Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Thirteen

Berlin, Germany Prime

13 September 1985

“Sir, wake up,” a voice snapped. “It’s an air raid!”

Andrew snapped awake, one hand grabbing for the pistol he kept at his bedside before his mind quite caught up with what he’d been told. An air raid? It seemed absurd to think that anyone could strike at Berlin – he knew, all too well, just how tough ODIN’S EYE – the German Air Defence Network – was… but that had been before the uprising. Now, according to NORAD, ODIN’S EYE was in ruins. Half of the radar stations were in enemy hands and several more had been badly damaged by SS loyalists just after the provisional government took control.

“Crap,” he muttered, silently relieved he’d worn pyjamas. “What do we know?”

The marine – he didn’t look old enough to enter Camp Pendleton, let alone graduate – grabbed Andrew’s arm and hurried him down the corridor. “We received a FLASH warning from NORAD, sir,” he said. “Multiple missile launches were detected from Germany East. The preliminary analysis classed them as cruise missiles aimed at Berlin.”

Andrew sucked in his breath. The Germans claimed that their latest cruise missiles were hypersonic, designed to smash American carrier battlegroups, but he didn’t know anyone outside the Reich who actually believed them. Certainly, as far as he knew, neither American nor British intelligence had picked up any actual proof that the missiles were an order of magnitude faster than anything in America’s arsenal. But ‘merely’ supersonic cruise missiles would be entering Berlin airspace within a matter of minutes, even if they were fired from Germanica itself.

He cursed as they hurried down the stairs, joined rapidly by the handful of remaining embassy staffers and marines. It was unlikely the SS would deliberately target the American Embassy, but accidents happened. German cruise missiles were blunt weapons, designed more for terror than actual precision. A missile aimed at the Reichstag might well hit the American Embassy instead. Even American weapons, far better designed than anything Germany was supposed to have, weren’t completely reliable.

Ambassador Turtledove was sitting in the bunker, looking uncomfortable. He’d have been sent down the tube, Andrew reminded himself, instead of being forced to run down the stairs and into the bunker. He nodded to the ambassador, then calmed himself as the marines slammed the doors closed. In theory, the embassy bunker could stand off everything from a direct cruise missile strike to a nuclear blast, but in practice no one was entirely sure. It wasn’t comforting to realise, deep inside, that even if they did survive a nuclear strike, no one was likely to come help dig them out. The Germans above them would have too many other problems.

“Direct uplink established to NORAD,” a computer operator said. “They’ve updated the warning, sir; fifteen missiles will strike Berlin in seven minutes.”

Ambassador Turtledove met Andrew’s eyes. “They’re not nukes, are they?”

“I don’t think so,” Andrew said. Intercepting a cruise missile was difficult, even for the most advanced American systems. And they were expensive. The SS wouldn’t have wasted fifteen nuclear-tipped missiles on Berlin, not when one or two would be enough to inflict colossal damage on the city. “I think they’re probably conventional warheads.”

He kept the rest of the thought to himself. The Germans had a very well known chemical and biological weapons program. It was quite possible that one of those warheads had a chemical warhead, perhaps loaded with something nasty enough to kill half of Berlin. The SS would find such a solution appealing, he thought. They’d avoid the propaganda damage of destroying Berlin and, at the same time, exterminate thousands of rebels. They did have MOPP suits among the supplies in the bunker, he reminded himself, but some of the German weapons were supposed to be able to slip through protective garments. It struck him as unlikely, yet there was no way to know for sure…

“I ordered a warning to be flashed to the provisional government,” Ambassador Turtledove said, quietly. “I just hope they take it seriously.”

“So do I, Mr. Ambassador,” Andrew said. “So do I.”

Gudrun had never quite got used to sharing a bed, even though she’d known she would be expected to do just that after she finally tied the knot with someone. Having sex with Horst was one thing – and she’d grown used to that once she’d pulled him into her bed – but sleeping next to him was quite another. It left her torn between holding him at night and feeling as though she wasn’t able to relax and sleep properly as long as he was there. She had never shared her bed before, not even with her siblings.

The alarms went off. Gudrun started, jerking upwards as Horst practically threw himself out of bed, one hand scooping up his pistol and swinging it round to cover the door. She could hear shouting outside; she hastily covered her breasts as she rolled off the other side of the bed, keeping low as Horst had told her. Someone might come crashing into the room at any moment…

“That’s the air raid alarm,” Horst snapped. He grabbed her dressing gown and threw it at her, then pulled his own on with terrifying speed. “We have to get down to the shelter.”

Gudrun stared at him, her head spinning. “An air raid?”

“Yes,” Horst shouted. He caught hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet, then yanked her towards the door. “Put your gown on and hurry!”

The alarms were getting louder. Gudrun had to fight to pull the gown on, uneasily convinced that Horst would pull her out of the room in a moment or two no matter how little she was wearing. She was a properly brought up young lady; she’d been taught never to be naked in front of a man unless he was her husband. There was no way she could run outside in the nude… Horst pulled her towards the door as soon as she was covered, holding his pistol in one hand as he opened the door. Dozens of men and women were running down the stairs, heading into the bunker as though the hounds of hell were in hot pursuit. Gudrun found herself pulled forward and into the crowd, leaving the door ajar behind them.

Someone could sneak into the room while everyone is panicking, she thought, as they ran down seven flights of stairs. Someone tripped, further down, only to be trodden on by a dozen others before she could crawl out of the way. And someone might notice that we left the same room…

She pushed the thought aside as they reached the bottom, Horst yanking her down the right-hand corridor as everyone else hurried down the left. She was too stunned to argue as they passed a pair of armed guards, then raced down a second stairwell she hadn’t known existed. The bunker at the bottom was surprisingly luxurious, reminding her of Hilde’s mansion in the heart of Berlin. It was where the Reich Council had intended to wait out the apocalypse, if nuclear war had broken out. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover that it had cost more than an entire Panzer Division.

The door banged closed behind them, making her jump. Horst held her hand gently as she calmed herself, his blue eyes concerned. Gudrun couldn’t help feeling touched, even though they might be in serious danger. He did have feelings for her! She told herself, a moment later, that she was being silly. This was no time to worry about their relationship.

“We’re probably meant to be in the next room,” Horst said, quietly. “Are you ready?”

Gudrun took a breath, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her dressing gown was barely decent and she’d left her slippers in the bedroom. She knew precisely what her mother or father would have said, once upon a time, if she’d walked around in such a state. She’d have been ordered to go back to her bedroom and changed before she was allowed out of the house, if she wasn’t grounded for life…

The thought almost made her giggle helplessly. She would have giggled, too, if she hadn’t been so tired.

“I think so,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She followed him through a metal door – it reminded her of the aircraft carrier she’d toured, shortly after the uprising – and into a command and control chamber. Volker Schulze was sitting in a comfortable chair, watching a team of operators as they constantly updated a large wall-mounted display. Red icons moved around the display, blinking in and out of existence as new information flowed into the chamber. She was no expert, but she couldn’t help noticing that there was a massive concentration of red marks along the border. Some of them were even heading to Berlin.

“It’s like a giant television,” Horst breathed. “I had no idea it was so advanced.”

Gudrun nodded. Televisions were rare in the Reich, even though radios were so common that even the poorer households had two or three. She made a mental note to look up why that was actually so, then pushed the thought aside. No doubt someone had decided that kids should be doing something more useful – like joining the Hitler Youth – than watching television. Or perhaps the Reich simply couldn’t afford to produce them. Who knew?

“Impact in thirty seconds,” a voice said. One of the operators looked at Schulze, his face pale. “Trajectory places the impact point roughly in the centre of Berlin.”

Gudrun squeezed Horst’s hand as the countdown began. The bunker was supposed to be a secret, but the SS would probably know precisely where it was. Hell, it wasn’t too hard to guess that there would be a bunker below the Reichstag. Nuclear war could begin at any minute, if propaganda was to be believed. A missile launched from Britain could reach its target within bare minutes, far too quickly for the council to move to a safer location.

“It should be fine,” Horst muttered. She had to resist the urge to take him in her arms and hold him tightly. “I don’t think they’ll target this building.”

“Zero,” the operator said.

Gudrun braced herself, closing her eyes… but felt nothing. She’d expected everything from a dull rumble to the roof caving in on their heads, yet… there had been nothing. More red icons flared up over Berlin, warning her that several missiles had landed within the city limits, but she felt nothing. It was almost as if the missiles hadn’t exploded at all.

“Target report,” Schulze ordered.

“Two missiles came down on the Ministry of Economics, Herr Chancellor,” the operator reported. “An additional missile struck the Schindler Barracks. Five more came down, seemingly at random; the remainder crashed outside the city. Their targeting was not particularly accurate.”

“So it would seem,” Schulze mused. “Damage reports?”

“None as yet,” the operator said. “I have a report from one of the rooftop observers, who states that there are now several fires burning across the city, but nothing else.”

“Make sure emergency teams are prepped for chemical weapons,” Schulze ordered. “Do you have a direct link to the front?”

Gudrun looked at Horst. “I felt nothing.”

“This is the safest place in the Reich,” Horst muttered back. “I read through the specifications while you were taking your place on the council. A nuke couldn’t scratch the protective layers over our head, let alone harm us. And they’re unlikely to strike at the Reichstag in any case.”

He smiled, rather dryly. “And if we get trapped in here, we have tunnels that connect us to the underground, giving us a dozen options for escaping,” he added. “The Reich Council was determined to make sure it could remain in control, even during a nuclear war.”

“Oh,” Gudrun said. She looked at one of the operators. “What’s happening?”

“Let them work,” Horst told her, quietly.

“The war has begun,” Schulze said. He rose and strode over towards them, just as one of the phones started to ring. An operator picked it up and began speaking in a low voice, trying not to disturb the others. “We’ve had reports of enemy panzers crossing the border, missiles and long-range artillery strikes and a number of… incidents… at various military bases.”

Gudrun met his eyes. “Incidents?”

Schulze looked back at her. She felt her cheeks heat as he studied her outfit, yet she refused to look away. Maybe he would have been her father-in-law, if things had been different, but it no longer mattered. Their lives had taken very different paths.

Horst leaned forward. “Shootings, unless I miss my guess,” he said. “Some of their observers will have been told to go on the attack.”

“Correct,” Schulze said. He didn’t seem angry with Horst, something that puzzled Gudrun until she realised that Schulze must have been aware of the possibility long before they’d told him about Horst’s past. “We don’t have a full set of reports yet, but they’ve already hampered our ability to launch counterattacks.”

Gudrun paled. “Are we going to lose the war?”

“Early days yet,” Schulze said. He sounded as tired as she felt. “There’s no real danger here, at least at the moment; I suggest you take a bedroom and get some rest. We should have a better idea of what’s going on in a few hours.”

“I understand,” Gudrun said.

“Come on,” Horst said, gently. “I’ll take you to bed.”

Gudrun blushed as Schulze cleared his throat, then turned and walked back towards the waiting operator. Thank God that hadn’t slipped out during a council meeting. The old men would never have taken her seriously… those of them that didn’t already consider her too young, too female or too rebellious to be worth their time. She took one last look at the display – there were more red icons to the east – and then allowed Horst to lead her out the door and through a maze of corridors. If she hadn’t already known they were in a bunker, she wouldn’t have believed it. She’d expected concrete walls and dank smells, but the interior was designed to look surprisingly pleasant. The only downside were the complete lack of windows and the portraits of famous men lining the walls, ranging from Hitler himself to Himmler and Goering.

And Goering looks like a danger to shipping, she thought. The man had really been quite unpleasantly fat. Even a paid artist hadn’t been able to disguise his bulk. How did he even manage to walk around?

“Get some rest,” Horst ordered, once they reached her room. It was just as luxurious as the rest of the complex. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Gudrun pulled him into the room before he could escape. “Is there anything you can do here?”

“I doubt it,” Horst said. “There’s certainly no hope of making contact with the stay-behind cell.”

“Yeah,” Gudrun agreed. Horst had kept a sharp eye out for any more notes, but none had appeared. She closed the door and grinned at him. “You may as well come to bed with me.”

Horst blinked in shock. “But what about…?”

“Schulze knows,” Gudrun said, flatly. She took his arms and pulled him, firmly, towards the bed. “And right now I really find it hard to care about the others.”

“Ah, danger,” Horst said. “That turns you on.”

Gudrun snorted. “Horst?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

There had been no way Hauptsturmfuehrer Katharine Milch could have carried a radio with her, even though a handful of the refugees she’d joined as they made their trek westward had seemingly carried all of their possessions on their shoulders. They’d had them all confiscated as soon as they’d arrived in Berlin, before they’d been shown into a set of transit barracks that had clearly been designed for Untermenschen. Katherine had ignored the whining and moaning from her fellow inmates, concentrating instead on quietly picking up information from the guards and planning her escape. It hadn’t struck her as particularly difficult. The transit camp had been designed as a prison, but the refugees weren’t being treated as prisoners.

I got out of nastier prisons when I was a trainee, Katharine thought, as she heard the first cruise missiles flying over Berlin. Deep rumbling explosions followed moments later, telling her that it was time to kick off her blanket and leave the rest of the refugees behind. And now it’s time to leave.

She smiled, rather unpleasantly, as she headed for the door. There were always a pair of policemen on guard, both of whom were young enough to talk more than they should to a pretty face and a very tight shirt. Katherine didn’t mind; the more they looked at her chest, the less they looked at her face. She’d been taught a dozen simple ways to disguise herself – along with a whole series of skills that were rarely taught to eastern women, let alone western women – but the simplest tricks were always the best. She pushed the door open and glanced towards the guardpost. One of the policemen was clearly visible, while the other was out of sight. She hoped that meant he’d started the long walk around the transit barracks.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Fraulein,” the policeman said. He was desperately worried, so desperately worried that he barely even glanced at her chest. “The city is under attack.”

Katherine nodded. Flames were rising up in the distance, casting unpleasant flickers of light over Berlin. She’d been told that a number of cruise missiles would be launched, in the hopes of decapitating the provisional government, but there had been no way to be certain that they’d hit their targets. But it was more than enough to tell her that it was time to go.

“I’m scared,” she said, slipping closer. “I need comfort.”

The policeman hesitated, just for a second. It was long enough for Katherine to draw her pencil from her pocket – they hadn’t bothered to confiscate either her pencils or her notebooks – and ram it through his eye. He stumbled backwards, dead before he hit the ground. She took his pistol, glanced around for any sign of his partner, then hurried towards the open gate leading to the city. By the time the body was found, she’d be well on her way towards the rendezvous point.

And their record keeping is shoddy, she thought, as she walked onwards. They may not even know who they’re missing.