The Berkut (4 page)

"A traitor," Gretchen said from behind h
i
m. "We've been hunting them and carrying out the sentence of death."

Psychopaths, the colonel thought. Like Gestapo agents he had known. "What was his crime?" he asked, nodding toward the Hitler Youth.

"His was a crime against the future of the state. He was a homosexual, a weakling. He found him with his lover in his mouth. His lover died fighting. This one fell to the floor and cried for mercy. The Reich cannot tolerate defectives who refuse their duty, especially now. Germany needs children."

"Am I to be tried?" Brumm asked. "It remains a possibility."

Time was running out.
Erst besinnen, dann beginnen-first
think,
then begin, he thought. Brumm lunged at the nearest woman, driving a fist into her solar plexus. As she doubled up, he grasped the short barrel of her machine pistol, twisted it from her grip and spun behind his victim, holding the leader of the women in his sights. It happened so fast that none of the women reacted.

"I have no more time for this," the colonel said angrily, his chest heaving. "I have my duty and you are interfering. In other circumstances, perhaps, I might play with you and see this game to its end, but not now." He aimed the weapon at the leader's face. "Make your decision now, Fraulein. We both die here or you can get out of my way. Either way, there's no more talk. What's it to be?"

S
he stepped aside and lowered her weapon. "Are you hell-bent on killing Russians and
finding traitors?" he asked. S
he nodded. "Do you want to serve your Fuhrer and the Reich?" All the women nodded. "Good," he pronounced. "Gather your weapons and gear and come with me. If you want to serve the Reich, then God has sent me to you; you will see, my
Walkure.
Gretchen, is it?" he said to the leader.

"Yes."

"Gretchen, have one of the others get that steel rod from the other building and let's go. We're running out of time." He stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

The women looked at one another for a moment until their leader finally lowered her head. "Move," she said.

He was waiting for them upstairs. "You," he said, pointing t
o Gretchen. "You are now Oberstu
rm
fü
hrer; you are my second in command."

"Me?"

"You," he repeated. "Is it too much for you?"

"Waller," she said crisply, "Obersturmf
ü
hrer Waller," and snapped a crisp salute.

"Very good, Waller. Wait here." He went back down the stairs.

There was a single shot from below. Then he was back. "That one will feel no more pain," he said. "No more executions; you fight when I tell you to fight. You are now 55."

"There are no women in the
SS
," Waller said.

"But there have been plenty of the
SS
in women," one of the others said. They all laughed.

"For the moment," Brumm said, "1 am the
SS
, and I say there will be women. I expect total obedience, complete discipline, no different from what I expect from my men. You will swear to it." All six women gathered around him. For the first time he noticed how young they were-late teens, early twenties at the most-and so healthy-looking. He called them to attention and lifted his right arm in the Nazi salute. They followed his lead.

"I swear to thee, Adolf Hitler, as Fuhrer and chancellor of the German Reich, loyalty and bravery. I vow to thee, and to the superiors whom thou shalt appoint, obedience unto death, so help me God."

He shook each woman's hand, then kissed each gently on the cheek. "Waller, are we ready to go?"

"Yes, Herr Standartenfü
hrer."

"Then move."

Ten minutes later they were inside the tube. With the lever the wheel had worked easily. He sent the women down first, then followed, jamming the iron rod into the door's mechanism so that no one would be able to follow them. When he reached the tunnel floor, the girls were huddled together, squatting near a wall. The air was heavy and stale. He flashed his light ahead o
f them
. There were damp spots, but mostly the way ahead was dry. It would be easy going.

"Is there a way out?" Waller asked.

"There is always a way out, Waller, if you keep your wits. Move out."

Phase One of the mission was nearing completion. He'd added some elements not planned on, but the operation hadn't taken into account the possibility of Berlin being awash in lunatics. He needed help; for the time being these girls could provide it.

"Waller," the colonel said softly as they walked, "who taught you to fight?"

"We taught ourselves," she said proudly.

Wer
sein eigener Lehrmeister sein will, hat einen Narr zum Schüler
,
he thought. He that teaches himself has a fool for a master. It had been his grandfather's favorite saying.

6 -
APRIL 29, 1945, 9:40 A.M.

Moving his group through Berlin's catacombs, Brumm concentrated on the plan and tasks that lay ahead. In planning this mission they had anticipated mass confusion in the city-indeed, they had counted on it as a key factor-but they hadn't realized how bad it would be. Since parachuting into the city, nothing had gone quite as anticipated. Still, here he was safely across the Spree River and on his way to the rendezvous. This was the critical step. If the rendezvous was a failure or if something had happened to the others, the rest of the plan would be jeopardized; in fact, there wouldn't be any plan, just a desperate attempt at the last moment. But while he understood the implications of failure, he didn't dwell on the probabilities. He had a job to do and would do it to the fullest extent possible, using his abilities and instincts to guide him when necessary. And now he had his Valkyries as extra cards in this gambit.

Having led the girls up from Stadtmitte Station, Brumm felt happy to be above ground again. The shelling from across the river was furious, as was return fire from nearby. Russian aircraft buzzed over the city, dropping bombs and strafing without discrimination. The war had come to Berlin in full fury.

He could easily fix the Russian positions. As tacticians they lacked German finesse and sophistication. The Ivans were very conservative in their approaches to battle. It was not their courage that was suspect but their comprehension of the ways of war. Both he and the Soviets knew that without American materiel the Russians would be under Reich control today. But with Allied equipment and weapons, and their own millions of bodies to throw into the fray, they had pushed relendessly, until the Wehrmacht was shoved back across the Oder. On the western front, Allied pincers were closing. Vienna had fallen to the Soviets. The Americans, Brumm figured, would now be beyond the Elbe and driving toward Berlin. The British had captured Hamburg and were pushing methodically and cautiously across northern Germany. The massive Reich had shrunk
dramatically. Perhaps an East-
West linkup had already taken place; if not, it would happen soon. It had no bearing on his situation one way or another, but, as a soldier, he wondered.

Certainly the Russians were not yet close to the Spree. It was their practice to cover troop advances with artillery fire, dropping a lethal curtain of explosives just ahead of their advancing troops. To Berliners who were noncombatants, this seemed like chaos, but the Ivans were deliberate, and the shells falling in the city told Brumm exactly where they were. Like any other human event, war could be read by those trained in its secrets.

The closer the Ivans got, the heavier the fighting would be and the less willing individual Russian soldiers would be to sacrifice themselves, with the end so obviously near. The Soviet troops, he suspected, would be leery of everything, and because of their caution and the heavy flow of civilians fleeing the city, he calculated that his party could make its escape.

Two blocks from where the Friedrichstrasse intersected the BelleAlliance Platz, the colonel turned onto a narrow side street. To his surprise, it was relatively free of debris. He sent Waller and two of her companions across the street, and after they were in position he surveyed the area. Unlike most other streets, there were no bodies of German soldiers hanging from the light posts-reminders from fanatics that the city must be defended. Those who tried to escape fighting were being hanged and displayed as a deterrent. This block seemed almost the way it must have been before the Russian assault: neat, quiet and ordinary.

Very few people knew that underneath the tightly packed row of hundred-year-old red brick homes was a system of bunkers built several years before in great secrecy. The construction workers had been slaves and had been eliminated when the work was completed. In all probability, even the residents didn't suspect what they lived on top of.

In the middle of the block, Brumm entered a walkway between two. of the brick structures. He opened the back door to a house, using a key that hung from a lanyard around his neck, and went into the flat. Spreading the Valkyries out to cover doors and windows, he left them and went directly to a back bedroom on the ground floor, where he entered a large closet. Closing the door tightly behind him, he loosened a hinged clothes dowel, which was a concealed lever. Pushing it down, he activated a small hydraulic system, and the room began to move downward. Aher a few feet it stopped and a gruff voice challenged him. "Wolf," Brumm said, and the descent began again, the lift's electric motor humming. At the bottom was a steel door. When the lift settled, the door slid back and he stepped into a well
furnished room whose mahogany paneling and soft yellow lights created a feeling of comfort.

Brumm found himself staring down the barrel of a machine pistol.

"Just in case. Damned Russians are all over the place. You're late," the man said good-naturedly. Brumm could tell he had been worried.

Sergeant Major Hans Rau had long blond hair and full reddish facial hair, hence his nickname, "Beard." He was dressed in civilian clothes, but was in fact, like Brumm, a commando. "Everything is fucked up," he complained. "Russian snipers are scampering all over the city, shooting at everything that moves. They're terrible shots! It's pure luck that this street is still standing. At the rate they're throwing in shells, it won't last for long. I've heard a Werewolf transmission from the Elbe: the Americans have stopped their advance."

Brumm froze and stared at his sergeant. "Stopped?"

"Dead in their tracks. Looks like they're going to let the Russians have Berlin."

"Bastards," the colonel swore loudly. "A sellout." "How does it affect us?"

"We anticipated that the drive to Berlin might spread the Americans out and provide more seams in their lines for our breakout. Now they'll be clustered along the river, covering all the crossing points, which will make it more difficult for us. Where is our Alpha?"

Rau motioned toward a nearby door and winked. "He's in there, filling an accommodating Fraulein with his final seed." He made a curvy line in the air with his gun barrel. "The Alpha is ready and anxious to do his duty for his Reich and FUhrer-just as soon as he's finished." He laughed loudly and smacked his thigh.

"What about the bunker? Do you know what's going on over there?"

"The listening devices are working. They're beginning to clear out.

Several have been dispatched to Admiral Doenitz, with the FUhrer's final will and testament."

"Who did he send?"

"Johannmeier, Zander and Lorenz left at noon. Boldt, Weiss and Freytag von Loringhoven will go later." These were all aides or assistants of Reich officials; Brumm knew them well. But there was one, more than all the others, he was concerned about. It was Hitler's young Luftwaffe adjutant who concerned Brumm most; they needed him out of the Chancellery area.

"What about von Below?" "They haven't mentioned him."

"The Fü
hrer will see to it that Colonel von Below leaves. He's too dangerous to let linger. Besides, he's Hitler's favorite. Like many of our pilots, that one is a reptile, an iceman. He would see what was going on."

The sergeant major nodded as he pulled an unopened bottle of cognac from a wide drawer in a marble-topped table. They toasted each other silently and held the fiery liquid in their mouths, enjoying its intensity.

"The Americans aren't the only surprises today," Brumm said seriously. "My friend, how do you feel about women in the SS?" A smile crept over his face.

"Bitte?"
Rau said. It was not like his colonel to make jokes.

7 -
APRIL 30, 1945, 1:45 P.M.

Adolf Hitler sat quietly at the table, picking at a small dish of spaghetti. Now and then he munched a small leaf of wilted lettuce, gnawing it mindlessly like a rabbit.