Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (23 page)

Volker Schulze looked doubtful.  “They might have noticed the American visiting the
Reichstag
,” he said.  “But that doesn't mean we’ve made a deal with them.”

“There's no way to be sure,” Horst said.  “But if there is a very high-ranking spy ...”

Gudrun fought down the urge to curse, wishing that she was alone.  Volker Schulze was bad enough, but her father - sitting next to her - was a silent reminder of propriety.  God alone knew what he’d say if she gave Horst a hug, let alone a kiss.  She almost giggled at the thought.  Technically, she outranked him ... and yet she was still his daughter.  Who knew which of them was really in charge? 

Maybe we should get married
, she thought. 
But getting married would cause more problems than it would solve
.

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  She’d contemplated it when her period had been a few days late and she’d feared the worst, but it
would
cause too many headaches.  Ironically, getting pregnant before the uprising wouldn't have been a serious problem - even if her parents
had
exploded with rage - but now it would be disastrous.  She wouldn't be taken seriously by the remaining councillors.

She pushed the thought aside and leaned forward.  “If we do have a very high-ranking spy,” she mused, “would he
have
to be a councillor?”

“No,” her father said.  “One of their trusted aides might be the
real
spy.”

“They’re not supposed to discuss such matters,” Schulze said, flatly.

“They do,” Horst said.  “A single boastful fool could cause us all sorts of headaches, if one of his aides is a spy.”

He sighed.  “But someone on the council might think they could buy their own safety through helping the other side,” he added.  “They’d be ahead whoever came out on top.”

“At least they’d be alive,” Gudrun muttered. 
She’d
talked about such matters with Horst, after all.  “And they might even be in a position of power.”

“But we don’t even know there
is
a spy,” Schulze said.  “The SS might just have gotten lucky.”

“That’s possible,” Horst said.  He paused.  “And there’s another possibility.  They may be trying to test me,
Herr Chancellor
.  It may not have occurred to them that there might have been
actual
contacts with America.”

Schulze scowled.  “So what do we do?”

“We keep telling them that you know nothing about any such contacts,” Gudrun’s father said, bluntly.  “If they think there
have
been contacts, it’s still a believable answer.  And if this is nothing more than a fishing trip ... well, nothing is betrayed.  There’s no reasonable excuse for you to be in possession of such knowledge.”

Horst nodded.

“But we have to catch the spy in the
Reichstag
,” her father continued.  “And we have to track down the cell before it does something drastic.”

Schulze nodded.  “Any ideas?”

“The Easterners have been dropping bombs on us,” Gudrun’s father said.  “It shouldn't be hard to make it clear to the staff that anyone who leaves the
Reichstag
should sign out of the building, like we do in the police station.  There was enough chaos, wasn't there, the first time everyone had to run into the bunkers?  We can use that as an excuse to build a list of who goes in and out of the building.”

Gudrun nodded, seeing the sense of it.  “Most of them live in the
Reichstag
,” she said, feeling a flicker of pride.  Her father might be strict, but he was no fool.  “Anyone who leaves might be the spy.”

“Or a spy,” Horst said.  “If I was in their shoes, Gudrun, I’d want more than one.”

“Brilliant,” Schulze said, sarcastically.  “There might be more than one - or two - in the building.”

“It’s a start,” Gudrun’s father said.  “Once we know who leaves regularly, we can start shadowing them.”

“They may be trained to avoid pursuit,” Horst pointed out.

“And if they were trying to avoid us,” Gudrun’s father said, “we’d know who we were looking for.”

Gudrun sighed.  “Why can’t everything be simple these days?”

Horst smiled at her.  “Life is rarely simple,” he said.

“Make it happen,” Schulze ordered.  “But don’t try to investigate the councillors.”

Gudrun nodded in sympathy. 
She
was the only councillor without a staff - and a small army of subordinates.  Investigating the others would spark off discontent, if not paranoia.  A man like Voss, far too used to watching his back for the SS knife, might see advantage in striking first, if he believed his life to be under threat.  Or Kruger ... fearful that he might be blamed for the economic nightmare gripping the
Reich
.  Or ...

Just one of them betraying us would be a nightmare
, she thought. 
Even if we found absolute proof, and we might, bringing them to justice would be impossible
.

“As you wish,” her father said.  He looked at Horst.  “You are
not
to share Gudrun’s schedule with them.”

Horst didn't argue.  “I’m planning to give them false information, then explain that the schedule kept changing on short notice,” he said.  “Which is what happens ...”

“Too risky,” her father insisted.

“If I don’t give them something, they will suspect me,” Horst said.  “And if that happens, they will pull in their horns and disappear - right up until the moment they attack.”

Gudrun held up a hand.  “I don’t mind the risk ...”

“You should,” her father growled.  “Last time, when you were arrested, they didn't know who you were.  This time ... they will.”

Gudrun shuddered, despite herself.  She'd been stripped naked and locked in a cell for hours, exposed to the gaze of every passing male guard.  And yet, that was tenderness incarnate compared to what they’d do now they
knew
who she was.  She’d be lucky if she was
only
hung from meat hooks, after being tortured to death.  The SS might normally hesitate to kill girls of good breeding, but in her case they’d probably make an exception.

“If there’s a chance to lure them out on our terms,” she said, “we should take it.”

“But not at the risk of your life,” Horst said.  “It’s too dangerous.”

Her father nodded in agreement.  “I forbid it,” he said.  “Your life is already in too much danger.”

“So is Kurt’s,” Gudrun snapped.

“Kurt is a young man,” her father said.  His voice softened.  “I don’t want to see you dead.”

Gudrun scowled, but said nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Near Berlin, Germany Prime

21 September 1985

“They’re coming into range,
Herr Leutnant
,” Loeb warned

Kurt nodded.  The SS had punched through the next set of defence lines two days ago, pushing forward despite taking increasingly heavy casualties.   He would have admired their determination if they weren't breaking into territories where the evacuation program had barely begun, leaving hundreds of thousands of civilians stranded.

And we had to clear the roads just to keep moving
, he thought, grimly.  The roads had become snarled with refugees as they retreated west, forcing the soldiers to push them out of the way just to get into position to engage the SS again. 
How many of them are about to die
.

He cursed under his breath.  They'd taken up position near a town, a town that had barely even
started
to evacuate its population by the time the war reached them.  There was no time to order an evacuation, even if it wouldn't have blocked their line of retreat.  The hell he knew was going to break across the town was coming and there was nothing he could do about it.  There was nothing
anyone
could do about it.

The sound of aircraft roared through the air as a pair of HE-477s raced westwards, hunting for targets.  Kurt braced himself, fearing the aircraft might spot their position, but the two SS aircraft merely headed onwards.  Behind them, a pair of helicopters held position over the advancing panzers, their weapons ready to engage any threat.  Kurt muttered orders to two of his men, both of whom were carrying MANPADS.  They were nowhere near as good in combat as he’d been told - they’d found that out the hard way - but at least they’d force the helicopters to back off.  The SS wouldn't have an unlimited supply.

And we don’t have an unlimited supply of weapons either
, he reminded himself.  It had practically become a mantra as the
Waffen-SS
continued its advance. 
Get in, land a blow and then get out
.

“Take aim,” he ordered, quietly.  The lead panzer was slowing as it approached the town, its main gun shifting position to cover the buildings.  They’d already hurled HE shells into houses snipers had tried to use as firing positions, if rumours were to be believed. 
Kurt
had no trouble believing them.  “Brace yourselves ...”

He tensed, silently timing it in his head.  It was the same problem, one that had played itself out time and time again.  The closer the panzers, the greater the chance of scoring hits ...  and the greater the chance of being discovered ahead of time.  A hail of fire from the panzer’s machine guns would be more than enough to slaughter his entire command before they could fire a single shot.  But if they fired too soon, the missiles might not kill their targets.

“Now,” he snapped.

Loeb fired the antitank missile.  It lanced through the air and struck the lead tank, burning through its armour and exploding inside the hull.  The second missile took out the second tank; the third missile struck its target, but glanced off and exploded harmlessly.  One of the helicopters was hit at practically point-blank range and exploded into a fireball, the other jerked back so hard it nearly stood on its tail.

“Run,” Kurt snapped.  The third panzer was already rolling forward, machine guns spitting fire.  “Move it, now!”

He turned and ran for his life, hoping desperately that their escape route remained clear.  The SS stormtroopers behind the panzers would be already jumping out of their transports and advancing forward - and there was nothing to stop them.  Perhaps, in hindsight, they should have targeted the trucks instead ... but taking out the panzers would do more to blunt the advance than killing random stormtroopers.  He heard shots behind him, but none of them came near to his men.  The SS had
definitely
been caught by surprise.

And yet we’re still falling back to Berlin
, he thought, as they slipped out of sight. 
And they’re still advancing
.

“We hurt them,” Loeb said.

“Yeah,” Kurt said.  He heard more aircraft high overhead, but they didn't seem interested in dropping bombs.  Rumour had it that Berlin was being bombed savagely, yet rumour was known to lie.  “But did we hurt them enough?”

***

Obersturmfuehrer
Hennecke Schwerk cursed savagely as he rolled out of the transport, rifle at the ready, then ran forwards, past the ruined panzers.  Two of them were nothing more than scrap metal now, he noted, while a third had a nasty scorch mark on the hull.  His squad followed him as he charged the enemy firing position, then slowed as it became clear that the enemy had made their escape.  They'd run into the undergrowth, skirting the town and then headed west.  Chasing them down would be futile.

The panzers rumbled forward again, heading into the town.  Hennecke and his men followed, keeping their heads down, but no one tried to bar their way as they drove through the puny barricade and down the road into the town square.  It was a typical town; a town hall, a church, a few hundred homes and shops ... the sort of place that would be ideal, if one wanted a quiet life.  But not now.

A shot cracked out.  He ducked, instinctively, as a bullet pinged off the side of the nearest panzer, then looked towards the source.  Someone was lurking in an upper bedroom, aiming a gun towards them.  A panzer fired, a second later.  The shell detonated inside the house, blowing it into rubble.  Hennecke heard, just for a second, someone screaming before the sound cut off abruptly.  Dead, injured or silenced?  There was no way to know.

“Clear the houses,” he bellowed, as more stormtroopers flooded into the town.  The town was in revolt and he knew how to deal with it.  “Get the population into the damned church!”

He kicked open the nearest door and led the way into the house.  An old man - probably old enough to remember the days before Hitler - stared at him in shock.  Two younger women looked terrified; behind them, a handful of children lay on the floor.  There were no boys older than fifteen, Hennecke realised, even though there was a photograph of two boys wearing military uniforms on the mantelpiece.  They’d have joined the traitors, he thought, if they weren't serving in South Africa.

“Get out,” he snarled at them.  “Now!”

The old man met his eyes with a kind of dignified resignation that had Hennecke’s blood boiling in rage.  He lived in a town that had dared to stand against the SS, that had dared to allow one of its buildings to be used against them ... how dare he show anything other than complete and total submission?  Growling, he caught the old man and thrust him towards the door, silently daring him to make a fuss.  The women followed, both looking even more terrified.  They were older than he’d thought, he realised.  They’d be daughters or daughters-in-law, not teenagers.  And perhaps they were mothers too ...

He bit off that thought as he glared at the children.  The admiration he’d always received from children in the east was lacking; instead, they stared at him in fear.  They hadn't deserved to be raised by traitors, he tried to tell himself, but he was too angry to care.  It was his duty to ensure they were passed to the
Lebensborn
officers for transfer to a new family, where they would be raised properly ... he shrugged.  They were at war.  The normal rules could go to hell.

The children hurried out, following their mothers; he ordered his men to search the house and then hurried back outside.  Hundreds of civilians - old men and women, younger women, children - were being marched out of their homes and ordered into the church.  Behind them, their homes were ransacked and anything incriminating - weapons, stashes of money or treacherous propaganda - was removed.  The panzers moved through the town and back onto the road as it became clear there would be no more resistance, leaving Hennecke and his men in charge of the town.

“They’re all in the church,
Herr Obersturmfuehrer
,” the
Strumscharfuehrer
said.  “Orders?”

Hennecke glared.  He knew precisely how to treat towns and villages that supported insurgents and terrorists.  It was what he'd done, time and time again, in Germany East, where the Slavs took advantage of every
hint
of German weakness.  Doing it here, in Germany Prime, bothered him more than he cared to admit, but the townspeople
had
supported the traitors.  They didn't deserve to live.

“Lock the doors, then burn the church,” he ordered, shortly.  “Kill them all.”

He watched, grimly, as his men carried out his orders.  They’d done it before, in Germany East.  The doors were sealed, then incendiary grenades were hurled through the windows, triggering a firestorm.  Hennecke shuddered, despite himself, at the screams as the flames lashed out, the wooden church catching fire with terrifying speed.  The trapped inhabitants battered on the door, but it was already too late.  Moments later, the building started to collapse into burning debris.  There were no survivors.

“We could have saved a few of the girls,” one of his men muttered.  “And had some real fun.”

Hennecke frowned.  Raping Slavic girls was strictly forbidden, even if the girls were killed afterwards.  Quite apart from the simple fact it was bad for discipline - and it was - it ran the very real risk of introducing Germanic blood to the Slavs.  But here ... he doubted there was a single girl in the town who had a trace of non-German ancestry in her blood.  Most half-castes had been removed or killed a very long time ago.  His superiors wouldn't be able to object on racial grounds.

But it was still a disciplinary issue.

“No,” he said, firmly.  “If we have to kill them, we have to kill them.  But we are not going to abuse good German girls.”

He turned and marched towards the edge of the town.  As tired as they were, they would have to do it again and again until they reached Berlin, where things would get harder.  His superiors had insisted that Berlin would fall without a fight, but Hennecke wasn't so sure.

Grandfather fought in Stalingrad
, he reminded himself. 
And he had nightmares for the rest of his life
.

It was a bitter thought.  His father had often rebuked Hennecke’s grandfather - his father-in-law - for telling Hennecke stories of the war.  And yet,
he’d
been a soldier too, fighting and eventually dying to protect Germany East.  Hennecke had never really understood the man, or the odd admiration his grandfather had had for the Slavs.  It wasn't as if he’d ever treated the servants any better than the rest of the family.

It probably made sense to him
, he thought. 
And now we have to proceed onwards
.

***

“This is confirmed?”

“Yes,
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,”
Sturmbannfuehrer
Friedemann Weineck said.  “It was reported through the network and confirmed by the MPs.”

Oberstgruppenfuehrer
Alfred Ruengeler sucked in a breath.  He’d known that anger and frustration was burning through the ranks - his men were hardly used to encountering foes that could slow them down, let alone stop them - but this was a nightmare.  Slaughtering vast numbers of
Untermenschen
was one thing; killing over a hundred men, women and children from Germany Prime was quite another.  There would be no peace if this went on.

He looked up.  “We know who did it?”

“
Obersturmfuehrer
Hennecke Schwerk,” Weineck said.  “He’s actually in line for promotion to
Hauptsturmfuehrer
,
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
; his former commanding officer was killed on the first day of the war and since then Schwerk has been holding down his responsibilities.  Before then ... he had a honourable reputation as an infantryman in the east.”

“Where he picked up a few bad habits,” Alfred growled.

He looked at the map, thinking hard.  There had been quite a few incidents as the advancing stormtroopers mingled with the civilians - a number of civilians killed for being on the roads, several more killed in the crossfire, a couple of young women raped - but this was by far the worst.  And yet it wouldn't be the last.  Alfred
knew
his men were getting frustrated, both with their slow progress and with the German civilians.  Far from being welcomed as liberators, they were being ignored or defied when they weren't being attacked.