Chosen of the Valkyries

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.

Traitors, he reminded himself. They deserve to lose everything.

He lit a cigarette as he took stock of the situation. He’d lost nineteen men in all, not counting the panzer crews. Crushing the town had cost him badly, too badly. It was far too much… he wondered, absently, if he would be relieved for it. The upper ranks would be looking for a scapegoat and the panzer commander, the one who had driven right into the trap, was probably dead. Unfortunately, he’d probably had a chance to breed first…

“Orders from HQ,” the radio operator said. “They want us to hold the town until they get reinforcements up to us.”

“Understood,” Hennecke said.

He shrugged. It wasn’t as if the remains of the town were going anywhere.

We’ll just have to bulldoze the debris out of the way, he thought, as he directed his men to start patrolling the outskirts. And then we can start running supply lines down the road towards the autobahn.

Kurt had expected trouble when they retreated, but he’d badly underestimated just how quickly the SS could throw a ring of steel around the town. Indeed, if he hadn’t reacted quickly himself, punching through the stormtroopers and escaping into the countryside would have been impossible. He had no intention of seeing the inside of a POW camp – he’d be used against Gudrun, once his captors figured out who he was – but escaping had cost him two more men. By the time he reached the RV point, he was tired, drained and thoroughly sick of the war.

“Grab something to eat, Herr Leutnant,” the Oberfeldwebel running the RV point said. “The CO will be reorganising the formations over the next couple of hours.”

Kurt nodded, too tired to argue. He wasn’t blind to the implications, either. He’d hurt the enemy, but he’d taken heavy losses to do it. And the next engagement might be just as bad, costing him worse. And then… he shook his head slowly at the thought. They might run out of manpower before the SS reached Berlin.

He took a bottle of water and sipped it, trying to be optimistic. They’d met the SS and given them a bloody nose – and they’d never planned to hold the town. Five panzers destroyed or damaged was hardly a small bloody nose. But there was no denying that the enemy was still advancing, doing their best to push the defenders back. And the defenders were falling back.

We have more firepower, he told himself, firmly. All we need is time to get it into position.

Oberstgruppenfuehrer Alfred Ruengeler totted up the reports with a pronounced feeling of displeasure, mixed with a grim pride in his men. After the first set of victories – the bloodless capture of one of the bridges would definitely go down in the history books – his men had started to run into a wily and elusive enemy determined to make them fight for every last inch. Each encounter had cost him badly, forcing him to slow the advance as he ran more panzers and supporting vehicles over the bridges. Indeed, if he hadn’t had air superiority, he suspected the offensive would have been stopped in its tracks.

He stood outside the command post, watching the sun sinking slowly in the west. Darkness was falling over the land, bringing the panzers to a halt… although he knew it wouldn’t stop the fighting. His stormtroopers were trained and experienced at pushing forward under cover of darkness, keeping the enemy jumpy as the logistics officers struggled to keep the panzers fuelled and armed. They hadn’t had a real war in far too long, he admitted. And smashing the joint logistics network into rubble hadn’t helped either.

But we’re advancing towards Berlin, he told himself, firmly. It was technically accurate, even though the advance was proceeding at a far slower pace than planned. And we will reoccupy the city soon.

He shook his head as he lit a cigarette. His troops were good, but their officers and NCOs were reporting increasingly harsh anti-westerner sentiments. So far, most of the towns and villages they’d stumbled across had been evacuated, yet it was only a matter of time before they encountered civilian populations. And then… he dreaded to think what would happen then. None of his men had been trained to avoid civilian casualties.

And the Führer won’t give a damn, he thought. He dropped the cigarette on the ground, then stamped on it. He’s already got a list of men and their families he wants to purge.

Alfred shuddered. There was no way they were going to be able to avoid an incident, no matter how harshly the men were disciplined. And then… if nothing else, the traitors would be able to use it to rally support. No one cared what happened to a bunch of Untermenschen, but good Germans? That was important.

And if they become committed to their cause, he asked himself, what happens to us?