Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (36 page)

“It can't be helped,” Alfred said, bluntly.  “Let them retake a few metres of territory, if they feel they are not being lured into a trap.  We will take the entire city soon enough.”

***

Being a barmaid, Katharine Milch had decided shortly after she had started her new job, wasn't something she would have inflicted on anyone, particularly working in a distinctly low-end bar in the poorer parts of Berlin.  Her figure, in a uniform that was practically indecent, had been complimented so many times she’d lost count, while she’d had to slap seven men for groping her breasts or pinching her bottom.  Indeed, if the bartender hadn't been a brutish lout of a man, she suspected she would have had to fight to save her virtue from the mob. 

But it did have its advantages, she had to admit.  The men who clustered into the bar at the end of each day were workers, workers in occupations deemed too important to let them go join the army.  They were a mass of bitter resentment, caught between the demands of their work and taunts that implied that they were cowards.  Katharine poured them endless mugs of cheap beer and listened to their comments, occasionally adding a comment of her own.  It was odd, she conceded, but the provisional government might have outsmarted itself when it had legalised unions.  There were unions popping up everywhere now.

Idiots
, she thought, after hearing one man complaining about having to work overtime in an ammunition factory.  It was hard to keep the scorn off her face. 
The wolf is at the door and you’re whining about not being able to see your wives and children.

She shook her head at the thought as her shift finally came to an end, then handed her apron over to the next barmaid with an inescapable sense of relief.  Her skin
stank
of beer - she’d had a mug thrown over her by a half-drunk lout - yet at least she hadn't had to use any of her training to fight them off.  She wanted a shower, even though she’d endured worse during her training, but she knew that wasn't going to happen.  Water rationing was growing tighter and tighter by the day, leaving ordinary Berliners increasingly short of drinking water, let alone washing water.  She’d just have to wipe herself down when she reached the apartment and hope it was enough.

The streets were dark when she walked home, forcing her to keep a sharp eye out for footpads and rapists.  Berlin really had gone to the dogs, she thought, her lips twisting in disgust.  Once, the crime rate had been minimal; now, there were thousands of horror stories running through the city, everything from thieves and pickpockets roaming freely in broad daylight to
Untermenschen
rapists running wild.  Most of the stories were exaggerated - she’d planted a few herself - but there was a hard core of truth to them.  Berlin was dying and the signs of death were all around her.  Even if the siege was lifted tomorrow, the once-great city would never be the same again.

She reached the apartment without trouble and strode up the stairs, trying hard to keep from doing anything that might attract attention.  There was little so blatantly obvious as someone trying
not
to sneak around, her instructors had taught her.  The trick was to remain calm, composed and pretend - if only to one’s self - that one had every right to be there.  Police questioned the people who seemed out of place, not the ones who looked normal.

At least they won’t ask questions if I stay in the flat
, she thought. 
There are fewer and fewer girls on the streets these days
.

“Message from Odin,” Hans said, once the door was closed.  “We’re to move as planned in four days, unless it gets put back.”

Katherine gave him a long look.  “Are you sure?”

“The message was repeated four times,” Hans said.  He’d served with her long enough not to have any great objection to her femininity.  She trusted him, just as she trusted the other men on her squad.  “Four days ... unless it gets put back.”

“An all-out offensive on the city,” Katherine mused.  Their operations had always been planned to take place under cover of an assault; indeed, she was surprised they hadn't been called into action sooner.  “And a kidnapping operation.”

She scowled.  In her experience, trying to be clever - trying to do too many things at once - was asking for trouble.  She would have preferred to concentrate on one or the other, not both.  But she understood, from innumerable briefings, just how important it was that both parts of the operation were pulled off successfully.

“Check with Loki,” she ordered, reluctantly.  “See how many men he has in the city.”

“Understood,” Hans said.  “The others have yet to report back.”

Katherine scowled.  There was nothing so dangerous, she knew from bitter experience, as something that stuck out like a sore thumb ... and a handful of military-age men lurking in an apartment definitely stuck out, particularly when they should be on the front lines.  She’d had no choice, but to send them out, allowing them to pose as soldiers, policemen or workers ... even though it ran the risk of disaster. 

“When they do, inform them that we will be making the final preparations for Strike One,” she said.  Thankfully, the traitors had long since lost control of large parts of Berlin.  She had no idea how the
Reich
Council had managed to miss the growing protest mobs, but their successors hadn't learned from their mistakes.  “I’ll need to speak to Loki about Strike Two.”

She closed her eyes in irritation.  Loki might have faith in his people, but
she
didn’t.  Too many of them had slipped up in the months prior to the uprising, before the traitors had taken control of the city.  Indeed, she’d been careful to ensure that Loki knew nothing about the other cells ... although he would
have
to know, if he was going to assist her with Strike Two. 

And if I put it completely in his hands, it might just be screwed up anyway
, she thought, darkly.  She opened her eyes. 
Too many bastards have already messed up - and there’s no way to know if they screwed up legitimately ... or if they’re on the other side
.

“The plan seems too good to be true,” Hans pointed out, carefully.  “There are just too many ways it could go wrong.”

“I know,” Katherine said.  Anything that looked too good to be true probably was.  “And that is why we are not going to be using his plan.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Berlin, Germany Prime

23 October 1985

“They’re not pulling back,” Volker Schulze said.  “They’re preparing for a new offensive.”

“It looks that way,” Voss said.  He sounded tired.  He’d just got back from inspecting one set of defences, Volker knew, and he’d be heading back out in an hour, after he’d given his report.  “They’re still shooting at us, but the pressure has slacked.  Prisoner interrogations suggest that we’re facing reservists all along the lines.”

Volker frowned.  “And there’s no hope they’re pulling back?”

He shook his head before Voss could answer.  It was nothing more than wishful thinking - and he knew it all too well.  The
Waffen-SS
wasn't setting up defensive lines to the east, or withdrawing to more defendable territory.  They were massing their troops, giving them time to rest and recuperate before they launched another major offensive.  And, because their reservists were still keeping up the pressure, the defenders couldn't take advantage of the pause to rest themselves.  There was, quite literally, nowhere to run.

“Our forces are still massing here and here,” Voss said, tapping points on the map.  “They should be ready to advance within five days.”

Volker scowled.  “Will they be in time?”

“It depends on just what they have in mind,” Voss said, honestly.  “We’re putting together contingency plans to advance earlier, if only to open up a corridor to Berlin, but that would run the risk of allowing them to extract most of their own forces before it was too late.”

“Which would prolong the war,” Volker mused.

“Or shorten it,” Voss countered.  “An engagement in open terrain would give them some advantages.”

Volker rubbed his eyes.  He might have a bedroom in the bunker, where there was no constant shellfire to keep him awake, but he’d barely been able to sleep properly since the siege had begun.  The war had to be fought, he knew; the war had to be won ... but the Berliners were suffering in a way that would have been unimaginable, a scant few months ago.  He’d certainly never dreamed of being their leader, let alone forced to watch helplessly as his city was slowly reduced to rubble.  The war could end tomorrow - and that was another piece of wishful thinking - and it would still take years to rebuild.

And the city will be savaged if the Waffen-SS break through the defences
, he thought. 
It will be the end of days
.

He shuddered, wondering just how many men and women were secreting weapons or poison around their person to ensure that they didn't fall into enemy hands.  The reports flowing in from occupied territory were an endless liturgy of horror.  Men killed or rounded up and forced to serve the SS; women raped or marched east to be married to SS stormtroopers and raise the next generation of easterners; children taken from their parents and transported to an unknown destination.  It was hard to be sure just how many of the reports were actually true - the pre-war intelligence network had been shot to hell - but one thing was clear.  The hatred between west and east was growing - and so was the fear.

There’s no way we can live together
, he thought, grimly. 
All we can do is try to slay the monstrous beast in its lair
.

He turned to look at the map, shaking his head slowly.  Even if they won the battle, even if they smashed the forces laying siege to Berlin, getting to Germanica would take months.  The winter was already starting to take hold in the east, making it harder and harder for the easterners to move troops and supplies westward ... his forces would have the same problem, if they wanted to launch an eastern offensive.  No, any counterattack would have to wait until the spring ... assuming, of course, that they survived the coming offensive.  And that would give the easterners ample time to prepare.

“We may have only a handful of days,” he said.  If there
was
a spy on the council - and young Albrecht had proved it - the SS would know the situation as well as he did. 
He
would have cut his losses and withdrawn from Berlin, but the SS clearly disagreed.  “Can we withstand their offensive?”

“I hope so,” Voss said.

Volker shot him a sharp look. 
That
was hardly a ringing endorsement.

Voss sighed.  “Our forces have considerable experience in using the terrain to their advantage,” he said, heavily.  He didn't mention that troops - mainly untrained volunteers - who hadn't learned had died.  “But we are short on ammunition as well as everything from rations to hospital beds.  A single push forward might be enough to bleed us dry.”

“And production isn't keeping up with demand,” Volker muttered. 

The irony chilled him to the bone.  He’d created the very first union, he’d ensured that the workers had the power to resist the government’s demands ... and now he had to force the workers to produce guns and ammunition in record quantities.  And the threatened strikes weren't the worst of it, he knew all too well.  The machinery was slowly breaking down, threatening to render the factories useless.  His men had no time to fix the damage or even produce more ammunition.

We could ask the Americans for ammunition
, he thought, sourly. 
But their ammunition wouldn't be suitable for our weapons
.

Voss met his eyes.  “We could try to discuss a truce,” he offered.  “They can have the east and we can have the west.”

“They won’t go for it,” Volker said.  “Not after ... not after all the bloodshed.”

“The alternative is this war lasting much longer,” Voss said.  “Even if Berlin falls ... we do have more troops and panzers at our disposal.”

“True,” Volker said.  He smiled, rather tiredly.  “But will the government hold together if we lose Berlin?”

***

“So,” her father said.  “How are you enjoying married life?”

Gudrun blushed.  There had been no hope of a real honeymoon - that would have to wait until the war ended, if it ever did - but they had managed a handful of days away from the maddening crowd.  It had been odd, sleeping together without fear of discovery, lying together and talking about their hopes and dreams for the future ... the war nothing, but a grim awareness at the back of their minds.  But there had been no hope of prolonging the holiday any longer.  The fighting was about to get a great deal worse.

“It has its moments,” she said, finally.

“Glad to hear it,” her father said.

He nodded to Horst, then tapped the table, motioning for them both to sit down.  “The good news is that I think we’ve isolated the spy within the
Reichstag
itself,” he said.  “By noting the timing of the messages left for Horst” - he nodded to Gudrun’s husband - “and comparing them with the servants who actually left the building, we believe that Elfie Fruehauf is the most likely candidate.”

Gudrun took a moment to place the name.  Elfie Fruehauf was a senior cleaner, if she recalled correctly; a thirty-year-old woman who lived and worked in the
Reichstag
.  She’d practically passed unnoticed, even when Gudrun had been trying to get to know the staff.  Being unnoticed
had
to be a desirable skill for a spy, she figured.  No one had suspected Horst until after he'd confessed to her personally.

Horst leaned forward.  “What’s her excuse for leaving the building?”

“Apparently, she has a husband who runs a bar,” her father said.  “They’re both from Bavaria, according to the files; they have no friends or family within the city.  They certainly don’t live together, but they see each other as often as they can.”

“Apparently,” Gudrun repeated.

“
Reichstag
staff are expected to be on call at all times,” Horst reminded her.  “I’m surprised they kept her on if she was married.”

Gudrun’s father shrugged.  “Her record is very good,” he said.  “I imagine - officially - they didn't want to lose her.”

He leaned forward.  “She has clearance to go everywhere, save for the secure rooms,” he added, slowly.  “No one would question her if she supervised the maids cleaning the various bedrooms or wonder why she took a room or two to clean herself.  She would be completely unnoticed as she placed a note in your room, Horst, and took your reply.  And her fingerprints would be everywhere anyway.”

“And she takes the notes to her husband,” Horst mused.  “He must be an SS officer too.”

“Probably,” her father said.  “They were both born in Munich, according to the files, but I doubt we’ll find any traces of them.”

Gudrun nodded.  Munich was the third or fourth largest city in the
Reich
, with well over a million citizens.  A handful of records could be inserted into the files by the SS - which practically controlled the registry office - to create a convincing background, at least on paper, for Elfie Fruehauf and her husband.  There would be no reason, she suspected, for anyone to remember them.  They’d be average schoolchildren, average workers, average soldiers ... even a careful check of the records wouldn't turn up any red flags.  It would take a thorough investigation to penetrate the cover and that would require more time than they had.

“We are running out of time,” Horst said.  He looked at Gudrun.  “They are demanding more and more details of your schedule.”

Gudrun shivered.  Horst had made it clear, more than once, that the SS wanted her alive.  It was a terrifying thought.  She’d been arrested before, but then she’d just been an average citizen caught up in the middle of a riot.  Now, they knew just how big a role she'd played in toppling the
Reich
Council.  Karl Holliston wouldn't just want her dead, she knew.  He’d want her to
suffer
.

“So we grab the bitch after she returns from the next meeting and interrogate her,” her father said, curtly.  “And we raid the bar at the same time.”

Horst shook his head.  “There won't be a direct connection between the bar and the commandos,” he said, flatly.  “Taking out the bar will do nothing more than warn them we’re on to them.”

“They want to snatch my
daughter
,” her father snapped.  “I’m not inclined to take chances!”

“If you snatch Elfie Fruehauf,” Horst said, “you will reveal that we know she’s a spy.  And they will
know
that I put you on to her.  Our chances of quietly isolating and destroying the commando team will go down sharply.”

“As well as make you a target,” Gudrun said, quietly.

Horst nodded.  “The best we can hope for is having them think I’ve been arrested too,” he said.  “But ... at that point, they will probably decide they want me dead before I can talk.”

Gudrun shook her head.  “Then we don’t want to blow your cover.”

“I feel that way,” Horst said, dryly.

“I’ve had the bar under quiet surveillance,” her father injected, sharply.  “There are too many people coming and going for us to have any real hope of picking out their contact.”

“And if we raid the bar, the commando team will just pull back and get on with their mission,” Horst added.  He looked at Gudrun.  “You really need to stay in the
Reichstag
.”

Gudrun scowled.  There was nothing she could do for the war effort, but do her best to boost morale.  Visiting hospitals and speaking to the wounded, addressing civilians ... helping families who had been blasted out of their homes by shellfire find new places to stay ... it wasn't much, yet it was the only thing she could do.  Giving that up didn't sit well with her, even if she was the only one affected.  And if she didn't visit the hospitals, would it suggest to the population that the provisional government no longer cared?

And if we lose the population
, she thought,
what happens to us then?

She felt her scowl deepen as her father and husband argued.  The SS had been putting up posters everywhere, insisting that the provisional government was responsible for everything from the siege and shellfire to the atrocities the SS had committed as they swept west.  And as conditions worsened within the city, people were starting to listen.  Gudrun couldn't help wondering just what would happen if the SS pledged to spare everyone, but the provisional government and its collaborators.  She doubted the SS would keep its word - Berlin had been infected by the desire for freedom - yet she suspected it wouldn't matter.  Drowning men would clutch at straws to save their lives.