Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (19 page)

“Oh,” Voss said.  “Are you prepared to risk a nuclear war to keep France under our thumb?”

Rubarth looked back at him.  “Are
they
prepared to risk a nuclear war to get France
out
from under our thumb?”

“Probably not,” Schulze said.  “We will talk to the Americans.  And if they charge an unacceptable price, we will decline their assistance.”

“We are not in a good position to bargain,” Rubarth commented.  “And they know that too.”

On that note, the meeting ended.

***

Berlin was tense, Andrew Barton noted, as the car flowed towards the
Reichstag
.  A couple of buildings had been blown into piles of rubble - a number of nearby buildings had been damaged by flying debris - but the remainder of the city was largely undamaged.  And yet, Berliners seemed torn between fear and a growing hatred and defiance of the SS.  The speakers he recalled from the days since the uprising were gone; instead, men were lining up outside recruiting offices and drilling with weapons, readying themselves for the coming onslaught.  He smiled, despite himself, as he spotted a number of blonde-haired maidens studying battlefield medicine in one of the parks.  They probably wouldn't be allowed to fight - the
Reich
rarely allowed women in the combat arms - but they’d be able to do their bit to support the men.

They would have had some practical first aid training in school
, he recalled. 
And all they have to do is build on it.

He rolled his eyes at the thought.  There were few advantages to German-style education, but he had to admit that German schoolchildren received a great deal of practical education in everything from cooking to basic medicine and first aid.  Indeed, while there were puritans in the states who hated the idea of teaching children about sex, the
Reich
made sure its children knew the facts of life before they started having children of their own.  And yet, none of the textbooks he’d seen discussed contraception.  Even
condoms
were restricted, available only to housewives who’d already had at least four children.

The car rolled into the underground garage and came to a halt.  Two armed men stepped forward as the driver opened the door, both wearing body armour instead of the ceremonial uniforms he was used to seeing.  They frisked him as soon as he was out of the car, making sure he wasn't carrying anything dangerous.  Security had always been tight around the
Reichstag
, but now the shooting had finally begun ... they’d be twice as paranoid and four times as willing to do whatever it took to keep their leaders safe.

Not that we are any different
, Andrew thought, as he was escorted into an elevator that headed upwards as soon as the doors hissed closed. 
There’s a ring of steel around the White House too
.

The doors opened, revealing that he'd been brought to the very highest level.  Offhand, he couldn't recall anyone - even Ambassador Turtledove - who had been invited so high, a sign that the
Reich
took the matter very seriously.  Normally, diplomatic meetings were held in a lower office specially set aside for that purpose.  But now ... he straightened up as he was shown into Chancellor Schulze’s office.  The man looked very tired.

“Chancellor,” he said, in flawless German.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

“The invitation was a little vague,” Schulze said.  His English was badly-accented, but passable.  He’d have been a child when English had practically been a mandatory second language in the
Reich
.  “Am I to assume you are
not
a simple attaché?”

“Yes,” Andrew said.  Morgenstern would have taken his words to Schulze, he knew.  There was nothing to be gained by pretending to be something he wasn't, not now.  “I have authority to discuss certain matters with you.”

Schulze’s eyebrows rose.  “And Ambassador Turtledove knows nothing?”

“Ambassador Turtledove understands that certain matters can only be discussed under the table, so to speak,” Andrew said.  He was surprised that Schulze hadn't picked a representative of his own, briefed him carefully and then ordered
him
to handle the discussions.  He’d have to consider what that might mean later.  “My presence here is completely deniable.”

“One would hope so,” Schulze said.  He sat back in his chair.  “I am no diplomat,
Herr
Barton, and I have no time to waste dancing around the issue.  What are you prepared to offer and what do you want in exchange?”

Andrew took a moment to gather his thoughts.  Schulze had thrown him off, deliberately or otherwise.  There was no way to know if it was genuine or a deliberate attempt to appear either unconcerned ... or naive.  And yet, he had to respect Schulze’s wishes.  The United States was in a strong position, but it wasn't
that
strong.  Failing to come to an agreement might just ensure that the SS won the war.

“What we have to offer depends on what you want,” he said, bluntly.  He had the feeling that Schulze wouldn't be impressed if Andrew tried to temporise.  “At the very basic level, we can offer satellite imagery, as I showed Morgenstern; I believe you will find it superior to anything produced by the
Reich
.”

Schulze showed no overt reaction, but he twitched very slightly.  Andrew smiled.  The NSA would be pleased to hear that the
Reich
was far behind them in orbital imagery, although it couldn't be taken for granted.  There was a point beyond which the law of diminishing returns came into effect.

“We can also provide a certain level of logistical support,” he added, after a moment.  “Our President is unwilling to actually commit American forces to your war, but otherwise ... give us a list of requests and we will try to meet them.”

“I see,” Schulze said.  “And what do you want in return?”

Andrew sighed.  The thorny issue of payment had been debated hotly in Washington and London, ensuring that he’d been sent several contradictory sets of orders.  A number of politicians had wanted to try to ensure that the
Reich
was rolled back to a more manageable size, but several generals had pointed out that the provisional government
would either refuse outright or go back on the agreement after the war.  The price had to be something they could live with, afterwards.

“Two things,” he said, bluntly.  “First, we want an end to the war in South Africa.  You pull your forces out, taking with you any South Africans who want to go.”

“Finding living space for them won’t be easy,” Schulze said, flatly.  He didn’t seem inclined to refuse.  “They will have to go to Germany South or Germany East.”

Andrew nodded.  “Second, we would want an end to tariff barriers and free trade,” he added, carefully. 
This
was likely to be the sticking point.  “We want to be able to trade with France and the rest of Europe.”

“That may be harder,” Schulze said.  He smiled for the first time.  “We will have to haggle.”

Chapter Eighteen

Near Warsaw, Germany Prime

13 September 1985

“They’re coming,” the radio operator said.  “I just picked up the warning.”

Kurt nodded, shortly.  The first reports had come in just before dawn, a series of commando and missile attacks all along the front.  Only an idiot would have
failed
to realise that the war had just begun, even before
the first flight of aircraft had screamed overhead, heading west towards the inner defence lines.  The war was definitely underway.

He glanced along the defence line as the seconds ticked by, wondering just how long they had before the
Waffen-SS
reached the town.  It wouldn't take long for a panzer to drive from the bridges to where he was lying in wait, but their way was blocked by snipers, antitank teams and dozens of carefully-concealed IEDs.  Kurt doubted a handful of dead or wounded stormtroopers would be enough to stop the SS - the stormtroopers bragged of taking heavy casualties and yet carrying on the mission - yet it would definitely slow them down.  The only question was just how
much
it would slow them down.

Not long
, he thought, dryly.  If they’d received the warning, the enemy was less than a mile away. 
And soon we will know how well we’ve done our work
.

He walked from post to post, checking on his men and making encouraging comments as the seconds ticked away.  It was the first taste of combat for many of them, even though they’d endured months of intensive live-fire training before they’d been inducted into the Berlin Guard.  Some of them relished the challenge, some of them looked forward to testing themselves against the SS ... and some of them were nervous, worried they would let their comrades down when the bullets started flying.  They were all volunteers, Kurt reminded himself, but very few men would willingly leave when their comrades were ready to risk life and limb for the
Reich
.

And I wouldn't want them beside me if they were
, he thought, as he returned to his post and started to scan the horizon for incoming threats. 
They might break and run before I give the
order.

Sweat trickled down his back as he waited, feeling as though time was beginning to slow down.  The ground was still, but he could hear explosions and gunfire in the distance; aircraft flashed overhead, briefly visible before racing either east or west.  There was no way to determine which side was flying them, let alone what they were doing.  He’d been trained to recognise the basic American designs - everything from A-10 Warthogs to F-16 Falcons - but both sides in
this
war used the same equipment.  The SS’s panzers were largely identical to the
Heer
panzers.

A gross oversight
, he thought.  An explosion flickered up in the distance, a plume of smoke wafting slowly into the sky. 
If they used different aircraft ...

He sucked in his breath as the enemy panzers came into view, advancing forward with grim resolution.  He’d known they were big - he’d trained alongside panzer crewmen - but he’d never understood what it meant to watch helplessly as a line of panzers charged a position, moving five abreast.  Their main guns moved constantly, searching for targets; they crushed hedges and fences as they advanced, smashing them to dust beneath their treads.  A tractor someone had abandoned, years ago, was crushed under the right tread of an advancing panzer, flattened into a pancake-like shape.  Kurt knew, as icy fear gnawed at his heart, that he wouldn't last a second if a panzer ran over him.  Indeed,
charging
an enemy insurgent with an RPG was regarded as a pretty smart target.

Behind the panzers, he saw a handful of men wearing combat uniforms and carrying rifles, keeping their heads down as they searched for what little cover they could find.  There was hardly any, but it didn't stop them.  Kurt had to admit they were good, even though they were exposed to his fire.  They might well have a good chance of pushing him and his men out of the town, no matter what happened to the panzers.

He reached for the detonator and held it in his hand, silently counting down the last few seconds as the panzers advanced.  One of them crashed through a stream as effortlessly as its partner had crushed the tractor, undeterred by the water or mud.  Kurt hadn't expected the stream to delay any of the stormtroopers, let alone the panzers, but it was still disconcerting to watch.  The panzers would crush the entire town beneath their treads if necessary.

Now
, he thought.

He pushed the button, sending the command to the explosives they’d concealed along the approach to the town.  The explosion shook the ground savagely, picking up one of the panzers and hurling it over and over until it came to a stop; two more were tipped onto their sides and left lying on the ground, like crabs that had been turned upside down and couldn’t right themselves again.  His missile crews opened fire seconds later, launching two missiles towards the remaining panzers as they started to lob shells into the town.  It was far too late to keep his crews from picking them off, then engaging the advancing stormtroopers.  Kurt saw a number of them drop to the ground before the remaining ones started to fall back.  They’d be calling for reinforcements now, if he was any judge.

Pulling the whistle from his pocket, he blew it loudly and then hurried out of the post.  The missile crews were already running, heading towards the other end of the town; the riflemen fired a handful of additional shots and then started running themselves.  It was barely in time; Kurt threw himself down as he heard the aircraft approaching, then covered his head as cannon fire raked the spot where his men had been.  The HE-477s retreated into the distance, leaving burning ruins behind.  It wouldn't be long before the SS rallied and threw a second offensive into the town.

“Not bad,
Herr Leutnant
,”
Oberfeldwebel
Helmut Loeb said, as Kurt reached the RV point.  “We gave them a bloody nose.”

“Yeah,” Kurt muttered.  The aircraft were coming back for another pass, their weapons glinting ominously on their wings.  “Let's just hope we can get everyone out before they surround the town.”

***

Someone
had been a right devious bastard,
Obersturmfuehrer
Hennecke Schwerk thought, as he clung to the ground for dear life.  Five panzers out of action - two of them would have to be righted before they could go back to war - and over a dozen stormtroopers dead or badly wounded.  And getting into the town without being shot down would be far from easy, not when the enemy had near-perfect fields of fire.  The town had been a trap and the panzers had driven right into it. 

Idiots,
he thought, as his radio operator called for help. 
They didn't stop to think before advancing
.

The aircraft swooped overhead, engaging the enemy with cannon fire and then dropping a pair of bombs into the town.  Hennecke shouted for his men to follow him, then led the charge towards the edge of the town.  The enemy had been thoroughly pasted by the aircraft, he thought.  They would need time to recover themselves, time he had no intention of giving them.  He and his men would be amongst them before they realised that time was not on their side. 

A shot cracked out as he reached the first building, narrowly missing him.  Someone was hiding in one of the houses; he saw the rifle, just for a second, as the sniper took aim and fired at one of the stormtroopers.  Hennecke pulled a grenade from his belt and hurled it towards the house, silently praying that it would smash the window and detonate inside the building.  Luck was with him; the explosion blew out the windows, smashing through the interior of the house.  The sniper was almost certainly dead or badly wounded, he told himself firmly.  There was certainly no sign he was trying to fire again or crawl out of the damaged house.

He used hand signals to direct his men forward, warning them to throw grenades into every house as they moved past.  The town would barely be standing, by the time he finished, but it hardly mattered.  Any town that housed insurgents - and traitors now - was doomed, by the laws of war in the east.  The provisional government should never have turned a good Germanic town into a strongpoint.  Its devastation was firmly on their head.

A house exploded with surprising force, throwing a hail of wood and stone debris in all directions.  Hennecke ducked low, frowning in puzzlement.  The grenades were designed for clearing houses - they contained more explosive than standard grenades - but the house shouldn't have exploded like
that
.  It had to have been an ammunitions dump, he decided, or an IED.  A second house exploded moments later, catching two of his men in the blast.  The bastards hadn’t just set a trap, they’d rigged a number of houses to blow!

“Call in fire support,” he ordered, tersely.  The town was deserted - and marked for destruction.  There was no point in risking his men clearing the town when it would be easier just to have the aircraft smash it to rubble.  “Tell them we want this town gone!”

***

Kurt had been told - by Konrad - that SS stormtroopers were good, but he’d never really believed it until now.  The stormtroopers had recovered from their shock, called in an effective air strike and then thrust forward once again, slamming into the eastern side of the town with staggering force.  He’d hoped the IEDs would kill or wound a handful of the bastards, but it looked as though he was out of luck.  The stormtroopers were flowing forward with practiced ease, some of them providing covering fire while the others slipped up to houses and threw grenades through the windows.  They were systematically destroying the entire town.

Damn them
, he thought.

He cursed under his breath as he heard aircraft approaching, then dived for cover as a flight of HE-477s passed overhead, dropping a hail of bombs on the town.  The ground shuddered violently; he swore, cursing savagely, as he looked up and saw just how much devastation had been inflicted on the remainder of the town.  Flames were rising rapidly, sweeping from house to house.  The bombs had to have been more than mere high explosives, he told himself.  He’d heard stories about the SS dropping napalm and poison gas to clear towns and villages in Russia, where no one gave a damn what happened to
Untermenschen
, but he wouldn't have thought they’d use such methods in Germany.

But you wouldn't have thought they’d fire on German citizens too
, he reminded himself. 
And you were there when they did just that
.

“They’re pushing infantry around the town,” Loeb warned.  “We have to go.”

“Sound the retreat,” Kurt ordered.  If the SS managed to seal off their escape route, they’d be in deep trouble.  “And call in a strike.”

“
Jawohl
,” Loeb said.

Kurt took one last look at the burning town, then followed his men as they hurried westwards, leaving nine of their number behind.  He hoped, desperately, that their bodies would receive a proper burial, if there was anything left of them to bury.  But if the SS was prepared to burn a German town to the ground, they might just be equally willing to dump bodies in ditches or mass graves.

At least we hurt them
, he told himself, savagely.  He glanced up as he heard the sound of shells, whistling down towards the town.  The gunners had orders to fire only a couple of rounds and then shift position, before the SS started trying to silence their fire, but they should give the stormtroopers a few nasty moments. 
And if we keep hurting them, maybe we can make the bastards stop
.

***

“Incoming shells!”

Hennecke cursed under his breath as he hit the ground, trying to dig himself into the soil.  A moment later, the first round of shells crashed down on the town, smashing what remained of it into rubble.  He hoped that was the end of it, but a second barrage slammed down moments later.  Aircraft roared overhead, heading west; he hoped, grimly, that they caught the gunners before they could shift position.  The mobile gunners were causing problems up and down the line.

He stood, suddenly feeling very tired.  The town had been devastated from end to end; there wasn't a single building that wasn't anything more than a blackened ruin.  Even the church - which had looked old enough to predate Adolf Hitler - was a pile of debris.  He had no qualms about destroying a town that had housed insurgents, but this ... this was Germany.