Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (27 page)

“The panzers will be torn apart if they get into Berlin,” he said.  Panzers were rarely useful in close confines, as the
Waffen-SS
had found out more than once.  “It will be primarily an infantry operation.”

He closed his eyes in pain.  His stormtroopers
did
have advantages, they’d discovered, but the
Wehrmacht
soldiers were hardly
weaklings
.  They’d managed a successful series of engagements, followed by quick retreats, that had bloodied his forces while denying him a shot at a quick victory.  He'd hoped to crush one or more of their forces as they attempted to retreat, thrusting armoured spearheads forward, but the enemy had managed to escape the noose before the infantry caught up to finish the job.

And our logistics have been pushed to the limit
, he thought. 
The bastards have stripped everywhere bare
.

He turned and walked slowly back towards the new CP, established in what had once been a farm before it had been captured.  The farmer and his two teenage sons had put up a brief fight, but hadn't managed to do more than wound one of the attackers before they were captured, beaten and hung.  Thankfully, at least for Alfred’s conscience, the farmer’s wife and three daughters - their existence clearly indicated by the photos on the wall - had made themselves scarce before the stormtroopers arrived.  He hoped, as he stepped into the living room, that they’d made it safely to the west.  A farmwife would have no trouble finding work on another farm.

“
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,” an aide said.  “The
Fuhrer
is on Line One.”

Alfred nodded.  “I’ll take it in the secure room,” he said, walking towards the door.  “Get me a complete report from
SS-Volk
and remind her CO that I don’t want any more of his games.”

“
Jawohl
,” the aide said.

The secure room was anything but, certainly when compared to the facilities in Germanica or Berlin itself.  His communication staff had moved a pair of telephones into the room and installed guards outside, but there was no way to render it anything like as secure as he wanted.  The enemy might well already know where they were and, if they did, they might take advantage of the situation to intercept his calls. 

But there was no choice.  He picked up the phone and put it to his ear.  “
Mein Fuhrer
.”

“
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,” Karl Holliston said.  He sounded pleased, something that worried Alfred more than he cared to admit.  He’d dared to make a mild protest about the increasing number of atrocities as his forces advanced, but the
Führer
had ignored him.  “I trust that all is in readiness to attack Berlin?”

“Not as yet,” Alfred said.  “I need to bring up more supplies and get the men rested before launching an invasion of the city itself.”

“Time is not on our side,” Holliston said.  The
Fuhrer’s
voice hardened.  “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Alfred said.  “I understand the problem facing us.”

He scowled.  He’d stared at the map so much it was burned into his brain.  The traitors were playing it smart, shipping panzers eastwards from Occupied France - despite dropped bridges and ruined railway lines - and massing them somewhere to the west of Berlin.  It was hard to be sure where because the remainder of the
Luftwaffe
- and those never-to-be-sufficiently-damned American-made missiles were defending the area with savage intensity.  The last four recon aircraft that had been sent in that direction had never come back, which told him things he didn't want to know about its defences.  And no one would expend so much effort on defending areas of no tactical or strategic value.

No, he told himself.  The traitors were massing their forces, preparing a counterattack.  He had every faith in his men, but they were already tired, their faith in their panzers shaken and their logistics operating on a shoestring.  The traitors, if they could throw an offensive into the field at the right time, would smash his men and send them reeling all the way back to Germany East.  It would be disastrous.

This is what the Russians wanted to do to us at Stalingrad
, he thought.  The records had been quite clear, although the Russian ambitions had far outstripped their capabilities.  Even the emergency aid the Americans had sent after it became clear that Moscow was at risk of falling hadn't been enough to save them from the consequences of their own stupidity. 
I wonder if Field Marshal Voss read the same reports
.

“We have to take Berlin,” Holliston said.  “How soon can you launch the attack?”

Alfred took a moment to think, but in truth he already knew the answer.  “Four days, perhaps five,” he said.  “We can weaken them through shelling and air attacks while building up our forces.  Right now, we just don’t have the reserves to take advantage of any chink in their defences.”

“Understood,” Holliston said.  “But no more than five days.”

“
Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer
,” Alfred said. 
That
was surprisingly accommodating.  He’d expected to have to launch the offensive in two days, despite the risks.  “It shall be done.”

He heard the click on the other end of the line, then sighed.  They
could
weaken the enemy, but nothing short of a nuke - perhaps more - would be enough to allow them to walk into Berlin without a fight.  And
that
was off the table.  He had no idea if
any
nukes were usable - yet - but destroying Berlin would shock the entire
Reich
.  Holliston might be on the verge of going mad, yet he wasn't
insane
.

Yet
, his own thoughts pointed out. 
What will you do if he does nuke Berlin?

But there was no answer.  What
could
he do?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Berlin, Germany Prime

29 September 1985

Undisciplined wretches
,
Hauptsturmfuehrer
Katharine Milch thought, as she strode along under cover of darkness. 
You should all be cleared off the streets
.

It was annoying, she had to admit, even if it
was
helpful.  The tidal wave of refugees heading into Berlin - as if they thought there was some kind of safety in the city - made it easier for her and her team to operate without being detected.  And they would consume more and more food, forcing the traitors to decide between stamping down hard on refugees or allowing themselves to be starved into submission quicker than they’d planned.  But it was annoying, a sign of the wishful thinking and soppy sentimentality that had plagued the west since the death of Adolf Hitler.  A
true
government would have taken steps to remove the refugees before it was too late.

She clung to the shadows, keeping her distance from the refugees as she led her team towards the target.  There were a couple of policemen in view, both of whom looked cold and nervous.  Several policemen had been killed on the streets over the last few days and, so far, no one had tracked down their killers.  Katharine had killed two personally, she knew; the remainder had either fallen to her team or had been picked off by criminals or people with private scores to settle.  The Order Police had never been popular and, now the
Reich
had been badly weakened, the fear was gone.

Should have cracked down hard
, Katharine thought, nastily. 
And then put the refugees to work
.

The thought made her smile as she skirted yet another clump of refugees.  In the east, people who had been forced to flee their homes - like she had, when she’d been seven - were put to work at once, earning their keep.  She still shuddered at the thought of cooking, cleaning and washing for her adopted family, even though they’d been very kind to the orphaned girl.  And they’d even sponsored her when she applied to the SS, even though only a handful of women were ever accepted for training.  They'd known she wanted revenge on those who had killed her family.  But the traitorous government didn't seem inclined to force the refugees to work.

They could hew wood, draw water and build barricades, if nothing else
, she thought, glancing into one of the makeshift tents. 
And the girls could help move weapons and supplies to the men
.

She allowed no trace of her feelings to show on her face as their target finally came into view.  A warehouse, protected by four armed policemen and a single armoured car.  They must have taken it out of storage, she decided; the thin-skinned vehicle wouldn't last a second on a modern battlefield, even if pitted against a Panzer III from the war.  And yet, it was more than intimidating enough for a bunch of unarmed refugees.  Katharine couldn't help wondering if its machine guns were actually loaded, although she wouldn't assume that was the case until the vehicle refused to engage the attackers.   The defenders protecting the edge of the city wouldn't be keen on releasing ammunition to the guards
inside
the city. 

Keeping her footsteps even, she strode past the warehouse, covertly circling the building and checking to ensure there were no other guards hiding in the shadows.  There were no other entrances, save for the big doors at the front; health and safety had never been a particular concern of the
Reich
, certainly when the workers had been
Untermenschen
.  She smiled at their conceit, then used hand signals to tell her team what to do.  And then she walked forward, right towards the policemen.

They reacted with surprising speed, the moment she made a beeline towards them, lifting their weapons into firing position.  But it was already too late.  Katherine yanked up her machine pistol and opened fire, gunning all four of the policemen down, while one of her men hurled a grenade under the armoured car.  It exploded into a fireball, the heat scorching Katherine’s face as she hurried towards the doors.  The grenade was designed to take out tougher vehicles than a single outdated armoured car.

The doors crashed open, revealing a colossal stockpile of everything from ration packets to industrial equipment.  Katherine puzzled over it for a long moment, then decided that the traitors must have stripped food supplies and anything else that might be useful from the towns and satellite cities surrounding Berlin.  It wasn't a bad move either, she had to admit, but it was going to cost them  She was tempted to call for the refugees, to offer them the chance to loot the warehouse, yet she knew the traitors would probably arrive in time to keep the refugees from stealing everything.  They’d have reinforcements already on the way.

“Burn it,” she ordered.

She unhooked the grenade from her belt and hurled it into the warehouse.  It detonated seconds later, sending out a wave of fire that ignited everything it touched.  The SS had designed the grenades to burn Slavic hovels to the ground, tiny huts built of wood, mud and makeshift brick.  They were tougher than they looked, according to her instructors, but the same couldn't be said of the warehouse’s contents.  The flames were spreading faster and faster, burning everything to a crisp.

“Time to go,” she said.

She turned and led the way back along the streets, hearing the sound of approaching cars.  It was tempting to set up an ambush, to engage the policemen as they approached, but she had a feeling that it would prove pointless.  She had only four men under her command, apart from the handful of SS operatives; she didn't dare risk losing even one of them if it could be avoided.  Besides, there would be soldiers on the way too.  Her men were good, but they would be massively outnumbered.

The police cars roared past, followed by a pair of red fire engines.  Someone had seen the blaze then, she noted; she wondered, absently, just who had managed to call in a report so quickly.  Unless they’d anticipated an attack on the warehouse ... but surely, if they had, they would have made sure the building was actually secure.  Clearing the nearby buildings and setting up a line of checkpoints would have made her job much harder.

It might be better to target the fire engines next
, she thought, as she watched more police cars racing past. 
And make it harder for them to put out any other fires
.

She glanced behind her - the inferno was still blazing, a towering pillar of flame rising into the air - and then smiled.  It wasn't much - four men, a single armoured car and a shitload of supplies - but it would hurt the rebels.  Now the city was under siege, they would have no hope of replacing the destroyed supplies before the
Waffen-SS
attacked.  And they would have to cover the other warehouses by drawing men from the front lines.

“A good day’s work,” she said, as they reached the hideout.  “Get undressed, then get into bed and catch some sleep.”

She smirked as she walked into the bedroom and started to undress.  As far as anyone knew, they were a family that had remained in Berlin since the uprising - and they had the papers to prove it.  Katherine had expected to have to infiltrate London or Washington - she could pass for either British or American, at a pinch - but slipping into Berlin and operating within the city had been almost disconcertingly easy.  Her instructors had told her never to break cover, never to do anything that might reveal her true nature ... and yet, Berlin was hardly a
challenge
.

Don’t get complacent
, she reminded herself, sternly. 
If they search this place, our cover will be thoroughly blown
.

Closing her eyes, she went to sleep.

***

“Six men dead,” Herman said, tartly.  “One armoured car destroyed.  Half the supplies in the warehouse burned to a crisp and the rest probably of dubious value.”

He scowled at the mess in front of him.  The warehouse was a blackened shell, the walls caved in and the steel girders looking as if they were on the verge of collapsing into a pile of debris.  A hundred firemen had worked desperately to salvage what they could, but there just hadn't been the time to get
everything
out of the building.  He had no idea what sort of chemicals the strike team had used, yet - whatever it was - it had burned hot enough to set fire to almost everything in the building.

“A very basic strike team,” Horst commented.  “Why weren't there more guards in place?”

Herman felt his anger deepen.  “Where would you have us leave undefended,” he snapped, “so we can cover a single building?”

Horst showed no visible reaction to his words.  The former SS agent had been oddly distracted, when he’d met with Herman to discuss the ongoing investigation; Herman would have bet good money that it had something to do with Gudrun.  And yet, he didn't have the time to worry about it.  Losing so much food would cause panic all over the city, once it sank in that rations - already small - would have to be reduced still further.  Starvation - or the threat of starvation - might be enough to set off a riot that would tear Berlin apart.

“There just isn't the manpower to cover everywhere,” Herman added, tartly.  “It isn't as if we can pull troops off the wall.”

“We might have to,” Horst said.  “Taking out the food supplies ... it’s always been part of the SS commando doctrine.”

Herman sneered.  “Know a few commandos, do you?”

“I did,” Horst said.  He sounded oddly nostalgic for a long moment.  “They were the sort of men who would think nothing of crawling for hours, just to get to a target, then poisoning the wells.”

He swore.  “We need to keep a careful watch on the water supplies and power stations too,” he added.  “They’ll come under attack soon.”

Herman cursed.  He’d gone without food for a couple of days, during his military service, but humans couldn't live long without water.  Three days, his instructors had said, if the person going without was in reasonably good health.  The old and the young would need water far more frequently ... the thought of being without water was definitely enough to spark off more riots.  If the SS managed to cut or reduce the water supplies, Berlin was doomed. 

He took one last look at the ruined warehouse, then glanced up in alarm as he heard an aircraft flying over the city.  These days, with the
Luftwaffe
badly weakened, it was a dead certainty that it wouldn't be
friendly
.  The SS bombing raids were pinpricks, compared to the sheer immensity of the largest city in the world, but they did
some
damage and wore down morale.  He couldn't blame the civilians for slowly losing their cool under the constant sniping, shelling and bombing.

“We need to go back to the
Reichstag
,” he said.  “And see if we can speed up the detective work.”

“I would be surprised if we cracked their cover so quickly,” Horst admitted, as they headed for the car.  “They’ll have been trained for
far
more unfriendly places.”

“We have to try,” Herman said.  He’d need to put forward recommendations, too.  Random searches would annoy the population, but they might just uncover something of value.  At the very least, it would warn the SS cell that they might have to be prepared to move at any moment.  “Who knows?  Maybe their cover will be too perfect.”

Horst snorted, sitting back in his chair.  “Their papers will be perfect because they’ll have come from the official producer,” he said.  “There won’t be any obvious forgeries to find.”

Herman smiled.  “You mean, like yours?”

“I passed the entry exams for the university,” Horst said, flatly.  “There was
no
fakery.”

Herman was reluctant to admit it, but he was impressed.  Gudrun had almost worked herself into a coma, preparing for the exams.  He’d even seriously considered withdrawing permission for her to attend the university when he’d realised it was affecting her health, unlike the exams he and the boys had taken when they’d left school.  And yet, he knew she had done well.  He wished, suddenly, that he'd told her just how proud he was ... back before she’d turned into a politician.  It might not have been
traditional
for a girl to go to university - it made it harder for her to find a husband - but he’d been proud of her.  Those exams had been nightmarishly hard.