Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Berlin, Germany Prime

25 October 1985

“It’s confirmed,” Voss said, quietly. “The enemy is falling back all along the line.”

Volker nodded in relief. The SS didn’t know it – he assumed they didn’t know it – but they had come terrifyingly close to victory. Berlin’s defenders had been on the verge of running out of rifle and pistol ammunition, let alone mortar rounds, antiaircraft weapons and everything else they needed to hold the line. Mounting a push from the city, in hopes of overrunning the retreating stormtroopers before they could set up new defence lines of their own, was impossible. It would take weeks, at best, before the defenders could be rearmed…

“Gath is altering his deployments slightly in hopes of enveloping the enemy before they make it out of the bag,” Voss added. “But they really reacted too quickly for us to catch most of them.”

“True,” Volker said. “Someone on the other side must have decided to cut his losses.”

“It is the smart choice,” Voss agreed. He paused. “We still have a security situation in Berlin itself, though.”

“Deploy troops to hunt down the remaining commandos once we are sure we can hold the line,” Volker ordered. The attack on the Reichstag itself had been beaten off, thankfully, but the commandos had hit a number of other targets and gunfire was still being reported across the city. “And keep warning the population to stay indoors.”

He rubbed his eyes, tiredly. Berlin would never be the same, that was sure. The city had been devastated, large parts shelled into rubble… he had no idea if they could even afford to rebuild, once the fighting came to an end. And the destroyed factories, power plants and even a hospital would cost millions of Reichmarks to replace. The Reich might survive the war, only to collapse under its own weight shortly afterwards.

And untold thousands of men, women and children were dead.

“We won,” Voss said, quietly.

“I know,” Volker said. “But why does it feel like a defeat?”

“She doesn’t look like much,” Hans said.

Katherine snorted as she finished binding Gudrun’s hands and legs together. Gudrun was in good health, she’d noted during the brief examination, but hardly stronger than the average schoolgirl. She might be the very picture of Germanic perfection – blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin – yet she was no soldier. But then, a girl so pretty would have no trouble finding men to fight for her. If she’d seduced a trained SS observer – and Katherine was sure that she had – she could seduce anyone.

Cow, she thought, nastily.

“We’ll keep her drugged for the moment,” she said. She didn’t bother to respond to Hans’s remark. The Fuhrer and his interrogators could take Gudrun apart at leisure, digging everything she knew out of her mind before hanging whatever was left for treason on an utterly unprecedented scale. “We don’t want her waking up too soon.”

“If she wakes up at all,” Hans warned. “That bump on the head was nasty.”

Katherine shrugged. The original plan had been to hole up in the apartment and wait for the fighting to come to an end, but it was clear – now – that the stormtroopers had failed to break into the city. She had no doubt that the traitors would search the city thoroughly, once they were sure they’d won the war. They didn’t dare stay in Berlin. Someone would have seen something suspicious, she was sure, something that would lead the police straight to them.

“We’ll just have to hope,” she said, tartly. Hans was right – the sedatives sometimes had unfortunate effects – but the last thing they needed was Gudrun waking up before they were safely out of the city. “Get into your uniform.”

She smiled to herself, grimly, as she donned her own uniform, then smirked rudely at the sleeping prisoner. Gudrun would never know the freedom of wearing male clothes, would never know how easy it could be to pass for a man. But then, her breasts were too large to be easily concealed by a uniform, while Katherine’s were thankfully small. She could pass for a uniformed man with ease.

And everyone in the Reich is conditioned not to question men in uniform, she thought, as she checked her appearance in the mirror. And no one will question us either.

She looked faintly effeminate, she decided, but most soldiers who looked at her would dismiss her as a staff officer. They were expected to be effeminate, she’d been told. Real soldiers knew that staff officers were the ones who couldn’t hack it, using their connections to be assigned to the rear. They wouldn’t see anything other than a young man who confirmed their preconceptions. And by the time they realised the truth, it would be far too late.

“Get the box,” she ordered, as Hans returned. “Hurry.”

“We’ll have to head to the west,” Hans said. They carefully lowered Gudrun into the box, then locked it securely. “Too many people moving to the east, I think.”

Katherine nodded, crossly. A dozen cells had been expended in the battle for Berlin, but it seemed that their sacrifice had been wasted. She’d sent her remaining team members off to cause havoc across the city, yet in hindsight that might have been a mistake. No, it had been a mistake. They could do a great deal of damage before they were hunted down – they would do a great deal of damage before they were hunted down – but they would die for nothing.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Do you have the papers?”

“Here,” Hans said. “And if they’re not enough…?”

“We fight,” Katherine said.

She scowled. The attack had failed, which could only mean that the traitors had launched their own counterattack. And that meant that the roads around Berlin were likely to be consumed by savage fighting. Getting out of the city was one thing, but sneaking eastwards was going to be harder. About the only advantage they had was that there would be so much confusion that it would be hard for the traitors to throw out a search cordon…

“Come on,” she said. A new hail of gunfire echoed over the city as she opened the door for the final time. “Let’s move.”

Horst wasn’t too surprised to discover, as the bar came into view, that it managed to live down to expectations. There were strict public health rules across the Reich, but the bartender had clearly decided to ignore them. Even when closed, he could smell alcohol and too many unwashed men in close proximity as he walked towards the building. He was surprised that the bar was closed, even though the provisional government’s emergency broadcasts had ordered all businesses to close. The bartender must have had other things to do with his time than serve alcohol.

He hesitated, torn between desperation and training. His training had always encouraged him to scout the ground thoroughly before charging into battle, but desperation pushed him onwards. He hadn’t seen a single policeman or soldier on his run to the bar, nor had he been able to make contact with anyone else. The public telephones had all been deactivated, he’d discovered. He hoped, desperately, that they’d been shut down deliberately, instead of being sabotaged. If the telephone network had been wrecked, coordinating operations across Berlin was going to become a great deal harder.

Bracing himself, he walked up to the door and threw himself at the wood. It splintered under the impact, crashing into the darkened building. Horst moved forward, drawing his pistol and holding it at the ready. He darted into the shadows, keeping himself hidden, but there was no sound that suggested someone – anyone – was within the building. Even the sound of distant gunfire was growing quieter. He crept forward and rounded the counter, then swore inwardly as he saw a body lying on the ground. It was clearly a young girl… cold ice trickled down the back of his spine before he realised it definitely wasn’t Gudrun. The dead girl’s hair was brown, her exposed legs scarred badly. Horst puzzled over the wounds for a long moment, then checked the body carefully. Her neck had been casually broken.

A barmaid, he thought, as he pulled back. The girl’s uniform was easy to place: a blouse and a skirt just barely on the right side of the decency laws. Just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He tensed as he heard something – a rustling noise – from the rear of the bar. Lifting his pistol, he slipped forward, listening carefully as he peered through the door into the backroom. Another body was sitting on a chair in the rear of the room, head resting on the table as if he were crying into his drink. Horst slipped forward…

…And then jumped forward as he sensed someone hiding behind the door, spinning around to see Schwarzkopf hurling a punch at him. Horst twisted, but it was too late to avoid a glancing blow that sent his pistol flying off into the darkness. Schwarzkopf cursed savagely, then hurled himself forward, slamming them both to the ground. Horst barely managed to land well, trying to push the older man away. He knew how to kill Schwarzkopf, but he needed to get answers first; he slammed a punch into Schwarzkopf’s chest, then hurled him over, slamming him to the floor. Schwarzkopf grunted in pain, his eyes darting from side to side, then stilled as Horst drew his dagger and held it to his eye. Threatening to blind him would probably be as effective as anything else.

“Traitor,” Schwarzkopf managed.

“You’re the ones who covered up the deaths of my comrades,” Horst sneered. “We could have handled it.”

Cold bitter hatred flowed through his heart. He still remembered the betrayal he’d felt, back when he’d discovered that Gudrun was telling the truth. Konrad had been wounded, crippled beyond any hope of recovery, yet no one had bothered to tell his parents. The SS was supposed to look after its people, wasn’t it? And yet, Schwarzkopf had clearly killed the bartender just to cover his tracks. The bartender’s wife was probably dead too, if she hadn’t been arrested when she tried to leave the Reichstag.

He gathered himself, meeting Schwarzkopf’s eyes. “Where is she?”

Schwarzkopf smirked. “And which her are we talking about?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Horst said. Schwarzkopf tensed as Horst placed the tip of the knife against his eyeball. “Tell me where she is or I’ll blind you.”

“She’s gone,” Schwarzkopf said. He snorted, rudely. “Did you think I would know where to find her?”

Horst stared down at him for a long moment. “You took her out of the city?”

“That was the plan,” Schwarzkopf said, casually. “Of course, they could have been killed as they crossed the lines. Or shot up by the stormtroopers as they retreat… nice-looking girl like yours, traitor. What do you think they’re going to do to her?”

“Damn you,” Horst said. “How were they planning to get out of the city?”

Schwarzkopf laughed at him. “What were you doing during training? Fondling yourself? I wasn’t told any of the details and if you bothered to actually think, you’d know I wasn’t told any of the details.”

Horst had to pull the blade back just to keep himself from ramming the dagger through the eye and straight into the brain. Schwarzkopf was right. No covert operative was ever told more than they needed to know, just in case they were captured by the enemy and forced to talk. Horst had endured weeks of training in resisting interrogation, but his instructors had made it clear that anyone could be broken. It was far safer not to know anything he didn’t specifically need to know.

And there was no trace of a lie in Schwarzkopf’s voice. He wouldn’t have been trusted completely, not by the commandos. If they’d suspected Horst – and it was clear they’d suspected Horst – they would have suspected his handler too. Horst had dropped the ball – or so they’d claimed to believe – and that meant that his handler had screwed up too, either by believing Horst or not keeping a close eye on him. No, Schwarzkopf wouldn’t know anything useful and…

A wave of despair threatened to overcome him. The commandos definitely wouldn’t stay in the city, not if they had orders to take Gudrun alive and deliver her to Germanica. And that, at least, had to be true. They could have tested Horst’s loyalty if they’d merely wanted her dead. But… if they tried to cross the lines surrounding the city, they might just be killed in the crossfire… and, if that happened, Gudrun would likely die too.

“You love her,” Schwarzkopf mocked. “And if you had kept a closer eye on her, she might not have died.”

Horst stabbed him. Schwarzkopf let out a gurgle as the dagger slipped into his brain, his body convulsing one final time before falling still. Horst stared down at him bitterly, wondering why he’d ever liked the older man. But back then he’d been secure in his role, he’d been sure he was doing the right thing. The students could be allowed a great deal of latitude, but they couldn’t be trusted. It had been his job to keep an eye on them…

…And he’d done it, too, until Gudrun had opened his eyes.

“Damn you,” he breathed. He wasn’t sure if he were talking to Schwarzkopf’s body… or himself. “Damn you to hell.”

Horst searched the body quickly, but found nothing apart from a pistol and two spare clips of ammunition. Schwarzkopf would have dumped everything that might have led a team of investigators back to his lair, taking that particular secret with him to the grave. And he’d mocked Horst…

He wanted to die, Horst thought. He opened Schwarzkopf’s mouth and frowned as he saw the suicide tooth, still in place. And he didn’t want to kill himself.

Gritting his teeth, Horst rose, kicked the body savagely and then searched the bar from top to bottom. There was no sign of anything that might lead him to the commandos; indeed, it looked as though the bar had been stripped of anything useful. The barrels of beer he would have expected to find were missing. Rationing had bitten hard, he knew, but it was still puzzling… unless someone had handed out the beer in hopes of causing a riot. Who knew?

A riot would make a good cover for trouble, he thought, grimly, and…

He sat down, hard, after he finished his search. He’d found nothing. He’d found nothing and Gudrun was gone. He didn’t even know where to begin looking for her. He wouldn’t even know if she was alive or dead, unless her dead body was found somewhere in the next few days. And it might not even be recognised before it was dumped in a mass grave…

I might never know what happened to her, he realised. And yet, if she falls into enemy hands…

There was nothing he could do to find her, he told himself, as he headed to the door. He didn’t have any way to know what had happened. And all he could really do was return to the Reichstag, report in and hope he didn’t get blamed for her capture. If, of course, she had been captured…

If she has, he vowed silently to himself, I will get her back, even if I have to tear Germany East apart.

“The Category A units have made it out of the kessel, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said.

Alfred scowled, ignoring Weineck’s tone. The Category B units had not made it out of the trap. One by one, they were being overrun and either crushed or forced to surrender. Some of them had died in place, fighting savagely, but others had simply surrendered once they realised they’d been sacrificed like pawns on a chessboard. Alfred knew he should be angry at them, yet there was no real point. He’d thrown them away, knowing they would be defeated, just to buy a little more time.

“Redeploy our airpower to keep us covered,” he ordered. No one seemed to have checked with Germanica – yet – but it was only a matter of time. “And then order the remaining units to move away from the city.”

He shook his head, slowly. A German army hadn’t been in headlong retreat since… since 1918, when the British had broken their lines and advanced into Germany itself. Even the desperate fighting around Moscow, back in 1941-42, hadn’t seen such a retreat, although a number of units had made tactical withdrawals. The Waffen-SS’s reputation for invincibility had been shattered in a single catastrophic day. Rebuilding what they’d lost in men and material alone would take time, but rebuilding their reputation could take years…

If we have the time, he thought, numbly. He was too tired, too worn, to care. The traitors will mount a counterattack as soon as possible.

Weineck cleared his throat. “It’s time to evacuate, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” he said, bluntly. “The demo teams have to rig the farm to explode.”

Alfred nodded. He was tempted to stay behind, to join the men he’d expended during the futile attempt to slow the enemy, but someone had to explain the retreat to the Fuhrer. If he took all the responsibility upon himself, perhaps – just perhaps – the remainder of his command staff would not be purged. The Reich was going to need them, in the weeks and months to come. There was no one else in Germany East capable of preparing for the coming onslaught.

“Understood,” he said, taking one last look at the map. “Let’s go.”