Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Forty

Berlin, Germany Prime

25 October 1985

“You utter…”

Horst barely had a chance to duck before Kurt Wieland threw a punch right into his face, sending him staggering backwards. It was all he could do, torn between tiredness and the bitter sense of failure, not to hit his brother-in-law back as hard as he could. Kurt had every reason to be mad at him, but there were limits.

“That will do, Kurt,” his father-in-law said. He looked ashen, but grimly composed. “Horst. What happened?”

“He let her get captured,” Kurt snapped. “Father…”

“I said, that will do,” his father repeated. “Horst…?”

Horst took a breath. “The driver was a spy,” he said, numbly. Even in hindsight, there had been no clues to miss. He’d never suspected the driver for a moment. And yet, it was the SS who taught close-protection officers their skills. The bastard must have been seduced back during his training. “He drove us right into a trap.”

“And Gudrun was captured,” Kurt snarled. “Or killed!”

“There was no body in the car,” Horst said, quietly. A police team had gone over the wreckage as things quietened down, but they’d found nothing. “They either managed to get her out of the city…”

“Or she was killed somewhere along the way,” Kurt said. His voice hardened. “How do we know you didn’t betray her? You worked for the goddamned blackshirts!”

“He could have betrayed her long ago,” his father said, quietly.

“Unless it was all a plan to put the SS firmly in control of the Reich,” Kurt snapped.

Horst sighed, feeling too tired to go on. “Only a complete lunatic would come up with such a plan and expect it to work,” he said. He wanted to shout, but he didn’t have the energy. “We were fooled – we were all fooled – because we thought we were fooling them. Now shoot me or let me decide what to do now.”

Kurt looked as if he was ready to go for his pistol, but his father stepped forward before he could make up his mind. “What do you plan to do?”

“Go after her,” Horst said, flatly.

“It’s suicide,” Kurt said.

Horst glared at him. “Would you rather I left my wife and your sister in their hands?”

Kurt started forward. “And what sort of husband would let his wife walk straight into a trap?”

Horst balled his fists, ready to fight. Kurt was right. He should have insisted on using a double from the start and forbidding Gudrun from accompanying them, rather than planning to make the switch in the early afternoon. Gudrun would have made a fuss, but he could have handcuffed her to the bed or simply locked her up to keep her from leaving. She would have killed him, probably – he’d taught her the basics of using a knife as well as a pistol – yet at least she would have been alive.

“I don’t think he was offered a choice,” his father-in-law said. “Kurt, sit down. We need to think.”

He met Horst’s eyes. “Do you think you can succeed?”

“I think so,” Horst said. In truth, he had no idea… but he was damned if he was just abandoning her. Gudrun deserved so much better. “They won’t kill her at once, not if they do have her.”

“They’ll have her in the deepest darkest dungeon they have,” Kurt said. “Getting her out is going to be a nightmare.”

“There’s no such thing as an impregnable fortress,” Horst said. It had been Hitler himself who’d pointed out the critical flaw in the Belgium fortresses, back in 1940. Gudrun would be buried beneath the remains of the Kremlin, where the SS had an extensive prison facility… once they got her there, of course. “I’ll find a way to get in.”

“You might just find a way to get killed,” Kurt pointed out.

Horst shrugged. There was no other hope. The provisional government would have to launch a counterattack, invading Germany East before Holliston managed to unlock his supply of nuclear weapons, but it would take weeks, at best, before the invasion force was ready to go. And then it would be moving right into the teeth of a Russian winter. Horst would have been surprised if the military agreed to consider moving before the snows had melted and the roads were traversable again.

They could have her on a plane to Germanica by now, he thought. And then they’ll start breaking her, piece by piece.

But Kurt was right. It wasn’t going to be easy. Slipping across the border – either on foot or in the air – was one thing, but moving from state to state within Germany East would be nearly impossible without the right papers. And it was unlikely he could get his hands on the right papers, after the RHSA burned to the ground. Forging them would be very risky…

“I see no alternative,” he said. Getting to Germanica without being caught would be tricky, but he was a native of Germany East. He did know how to get around. “Do you have any options yourself?”

Kurt scowled, but shook his head bitterly.

He loves his sister, Horst thought. It wasn’t entirely a surprise, but it was uncommon – at least in Germany East. Brothers stayed with the family, sisters went off to join other families. And yet, that might not even happen in Germany Prime. People didn’t move away from the settlement when they married. He cares about her.

“Come with me,” he said.

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Tolerating Kurt for Gudrun’s sake would have been easy – Kurt had played his own role in starting the uprising – but asking Kurt to accompany him was different. It was stupid. Kurt was a Heer infantryman, not an SS operative or a commando. And yet, he knew he couldn’t withdraw the offer. It was too late.

“You’re going to be needed on the front,” his father-in-law said. “Kurt…”

“I will,” Kurt said, addressing Horst. “There’s no shortage of qualified officers who can take my place.”

“We’ll see what your superiors say,” his father grunted. “Horst, when do you plan to leave?”

Horst frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said. Leaving now would give him a better chance to slip through the enemy lines – the Waffen-SS were still retreating in confusion – but waiting a week would let him see just what was developing on the ground. Maybe, just maybe, some kindly soul would assassinate Karl Holliston and negotiate a truce. “At least a day or two from now.”

Kurt sneered. “You don’t want to leave at once?”

“I do,” Horst said, tiredly. His patience snapped. “I’m exhausted, hungry and not in the best of states. I need a good night’s sleep and some food before I can even consider departing.”

He forced himself to control his voice. “And if you don’t want to get yourself killed if you come with me,” he added, “I suggest you do the same yourself!”

Turning on his heel, no longer caring if Kurt put a bullet in it, he strode through the door and down the corridor towards the quarters he’d shared with Gudrun. It felt like it had been years since he’d last stepped into them; he closed the door behind him and then sagged against the wall. There were signs of her presence everywhere, from the nightgown her mother had given her for the wedding night to the notebook she’d been writing in… he slumped to the ground, cursing himself under his breath. She’d wanted him to treat her as an equal, but it had led right to her capture…

They won’t kill her at once, he told himself, firmly. There’s still time.

Sure, his own thoughts answered. And what they’ll do to her before they kill her will break her, once and for all.

He rose, somehow, and stumbled towards the bed. Sleep wouldn’t come easy, even though he needed it desperately. Tomorrow… he would have to plan the most dangerous mission of his career, knowing that failure would mean certain death for both of them…

…And, perhaps, the end of the war itself.

“The reports are quite clear,” Voss said. “They’re retreating.”

“Good,” Volker said. “Can we chase them all the way back to Germanica?”

“No,” Voss said. “We’re going to have to lay the groundwork for taking the war into Germany East. As it is, the last set of orbital images suggests that the SS bastards are digging into their former defence lines near Warsaw. Digging them out is going to be difficult.”

“Giving them plenty of time to muster their resources for the final battle,” Volker said.

“Yes,” Voss agreed. “But there are limits to how many reservists they can pull off the settlements.”

Volker nodded in agreement. Security in Germany East had to be maintained – or the Russian insurgents would attack the settlements and destroy them. He had no way to know for sure, but he would have bet good money that sending so many reservists westwards had weakened the defences badly enough to allow an upswing in attacks. And sending CAS aircraft westwards hadn’t helped either, he was sure. The SS’s air power had often made the difference between losing a settlement or slaughtering the attackers.

He sighed. And if there were a series of insurgent attacks, he asked himself, what should they do?

“A problem for another day,” he mused.

Voss frowned. “Herr Chancellor?”

“Nothing,” Volker said.

He looked though the window, down at the streets. An impromptu party was already underway, even though large parts of the city were in ruins and thousands of lives – military and civilian – had been lost. He wondered, bitterly, just what would happen afterwards, when the population realised that winter was coming and food – and everything else – was going to run short. Maybe they could bring in help from the west, but would it be enough?

“If we could get him to agree to a truce,” he said, “we could end the war for good.”

“Holliston won’t agree to a truce,” Voss predicted. “He cares nothing for anything, apart from his supremacy.”

And that, Volker suspected, was all too true.

Gudrun fought her way to wakefulness through a haze of pain. Her head was throbbing, her arms and legs felt bruised and weak… as if she’d been beaten savagely, part of her mind noted. Had she been beaten? Her memories were odd, flashes and impressions rather than anything solid; the last thing she recalled was kissing Horst before they went down to the car…

She swallowed, hard, as the memories flashed through her mind. They’d been ambushed, she’d been hit… and now she was a prisoner.

“I know you’re awake,” a voice said. It was so atonal that Gudrun wasn’t sure if it was male or female. “You may as well open your eyes.”

Gudrun hesitated, then did as she was told. She was lying on a makeshift bed – really, nothing more than a handful of blankets – in a small metal room. The room was shaking, a faint thrumming noise echoing through the walls. In her dazed state, it took her a moment to realise that she was actually in the back of a van. She wasn’t just a prisoner, she was being taken somewhere…

She sat upright, despite the pain, and looked down at herself. Someone had removed her shirt and trousers, leaving her in her underwear; there were unpleasant-looking red marks on her wrists, reminding her of the time she’d been handcuffed and arrested during the first real protest. And yet, she wasn’t cuffed now… she swung her legs over the side of the bed, only to fall backwards when her head started to spin. Her legs felt far too wobbly to be real.

“I really would stay lying down,” the voice said. “You were drugged and it hasn’t quite worked its way out of your system.”

Gudrun twisted her head, looking for the speaker. A man – no, she realised dully, a woman – was sitting next to her, wearing a rumpled uniform. There was something odd about her, something that nagged at the back of her mind. And yet, no matter how she tried, she couldn’t place it.

Her throat felt dry, but she managed to speak. “Who are you?”

The woman shrugged. “For the moment, I am your captor,” she said. “You’re heading east.”

Gudrun hesitated, then threw a desperate punch at the woman. The woman caught Gudrun’s hand effortlessly and yanked her forward, sending her sprawling to the deck. Before she could move, she was rolled over and a booted foot placed against her throat, ready to crush her neck. She froze, wondering helplessly if she was about to die. She’d never been thrown around so easily, even when Kurt had roughhoused with her as a child…

“Let me explain a few things to you,” the woman said. “You are a prisoner. You are no match for me or any of your other guards. Even if you did manage to get out, where would you go?”

Her eyes hardened. “You can sit here in reasonable comfort,” she added, “or I can chain you to the wall. Which one is it to be?”

Gudrun tried to meet her eyes, but she couldn’t. There was something about her captor, she saw now, that scared her to the bone. This was a woman who had all of the human weaknesses burned out of her… the commando her father had suspected, perhaps. And she’d thrown Gudrun around with ease.

And if I’m not chained up, she thought, there might be a chance to escape.

“I’ll sit here,” he said.

The woman nodded, unsurprised. “Enjoy the ride,” she said, as she helped Gudrun to her feet. “What comes after is going to be terrible.”

Gudrun shivered. She knew the woman was right.