“
Jawohl
,” Horst said, again.

He sighed, inwardly.  If Schwarzkopf was only guessing - or had only second or third-hand hints - he would be able to lie.  But if Schwarzkopf knew more than he admitted, a lie could prove fatal.  Unless, of course, he was able to convince Schwarzkopf that
Gudrun
had lied to him.  And yet, even
that
would be too much for the man to swallow.  He’d suspect that Horst was losing his touch, if he didn't
already
suspect it.  Horst had fumbled the ball once already, as far as Schwarzkopf was concerned.

“Now,” Schwarzkopf said.  “What other developments have there been?”

“More and more refugees are pouring into Berlin,” Horst said.  “The provisional government has been trying to shift them westwards, but there’s a shortage of food and drink, as well as towns and cities willing to take refugees.  I think the council is considering drastic measures, yet they’re worried about triggering off another civil war.”

“A civil war within the civil war,” Schwarzkopf said.  He smirked, openly.  “That’s the price one pays for not having a strong government.”

Horst was tempted to agree.  Western cities weren't so keen on suddenly finding themselves responsible for hundreds of thousands of refugees, even if they
were
fellow Germans.  And the provisional government didn't have the naked power to
compel
them to support the refugees.  It didn't help that the military was trying desperately to shift forces eastwards, making it harder to control the growing refugee problem.  He doubted it would end well.

“Quite,” he said, flatly.

He paused.  “Is there any other way I can be of assistance?”

“Not as yet,” Schwarzkopf said.  “We just want your intelligence from the
Reichstag
.”

“I obey,
Mein Herr
,” Horst said.

He had to fight to keep his face under control.  There were over a hundred servants in the
Reichstag
, not counting the guards or personnel assistants.  One of them - perhaps more than one - was reporting to the SS, but who?  An extensive, if covert background investigation had turned up nothing suspicious.  But then, he would have been disappointed in the SS if it had.

And now we have a second traitor, someone very highly placed
, he thought. 
And it has to be one of the older councillors
.

He considered it briefly.  Gudrun and Schulze were obviously out - Voss too, given that the Field Marshal was in an excellent position to seize control of the city and surrender before he could be lynched.  But after that ... Kruger was unlikely, Horst had to admit, but all of the others had to be considered suspects.  And they all had thousands of others under their control.  Investigating them all was going to be a nightmare.

“There is a mirror in your bedroom,” Schwarzkopf said, suddenly.  “Isn't there?”

“Yes,
Mein Herr
,” Horst said.  “It hangs on my wall.”

The question made him smile.  He wondered if Schwarzkopf had ever sneaked into the
Reichstag
himself, then dismissed the thought as absurd.  Dreary tradecraft might be tedious - nothing like the books depicting heroic SS operatives - but it kept its practitioners alive.   He doubted that Schwarzkopf would take the risk, even if he had the nerve.  Unless Schwarzkopf
wasn't
the highest-ranking SS officer still in Berlin ...

And we have at least one female commando out there
, he reminded himself. 
She is very likely to be extremely dangerous
.

“We want you to keep track of your girlfriend’s schedule,” Schwarzkopf said.  “Write down her plan for the day, then place the papers behind the mirror.  They will be collected.”

“The schedule is rarely set in stone,” Horst said.  He was careful not to mention that it had been
his
idea.  If Gudrun refused to allow herself to be surrounded by armed guards, she could at least keep her movements unpredictable.  “I don’t always know where we are going.”

“Then you will do your best to find out,” Schwarzkopf said.  He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with menacing light.  “I don’t think I have to remind you that you are already in disgrace.  This whole disaster could have been nipped in the bud if you’d done your job.”

And if you knew just how true that actually was
, Horst thought,
you’d have killed me by now
.

“You are required to prove your loyalty to the
Reich
,” Schwarzkopf continued.  “And if that means leading your girlfriend into a trap, that is what you will do.”

He leaned back, then shrugged.  “Remain here for ten minutes,” he ordered.  “And then slip back to her bed.”

Horst fought down the temptation to punch Schwarzkopf - or shoot him in the back - as the SS officer turned and strode into the darkness.  Another aircraft buzzed over Berlin, the sound moving from east to west ... a bomber then, Horst decided, or a recon plane.  But then, who would bother sending a recon plane over in darkness?  Unless someone was parachuting men into the city ... it was certainly possible. 

He forced himself to remain calm as he waited, keeping an eye on his watch.  There was no way to be sure if someone was watching him or not, but he could
feel
unseen eyes keeping an eye on him.  And there was no shortage of cover.  A sniper could be lurking nearby, watching him through a scope; he’d be ready to shoot Horst if he left a minute early.  Or it could just be a bluff, his own imagination doing the rest. 

No way to be sure
, he told himself.  Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have joined the
Waffen-SS
instead.  It wouldn't have been hard to flub the tests he’d been given when he first applied to join. 
And the bastard knows it
.

***

Gudrun rubbed her tired eyes as she looked at Horst.  “We have
another
spy?”

“Probably,” Horst said.  “Schwarzkopf asked about American contacts.”