Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Seven

Berlin, Germany

3 September 1985

“I trust you had a pleasant flight?”

“It was smooth,” Gudrun said. She’d never flown before the uprising, but she’d discovered she enjoyed it. “If there hadn’t been so many delays, we would have made it back to Berlin before nightfall.”

“I dare say it doesn’t matter,” Volker Schulze said. “What did the French have to say?”

Gudrun hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to react to Schulze, these days. He would have been her father-in-law if she’d married Konrad, a glowering presence at family meals… she thought she could have endured it. Some of her friends hated their in-laws, but Schulze wasn’t a bad man. But now… he was Chancellor of Germany, ruler of the western half of the Third Reich and it had been Gudrun who’d started the chain of events that had put him in the big chair. She wondered, sometimes, if he blamed her for Konrad’s death… or if he still thought of her as a little girl. He’d known her since she was in diapers.

“They’re willing to keep sending supplies as long as we grant them political and economic independence,” she said, flatly. “They also want the occupied territories back, but I did my best to dissuade them.”

“I doubt they will accept it indefinitely,” Schulze said, gravely. He turned his chair, slightly, so he could peer out of the window into the distance. “No requests for military or technological support?”

“No,” Gudrun said. “All they want is the Gastarbeiters back.”

“That may cause some problems, in the short term,” Schulze mused. “But we will have to learn how to handle it.”

He turned back to look at her. “How long do you think Jacquinot can hang on to power?”

“I’m not sure,” Gudrun said. She looked up at Horst. “Do you have an opinion?”

“It depends,” Horst said. “If the SS retakes power, I imagine Jacquinot will get down on his knees for them and stay there until he dies. Ouvrard and his friends will be quietly removed, along with every other nationalist they can find. There will be no hope of resistance.”

He shrugged. “But if we win, or if the civil war bogs down, it will become a great deal harder to make predictions,” he added, after a moment. “They may offer troops to us in exchange for more concessions.”

“Or make use of the time to build up their own armies,” Schulze said.

“I imagine they are already working on expanding their forces,” Horst said. “But they’ll be very careful about picking a fight with us.”

“So they probably won’t try to go for Alsace-Lorraine,” Schulze said.

“I don’t think so,” Horst agreed. “We wouldn’t let that pass – and they know it.”

“So they know we are weakened, but not too weakened,” Schulze mused. “As long as they stay quiet for the moment… we’ll honour our side of the bargain.”

Gudrun nodded. “Has there been any news from the east?”

“The flood of refugees has been slowing down sharply,” Schulze said. “I don’t know if that means they’re clamping down on population movements or if everyone who wanted to flee the SS has managed to leave already. We may never know for sure.”

“True,” Horst agreed. “The SS has always been pretty popular in the east.”

“So you keep saying,” Gudrun said. Hardly anyone knew that Horst had once been an SS agent, a spy who’d switched sides. “I think I got the message.”

“You have to remember it,” Horst warned. “You may think that Holliston is a lunatic and his followers madmen, but there are plenty of people in the east who will see him as the second coming of Adolf Hitler. I don’t think they’ll crack under the economic crisis any time soon.”

“Of course not,” Schulze agreed. “The east can feed itself.”

He took a breath. “Right now, all we can do is muster our forces and prepare to fight – to the bitter end, if necessary,” he added. “I’d like you to visit the recruit training camps just outside the city, if you don’t mind. Let them see what they’re fighting for.”

“Of course,” Gudrun said. She rather suspected that Schulze didn’t quite know where to put her, but she understood. “Has there been any word from the Americans?”

“They’re making approaches to us, but it’s very quiet,” Schulze said. “It would not do for anyone to get wind of them.”

Gudrun nodded in agreement. Every last schoolchild in the Third Reich was told, time and time again, that the United States was a capitalist nightmare, a melange of interracial and incestuous breeding, a place where women led men and children ran riot in the streets. She was sure that was a lie – discovering that Jews weren’t misshapen monsters had shocked her to the core – but far too many Germans believed it without question. The mere suggestion that the Americans were backing the provisional government would cripple the government’s legitimacy. And it wasn’t as if it had much legitimacy.

“And they will certainly be considering their own interests,” Horst warned. “They will probably not be displeased if the Reich split into two pieces.”

“Or more,” Schulze agreed. “Germany North is tightly tied to us, but Germany South and Germany Arabia might manage to go their own way. I doubt either we or Germany East have the ability to force them back into line.”

“And they would become far more powerful, relatively speaking,” Gudrun said. International politics, she’d discovered, had a great deal in common with playground skirmishing. “They would prefer us broken and weakened.”

“Yeah,” Schulze said. “They may help us, but they’ll look to their own interests first.”

Gudrun nodded and rose. “I’ll see you at the meeting tonight?”

Schulze, thankfully, didn’t look surprised to hear she was intending to attend the Reich Council meeting. Gudrun was fairly sure that some of the councillors – particularly Arthur Morgenstern – thought she should be playing with dolls or looking for a suitable man, rather than involving herself in politics. It was infuriating, given that none of them would hold the positions they did if it wasn’t for her. But then, Morgenstern had an excuse, of sorts. His daughter was no older than Gudrun and she had a tendency to be silly.

So does her mother, Gudrun thought. But no one can deny she’s effective.

“It starts at seven,” Schulze said. “Be seeing you.”

Gudrun glanced at Horst as they walked out of the office, passing the pair of armed guards and heading down the corridor. No one was taking chances, these days; everyone believed that the SS could drop a second commando team onto the roof at any time. Gudrun had been told that the SS would have to get very lucky to sneak an aircraft through the growing network of air defence radars covering the Reich, but the SS had planned and carried out far more daring dangerous operations in the past. The guards – and clerical workers – were all armed, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t help wondering if that meant they would accidentally wind up firing on each other if there actually was an attack.

“He seems distracted,” she mused, as soon as they were out of earshot. “Is that normal?”

“He was a factory worker only a few months ago,” Horst reminded her. “Now he’s lost his son, seen his government overthrown and found himself forced to fill a pair of very big shoes.”

Gudrun nodded, feeling a stab of guilt. It had been her fault, after all. She knew she was being stupid – she knew the Reich would have had problems with or without her – but she couldn’t help feeling guilty. Hundreds of people had already died – perhaps thousands, in Germany East – and it was all her fault. She’d started the ball rolling.

“You need a bigger portfolio,” Horst added, as they walked down the stairs. “I imagine everyone else on the council is already jockeying for position.”

“I know,” Gudrun said. It was a minor frustration – and, she suspected, a bigger one for Schulze. He had a very mixed cabinet and almost all of them were trying to build power bases of their own. “But apart from representing the students… what can I do?”

“Probably aim for the interior ministry,” Horst said, after a moment. “You don’t have much experience, but the people underneath you would know what to do. You’d only have to set policy. And you wouldn’t be warped and twisted by years spent climbing up the ladder.”

Gudrun shook her head. “It might be better to run for a seat on the Reichstag, when we finally hold elections,” she said. “I’d have a reasonable chance of winning.”

“A reasonable chance,” Horst repeated. “I’d say very few people would dare to stand against you.”

“Hah,” Gudrun said.

She shook her head in irritation. She was famous, true. But a sizable percentage of the population refused to believe that a young girl – a girl – could possibly start an underground political movement. As far as they were concerned, Gudrun was nothing more than a latter-day Irma Grese; a woman, true, but not one who did anything for herself. There were quite a few people who claimed that the true originator of the movement had been killed by the SS – or had simply been too cowardly to reveal himself. They certainly didn’t give any credit to Gudrun!

“I’m serious,” Horst said. “But tell me. How long will it take for the various power blocks to outmanoeuvre the Reichstag?”

Gudrun scowled. She hadn’t known much about the inner workings of the Reich a year ago, but she’d always been a fast learner. The Reichstag had been nothing more than a rubber stamp for years, ever since Adolf Hitler had claimed supreme power for himself. Its members barely even met, save to engage in pointless ratification of laws and budgets hashed out by the Reich Council. Most of them had surrendered their posts without a fight almost as soon as it became clear the provisional government wasn’t going to collapse overnight.

And the Reichstag has no independent means to pressure the government bureaucracies, she thought, sourly. Their approval or disapproval is largely irrelevant.

“Not long,” she said, finally.

“Exactly,” Horst said. They reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the garage, walking across to the nearest government car. “The Reichstag doesn’t control anything, ergo the Reichstag is powerless. You need to fix that problem or our government will eventually collapse – or explode into chaos.”

Gudrun sighed, inwardly, as she climbed into the car. Horst was right, she told herself, as the engine roared to life. But she didn’t want to take a post she didn’t understand. It would be easy for her subordinates to outmanoeuvre her too, just as easily as the ministries could outmanoeuvre the Reichstag. The only way she could think of to give the Reichstag some clout was to put it in charge of distributing taxes, but the Finance Ministry wouldn’t give that up in a hurry. Hans Krueger might have been the closest thing to a moderate on the old Reich Council – he’d switched sides in a hurry – yet that didn’t make him a pushover.

It would mean giving up some of his power, she thought, rubbing her eyes.

She shook her head in irritation, mainly directed at herself. She’d dared hope that they’d bring lasting change – and they had – but she’d never thought she might have to keep working afterwards. And yet, what was she? A young woman who would become nothing more than a wife, a mother and a grandmother, while leaving the politics to the men? Or did she want to wield power and influence policy in her own right?

“I can be an idiot at times,” she muttered.

“Everyone can be an idiot at times,” Horst pointed out. “The only real question is just how well you cope with it when you realise your mistake.”

Gudrun nodded, then held his hand as she peered out of the window. It felt odd to be driving around the city in a government car, staring out of the tinted windows and knowing that the people couldn’t see her. She knew, all too well, that much of the city hated the government cars, hated how they could push everyone else off the road as they roared to their destinations. Now, she’d even heard reports of stones being tossed at government cars as they passed, even though the old government had fallen. Far too many repressed hatreds had started to come out…

“We have to win the war,” she said, as the car turned into a parking lot and stopped. “After that, we can worry about the politics.”

“Everyone else will be thinking differently,” Horst warned. “But if we don’t win the war, we’ll all wind up dead anyway.”

Gudrun nodded as Horst opened the door and helped her out of the car. She had no illusions about her fate if the SS captured her for a second time, particularly as they knew – now – that she’d been deeply involved in the movement, even if they didn’t believe she’d been the founder. She’d be tortured, then probably raped to death. The SS loved handing out gruesome punishments to traitors and terrorists. And her death would probably be displayed in cinemas all over the Reich, just to make it clear what fate any future rebels could expect.

Sickening, she thought.

She felt an odd twist in her belly as she walked towards the sports field. She’d had too much experience with them as a young girl, when the BDM matrons had forced her to run and play games until she’d been on the verge of collapse. She might have enjoyed some of the games, she admitted privately, if the matrons hadn’t taken them so seriously. The winning teams were always feted, but the losers were punished… as if they’d meant to lose.

And a great many matrons have been killed or forced to flee, she thought, nastily. No one was interested in protecting the bitches, not now. If only one in ten of their former victims had both the desire and nerve to take revenge, none of them would be safe. Serve the monsters right!

“They’re just warming up,” Horst said. “But at least they have enthusiasm.”

Gudrun nodded. The sports field was dominated by men, ranging from sixteen to twenty-five, who were being put through their paces by a handful of military veterans. Most of them, at least, would have a fairly good grounding, thanks to the Hitler Youth; a handful, she couldn’t help noticing, seemed to have let themselves get overweight since leaving school and entering the workforce. The veterans seemed to be working hard to separate out the ones with true promise from everyone else, she noted; the former would be amongst the first to be given guns and put on the walls.

If the SS reaches Berlin, she thought. If…

“Councillor Wieland,” a middle-aged man said. He reminded Gudrun of her father, although he didn’t have the iron sternness she’d come to associate with the man who’d sired and raised her. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

Gudrun smiled and shook his hand. “Thank you,” she said. He didn’t seem anything like as formal as her father either. “And you are?”

“Oberfeldwebel August Sattler,” the man said. “Recently called back into service after five years out of the Heer.”

“Thank you for your service,” Gudrun said, and meant it. “How are they shaping up?”

Sattler smiled as he turned to indicate the groups of men. “The ones with real military training – anything past the Hitler Youth – have already been forwarded to more advanced training cadres,” he said. “Everyone else… well, we’re getting there. Half of them are at the shooting range, learning how to put a bullet within a couple of metres of the target; the other half are doing PT here. There’s a handful that need more focused training, but realistically we don’t have the time to give them the care and attention they need.”

Gudrun frowned. “How bad is it?”

“Oh, there’s a handful of idiotic malingers in every batch of recruits,” Sattler said, dispassionately. “Little princes, mostly, who learned the wrong lessons in the Hitler Youth and never bothered to master discipline. Normally, we’d just send them for shit duty if they refuse to grow up; here, it’s a little harder to deal with them.”

“Send them to help build defences,” Horst suggested.

“It might come down to that,” Sattler said. “But realistically I wouldn’t trust them to dig a trench, let alone do anything more complex than carrying junk here and there.”

He shrugged. “Basic training normally takes at least three months, Councillor,” he added, bluntly. “I’ve been told that we may expect an invasion at any moment, so we’re cramming as much as we can into a single training period. They’re not going to be up to normal levels, no matter how hard we push them, but hopefully we can get some advantages that will balance those problems out.”

Gudrun frowned. “Like what?”

“Fighting in a city gives the defenders a great many advantages,” Sattler said, bluntly. “We can wear the enemy down, although at a very high cost.”

“Very high,” Horst said.

Gudrun nodded. She’d have to discuss it with him afterwards. “I understand,” she said, slowly. “What are the odds?”

“Impossible to calculate,” Sattler said. “Our contingency plans for defending Berlin, I have been told, are years out of date. Nothing is what it was back in 1960. We’re having to improvise defences and ready ourselves for a major offensive.”

“I know,” Gudrun said. She’d been told the same, by Voss and his comrades, but it was nice to have independent verification. The Wehrmacht was a power bloc in its own right. “Can you introduce me to some of your trainees?”

“Of course,” Sattler said. “If you’ll follow me…?”