Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (21 page)

“And less worrying in general terms,” the man agreed.  He turned towards Gudrun’s friend.  “Horst?”

Horst stepped forward.  Herman studied him, feeling the odd twinge of disquiet he’d felt when Konrad had asked his little girl out for the first time.  Gudrun had been seventeen when she’d started to date Konrad, but Herman had found it hard to forget that she was no longer a child.  He’d even had a stern discussion with Konrad, promising blood and pain if he hurt Gudrun in any way.  And he’d
liked
Konrad.  He wasn't quite so sure about Horst.

And he’s been too close to Gudrun
, he thought, darkly.  Adelinde might not have noticed, but
Herman
had.  The two youngsters had been standing far too close together, even in public, to be just
friends
. 
Is he planning to marry her one day
?

“We have a problem,” Horst said, bluntly.  “There's an SS stay-behind cell somewhere within Berlin.”

Herman’s eyes narrowed.  “A stay-behind cell?”

Horst nodded.  “Their normal mission is to wait until the advancing spearheads have moved onwards to new targets, then come out of the shadows and engage the enemy,” he said.  “I suspect
this
cell intends to cause chaos within the city when the SS attacks from the outside.”

“A reasonable suspicion,” Herman said, carefully.  Horst spoke with authority, but he was just a university student ... wasn't he?  No, there was something fishy about Horst’s background.  “How do you intend to track them down?”

“The uprising caught the SS by surprise,” Horst said.  “I ... have reason to believe that their command network within Berlin was badly disrupted, perhaps fatally.  They didn't have any contingency plans for actually losing control of the city, let alone the RSHA.  The person responsible for the murder, the person who vanished into the city, may well be a commando sent to assist what remains of their network.”

Herman eyed him for a long moment.  “You have reason to believe ...?”

Horst hesitated, then made a very visible decision.  “I used to work for them,” he said.  “And they think - I hope - I still do.”

The whole story spilled out, piece by piece.  Herman stared.  He was no stranger to crazy stories - he still smiled whenever he remembered the man who’d accidentally driven his car into the painting of a tunnel someone had placed on a wall - but this one was particularly absurd.  Horst had been working for the SS all along?  Except ... he’d switched sides?  Did Gudrun know?

“I told her,” Horst said, when he asked.  “It was right after I got her out of prison.”

Herman scowled, torn between gratitude and a deep simmering anger.  “And you didn't think to warn her that she could get into very real trouble?”

“She knew,” Horst said, flatly.

He went on before Herman could muster a response.  “We don’t know how many people we can trust,” he added.  “The counterintelligence networks have also been shattered.  I’ve done my best to go through the files, but an SS observer wouldn't be easily noticeable ... we have to isolate and destroy the cell before it is too late.”

“I understand,” Herman said.  “What do you want me to do?”

“I think we can trust you,” Horst said.  “Help us find the cell.”

Herman nodded, although he knew the task would be far from easy.  Berlin was hardly Paris or London, somewhere where a group of Germans would stand out like sore thumbs.  An SS commando, even one from Germany East, would pass unnoticed in Berlin.  Hell, the commando might even
be
a Berliner.  As long as they were careful, they might just be impossible to locate.

“I’ll do my best,” he said.  “Who can I call upon for help?”

“There's a handful of people who have been cleared,” Horst said.  “And if there's anyone you trust from the police, feel free to ask for them to be vetted.”

Herman scowled.  “How do you know you can trust me?”

“I imagine Gudrun would be dead by now or shipped off to Germany East, if you were working for the SS,” Horst said.  There was an airy tone to his voice that made Herman’s temper flare.  “And we’re short of people we can trust.”

“Only people who could have betrayed us are trusted now,” the man warned.

“I see,” Herman said.  He scowled at Horst, daring the young man to look back at him.  “Do you really think I would have betrayed my daughter?”

“You would not be the first, if you had,” Horst commented.  “A number of the women I knew in Germany East were exiled, after taking part in the feminist movement.”

Herman scowled.  He’d been a teenager at the time, but he remembered it all too well.  The feminists had sought to change the eternal relationship between men and women, without realising just how far the
Reich
was prepared to go to maintain its power.  Their cells had been broken, a handful had been executed for plotting against the state and most of the remainder dispatched to Germany East to become good little housewives.  His mother had been on the fringes of the movement and its failure had made her very bitter ...

“I would not have betrayed my daughter,” Herman said.

“And there are some who would say you have betrayed the
Reich
,” Horst countered.  “And that’s why I think we can trust you.”

“Yes, you can,” Herman said.  “You can trust me on this.  If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

“Good,” Horst said.  He sounded oddly relieved, rather than amused or fearful.  “What self-respecting father could do more?”

Chapter Twenty

Germanica (Moscow), Germany East

17 September 1985

“They made a deal with the Americans?”

“So it would seem,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Reimer Wermter said.  The intelligence officer leaned forward.  “We only got the word now.”

Karl growled, deep in his throat.  He had grown far too used to modern communications, far too used to being able to get messages from Berlin to Germanica instantly.  Now, with normal communications badly disrupted, it had taken several days for the warning to reach his intelligence staff.  The traitors were in covert discussions with the Americans.

“The Americans will tear us apart and the traitors will
let
them,” he snarled.  “And that will be the end of us!”

He glared at the map, his eyes seeking out what had once been Japan.  It was a hellish nightmare now, a territory where the races mixed freely and the once-proud martial culture had been almost completely eradicated.  There were few pureblood Japanese left, he’d been told, and fewer still who cleaved to the old ways.  The new generation of Japanese children were more American than the Americans.  They treated democracy as though it were a god.

And that will happen to us, if the Americans win
, he thought. 
And they will win, if the traitors give them the chance
.

He could see the nightmare unfolding in his imagination.  The steady collapse of authority, mirrored by the steady collapse of the family.  Young girls breeding with
Untermenschen
, young men leaving their wives and families to support themselves; women working to earn money rather than taking care of their children, men treated as monsters by a depraved legal system.  And young men running around without discipline, taking drugs and drinking heavily instead of serving their country and raising families of their own.  Everything the
Reich
had built was in jeopardy.

The Americans don’t know what’s good for them
, he thought, nastily. 
And yet they may import their failures here
.

The thought tormented him.  He’d once been reassured by the growing demographic crisis in America, although the Americans were alarmingly good at converting immigrants and
Gastarbeiters
- not that they used that word - into good Americans.  Given time, he’d calculated, the American population would drop while the
Reich’s
kept rising.  But now ... the civil war would tear the
Reich
apart before it could win the cold war by default.  It had been a mistake, he knew now, to allow even a single American idea to enter the
Reich
.  They should have closed their borders and waited, patiently, for the United States to collapse.

And now we are fighting each other instead of the Americans
, he told himself. 
They can just walk in afterwards and take over!

He glared at Wermter.  “What have they actually agreed?”

“The Americans are already sending them intelligence materials,” Wermter said.  He didn't look any more pleased than Karl felt.  “They’ll start shipments of MANPADS in the next few days ...”

Karl swore.  He hated to admit it, but the Americans had practically
invented
modern-day military logistics.  They’d drowned the Japanese under a tidal wave of production that even the
Reich
had been unable to match.  And yet, producing so many MANPADS and slipping them to the traitors in Berlin would be tricky, even for them.  They’d have to draw down the stocks in Britain, unless ...

He cursed under his breath.  He’d suspected American involvement in the protests from the start.  The Americans
liked
the idea of convincing people to change, rather than imposing change by force; they never seemed to see the downside, that the people might change in ways the United States neither expected nor wanted.  If the Americans had planned to send MADPADS to the
Reich
from the start, could it be they’d planned the uprising and civil war all along?

Cold logic told him it wasn't likely.  He’d had plenty of experience with intelligence work over the years.  The more complex an operation, the greater the chance of failure.  Surely, the Americans couldn't have planned the entire situation out from the beginning.  And yet, they
were
moving to take advantage of the chaos.  They had to be very sure the civil war wouldn't turn into a complete disaster.

“MANPADS,” he said, out loud.

He snorted, rudely.  American MANPADS were
good
.  Stinger missiles alone had turned what should have been a relatively easy operation - to support the South Africans as they retook control of their country - into a bloodbath.  CAS aircraft were uniquely vulnerable to American Stingers, which stripped the troops of their air cover when they needed it desperately.  The blacks had used them, ruthlessly, to push the envelope and start attacking German troops, rather than the other way around.  Introducing American-designed MANPADS into the German Civil War would only prolong the bloodshed.

Which is probably what the Americans want
, he thought, darkly. 
If we keep fighting each other, we will be in no position to resist when the Americans take advantage of the chaos
.

“Yes,
Mein Führer
,” Wermter said.  “They have promised over two thousand single-use missiles to the traitors.”

Karl thought fast.  The Americans had pretended that they hadn't been supplying the South Africans, but no one believed them.  There was literally
no
other country on Earth, even Britain, capable of producing Stingers.  Stripping all US markings off the missiles and their launchers was just pointless.  And yet, the troops defending the traitors wouldn't know that, would they?  They’d think the Stingers came from a
German
factory.  The traitors wouldn't be keen to acknowledge that they’d received help from the archenemy.

“We have to find a way to use this against them,” he thought.  “Is our spy undetected?”

“I believe they do not suspect his presence,” Wermter said.  “However, they would be foolish to trust him completely.”

“They’d be foolish to trust
anyone
completely,” Karl mused.  It was the old problem with revolutionary movements.  The different factions tended to have different ideas about which way the movement should go.  Even
Hitler
had needed to move against his former comrades, once the Nazi Party was in power.  “But as long as he remains undetected ...”

He frowned.  He’d hoped the traitors would fragment into multiple factions, each one weakening the whole, but the growing pressure from the east probably ensured that any disputes would be put aside until the end of the war.  The traitors knew they had to hang together or they would all be hanging together.  He smirked at the pun, then turned his attention back to his subordinate.  Wermter was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“The Americans will not be giving them anything for free,” he said.  “What do they get in exchange?”

“A withdrawal from South Africa and free trade,” Wermter said.

Karl swore, savagely.  The withdrawal wasn't a problem - no doubt the traitors were already congratulating themselves on convincing the Americans to pay for something they’d been planning to do already - but free trade?  It would be disastrous!  He had no illusions about just how easily the United States could flood the
Reich
with civilian products, products that would be both cheaper and better than anything the
Reich
could produce for itself.  And who knew what would come with it?  Germans who should be doing their duty for the
Reich
would be asking questions, instead.  They’d be demanding to know why
Germany
couldn't produce blue jeans and cheap televisions.  And none of the answers they’d get would satisfy them.

And it would destroy our economy completely
, he thought. 
Who would buy one of our products when they could have an American product
?

“We have to stop this,” he said.  He glared at Wermter.  “Get back to your other sources; find out what else they’re planning to do.  And then tell the advance teams I want them ready to move in on the
Reichstag
at a moment’s notice.”

“
Jawohl
,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Wermter said.

Karl dismissed him, then keyed the intercom.  “Maria, inform
Oberstgruppenfuehrer
Ruengeler that I wish to speak with him over the secure phone,” he ordered.  It would take time - Ruengeler had been spending far too much time at the front, getting a personal feel for the situation, rather than staying in the CP - but it would just have to be endured.  “Inform me the moment he’s on the line.”

“
Jawohl
,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Maria said.

Rising to his feet, Karl paced over to the window and stared out over his city.  It was a towering monument to the dreams of the
Volk
, to what could be achieved if the
Volk
was bound together by a single movement.  The gothic structures surrounding him were larger-than-life, the reflection of a pitiless will to dominate and reshape the world.  It was magnificent; it was
always
magnificent.  And yet, everything they’d built could be lost, if the war was lost.  The traitors were playing games with the
Volk
itself.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, cursing the bastards under his breath.  Didn't they
realise
what was at stake?  The world was savage, red in tooth and claw.  Their dominance had come at a price.  Countless Germans had fought and died to build the
Reich
, from the men who had marched into Poland in 1939 to the men and women who fought insurgents in Germany East and South Africa.  To give the
Untermenschen
a chance to harm the
Reich
wasn't just treason, it was ... it was worse, yet he could think of no word for it.  Karl understood the ebb and flow of politics, the complex series of moves and countermoves that sometimes left a knife buried in a comrade’s back, but this was gambling with the future of the
Reich
itself.  Karl would have sooner disbanded the SS than see the
Reich
collapse into rubble.

We had the will to dominate the world
, he told himself. 
But do we still have it
?

The secure telephone rang.  He strode back to the table and picked it up.  “Holliston.”

“
Mein Fuhrer
,” Ruengeler said.

“You need to push the advance forward.” Karl said, bluntly.  “Take whatever risks are necessary to reach Berlin.”

There was a long pause.  “
Mein Fuhrer
, the advance is already moving as quickly as possible,” Ruengeler said.  “I don’t believe it can be pushed any faster.”

Karl swore, inwardly, as he turned to stare at the map.  The advance was grinding forward slowly, too slowly.  He’d hoped for a swift strike towards Berlin, but the traitors were stalling his men and slowing them down.  It was frustrating.  Worse, perhaps, it was
costly
.  If some of the reports were to be believed, replacing every lost aircraft, every lost panzer, would be a nightmare.  He might win the war and purge all of his enemies, but the
Reich
would be so gravely weakened that the Americans would roll over them with ease.

“It has to be done,” he growled.  He didn't dare discuss everything over the telephone line.  It was
meant
to be secure, but the Americans were very good at intercepting messages.  He’d even read reports claiming that the Americans had actually found a way to hack into the telephone network without a physical connection.  “I need you to have Berlin cut off, at the very least, within the week.”