Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (4 page)

“Wonderful,” Anderson said, sourly.

Thatcher nodded in agreement.  “Are they likely to try to pick a fight with us?”

“I don’t know, Prime Minister,” Andrew said.  “They would have to be insane to try, in hopes of convincing the
Reich
to reunite, but I don’t believe Karl Holliston is quite sane.”

He didn't blame Thatcher for worrying. 
America
was protected, first by vast oceans and then by the FIELD GREEN ABM network, but Britain was bare moments from German-occupied France.  There would be barely any warning before the first missile reached its target.  A nuclear war would turn Britain into a radioactive slagheap and both sides knew it; hell, with thousands of German jet fighters sitting on airfields in France and Germany, even a
conventional
war would give the British a very hard time.

“That’s not reassuring,” Anderson said.

Andrew nodded.  He’d met
Reichsführer-SS
Karl Holliston once, two years ago.  The man was a fanatic, as reactionary as they came.  Calculating, ruthless ... and utterly dedicated to the ideas of the Third
Reich
.  Andrew had no difficulty in believing that Holliston would deliberately set out to kill as many protesters as possible, then expend a dedicated Special Forces assault team in trying to kill the provisional government.  A man like Holliston would do
anything
for his cause.

“There's nothing reassuring here, Mr. President,” Andrew said.  “I believe there was some talk of accepting a permanent split between the two sides, leaving us with two German states, but I don’t think that either government would willingly accept it.  Their dispute will have to be settled by war.”

Anderson nodded, glancing carefully at Thatcher.  “And
that
leads to a very different point,” he said.  “Should we be trying to intervene?”

Andrew winced, inwardly.  He’d expected that question from the moment he, instead of Ambassador Turtledove, was summoned to RAF Fairford.  The Ambassador was there to be diplomatic, while
Andrew
worked for OSS, trying to develop new sources and covert networks within the
Reich
.  If there was a determined attempt to support the provisional government,
he
would be running it ...

But he wouldn't have the final say.  There would be factions in Washington - and London too, he suspected - that would be arguing for intervention, after reading a handful of carefully-slanted reports.  Other factions, having read different reports, would be arguing for staying firmly out of the growing conflict.  And
neither
faction would have a real
feel
for what was going on in Germany.  Their leadership certainly wouldn't be stationed in the
Reich
.

Andrew took a moment to compose his thoughts.  This -
this
- was a chance to influence policy on a truly
global
scale.  His words would shape the thinking of the most powerful man and woman in the world, a terrifying thought.  He was no stranger to danger - he knew he ran the risk of being arrested, tortured and disappeared every time he made contact with one of his sources within the
Reich
- but this was different.  Lives hung on his words.  His mouth was suddenly very dry.

“There are a number of factors that should be considered, Mr. President,” he said, carefully.  “First, perhaps most importantly, the provisional government is
strongly
nationalistic.  They will not be pleased at an open suggestion of military support.  Even if they were, the presence of American and British troops fighting alongside their men will hand their rivals a major propaganda coup.  Entire
generations
of Germans have been raised to consider us the enemy.  It may well undermine their position.”

He paused.  “And they will suspect us of wanting to weaken the
Reich
,” he added, after a moment.  “Will we demand German withdrawal from France, for example, as the price of our support?”

Anderson frowned.  “I thought they wanted freedom.”

Thatcher smiled.  “So did George Washington and his fellows,” she pointed out.  “That didn't stop them keeping black slaves in bondage.”

“Touché,” Anderson said.  He met Andrew’s eyes.  “But should we not use this as a chance to remove the threat permanently?”

“If we back the rump into a corner, they will use nukes,” Andrew said, flatly.  “And we could not
guarantee
that they wouldn't be able to fire the missiles at us.”

He sighed.  “Ambassador Turtledove has been trying to forge links with the provisional government, but - frankly - the government has too many other problems at the moment.  If they lose the coming war ... well, our opinion isn't going to matter.”

Thatcher nodded, curtly.  “What would
you
advise?”

“I would suggest providing limited intelligence support and nothing else,” Andrew said.  He understood the urge to do
something
, but they were playing with nukes!  “We can let them know, quietly, that we may not be averse to providing further help.  But really, getting involved in their civil war would be a major commitment.”

“Particularly with the troubles in South Africa,” Anderson observed.  “There are demands for intervention there too.”

“Another political headache,” Thatcher agreed.  Her lips quirked into a smile.  “Although, really, one that doesn't involve nukes.”

Andrew nodded.  South Africa had tried but failed to produce nuclear weapons.  Or so he’d been told.  South Africa’s nuclear program had taken a body-blow when South Africa had been expelled from the NAA, while the
Reich
wasn't in the habit of providing nuclear weapons or nuclear technology to anyone.  But even if South Africa
did
have nukes, what could they
do
with them?  Blow up their own cities?

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Barton,” Anderson said.  “I’m afraid there are quite a few others waiting to debrief you, but hopefully we should have an idea how to proceed before you return to Germany.”

He paused.  “Do you anticipate any problems in returning?”

“No, Mr. President,” Andrew said.  He rose.  “The provisional government has seen fit to honour the treaties we made with their predecessors.”

“Let’s just hope it stays that way,” Anderson said.  “This could spin out of control very quickly.”

“I would say that was a given, Mr. President,” Andrew said.  “Both sides have enough military power to ensure that the coming war is far from short.”

Chapter Three

Reichstag,
Berlin

1 September 1985

Volker Schulze, Chancellor of the Greater German
Reich
- he’d refused to take
Führer
as a title - stood at the window and peered out over the city as the sun started to sink towards the distant horizon, feeling a gnawing concern within his gut.  Berlin looked surprisingly calm, from his viewpoint, but he knew it was nothing more than an illusion.  Gudrun and the Valkyries had unleashed forces he doubted they knew how to control, even if control was possible.  The government’s absolute control over its population was gone, once and for all ...

We were held in a cage
, Volker thought, grimly. 
And now the bars are gone, some of us are leaving the cage.

He cursed the former
Reich
Council under his breath, wishing with all his heart that he’d been able to get his hands on the
truly
guilty men. 
Reichsführer-SS
Karl Holliston had made his escape, while several of the other former councillors had fled to Germany East, rather than face the wrath of their fellow countrymen.  Volker would have given a great deal for the chance to get his hands around Holliston’s neck and squeeze, even though he’d been an SS officer himself.  The bastard had not only gotten Volker’s son mortally wounded; he’d had the gall to lie about it to the people.  Volker wouldn't have known
anything
about his son’s injury - and death - if Gudrun hadn't sneaked into the hospital.  It had been enough for Volker to switch sides and start a - highly-illegal - union.  And now he was the head of the provisional government.

The thought made him smile, sourly, as he turned to face the table.  His councillors - the
new Reich
Council - were slowly filling up the seats, looking as grim as he felt.  Volker had no idea just how far any of them could be trusted, even though they were all under sentence of death if they were captured by the SS.  Finance Minister Hans Krueger, at least, could be relied upon to try to mend the increasingly broken economy, but Volker had no illusions about some of the others.  Two of them, at least, were ambitious enough to unseat him if they thought they could get away with it. 

He surveyed the room, half-wishing that Gudrun was there.  The mere presence of a woman - and a teenage girl, at that - was enough to agitate many of the older and more reactionary councillors.  Volker hated to admit it, but he took a perverse pleasure in watching them being forced to take a woman seriously.  Gudrun didn't hold a portfolio - there had been no way to justify giving her a ministry - yet she was the single most popular councillor in Germany.  It gave her a power her older counterparts could neither deny nor subvert.

She would have made one hell of a daughter-in-law
, Volker thought, as the doors were firmly closed. 
And Gerde would have had real problems trying to bully her.

He smiled at the thought as he strolled over to the table, nodding to the guards positioned against the walls.  The
Reichstag
was guarded by heavily-armed soldiers these days, men drawn from the toughest regiments in the
Heer
.  After the SS had dropped an assault force into the building and done their best to destroy the provisional government before it had formed, he wasn't inclined to take chances.  Some of the councillors had insisted that the men posed a security risk, but they hadn't dared say it very loudly.  They knew, all too well, that most of them would be dead if the Berlin Guard hadn't switched sides.

“Let us begin,” he said, sitting down and resting his elbows on the table.  He had no time for elaborate formalities.  “Field Marshal.  What is our current state of readiness?”

Field Marshal Gunter Voss leaned forward.  He’d taken up the post of Head of OKW - the uniformed head of the military - after Field Marshal Justus Stoffregen had resigned, citing a refusal to fight his fellow Germans.  Volker had no idea if Stoffregen genuinely felt that way - or if the SS had somehow brought pressure to bear on him - but some of his advisors insisted that losing Stoffregen wasn't a bad thing.  Voss was almost certainly high on the list of individuals the SS intended to purge, if they ever recovered Berlin.  He’d opposed Holliston far too often.

“Better than I’d feared, but worse than I’d hoped,” Voss said, bluntly.  “Much of our heavy armour was placed near the beaches, for fear of a British invasion.  We’re starting to ship it back to the east now, but it’s going to take time before we have the divisions formed up and ready to go to war.  The resignations and defections haven’t helped either.  Right now, we barely have two scratch divisions digging in along the border with Germany East and two more held in reserve.”

He smiled, rather tightly.  “We
are
recruiting as fast as we can, sir, and most of our recruits have some military experience, but it will still take weeks - if not months - before they’re ready for deployment.  Until then, we will be committed to a mobile defence of the eastern border, slowing the SS down until we are ready to drive them back.”

Volker nodded.  “And the men in South Africa?”

“Getting them back is going to be a nightmare, even if we trusted them,” Voss said.  “Much of our heavy-lift capability was deployed to the south, which made them easy targets for American-designed missiles.  And the South Africans aren't particularly keen to see them go.”

“Too bad,” Volker said, tiredly. 

He shook his head.  His son had been wounded in South Africa.  He certainly had no love for the country.  But even without that, he knew there was no way the
Reich
should have supported South Africa.  Fighting to preserve white civilisation was one thing, but South Africa was right on the end of a very long logistics chain.  Better to ship the South Africans to Germany East and invite them to blend in with the population.  It wasn't as if Germany East was short of territory.

“Most commanding officers in South Africa have secured their bases, but there’s little else they can do,” Voss added.  “A handful of officers have refused to answer my calls.  I think we have to assume they’re on the other side.”

“Understood,” Volker said.  The
Wehrmacht
was not used to civil wars.  Soldiers fought for the
Reich
, not for factions
within
Germany.  Now, with the country torn in two, everyone in uniform had to ask themselves where their loyalties lay.  And not everyone was willing to fight for the provisional government.  “Start making preparations to get the others home.”

“Of course, sir,” Voss said.

And hope to hell the French don’t decide to play games
, Volker thought, privately.  Vichy France had been restless for decades, before the
Reich
Council had collapsed.  Now, the French might try to take advantage of the
Reich’s
troubles to reclaim their independence and recover the territory they’d lost. 
If they decide to shut down the airfields between South Africa and the Reich, getting those troops home will be impossible
.

He shook his head - Gudrun had been dispatched on a diplomatic mission to France, in hopes of preventing the French from trying to take advantage of the chaos - and met Voss’s eyes.  “How are our chances?”

“Mixed, sir,” Voss said.  “The
Waffen-SS
has the armour and supporting elements they need to punch through our defence lines, even if they don’t have covert supporters within our ranks.  I believe we will see a major offensive within two weeks, perhaps less.  They have to know that matters will become a great deal harder if they give us time to mobilise.  On the other hand, we can lure them into fighting grounds where their advantages are strongly reduced - urban conflict in Berlin, in particular.”

Volker winced.  He was no stranger to combat.  Military operations in built-up terrain - street-to-street fighting - were always nightmarish.  But he knew Voss was right.  The SS - and Holliston in particular - would want to recover Berlin as quickly as possible.  Letting them overextend themselves, while gathering the forces necessary to cut their supply lines and crushing their advance elements ... Holliston was many things, but he was no Adolf Hitler.  The first and greatest
Führer
would never have made such a deadly mistake.

“Very well,” he said.  “Luther?  How are they placed for an attack on Berlin?”

Luther Stresemann, Head of the Economic Intelligence Service, frowned.  “Holliston has reshaped his ...
cabinet
, sir,” he said, “so many of our original sources within the SS have been reshuffled out of power.  I don’t believe that was intentional - they still appear to be alive - but it makes it harder for us to get a window into their deliberations.  However, many of our lower-level sources are still in play.”

He paused.  “All their reports indicate that Holliston has called up both Category A and Category B reservists, both
Heer
and SS,” he continued.  “As you know, the reservists in Germany East have often been called up at the drop of a hat, so we don’t anticipate it taking very long for them to brush up on their tactics and return to their units.  However ... they will have problems securing many of the settlements if they call away their defenders.  We believe that
Untermenschen
attacks on German settlements will increase rapidly, as the
Untermenschen
realise that there are fewer defenders in place.”

Volker frowned.  “Is that likely to cause Holliston problems?”

“Not immediately,” Stresemann said.  “In the long run, the reservists are unlikely to be
pleased
at marching away from their homes, with the
Untermenschen
ready to attack, but right now Holliston has all the tools he needs to render their opinions immaterial.”

“That
was
what the old council thought,” Voss pointed out, dryly.

“The old council was also worried about the knock-on effects of heavy repression,” Finance Minister Hans Krueger countered.  “I doubt Holliston gives much of a damn about the side effects.”

Volker tapped the table before Krueger and Voss could start bickering.  “How long can Germany East survive, economically?”

“It depends on what you mean by
survive
, sir,” Krueger said, bluntly.  “My staff have run the figures but too much depends on factors that are unfortunately unpredictable.  Germany East is perfectly capable of feeding itself, and of supplying its own wants in small-arms ammunition, but it doesn't have many factories capable of producing tanks, railway locomotives and heavy machinery.  However, they do have massive stockpiles of everything they need for war.  It may take
years
before they drain their stocks dry.”

“Maybe less than that,” Voss commented.  “Ammunitions expenditures are always far - far - higher than predicted.  I imagine that their logistics problems would turn into nightmares soon enough.”

Krueger nodded.  “The problem, sir,” he added, looking directly at Volker, “is that we’re in a mess too.”

He went on before anyone could say a word.  “Our industries were pushing the limits long before the ... the uprising,” he continued.  “Machinery was becoming outdated, workers were working longer hours for less pay.  We were robbing Peter to pay Paul right across the
Reich
, sir, and the real value of our currency was declining sharply.  The push for unionising the workforce only made matters worse, as it added another factor to our considerations.”

“I believe I am aware of that,” Volker said, lightly.

“Then you have to face up to the implications,” Krueger said, bluntly.  “There are just too many problems, deeply rooted within our industrial base, for a quick fix to work.  We need to replace vast quantities of machinery and train up hundreds of thousands of new workers very - very - quickly, which will come at a staggering cost.  Frankly, sir, we may have to concede that we have lost the arms race with the Americans.”

“Then the Americans will crush us,” Voss snapped.

“The Americans are hardly our problem at the moment,” Volker pointed out.

“Not now, no,” Krueger agreed.  “Our best estimate is that it will cost upwards of a hundred billion
Reichmarks
to rebuild our economic base - and we don’t
have
a hundred billion
Reichmarks
.  We'll have to start on a smaller scale ...”