Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (5 page)

“... During a war,” Voss reminded him. 

“Exactly,” Krueger said.  “We have a colossal shortage of money.”

Volker swallowed.  A
hundred billion
Reichmarks
?  He couldn’t even
begin
to imagine such a vast sum of money.  There was no way he’d ever be a millionaire on his salary, let alone a
billionaire
.  And getting the money was only the
start
of the problem.  The unions would resist, strongly, training up more than a handful of new workers.  They’d see it as an attempt to undermine their power and they’d be right.  Hell, Volker
himself
would have opposed it when he’d been a Union Chief.

And how can we do all that
, he asked himself,
when there is a war underway
?

“Loot it from the French,” Voss suggested.  “Or the Italians.  They bend over to give us anything we want.”

“They don’t have the money or machinery we need,” Krueger snapped.  “Their currencies are pegged to ours, so the real value of
their
money is declining too.  The best we can hope for, from either of them, is more poorly-trained workers and food supplies.  And looting them would mean drawing forces away from the eastern border!”

Volker held up his hand.  “Can we supply the demands of the war?”

“Perhaps,” Krueger said.  “But right now, even our ammunition plants are in trouble.”

“And without ammunition, we can't fight,” Voss said.  He sounded tired and harassed.  “Stop producing ladies underwear and start turning out more shells!”

“It isn’t that easy and you know it,” Krueger snapped.  He sounded tired too.  “A plant designed for producing one thing cannot easily be modified to produce something else!”

Volker took a long moment to think as the bickering began in earnest.  On one hand, Krueger was right.  The economy was in a mess.  He had no real dislike for the Americans - both sides had supported rebels, insurgents and terrorists - but he had to worry about the long-term effects of an economic collapse.  And yet, on the other hand, there
was
a war on.  The economic issues were secondary to preserving the provisional government. 

He tapped the table, again.  “Hans,” he said.  “How long can you paper over the cracks?”

“I’ve been doing that for the last five years,” Krueger said.  He rubbed his eyes.  “There are just too many variables, sir.  I can do my best to freeze prices, but unless we manage to stop our money declining in value ... well, all we’d do is shift sales into the black market.  I don’t think it will be easy to force farmers to sell at a loss.”

“Then confiscate their stocks,” Voss said.

“That would ensure we wouldn't get
any harvests
next
year,” Krueger said.  “The Russians learned - too late - that collectivism reduced yields.  We don’t want to make the same mistake ourselves.”

He looked at Volker.  “I think we might just be able to stretch matters out for another year, but a single major disaster will almost certainly set off a chain reaction that will bring our economies down,” he added.  “As it is, we may have to go back to rationing food very quickly.  We’re just not getting any additional supplies from Germany East - or the French.”

Gudrun will have to discuss that too
, Volker thought. 
And hope to hell the French don’t demand too much in return
.

“See to it,” he ordered.  It wasn’t going to go down well with the population - it seemed as though everyone had a political opinion these days and was willing to share it - but there wasn't any choice.  “I’ll announce it once you’ve got the groundwork in place and explain the problem.  Maybe there won’t be too many objections.”

“Hah,” Voss commented.

Volker suspected he was right.  The German population knew better than to believe what someone said on the radio, particularly now.  They might be
told
that things were getting better - or they had been, before the uprising - but they could
see
that costs were steadily rising higher, when products were available at all.  It was ironic, he had to admit, that people conditioned to disbelieve whatever they were told by the previous government wouldn't believe him either, yet it would just have to be endured.  There was nothing that could be done to make the population trust him, save for carefully building up a reputation for telling the truth.  But that would take years.

“I think a basic supply of food each week would be reassuring to most people,” Krueger said, bluntly.  “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“And we’re moving people from the east,” Voss added.  “We’re going to have to feed them too.”

“I know,” Krueger said.  It was yet another headache.  “And people
here
aren't going to welcome them either.”

Volker sighed, inwardly.  The refugees were unlikely to be welcomed, not by people who barely had enough to eat and drink themselves.  But they had to be moved from their homes, if only to keep them safe.  The SS was unlikely to be
pleasant
to anyone who hadn't already declared themselves for Germany East.  Indeed, it was quite likely that any civilians they encountered would pay a steep price.

He sighed, again.  He needed his sleep; he needed to lie beside his wife and pretend, if only for a few hours, that he was nothing more than a simple factory worker.  But there were too many things they needed to discuss - and hash out - before he could seek his bed.  A mistake now might come back to haunt them when the SS finally started its advance.

At least Holliston has his own problems
, he thought, dryly. 
But does he have so many bickering subordinates
?

Chapter Four

Germanica (Moscow), Germany East

1 September 1985

Karl Holliston had always loved Germanica.

He stood on the balcony and gazed out over the city.  Moscow - old Moscow - was gone, save for a handful of buildings that had once been the beating heart of the long-dead Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.  Schoolchildren were taken there every year, where they were told about how Stalin had been trying to flee Moscow when he’d been killed and just how much the
Reich
had done for the country.  Russia was now the breadbasket of the
Reich
, the source of true Aryan greatness.  The fact that the Russians themselves were a threatened minority in their own country was neither here nor there, as far as Holliston and his fellows were concerned.  They were, after all,
Untermenschen
.

Adolf Hitler had wanted to be an architect, Karl recalled, and Albert Speer had been more than happy to make his dreams reality.  Germanica was larger-than-life, dominated by towering gothic buildings and monuments to the great victories won by the Third
Reich
over its many enemies.  There was something about the sheer grandeur of the buildings that made
Untermenschen
feel small and puny, Karl knew, even though
he
felt the buildings suited him and his dreams.  Here, there were no limitations on the
Volk
.  No accountants to quibble over the cost, no bleeding-heart westerners moaning and whining about ‘human rights;’ nothing to stand in their way as they built the Thousand Year
Reich
.  And not a single
Untermensch
in sight!

He leaned forward, enjoying the view.  Blond young men, wearing a multitude of uniforms, strolling beside blonde-haired young women who were clearly readying themselves for a happy life of
Kinder, Küche, Kirche
.  They would birth and raise the next generation of Germans -
true
Germans, Germans who would not let anything stand in their way between them and true greatness.  It was with them, Karl was sure, that he would take the entire world and remake it, as Hitler himself had dreamed.  And now the time was at hand.

Smiling, he took one last look, then turned and strolled back into the office.  It was large, a duplicate of the giant room Hitler had occupied before he’d died in 1950.  Two SS flags hung from the walls, surrounding a giant map of the world.  Germany East was immense, stretching from what had once been Poland to Kamchatka, but he knew better.  It would be the work of generations before Germany East was tamed.  Until then, it would continue to breed strong and hardy Germans willing to do whatever it took to keep themselves alive.

“
Mien Führer
,” Maria said.  His assistant was standing by the door, seemingly unwilling to walk over to the desk.  It had been decades since the
Reich
had a true
Führer
and no one was quite sure how to react.  “
Oberstgruppenfuehrer
Alfred Ruengeler is here, as you requested; he’s currently waiting in the antechamber.  Your ... other guest is currently passing through security.”

Karl smiled.  He hadn't missed the hint of disapproval in her voice.  Maria was, in very many ways, a strict conservative.  Quite how she squared that with actually working outside the home was beyond him, but it hardly mattered.  Maria couldn't hope to wield power on her own, not in the remorselessly masculine SS.  She was loyal because none of Karl’s rivals would trust her any further than they could throw her.

“Have her wait in the antechamber, once she arrives,” he ordered.  “And show the
Oberstgruppenfuehrer
in.”

He sat down at the desk and smiled to himself as
Oberstgruppenfuehrer
Alfred Ruengeler entered the room.  Ruengeler had been working a desk for the last four years, but he was still a tall powerfully-built man with short blond hair and a badly-scarred face.  Karl knew that he took every opportunity he could to get out of the office and tour the settlements personally, despite the risk of assassination.  Ruengeler had just never been very comfortable serving behind a desk.  Indeed, he’d even requested a transfer to South Africa, even though it would have meant an effective demotion.

A fighter
, Karl thought, as Maria brought them both coffee.  The SS blend, not the weak slop served in Berlin. 
And I need fighters
.

“
Mein Führer
,” Ruengeler said.  “I have the report you requested.”

Karl leaned forward, eagerly.  “Can you complete the mission?”

“I believe so,
Mein Führer
,” Ruengeler said.  “Our tactics were designed for a rapid advance against stiff enemy opposition.  Here, we are intimately familiar with much of the terrain involved, an advantage we had no good reason to expect during training.  A combined-arms thrust involving both armour and elite forces should be more than sufficient to open the route to Berlin.”

He paused.  “The true danger is the enemy withdrawing
into
Berlin.”

Karl snorted.  “They’ll never be able to hold the city.”

Ruengeler looked doubtful.  “The Slavic
Untermenschen
held Leningrad for three years, even though they were grossly inferior to us,” he said.  “They were eating one another when the defences finally fell.  I would expect better from the Berliners.  If we fail to take Berlin quickly, we will have real problems imposing our will on the remainder of the
Reich
.”

“Then we will thrust as hard as we can,” Karl said, firmly.  “Do we have any major problems?”

“Our air support arm is going to have problems,” Ruengeler said, flatly.  “Much of the forces at our disposal were designed for close-air support, not air supremacy.  We have a number of jet fighters at our disposal, but the traitors have more.  They also have all five aircraft carriers into the bargain.”

“We are already taking steps to handle their advantages,” Karl said.  It was wasteful, but he would sooner lose half the
Luftwaffe
than the
Reich
.  Soldiers, sailors and airmen were
meant
to be expended, if necessary.  “And the
Kriegsmarine
is unlikely to take a major role in events.”

“They do have marines,
Mein Führer
,” Ruengeler reminded him.  “And their ship-mounted cruise missiles may be a major problem.”

Karl shrugged.  “They will not be a problem,” he said, firmly.

“As you say,
Mein Führer
,” Ruengeler said.

He cleared his throat.  “The offensive should be ready to launch in two weeks, perhaps less,” he said.  “By then, all the forces will be in place and our logistics support network will be well underway ...”

“I believe it should be possible to launch the offensive earlier,” Karl said.  “Is that true?”

“We would be launching the offensive with what we have on hand,” Ruengeler said.  “I believe that waiting at least ten days would allow us to throw a much harder punch into their defences.  We need reserves to handle any unanticipated little ... problems.”

Bloody noses
, Karl translated, mentally. 
Or outright defeats
.

He studied the map for a long moment.  It was just over three hundred miles from the front lines to Berlin, assuming nothing slowed the assault force down as it mounted the first true
Blitzkrieg
in forty years.  The forces that had stormed into Russia, back when the
Reich
had been embarking on its grand plan of conquest and transformation, had done as well, yet they’d faced
Untermenschen
. 
His
forces faced
Germans
.  Degraded Germans, perhaps, but still Germans.  A delay - a setback - might prove fatal.  His only consolation was that the enemy couldn't really afford to trade space for time.

They can't surrender Berlin, any more than we can refuse to try to take it
, he thought, stroking his chin grimly. 
Giving up the capital will doom their cause
.

He looked up at Ruengeler.  “And that is your considered military opinion?”

“Yes,
Mein Führer
,” Ruengeler said.  He was strong, too strong to wilt easily before a
Fuhrer
.  “Too much can happen when an offensive finally begins.  I would prefer to have forces on hand to ... deal with the problems before they get out of hand.”

Karl sighed.  “You do realise that you’ll be giving
them
an extra two weeks too?”

“I understand the factors involved,” Ruengeler insisted, calmly.  “But give us two weeks and we will be ready to deal with any countermoves they make.”

“I hope you’re right,” Karl said. 

He ground his teeth in frustration.  He
wanted
to order his forces to attack instantly, but he knew better.  Expending an entire team of crack commandos was one thing - his forces weren't significantly weakened by their absence - but thousands of tanks and hundreds of thousands of infantry?  Losing a
Waffen-SS
division would be costly, very costly.  It would certainly encourage his enemies to consider overthrowing him.  Karl Holliston, after all, was no Adolf Hitler.

“I’ll be flying to Warsaw tomorrow morning,” Ruengeler added.  “I should have more than enough time to get everything organised before the offensive starts in earnest.  Ideally,
Mein Fuhrer
, we should have enough time to make our gains before winter sets in.”

Karl nodded, tightly.  Winters in Eastern Europe weren't
quite
as nasty as winters in Germany East, but the coming winter would still impose limitations on military operations.  His troops were trained and experienced in arctic warfare - the insurgents didn't let up just because it was cold enough to kill a grown man - yet they’d be needed back home.  God knew the insurgents would take advantage of the chaos to launch additional attacks against German settlements.

“Very good,” he said.  “Make sure you send anyone on the purge list back to Germanica for trial and punishment.”

“Of course,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Ruengeler said, as he rose.  “It will be done.”

He sounded faintly displeased at the thought of having his
Waffen-SS
troopers mistaken for
Einsatzgruppen
extermination squads, but Karl had no doubt he’d do his job.  The purge list included thousands of Germans who had come under suspicion for one reason or another, as well as everyone closely related to them.  All traces of heresy had to be exterminated, even if it meant catching a few innocents along with the guilty.  They had to die so that the
Reich
could live.

“Good luck,” Karl said.

He held up his hand in salute.  Ruengeler returned it, then about-faced and marched out of the giant office.  Karl watched him go, wondering just how long it would be until he had to dispose of the older man.  Ruengeler was extremely competent, but he asked too many questions - and, besides, he was just a little too squeamish for the task ahead.  Purging the first set of names was one thing, yet that would only be the beginning.  Germany had to be purified before she could rise from the ashes.

Maria stepped into the office.  “Should I show your other guest into the room?”

“Yes, please,” Karl said.  Maria’s disapproval was almost amusing.  One would think he’d called a prostitute from the gutter.  “And then hold all my calls.”

He rose as Maria left the office, only to return a moment later with a tall woman wearing a black SS uniform.  The thought of a woman wearing such a uniform had seemed absurd, he recalled, until he’d first
met Hauptsturmfuehrer
Katharine Milch.  She was impressive, he had to admit; tall, blonde, her curves clearly visible through her uniform.  And yet, her file made it very clear that she was one of the most ruthless people - male or female - in the
Reich
.  The string of successes to her name warned him that Katharine Milch was not a woman to take lightly.  Her cold blue eyes silently challenged him to do just that.