Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Twenty

Germanica (Moscow), Germany East

17 September 1985

“They made a deal with the Americans?”

“So it would seem, Mein Fuhrer,” Reimer Wermter said. The intelligence officer leaned forward. “We only got the word now.”

Karl growled, deep in his throat. He had grown far too used to modern communications, far too used to being able to get messages from Berlin to Germanica instantly. Now, with normal communications badly disrupted, it had taken several days for the warning to reach his intelligence staff. The traitors were in covert discussions with the Americans.

“The Americans will tear us apart and the traitors will let them,” he snarled. “And that will be the end of us!”

He glared at the map, his eyes seeking out what had once been Japan. It was a hellish nightmare now, a territory where the races mixed freely and the once-proud martial culture had been almost completely eradicated. There were few pureblood Japanese left, he’d been told, and fewer still who cleaved to the old ways. The new generation of Japanese children were more American than the Americans. They treated democracy as though it were a god.

And that will happen to us, if the Americans win, he thought. And they will win, if the traitors give them the chance.

He could see the nightmare unfolding in his imagination. The steady collapse of authority, mirrored by the steady collapse of the family. Young girls breeding with Untermenschen, young men leaving their wives and families to support themselves; women working to earn money rather than taking care of their children, men treated as monsters by a depraved legal system. And young men running around without discipline, taking drugs and drinking heavily instead of serving their country and raising families of their own. Everything the Reich had built was in jeopardy.

The Americans don’t know what’s good for them, he thought, nastily. And yet they may import their failures here.

The thought tormented him. He’d once been reassured by the growing demographic crisis in America, although the Americans were alarmingly good at converting immigrants and Gastarbeiters – not that they used that word – into good Americans. Given time, he’d calculated, the American population would drop while the Reich’s kept rising. But now… the civil war would tear the Reich apart before it could win the cold war by default. It had been a mistake, he knew now, to allow even a single American idea to enter the Reich. They should have closed their borders and waited, patiently, for the United States to collapse.

And now we are fighting each other instead of the Americans, he told himself. They can just walk in afterwards and take over!

He glared at Wermter. “What have they actually agreed?”

“The Americans are already sending them intelligence materials,” Wermter said. He didn’t look any more pleased than Karl felt. “They’ll start shipments of MANPADS in the next few days…”

Karl swore. He hated to admit it, but the Americans had practically invented modern-day military logistics. They’d drowned the Japanese under a tidal wave of production that even the Reich had been unable to match. And yet, producing so many MANPADS and slipping them to the traitors in Berlin would be tricky, even for them. They’d have to draw down the stocks in Britain, unless…

He cursed under his breath. He’d suspected American involvement in the protests from the start. The Americans liked the idea of convincing people to change, rather than imposing change by force; they never seemed to see the downside, that the people might change in ways the United States neither expected nor wanted. If the Americans had planned to send MADPADS to the Reich from the start, could it be they’d planned the uprising and civil war all along?

Cold logic told him it wasn’t likely. He’d had plenty of experience with intelligence work over the years. The more complex an operation, the greater the chance of failure. Surely, the Americans couldn’t have planned the entire situation out from the beginning. And yet, they were moving to take advantage of the chaos. They had to be very sure the civil war wouldn’t turn into a complete disaster.

“MANPADS,” he said, out loud.

He snorted, rudely. American MANPADS were good. Stinger missiles alone had turned what should have been a relatively easy operation – to support the South Africans as they retook control of their country – into a bloodbath. CAS aircraft were uniquely vulnerable to American Stingers, which stripped the troops of their air cover when they needed it desperately. The blacks had used them, ruthlessly, to push the envelope and start attacking German troops, rather than the other way around. Introducing American-designed MANPADS into the German Civil War would only prolong the bloodshed.

Which is probably what the Americans want, he thought, darkly. If we keep fighting each other, we will be in no position to resist when the Americans take advantage of the chaos.

“Yes, Mein Führer,” Wermter said. “They have promised over two thousand single-use missiles to the traitors.”

Karl thought fast. The Americans had pretended that they hadn’t been supplying the South Africans, but no one believed them. There was literally no other country on Earth, even Britain, capable of producing Stingers. Stripping all US markings off the missiles and their launchers was just pointless. And yet, the troops defending the traitors wouldn’t know that, would they? They’d think the Stingers came from a German factory. The traitors wouldn’t be keen to acknowledge that they’d received help from the archenemy.

“We have to find a way to use this against them,” he thought. “Is our spy undetected?”

“I believe they do not suspect his presence,” Wermter said. “However, they would be foolish to trust him completely.”

“They’d be foolish to trust anyone completely,” Karl mused. It was the old problem with revolutionary movements. The different factions tended to have different ideas about which way the movement should go. Even Hitler had needed to move against his former comrades, once the Nazi Party was in power. “But as long as he remains undetected…”

He frowned. He’d hoped the traitors would fragment into multiple factions, each one weakening the whole, but the growing pressure from the east probably ensured that any disputes would be put aside until the end of the war. The traitors knew they had to hang together or they would all be hanging together. He smirked at the pun, then turned his attention back to his subordinate. Wermter was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“The Americans will not be giving them anything for free,” he said. “What do they get in exchange?”

“A withdrawal from South Africa and free trade,” Wermter said.

Karl swore, savagely. The withdrawal wasn’t a problem – no doubt the traitors were already congratulating themselves on convincing the Americans to pay for something they’d been planning to do already – but free trade? It would be disastrous! He had no illusions about just how easily the United States could flood the Reich with civilian products, products that would be both cheaper and better than anything the Reich could produce for itself. And who knew what would come with it? Germans who should be doing their duty for the Reich would be asking questions, instead. They’d be demanding to know why Germany couldn’t produce blue jeans and cheap televisions. And none of the answers they’d get would satisfy them.

And it would destroy our economy completely, he thought. Who would buy one of our products when they could have an American product?

“We have to stop this,” he said. He glared at Wermter. “Get back to your other sources; find out what else they’re planning to do. And then tell the advance teams I want them ready to move in on the Reichstag at a moment’s notice.”

“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Wermter said.

Karl dismissed him, then keyed the intercom. “Maria, inform Oberstgruppenfuehrer Ruengeler that I wish to speak with him over the secure phone,” he ordered. It would take time – Ruengeler had been spending far too much time at the front, getting a personal feel for the situation, rather than staying in the CP – but it would just have to be endured. “Inform me the moment he’s on the line.”

“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Maria said.

Rising to his feet, Karl paced over to the window and stared out over his city. It was a towering monument to the dreams of the Volk, to what could be achieved if the Volk was bound together by a single movement. The gothic structures surrounding him were larger-than-life, the reflection of a pitiless will to dominate and reshape the world. It was magnificent; it was always magnificent. And yet, everything they’d built could be lost, if the war was lost. The traitors were playing games with the Volk itself.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, cursing the bastards under his breath. Didn’t they realise what was at stake? The world was savage, red in tooth and claw. Their dominance had come at a price. Countless Germans had fought and died to build the Reich, from the men who had marched into Poland in 1939 to the men and women who fought insurgents in Germany East and South Africa. To give the Untermenschen a chance to harm the Reich wasn’t just treason, it was… it was worse, yet he could think of no word for it. Karl understood the ebb and flow of politics, the complex series of moves and countermoves that sometimes left a knife buried in a comrade’s back, but this was gambling with the future of the Reich itself. Karl would have sooner disbanded the SS than see the Reich collapse into rubble.

We had the will to dominate the world, he told himself. But do we still have it?

The secure telephone rang. He strode back to the table and picked it up. “Holliston.”

“Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said.

“You need to push the advance forward.” Karl said, bluntly. “Take whatever risks are necessary to reach Berlin.”

There was a long pause. “Mein Fuhrer, the advance is already moving as quickly as possible,” Ruengeler said. “I don’t believe it can be pushed any faster.”

Karl swore, inwardly, as he turned to stare at the map. The advance was grinding forward slowly, too slowly. He’d hoped for a swift strike towards Berlin, but the traitors were stalling his men and slowing them down. It was frustrating. Worse, perhaps, it was costly. If some of the reports were to be believed, replacing every lost aircraft, every lost panzer, would be a nightmare. He might win the war and purge all of his enemies, but the Reich would be so gravely weakened that the Americans would roll over them with ease.

“It has to be done,” he growled. He didn’t dare discuss everything over the telephone line. It was meant to be secure, but the Americans were very good at intercepting messages. He’d even read reports claiming that the Americans had actually found a way to hack into the telephone network without a physical connection. “I need you to have Berlin cut off, at the very least, within the week.”

He forced himself to take a breath. “What is the current situation?”

“We’re advancing, slowly but surely,” Ruengeler said. “Unfortunately, they’re holding back their airpower.”

Karl frowned. “I was told that we were grinding their aircraft out of existence.”

“They’re holding them back, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said. “And that worries me.”

“That makes no sense,” Karl told him, flatly. “If they had the airpower to take control of the skies, they would have used it.”

“We haven’t shot down anything like enough aircraft to weaken them, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said.

“And yet they are allowing us to strike at Berlin,” Karl sneered. Bombing the capital gave him no pleasure, but at least it made it clear to the citizens that the traitors had brought war to their city. “Why would they do that unless they were running out of aircraft?”

“They’re conserving their strength,” Ruengeler said. “I suspect they are preparing a counteroffensive of their own.”

Karl snorted. “Take Berlin and it won’t matter what they’re planning,” he snapped. “We can win the war and put an end to the traitors, then save the Reich from the Americans.”

He went on before Ruengeler could say a word. “Push the offensive forward,” he added, sharply. “And don’t hesitate to relieve any officers who are insufficiently aggressive.”

“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said.

Karl put the phone down, hard. Ruengeler was starting to annoy him, even though he was one of the most experienced officers in the Reich. Couldn’t he see that there was more at stake than simple military victory? A long drawn-out war would be disastrous, no matter which side actually won. They’d inherit a broken state. The satellites would be making a bid for freedom, the Untermenschen would be rising up against the SS. Everything the Reich had built over the past fifty years would be in doubt.

And I will not allow the Reich to collapse, he thought, as he tapped the intercom. Whatever the cost, I will not allow the Reich to collapse.

“Maria,” he said. “I want to see Frank at once.”

It was nearly five minutes before Standartenfuehrer Frank entered the chamber and saluted, smartly. He was a man who could easily have stepped off a recruiting poster: tall, blond, handsome and very muscular. Karl had wondered, back when he’d first met Frank, why he had never joined the Waffen-SS, but a glance in his file provided the answer. Frank’s father had been a researcher who’d worked on nuclear weapons and his son, while lacking his father’s intellectual gifts, had done his best to follow in his footsteps. Karl could hardly disapprove. His own father had been among the very first men to join the SS.

“Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said.

“I need a progress update,” Karl said. “Have you managed to unlock the nuclear warheads?”

“Not as yet,” Frank said. His face was carefully impassive. “The Permissive Action Links have proved unpleasantly resilient to tampering.”

Karl scowled. “And the missiles cannot be fired?”

“The missiles can be fired at their preset targets, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank told him. “However, they cannot be detonated. The warheads cannot be detonated without the correct command codes. Even selecting new targets will be very difficult.”

Karl scowled. “And the missile crews cannot help?”

“They were never trained to work on warheads, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “Their only task was launching the missiles, should the command ever come. Any maintenance work was handled by engineers who would be flown in from Berlin.”

“And so the Americans have us over a barrel,” Karl breathed.

“I don’t believe so, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “If the Americans did fire on us, I’m sure we’d be able to get the arming codes from Berlin.”

Karl snorted, rudely. The early-warning network was in shambles. If the Americans decided to gamble and launched a massive first strike, it was quite possible that their missiles wouldn’t be detected until the nukes actually started to detonate. And by then it would be far too late. The Reich would have been utterly shattered. Hell, if they were lucky, the Americans would destroy the Reich’s missiles on the ground.

And the traitors are already in bed with the Americans, he thought, darkly. They might refuse to send us the arming codes.

“We should never have placed so much faith in our system,” he growled. “It never occurred to us that we would lose control of Berlin.”

“The government didn’t want anyone using nukes without their approval, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank pointed out.

“I know,” Karl growled. “They didn’t trust us.”

He shook his head. Deploying tactical nukes in 1950 might have been the only way to end the Arab Uprisings quickly – the Reich had been reeling after Hitler’s death and really didn’t need more problems – but it had come at a cost. The Americans, who had been going back to sleep, had started pouring money into defence, while the Reich Council had worked hard to ensure that no one could detonate a nuke without their blessing. No one at the time had realised that the Reich would be sundered in two. They’d known that unity was the only thing that kept the Reich from being ripped apart by its enemies.

“If you had a tactical nuke,” he said flatly, “could you detonate it?”

“Perhaps, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “We are working on readying a number of tactical warheads now. However, the PAL system is designed to be extremely tamper-resistant, to the point of destroying the warhead if it isn’t handled very carefully. It may be impossible to guarantee that the nukes will detonate.”

Karl sighed. “And if we start building our own nukes?”

“It would take years, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “We may have a number of breeder reactors under our control, but assembly has always been done in Germany Prime. I think we would be starting from scratch. Building the machines to make the machines, if you will pardon the expression, will be costly – if we can do it at all.”

“Another mistake,” Karl said. Germany East’s industry was limited. In hindsight, that had been a mistake too. “We can’t get the tools without winning the war.”

“Yes, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “Producing them for ourselves will take too long.”

“Do a study, see if there’s any way to speed up the process,” Karl ordered. He didn’t hold out much hope, but at least they could try. “Dismissed.”

He watched Frank leave, then turned his attention to the map. His forces were advancing forward slowly, too slowly. Their gains would be worthless if they couldn’t consolidate them by capturing Berlin, destroying the traitorous government. And yet, if they couldn’t take Berlin…

I’ll make the world burn before I surrender, he told himself, savagely. And the traitors will pay for their crimes.