Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (39 page)

Her death won’t change anything beyond giving us a martyr
, he thought. 
And that means he needs to turn her against us
.

The sound of shooting and shellfire grew louder as he reached the end of the side street and peered down the main road.  One of the outriders was lying dead on the ground, his motorcycle long since gone.  People were stealing everything that wasn't nailed down, these days; Horst had no doubt that the bike would be sold shortly, if the thief hadn't already managed a sale.  Strip the police signs from the bike and it might as well be a civilian model, as long as no one looked too closely.

He checked the body - the outrider had broken bones as well as a cracked skull - and found his radio, but it was broken.  Horst fiddled with it for a long moment, then gave it up as a bad job.  There was no hope of repairing the radio without tools, spare parts and time, none of which he had.  Instead, he hurried down the street, thinking hard.  The quick-response team had failed to show, which meant that there was no hope of help.  If the shooting really
was
coming from the
Reichstag
, and it certainly sounded that way, anyone who might have come to help had too many problems of their own.

They must have planned the timing perfectly
, he thought. 
Hit Gudrun and snatch her, then attack the Reichstag and everywhere else, forcing us to react to them.  And then send in the troops to finish us off while we’re distracted
.

There was nothing he could do about that now, he knew, but he
could
head to the bar Gudrun’s father had identified for him.  It was unlikely that the commandos would have taken Gudrun there, but the bartender was almost certainly an SS contact, if he wasn't an outright operative.  He might - he might - know where Gudrun had been taken.  And if he refused to talk, Horst would
make
him talk.  He knew
precisely
how to hurt someone to cause maximum pain, but little real injury.  The man would talk, Horst promised himself, no matter what he had to do ...

It wasn't much, he knew all too well, but it was the only hope he had.

They’ll try to get her out of the city, particularly if the battle is lost
, he told himself.  He knew his own people all too well. 
And if that happens, I have lost everything
.

***

The bunker was oddly aseptic, Volker had often thought.  There was a battle raging above his head and another being fought on the edge of the city, but the bunker was calm and utterly composed.  He sat in the heart of the war room, safe and secure, even though men were dying as the fighting raged on.  And yet, there was nothing he could do about it.

“Power stations are out in Sections Five through Seven,” an operator said.  “Emergency power is off-line; I say again, emergency power is off-line.”

“Seven aircraft have been shot down over the front lines,” another added.  “No pilots have been reported alive.”

“Sniper active near the walk,” a third warned.  “Police units have been dispatched.”

Volker shook his head, then looked at Voss.  “Are we holding?”

“For the moment, barely,” Voss said.  “They’re coming at us hard, hammering our lines with staggering force.  A number of our guns have already run out of ammunition.”

“Then pass the word to the relief forces,” Volker ordered.  Time had almost run out.  “Tell them to come in, guns blazing.”

Voss nodded, shortly.  “
Jawohl, Herr Chancellor
,” he said.  “It shall be done.”

He strode away to issue orders, leaving Volker alone with his thoughts.  Karl Holliston had to be out of his mind.  A smart man would have backed off, realising that the
Reich
could be sundered in two - and see who came out ahead, in the months and years to come - but Holliston had sent uncounted thousands of his men to their deaths.  And he’d committed atrocities that practically guaranteed that the SS would never be accepted in the west, not now.  Too much hatred had been unleashed.

But you were in the SS
, his thoughts reminded him. 
You knew how fanatical they could be
.

It was a bitter thought.  He’d been taught to fight, to take advantage of every fleeting opportunity, but he’d never really been taught to
think
.  His masters wanted the ultimate soldier, one who would fight to the bitter end, yet never question orders.  He’d fought in more battles than he cared to remember, before he’d finally resigned.  And yet he’d never questioned orders. 

He shuddered.  And he hadn't questioned his son’s silence either, had he?  He’d never really understood what he’d served until Gudrun had rubbed his face in it.  She would have made a fine daughter-in-law ...

... And yet, marrying Konrad would have ruined her.

He sat back in his chair, knowing there was nothing else he could do.  There was no point in issuing further orders, not now.  His people on the ground knew what to do, even if they lost contact with the
Reichstag. 
Berlin might fall, but the relief forces would trap and destroy the
Waffen-
SS.  The die was cast ...

... and what happened now would determine if the
Reich
lived or died.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Berlin, Germany Prime

25 October 1985

“Message from Berlin,
Herr Generalmajor
,”
Hauptmann
Franz Winckler reported.  “We are to commence Operation
Mausefalle
at once.”

Generalmajor
Gunter Gath nodded, curtly. He’d hoped for longer, but the orbital imagery he’d been sent had made it clear that time wasn't on his side.  His men had worked like demons, moving five panzer divisions and their supporting elements eastwards ... it would just have to be enough.  If it wasn't ...

One last roll of the dice,
he thought. 
And pray the SS isn't ready for us
.

“Send the signal,” he ordered.  “The aerial and commando attacks are to begin at once.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Generalmajor
,” Winckler said.

“And the main body of the advance is to begin in twenty minutes, regardless of the reports from the ground,” Gunter added.  “We cannot stop for anything.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Generalmajor
,” Winckler said, again.

Gunter nodded, then turned his attention to the map.  All had
not
been quiet on the western front.  His panzers might have been held back, but his commandos and more experienced infantrymen had been skirmishing with the
Waffen-SS
for days.  The bastards had been working to set up roadblocks, emplacing antitank weapons to delay his forces as they raced towards Berlin.  They were doing precisely the same thing
he’d
done, back when the
Waffen-SS
rolled into Germany Prime.  The irony was not lost on him.

We probably showed them how to do it better
, he thought. 
A march that shouldn't have lasted longer than a day was stretched out for nearly two weeks
.

He scowled, remembering the reports from the scouts.  Berlin was at the centre of the greatest
autobahn
network in the world, but the roads would have been mined or otherwise rigged to make using them difficult.  And merely driving a few hundred panzers down the road would be enough to put them out of commission.  His forces risked being drawn into urban combat, whether they liked it or not.  But it couldn't be helped.  The chance to trap the
Waffen-SS
in a
kessel
- and save Berlin - could not be ignored.  It would shorten the war.

And even if they retreat, we will have given them their first true battlefield defeat
, he thought, darkly. 
That will teach them that they’re not invincible after all
.

“The commandos have begun their assault,
Herr Generalmajor
,” Winckler reported.  “And our aircraft are on the way.”

Gunter nodded.  He’d held back every aircraft he could, conserving his strength as much as possible while the SS controlled the skies over Berlin.  Now, his men would clear the SS out of the skies - winning air supremacy - or die trying.  And even if they failed, the SS would no longer be able to call on its flying artillery.  Their pilots would have to fight to defend themselves, rather than support the stormtroopers on the ground.

“Inform me when the main offensive encounters opposition,” he ordered.  “And keep a close eye on our logistics.  We don’t want to run out of ammunition midway through the battle.”

“
Jawohl, Herr Generalmajor
,” Winckler said.

***

Hauptmann
Felix Malguth braced himself as the HE-477 roared eastwards, skimming the ground as he hunted for targets.  Anything military outside Berlin, he'd been told, was fair game, even though the
Heer
was on the move for the first time in decades.  The prospect of accidently strafing or bombing his own men nagged at him, even though he was fairly sure he’d outraced the panzers long ago.  As long as he was careful not to cross the lines into Berlin, he could be reasonably sure he was attacking the right side.

And if I fly over Berlin, I might well be shot down
, he thought, remembering the warning the pilots had been given, over and over again.  Berlin’s air defences were good, but they had no way to tell the difference between friendly and unfriendly aircraft. 
I’ll be shot down by my own side
.

He gritted his teeth as the city came into view, obscured by a growing haze of smoke.  The battle was still underway, the SS fighting desperately to break into the city even though they had to know that relief forces were on the way.  Felix had no idea why they thought they could still win the battle, but none of the SS stormtroopers he’d encountered had been the sort of people who just gave up.  And yet, getting hundreds of thousands of soldiers - and civilians - killed for nothing was pointless.  Surely they would be wiser to set up defence lines to the east?

Don't go feeling sorry for the bastards
, he told himself, sharply. 
You know what they’ve done to the Reich
.

Cold hatred blazed through him as he caught sight of a convoy, a handful of armoured vehicles and trucks moving westwards.  There was no way to know just what they had in mind - blocking the counterattack or escaping before the jaws slammed closed - but it hardly mattered.  He twisted towards them, spraying cannon fire over the vehicles as he passed overhead.  Five of the trucks exploded in quick succession, followed by two of the armoured cars.  The remainder scattered hastily, a handful of soldiers drawing their sidearms and firing after him.  It was futile, but he found it hard to care.  The more bullets expended uselessly, the fewer there would be to shoot at the men on the ground.

He cursed under his breath as he stumbled across an air defence position, then yanked the HE-477 to the side, avoiding a missile that passed far too close to his aircraft.  The SS gunners had to have been equally surprised, he noted; they’d have set the missile for proximity detonation if they'd had longer to prepare before opening fire.  But they’d be on the alert now ... if they hadn't been on the alert already.  The fast-jets had raced ahead of him, trying to sweep the SS fighters from the air.  He would have been surprised if the SS stormtroopers on the ground
didn't
know that they were under attack, even before he’d arrived.

You should be running now
, he thought, as he caught sight of a line of soldiers scrambling for cover. 
You’re as naked as the day you were born
.

He resisted the urge to spray cannon fire over their position - it was poor tactics - as he headed east.  A helicopter - clearly marked as SS - flashed in front of him, settling down somewhere below.  He blew the craft apart with a burst of fire, then caught sight of a line of panzers moving west.  They
had
to be trying to take up position before it was too late, hoping to block the oncoming storm.  He expended his handful of air-to-ground missiles on them, following up with a hail of cannon fire.  The panzers exploded into fireballs, one by one.

Armour is useless when it doesn’t have air cover
, he thought, as his cannon ran dry. 
And there’s nowhere to run
.

Turning, he headed west, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as he retreated from the battlefield.  The makeshift airfield was just behind the lines, the ground crews already preparing ammunition and fuel for the planes as they returned home.  He would land and take a quick piss while the crew hastily reloaded his aircraft.  And then he would go back east and do it all over again.

Better make sure I know where the lines are
, he reminded himself, as he overflew a pair of panzers heading east.  There was no way to tell which side they were on. 
Or there will be accidents all along the lines
.

***

“
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,”
Sturmbannfuehrer
Friedemann Weineck said.  “The enemy is attacking to the west!”

“I have eyes,” Alfred snarled.  He could see the map as it was hastily updated by the staff, red arrows slotted into place to represent the enemy advances.  And even if he couldn't he would have known what was going on.  The sudden arrival of hundreds of enemy aircraft was more than enough warning that a major offensive was underway.  “They’re trying to entrap us.”

“They’re hitting the blocking forces hard,” Weineck reported.  “Commando and airstrikes have already weakened them badly.”

Alfred nodded, grimly.  The traitors had had ample time to turn every last town and village to the east into a strongpoint, but his men had had only a few days before the storm broke over their positions.  They would fight, he knew, and they would bleed the traitors, but it wouldn't be enough to stop them.  Despite everything, the traitors had succeeded in transferring a sizable force from west to east. 

And while my men are tired, theirs are fresh
, he thought.  He had no idea who was in command of the enemy counteroffensive, but he had to admire his nerve.  Instead of feeding the reinforcements into the battle piecemeal, he’d held them back - along with his aircraft - until committing them at the best possible moment. 
And while my men are running short of ammunition, theirs have access to the largest stockpiles in the Reich
.

“Order the blocking forces to engage as best as they can,” he ordered, thinking hard.  “Is there any update from Berlin?”

“They’re gaining ground,” Weineck said.  “We can still win!”

Alfred swallowed the sarcastic response that came to mind.  The plan had failed.  Indeed, perhaps it had been doomed to fail from the start.  Even if they did take Berlin - and it was clear that the defenders were fighting like mad bastards, bleeding his men heavily and counterattacking whenever they had a chance - it would be pointless.  The jaws of the trap were rapidly closing around him ... his men would, at best, wind up fighting to defend Berlin themselves.  And at worst, they’d be trapped between three fires and doomed to destruction.

“Order the blocking forces to hold as long as they can,” he said.  “I have to call the
Fuhrer
.”

“
Jawohl
,” Weineck said.

It was quiet in the secure room, Alfred noted, even though he could still hear the distant rumble from the battlefield.  He sat down heavily, then braced himself as he picked up the red phone.  It would connect, automatically, to the
Fuhrer’s
office in Germanica.  And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Karl Holliston would be sitting behind his desk, waiting for the news that his forces had won the battle.  Alfred swallowed, hard, as he heard the
Fuhrer
pick up the phone.  There was no way Holliston was going to take the truth lightly.

“
Mein Fuhrer
,” he said.  “The enemy have launched their counterattack.”

Holliston snorted.  “Block it.”

Alfred felt a flicker of anger.  Holliston had worked his way up through the intelligence and counter-intelligence side of the SS, not the
Waffen-SS
.  The
Fuhrer
was far from stupid, but he had no real idea of the military realities.  Block a major panzer thrust?  It was easier said than done.

“We can’t block the attacking forces while storming Berlin,” he said, carefully.  “
Mein Fuhrer
, I request permission to abandon the siege and pull back to our defence lines.”

“Abandon the siege?”  Holliston demanded.  “That’s a cowardly ...”

“We do not have the mobile firepower to continue the offensive while guarding our flanks,” Alfred snapped.  “
Mein Fuhrer
, we must pull back now or they will pocket four divisions within the
kessel
.  And that will be the end!”

He cursed under his breath, then went on.  “There’s no shame in pulling back and allowing the enemy to expend themselves uselessly,” he added.  “It’s a tactical withdrawal, not a surrender ...”