Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Thirty-Six

Berlin, Germany Prime

25 October 1985

“All is in readiness, Herr Hauptsturmfuehrer,” Strumscharfuehrer Brandt said, as the sun started to peep over the horizon. “We are just waiting on the order to move.”

“Yeah, we must wait for the order to attack before attacking,” Hauptsturmfuehrer Hennecke Schwerk mused. “To launch without support would be disastrous.”

He smiled as he inspected the men. Four days of rest and recuperation – and intercourse and intoxication – had done wonders for morale. The men had been able to sleep in comfortable beds for two nights, often sharing them with girls eager to show the Waffen-SS stormtroopers that black uniforms were still the very height of fashion for young men. Hennecke himself had spent two days in bed with a blonde girl who might have been a boring conversationalist, but knew precisely what to do with her mouth and breasts to give a man a very good time indeed. By the time he’d headed back to the lines – and sent the girl to the next stormtrooper who required servicing – he felt so much better that he was tempted to lead the charge into Berlin himself.

And that girl wants to regain her racial certificate, he thought, nastily. And the only way to do that is to carry an Aryan child to term.

“I assume the reservists kept prodding the defenders,” he said. “Did they actually learn anything useful?”

“Very little,” Brandt said. “They confirm that the enemy has dug in over there” – he smiled as he jabbed a finger towards Berlin – “but very little else.”

Hennecke shrugged. The stormtroopers might have been pulled out of the line, but the shooting had never actually stopped. Intelligence kept insisting that the enemy was on the verge of running out of bullets and, for once, Hennecke was inclined to believe they were right. He’d heard enough rumours about ammunition shortages confronting the Waffen-SS to make it easy to believe that the enemy would have the same problem. And Berlin was completely sealed off from the rest of the Reich. They didn’t have a hope of shipping more ammunition into the city.

They could try to fly it in, he thought. But we have enough air defences surrounding the city to make it very difficult.

He glanced at Brandt. “Did you hear anything about the timing?”

“No, Herr Hauptsturmfuehrer,” Brandt said. “There’s no set time for the offensive.”

“Odd,” Hennecke mused. Taking advantage of a fluid battleground was one thing, but preparing an offensive without setting a start time was odd. If nothing else, some units could practically be relied upon not to get the word and sit on their asses while everyone else engaged the enemy. “But I’m sure they have their reasons.”

He sighed, then turned to look towards Berlin. The battleground was a wasteland, countless buildings knocked down by gunfire or blown up by emplaced IEDs. Hennecke knew just how lucky he had been to escape being wounded or killed in any one of a dozen traps he’d stumbled across during the endless battle. And yet, one final push might just be enough to destroy the enemy defences and carry the stormtroopers into Berlin itself.

And then we can put an end to the war, he thought.

Horst hated to admit it, but he was terrified.

Not terrified for himself, he knew. He’d long since grown used to the idea of putting his fragile body at risk. Growing up in Germany East – where one might have to fight at any time – had shaped his mindset, reassuring him that it was better to die in battle than watch helplessly as his family were ravished or murdered by Untermenschen. But putting Gudrun in danger was something else. The thought of losing her was terrifying.

He was her husband. He had a right – he knew he had a right – to tell her what to do. And yet he also knew that trying to enforce that right would destroy their relationship. No one could object – legally – if he laid down the law to her and enforced it with his fists, but Gudrun would never tolerate it. He’d never be able to sleep next to her again, not without having her slit his throat while he was sleeping. And yet, it was almost worth it just to know she would survive.

But she’s right, the coolly pragmatic part of his mind observed. There’s no other way to lure the cell into the open.

He cursed under his breath as he led the way down to the car. He’d done everything he could to guarantee success, placing trustworthy soldiers in position to intercept the commandos when they finally showed themselves. And if everything went according to plan, Gudrun would never be in any real danger. A volunteer, wearing a blonde wig, would play her role long enough to lure the commandos into the open. Gudrun should be safe and sound in the bunker when all hell was let loose.

And yet he knew, all too well, that too many things could go badly wrong.

Gudrun looked nervous, he noted, as they stopped by the car. The driver didn’t look much better. He’d been trained in evasive driving – Horst had read his record very carefully before authorising him to work as Gudrun’s driver – but deliberately leading someone into a trap was new. And using the person he was supposed to protect as bait… Horst was surprised the man hadn’t objected more forcefully. No close-protection team worthy of the name would want anything to do with the plan.

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” he muttered. The driver opened the door, then turned and headed back to the front seat. “You can back out now and no one will think any less of you.”

“Because I’m a woman,” Gudrun said, crossly. They’d argued for hours as the plan came together, Horst trying to talk her out of it while Gudrun insisting they went ahead. He still found it hard to believe that she’d come up with the plan, then forced it though despite opposition from both her father and husband. “No one expects much from me either.”

“Seems a better deal than we get,” Horst said. He’d seen how pride could keep a man fighting when a tactical withdrawal to a superior position would probably have worked better, in the long run. “A man who backed out now would be branded a coward.”

Gudrun gave him a sharp look, then settled into the car. She’d insisted on wearing trousers, rather than a dress. Horst was torn between admiring her insistence on practicality and worrying about soldiers admiring his wife’s shapely legs. But at least they would let her move quickly if there was an emergency. She’d even spent the last few nights in the shooting range, mastering the small pistol he’d given her. Maybe allowing her to burn through so much ammunition was wasteful, but at least it meant she could defend herself, if necessary.

Unless she loses the pistol, Horst thought. Gudrun was fit – the BDM had made sure of that, if nothing else – but she was no match for a grown man, particularly one who had had intensive combat training. Stormtroopers who had their asses kicked by women only existed in bad American propaganda. If she loses the pistol, she’s in deep shit.

He settled in after her, feeling an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. The driver started the engine as Horst leaned backwards, trying hard to calm himself. He hadn’t felt so bad since the day he’d reported for basic training, when he’d discovered that all the practical work he’d done trying to get ready for the Waffen-SS had been largely futile. His instructors hadn’t hesitated to tell him precisely what they thought of him too. He’d honestly believed the bastards would arrange a training accident if they thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t come up to scratch.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The car slowly rolled out of the garage, passing through two checkpoints without stopping and turning onto the empty road. Their outriders, sirens howling, joined them seconds later, the riders watching carefully for signs of trouble. Horst forced himself to relax, one hand fingering the pistol at his belt as he waited. They had nearly four hours before all hell was due to kick off. He could wait until then…

The waiting is always the worst, he reminded himself, grimly. I’ll feel better when the shooting actually starts.

Katharine Milch waited behind, keeping her weapons well out of sight, as two of her team – dressed in police uniforms – rousted the homeless out of the ambush site. It wasn’t ideal, but there were very few truly ideal places in Berlin. No matter what she did, she was sure an alert would go out at once and armed troops would rush to the rescue. The timing might just be in their favour – reading between the lines, she rather suspected that the main phase of the final offensive was due to kick off soon – yet it would be no consolation to her team if they were caught in the open.

Limited room to manoeuvre, she told herself. If all went according to plan, the target and her escorts would be trapped, completely at her mercy. And if we get out before they respond, we should get away clean.

“That’s the place cleared,” Hans called. “We can move in now.”

“Do it,” Katherine ordered.

She glanced at her watch, grimly, as they took up positions. Timing was everything – and yet the timing could not be precise. They were dependent on matters outside their control, matters she knew couldn’t be controlled without giving the game away far too soon. If the bodyguard acted fast – and he wouldn’t be expecting her move – the entire operation could fail completely. But then, if it did fail, she’d have ample time to break contact and vanish before it was too late.

And then we can join the other cells, she thought, tartly. At least our time won’t be completely wasted.

Gudrun could tell that Horst was worried, even though he was doing a very good job of pretending to be unconcerned. He was slumped back in his chair, his eyes half-closed, instead of holding her in his arms or talking quietly. She knew he wouldn’t be concerned about the driver – they were married, after all – but about the plan. Using his wife as live bait couldn’t sit well with him.

At least he let me do it, she thought. She had no desire for a real fight, no desire to find out if he would keep his word to let her have an independent life. It spoke well of him, she supposed, that he was letting her be bait. And yet, was it really a good sign? Horst might have been a better husband if he’d refused. But if he lets me do this, he can hardly object to me being on the council…

The car shook violently, twisting and turning as it slammed into one of the outriders and roared into a side road. Horst started, one hand drawing his pistol, as gunfire broke out; Gudrun looked up, just in time to see two of the remaining outriders blown off their motorbikes before it was too late. The driver slammed the partition between the driving seat and the passenger compartment, the doors unlocking seconds later as the vehicle lurched to a halt. Horst swore out loud as the gunfire grew louder, a handful of bullets pinging off the car as the attackers – whoever they were – took care of the final set of outriders.

“Stay down,” Horst snapped, pulling her to the ground. “Keep your head down!”

Gudrun nodded as she reached for her pistol. Something had gone badly wrong… no, they’d been driven right into an ambush. The driver had betrayed them! She looked up in alarm as the door opened, then realised that Horst was slipping out of the vehicle. Two more gunshots echoed out before he managed to slam the door. Gudrun barely had a moment to pray before the door nearest to her was yanked open and a strong arm caught hold of her. The driver leered down at her as he tugged her into the street.

“Bastard,” Gudrun swore, bringing up the pistol. The driver’s eyes went wide as she pulled the trigger four times, feeling the weapon jerking in her hand. She wasn’t a good shot, not compared to Horst or the instructors on the shooting range, but she could hardly miss at point-blank range. “You…”

The driver tottered backwards and collapsed to the ground, blood leaking from four bullet wounds. Gudrun barely had a moment to savour her victory – or recoil in horror from ending a person’s life – before a strong hand caught hold of her wrist and twisted it sharply. She screamed in pain, letting go of the pistol as her new captor pulled her all the way out of the car and slammed her head to the pavement. There was a flash of pain, then the darkness reached out and swallowed her.

Katherine smiled as the driver died – he had never been intended to survive, despite being a long-term sleeper agent – and then peered down at the blonde girl beneath her feet. Gudrun Wieland didn’t look like much, Katherine decided, as she hauled the girl up and threw her over her shoulder. She’d certainly not realised the driver wasn’t alone. Katherine had darted backwards, ready to take cover if Gudrun opened fire on her, but it hadn’t been necessary.

She unhooked a grenade from her belt and hurled it into the car, then turned and started to run. Gudrun was lighter than she’d expected, puny and weak compared to an eastern woman, but she had to be sneaked out of the city. And that wouldn’t be easy.

Mission accomplished, she thought, as the car exploded behind her. And all we have to do is lie low.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a detonator, clicking off the safety and then pushing the button firmly, transmitting a radio signal across the city. It would set off alarms, she knew, but it was already too late. A series of explosions echoed over the city, ensuring that it would be harder for the defenders to react… and signal the forces waiting on the other side of the defence lines. It was time for the battle to begin.

“The bastard is still alive,” Hans grunted, as he caught up with her. “I don’t think he’s mortally wounded.”

Katherine shrugged. Horst Albrecht hadn’t been trustworthy, no matter what his handler had said. Either he was an incompetent buffoon, which was unlikely, or he was an outright traitor. He’d had the perfect opportunity to stop the traitors before they became more than a gaggle of students and missed it completely. No, he was a traitor himself. If he hadn’t been one when he’d started, he was definitely one now.

She scowled at the thought. Men could never be trusted completely when sex was involved, she knew from painful experience, and Horst Albrecht had been fucking the girl she was carrying. And he’d even married her. Katherine was no stranger to doing unpleasant things for the Reich, but marriage? No, Horst Albrecht could not be trusted. And if he survived the next few days, he would either be executed by the SS or his fellow traitors. They’d assume he was responsible for Gudrun’s capture and take it out on him.

“They’ll blame him for this,” she said. “And no matter what he says, they’ll never believe him.”

Horst staggered to his feet, feeling oddly unsure of just what had happened. He’d been attacked by a pair of commandos… they’d been commandos. He was sure of that, if nothing else. Their basic training and fighting style was identical to his, although they’d been far more practiced them himself. He’d shot one, he thought – there was definitely a body in front of him – but the other had started to pound on him before Horst had finally managed to bury a knife in his heart. Or was that nothing more than a hazy memory of something else? His head felt as if he’d been drinking heavily the night before…

Gudrun!

The thought snapped him out of his daze. Turning, he looked towards where the car had been and recoiled in shock as he realised it was nothing more than a burning wreck. The flames were so intense that he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if Gudrun was still in the car she was dead. And yet, they’d wanted her alive… he stumbled forward and noted, to his relief, that the rear door was open. Gudrun had had a chance to get out…

He cursed as he nearly tripped over the body and stumbled, then glared down at the remains of the driver. Someone had shot him in the chest, three or four times; the damage was far less extensive than Horst had anticipated. Gudrun had to have killed him, he realised. The pistol he’d given her was far lighter than the one he carried himself. But three bullets to the heart would be enough to stop anyone.

Should have worn body armour, he thought, as he kicked the driver’s body. He’d never suspected the driver, not even once. And yet… in hindsight, he should have been a prime suspect. No one paid attention to drivers. You swinehund traitor…

He gathered himself, somehow. There had been a quick-response team on alert, but it had failed to show. The outriders were dead. Explosions were echoing over the city…

…And Gudrun was gone.