Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Thirty-Two

Berlin, Germany Prime

14 October 1985

Kurt leaned against the stone wall, feeling tired and worn.

The fighting had lasted for eleven days, he knew, but it felt as though it had been longer, much longer. Endless attacks and counterattacks, losing and recapturing buildings, only to lose them again when the enemy launched yet another thrust against the weakening defences and punched through. Berlin, the city of his birth, was being steadily destroyed and he could do nothing. His unit had been so badly weakened that his superiors were slotting in troops from other units that had come off even worse.

He struggled to catch his breath, half-tempted just to put a gun to his temple and pull the trigger. Several soldiers had already done just that, unable to endure the constant fighting combined with the near-complete lack of sleep. Others had wounded themselves, either unaware or uncaring that there was no hope of medical evacuation. The system that had prided itself on airlifting wounded soldiers to a field hospital had broken down, if it had ever worked at all, in the flames consuming Berlin. None of the men could expect anything more than a mattress, if they were lucky. Rumour had it that every last hospital in Berlin was running short of just about everything, to the point that the doctors had to use alcohol to disinfect wounds. He honestly had no idea just how long the city could continue to hold out.

“Hauptmann Wieland,” a voice called.

Kurt looked up, suppressing a flicker of irritation when he saw the speaker. The boy – Kurt would have been astonished if he was actually old enough to enlist, in a more rational age – looked as tired as Kurt felt, although it didn’t look as though he was doing anything more dangerous than taking messages forwards and backwards across the battlefield. But then, Kurt had to admit, that could be very dangerous. The SS snipers were advancing forward, ready to put a bullet in anyone foolish enough to show themselves too openly. He would have bet half his salary, if he thought he had a hope of collecting it, that a number of other messengers had died running through the lines.

He scowled, inwardly, as he waved the boy over. Johan – Kurt’s younger brother – definitely looked older than the messenger. Kurt had no idea where Johan was – he’d volunteered to join the military shortly after the uprising – but he hoped his brother was safe. And yet, safety was increasingly an illusion in Berlin. SS shellfire had knocked down hundreds of buildings, trying to disrupt the defenders as the stormtroopers pushed forward.

“Herr Hauptmann,” the boy said. His eyes were alight with something. It took Kurt a moment to recognise that it was hero-worship. “I have a message for you.”

Kurt sighed, inwardly. Hardly anyone used paper messages these days, not when a messenger’s body might be retrieved by the wrong side. It was a shame that the field telephones were unreliable, too. The damned SS had known precisely where to aim their guns to do maximum damage. He met the young boy’s eyes and nodded impatiently, silently urging him to get on with it. His body was just too tired to curse the youngster for not giving him the message at once.

“You are to report to the Reichstag,” the young boy said. “Your CO has already approved the transfer.”

Kurt felt his eyes narrow. There was nothing for him in the Reichstag, certainly not as far as he knew. Gudrun wouldn’t have called him out of the front lines, would she? She certainly hadn’t arranged his promotion when she’d had the political power to do almost anything, although he knew that abusing the power would have been a good way to lose it. And yet, why would anyone else call him to the Reichstag. He was a mere Hauptmann, not a Field Marshal! Orders would normally pass through several higher ranks before they reached him.

“I understand,” he said, taking a look at his men. Two-thirds of them were trying to catch some sleep, too used to the endless bombardment to allow it to keep them from resting; the remainder were trying, hard, to entertain themselves before they went back to the war. “I’ll be on my way in two minutes.”

He sighed inwardly, then waved to Loeb. If he was lucky, this – whatever it was – could be resolved quickly, allowing him to return to the front. The men under his command were his men. He shared their trials and tribulations and, in exchange, they respected him. He’d worked hard to build up that rapport, damn it! He didn’t want to lose his connection to his men, simply because he’d been called to the Reichstag. Unless he was in deep trouble, of course.

Not likely, he thought. They’d have sent the MPs to arrest me if I was in trouble.

“I’ve been called out of the line,” he said, bluntly. Loeb nodded, his face showing no visible reaction. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“We’re due to rotate back into the front lines in two hours, Herr Hauptmann,” Loeb reminded him. “Do you think you’ll be back by then?”

“If I’m not, take command yourself,” Kurt ordered. Loeb had more experience than his entire graduating class put together. He was damned if he was allowing a green officer to take command of his unit, not when they were fighting for their lives and freedom. “Don’t let the bastards get any closer.”

Loeb nodded – they both knew it was a tall order – then saluted as Kurt turned and walked away, following the messenger towards the rear of the lines. He kept his head down, trying to ignore the handful of bodies on the ground. No one had yet had time to draw them to one of the mass graves, let alone give them a decent burial. Standard procedures were to dispose of bodies as quickly as possible, just to keep disease from spreading, but procedures were steadily breaking down under the onslaught. The bodies might have to wait until nightfall before they were finally recovered and buried.

He shuddered as they reached the edge of the lines and hurried into the city itself. The streets were almost deserted, save for emergency vehicles; the windows were boarded up or covered over to minimise the danger of flying glass. He saw a handful of civilians on the streets; he winced, inwardly, as he saw a pair of young girls, no older than Gudrun. Once, he might have tried to strike up a conversation, but he didn’t have the energy. And they barely even noticed him as they staggered home. They looked alarmingly thin for girls who should have had more than enough to eat before the uprising.

The fear on the streets was almost palpable. Berlin had always been a city of fear – he didn’t understand how Gudrun had found the nerve to challenge the government on its own territory – but this was different. The fear of the police, of ever-listening ears, of schoolmasters who watched for the slightest hint of independent thought was gone, replaced by the fear of incoming shells and the coming holocaust when the SS finally breached the defences and stormed the city. Hundreds of buildings were damaged, dozens more lay in ruins, struck by shells and collapsed into rubble. He hated to think of just how many people had died in the fighting so far. It was possible that no one would ever know for sure.

“The guards will see you though the checkpoints,” the messenger said, as they finally approached the Reichstag. Kurt didn’t know if he should be relieved or angry that most of the buildings around them were intact, save for one that had been struck by a cruise missile in the early days of the war. “And they’ll tell you where to go.”

Kurt nodded, tartly, as he strode up to the first checkpoints. He’d expected headquarters troops – wearing clean uniforms, shiny boots and unearned medals – but the troops guarding the building were very clearly experienced soldiers. They wore urban combat outfits and carried their weapons at the ready, clearly unconcerned about threatening high-ranking visitors to the Reichstag. Kurt kept his expression carefully blank as they checked his ID, then searched him so thoroughly he couldn’t help wondering if they planned to strip him naked. It was a surprise when, after passing through three separate checkpoints, they returned his service pistol to him. The remainder of his weapons would be held in storage until he left the building.

“Kurt,” his father said, as he was shown into a room. “Welcome back!”

Kurt blinked in surprise as his father enfolded him in a tight hug, then drew back long enough for Kurt to see that his mother and youngest brother were also in the room. That was a surprise. Kurt had known that his parents had rooms in the Reichstag – they couldn’t remain in their old home, not after the uprising – but he’d never visited. There just hadn’t been time.

“You stink,” Siegfried said, with all the wit of a twelve-year-old. “Really, you stink.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, sarcastically. Clobbering his youngest brother in front of their parents was probably not a good idea. “It comes of not being able to shower for years.”

He turned back to his father before he could give in to the urge to tell his brother off, rather sharply, or smack him on the head. Siegfried had always been a prat. It came of being the youngest, Kurt supposed, but he found it hard to care. Siegfried had always been spoiled, in his view. Even Gudrun, the sole daughter, hadn’t been allowed as much latitude as her younger brother.

“Father,” he said. “Why am I here?”

“We couldn’t tell the messenger,” his father said. He smiled, a curious mixture of emotions crossing his face. “Gudrun is getting married.”

Kurt blinked in surprise, then put the pieces together. “Horst?”

“Horst,” his father confirmed. “And if you have any good reason to object, say so now.”

“Gudrun would kill me,” Kurt said. He’d occasionally thought that it was lucky for the Reich that Gudrun had been born female, rather than male. A man with her drive and daring would have probably wound up running the state, instead of tearing it down. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“He’s a prat,” Siegfried said. “Getting married… ugh.”

Kurt reached out and tousled Siegfried’s hair. He knew his younger brother hated being treated like a child, even though he was a child.

“Just you wait until you’re older,” he said. “It will all make sense then.”

He glanced at his mother. “When’s the wedding?”

“Tomorrow,” his mother said. “But we will hold a more formal ceremony after the war.”

Kurt kept his expression carefully blank. Getting married so quickly would have been unthinkable, once upon a time, unless Gudrun was pregnant. But quite a few soldiers he knew had gotten married over the last few weeks, determined to share their lives with someone before they went out on the battlefield. Maybe Horst and Gudrun felt the same way themselves. Marriage might be for life, but their lives might last less than a month, if the SS broke into the city. Kurt could only hope that Gudrun had the sense to kill herself before she fell into their hands.

And besides, he told himself, she will kill me if I dare object.

“That’s good,” he managed finally. “And I look forward to welcoming him into the family.”

“So,” Schwarzkopf said. “I hear you are to wed.”

Horst tensed, despite himself. Only a handful of people knew that Gudrun and he were getting married, but that included the entire council. Gudrun’s family wouldn’t have told the SS anything – they certainly didn’t work for the SS – yet someone on the council might have leaked the information. It was confirmation, of a sort, that there was indeed a traitor on the Reich Council.

Unless someone was careless at some point and blabbed, Horst thought. And one of the staff overheard it.

His mind raced. If Schwarzkopf doubted his loyalty, he would have waited to see if Horst brought the matter up himself. Not telling his handler that he was planning to marry Gudrun – that he was going to marry Gudrun – would have been more than enough proof that his loyalties no longer lay with his former masters. Indeed, it was why he had carefully prepared an outline of what had happened that would uphold his claim to be merely manipulating Gudrun. But it didn’t seem necessary.

He pushed the thought aside with an effort. “It is a way to solidify my grip on her,” he said, lightly. “A wife finds it hard to disagree with her husband, even when the man is clearly in the wrong.”

Schwarzkopf snorted, rudely. “You’ve never been married, have you?”

Horst frowned. “No,” he said. “Have you?”

His handler ignored the question. “How many guests are you inviting to the wedding?”

“Just her family,” Horst said. He’d had very few true friends in Berlin, even before the uprising. Friendship could be very dangerous if one was trying to maintain a cover story. “I won’t have anyone to stand beside me when I sign the papers.”

“She’ll hate that,” Schwarzkopf said. He sounded perversely amused. “Just a simple registry wedding. No ceremony, no speakers, no famous guests. And to think you could probably get most of the council in one room.”

“They vetoed that idea,” Horst said, flatly. It was true enough. Any security officer worth his salt would go ballistic at the thought of gathering hundreds of important people in a single location. “It will have to wait until after the war.”

“And won’t happen at all,” Schwarzkopf said. “I trust you do recall your duty?”

“I have never forgotten my duty,” Horst said, stiffly. “What do you wish of me?”

“We require more precise scheduling details,” Schwarzkopf said. “Particularly of your lovely wife.”

“She isn’t my wife yet,” Horst said, feeling ice trickling down the back of his neck. The limited pieces of information he’d sent them had probably been useful, but he knew they would be keeping him in reserve until they finally needed him. He was just too well-placed to risk. And yet, the sound of gunfire and explosions echoing over the city made it clear that time was running out. “What sort of information do you want?”

“Just her routine schedule,” Schwarzkopf said. “We’ll give you more information nearer the time.”

Horst thought fast. Assassinating Gudrun was a very real possibility, but – as far as Schwarzkopf was concerned – he had an agent who literally slept next to her. Snapping Gudrun’s delicate neck while she slept would be easy. There was no point in trying to sneak a kill-team into the Reichstag when Horst could do the deed and then make his escape, hours before anyone realised that something was wrong. And if they doubted his loyalty, it would be an excellent test.

They want to kidnap her, he thought, numbly. Taking her out of the Reichstag would be impossible, but grabbing her off the streets would be far easier.

“Her schedule changes frequently,” he said. He carefully did not mention that altering her plans at a moment’s notice had been his idea. “I can give you the schedule I know, but I cannot guarantee that it won’t change.”

Schwarzkopf leaned forward. “You cannot ensure your wife is in the right position at the right time?”

Horst knew he should probably make a crude joke, something to make it clear that he thought nothing of Gudrun, but he couldn’t muster the determination. Instead, he met his superior’s eyes.

“She generally has a handful of places to choose from,” he said, carefully. “And while I can try to propose a particular destination, I don’t think I can guarantee that she will go there.”

Schwarzkopf lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

“She is flighty,” Horst lied. “Four days ago, she went to a hospital and chatted to the wounded men; three days ago, she decided she would be going to the hospital again, then changed her mind and insisted on visiting a school instead. I think she enjoyed terrifying her old schoolmasters.”

“I’m sure she did,” Schwarzkopf said.

Horst nodded in agreement. It was an article of faith in the west, he’d discovered, that girls had an easier time of it at school than boys. But he had a feeling that it wasn’t particularly true. Girls who failed to conform could expect little better than boys who failed to conform, even though girls had less use for educational certificates than boys. And their parents might eventually be told to make them conform or else.

And now Gudrun is in a position to seek revenge, he thought. He would have smirked, if he hadn’t been trying to keep his face blank. I bet that upset quite a few of her old teachers.

“I can give you a provisional list,” Horst added. “And I can try to slant it, but there will be no guarantees.”

“So you keep saying,” Schwarzkopf said. “Do the best you can. We will act as we see fit.”

“I know,” Horst said.

“And congratulations on your wedding,” Schwarzkopf added. “I trust you will have a pleasant honeymoon?”

Horst laughed. “We can’t get out of the city,” he said. It was traditional for newly-weds to go off for a honeymoon, but leaving Berlin was impossible. “We’ll just have to take a day or two off and pretend we’re in Bavaria.”

“Pathetic,” Schwarzkopf said.

“There’s no way to leave,” Horst said. He moved quickly to dismiss the next possibility, before Schwarzkopf could suggest it. “Even finding a hotel is impossible, these days.”

“What a pity,” Schwarzkopf said, dryly. A hotel would have made an ideal spot for a quick kidnap, although getting Gudrun out of the city afterwards would have been tricky. “You’ll hear from us after the wedding, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Horst agreed.