Ragnarok

Chapter Seven

Germanica (Moscow), Germany East

29 October 1985

Karl Holliston rarely liked to admit his mistakes. It was, he’d learned as a child, a form of weakness. And yet, he conceded, dragging Gudrun into his office — in chains — had been a mistake. He’d expected a cringing girl, but he’d underestimated her. The questions she’d asked — the questions he’d dismissed — had struck a nerve. Far too many of his subordinates would have asked those questions themselves, if it had been safe to do so.

He scowled as he walked into the Map Room. It would be easy to have Gudrun shot — or tortured — but that would serve no purpose. He needed to break her. And he needed to use her to break her friends and allies in the treacherous Provisional Government. But that would take time, time he suspected he didn’t have.

“I have received word from one of my agents in Berlin,” he said, once the door was firmly closed. It wasn’t something he would have said out loud, not normally, but he needed to remind his officers that he had access to sources they didn’t have. The Waffen-SS had good reason to be annoyed with him. “The enemy is planning an early offensive.”

Oberstgruppenführer Alfred Ruengeler frowned. “How early?”

“As in the next two weeks,” Karl said, flatly. “They’re planning to pocket our forces and destroy them.”

Ruengeler turned his attention to the map. “They’ll find it hard to get enough forces into position to pocket ours,” he said. “We blew all the bridges and mined most of the roads…”

His voice trailed off. “They’d have to erect pontoon bridges as they went along,” he mused, slowly. “But if they were determined… and they had enough air cover.”

Karl nodded, impatiently. The Waffen-SS had concentrated on close support aircraft for the troops, not jet fighters. Normally, the Luftwaffe would have provided top cover, but now the remainder of the Luftwaffe was on the wrong side. And losses during the Battle of Berlin had been staggering. His few remaining aircraft had been pulled back from the front lines to airbases where they would be held in reserve, implicitly conceding the skies to the rebels…

And if they bring in help from the Americans, he thought, we will never regain air superiority.

“We will have to pull back our forces,” Ruengeler said. “If we lose the remaining divisions, Mein Führer, we will lose the war along with them.”

“No,” Karl said. “We cannot let the enemy gain a foothold in Germany East.”

Ruengeler looked unconvinced. “Mein Führer,” he said, “if they destroy those divisions, they will gain that foothold anyway.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Karl said.

He scowled at the map. Ruengeler was a military man. He didn’t understand the political issue — or the looming disaster threatening the entire Reich. If the rebels gained control of a substantial section of Germany East, they could use it to undermine his support and encourage his subordinates to overthrow him. The collective loyalty of the senior Gauleiters couldn’t have filled a thimble. If they saw their power under threat, they would try to find ways to come to terms with the rebels.

And while they will probably fail, he thought savagely, they will probably bring me down with them.

The thought made him clench his fists in rage. If he’d assumed supreme power earlier… but he hadn’t. There were too many high-ranking officers and party leaders who owed nothing to him, who feared that he would promote his favourites above their heads. Karl couldn’t risk alienating them, not yet. But by keeping them around, he was giving them a chance to stick a knife in his back…

The entire edifice is unstable, he reminded himself. We haven’t had a proper Führer for far too long.

Ruengeler coughed. “Mein Führer?”

Karl almost jumped. Ruengeler had been speaking and he hadn’t been listening. But he didn’t dare ask what the younger man had said. He couldn’t show weakness, not now.

“We cannot abandon Warsaw,” he said, instead. “The rebels would be able to use it to funnel their troops further east.”

“Yes, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said. “But we cannot defend Warsaw either.”

Karl looked up at him. “We have deployable nuclear bombs,” he said. “Perhaps it’s time we used them.”

Ruengeler hesitated. “Mein Führer,” he said slowly, “they have warheads too.”

“Yes, they do,” Karl agreed. “But will they be willing to use them on their fellow Germans?”

He pointed a finger at the map. “If they push forward and fight a conventional battle,” he said, “they will have a good chance of crushing us. Correct?”

“Correct, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said.

“And if we retreat eastwards, we concede too much territory to them,” Karl added. “We need a third option.”

He studied the map for a long moment. “We let them thrust their spearheads forward, then hit them with the nuclear weapons,” he said. “That will send them stumbling back in disarray.”

“I would need to study the issue,” Ruengeler said, slowly. “We have never deployed nuclear weapons on the battlefield.”

“Then do so, quickly,” Ruengeler ordered. “We have to make it clear that we will not be crushed and broken!”

“Yes, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said.

Karl nodded, then turned and headed for the door. He’d be back later, but right now there was too much else to do. His subordinates needed to be watched, carefully, as they carried out his orders. He needed to nip any problems in the bud before they brought him down…

…Or before someone decided to take advantage of the planned enemy offensive for themselves.

It was an open secret that many of the direct links between Germany Prime and Germany East were still usable. The telephone network had been designed to survive an American attack. He’d closed off some of the exchanges, of course, but many of his powerful subordinates would have little trouble using the network to make contact with friends and allies on the other side of the line. Karl had no trouble imagining a particularly ambitious official planning an assassination, even as the Heer marched eastwards. Someone who took the rebels Karl’s head would be assured of a warm welcome.

But he won’t be able to take it easily, he thought, darkly. And that’s all that matters.

How the hell, Oberstgruppenführer Alfred Ruengeler asked himself in the privacy of his own mind, did it come to this?

He knew better than to say it out loud. The Reichstag was not a friendly place. There were eyes and ears everywhere, just watching and waiting for someone to slip up so that they could be reported. The merest hint of treachery would be enough to land someone in the camps, if they opened their mouth at the wrong time. There was no one Alfred could talk to, even if he’d trusted anyone with his concerns. His closest friends might betray him if they thought their lives — and those of their families — were at risk.

Alfred had been in the Waffen-SS for decades. His father had marched him down to the recruiting officer the day he’d turned sixteen, using his contacts to make sure his son didn’t have to wait an extra year before being shipped off to the nearest training centre. He’d never considered himself anything other than a soldier; he’d certainly never embraced the attitudes of those charged with monitoring the Volk. And yet…

He’d never seen the test sites in Siberia, where the first German atomic bombs had been detonated, but he’d seen photographs from the Middle East. Four cities had been destroyed, their survivors poisoned… they’d been lucky, in a way, that they’d been shot down almost as soon as they’d been discovered. At least they’d been spared a lingering death. And yet, the thought of unleashing such horrors on German soil chilled him to the bone.

But what choice was there?

Alfred had fought for the Reich in a dozen different countries, climbing up the ranks as he gained more and more experience. And it had shaped his worldview more than he cared to admit. The Reich was not perfect — it had many flaws — but it was still stronger than America or Britain. Their enemies embraced a chaotic lifestyle that would eventually bring them down, he was sure.

And if that is true, a little voice whispered at the back of his head, how come their technology is so much better?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. If the rebels and traitors won, the Reich would come apart at the seams. He had no illusions about what the Untermenschen would do, if they got a taste of freedom. The French would demand their freedom, then the return of territory taken during the last war… it would be utter madness. What was Germany without discipline, without everyone knowing their place?

And the whole crisis was started, he told himself, by a girl who did not know her place.

And yet… and yet…

He hadn’t looked into her story. He hadn’t considered her very important when he’d been on the front lines and now, when he knew she was important, he didn’t dare try to access the files. But there had been something in Holliston’s reaction that convinced him that she’d been telling the truth. And that meant… what?

If our soldiers are being betrayed, he asked himself, what does that say about us?

He shook his head as he walked into the smaller office and peered down at the maps his subordinates had placed on the table. Warsaw was more than just a city; Warsaw was the communications and transport hub for the entire region. Of course the rebels would want it — and of course Holliston couldn’t just give it up. But to use nuclear weapons? There was very little protective gear in the district. None of the stormtroopers had any protective gear…

…But what could he do about it?

Get them what I can, he told himself. And hope that it would be enough.

He could try to talk the Führer out of it, he supposed, but what could he say that would be convincing? Nothing came to mind, because there wasn’t anything. The planned thrust eastwards — if the Führer’s source was accurate — would either destroy the remaining SS divisions, thus shortening the war, or take a large chunk of Germany East that could be used as a springboard for a spring offensive. Nuclear weapons might be the only way to slow the offensive long enough to rebuild the military…

And there was nothing he could do.

He’d heard rumours, of course, as he’d handed his command over to his second and headed back to Germanica. He’d expected to be turned into a scapegoat for the failure and executed, just to save Karl Holliston from the consequences of his own mistakes. But instead… he was trapped in hell. There was nothing he could do to keep the Führer from using the weapons, nothing he could do to save himself and his family if he crossed Holliston. He was trapped…

…And there was still nothing he could do.

“I’m going to unlock your chains,” Katherine said, as she pushed Gudrun into the cell. “If you do anything stupid, you will regret it.”

Gudrun nodded, feeling a twinge of relief mixed with fear. Horst had tried to teach her some moves, but Katherine was stronger and far faster than Gudrun could ever hope to be. Any resistance would be futile — no, worse than futile. Katherine would use it as an excuse to punish her, to rub her hopelessness in her face. All she could do was wait patiently, take the abuse as best as she could and pray for a chance to escape.

She glanced down at her hands as Katherine undid the cuffs. Nasty purple bruises had formed around her wrists, mocking her. She rubbed at them, cursing the dull ache under her breath. Katherine undid the chains around her feet, then carefully removed the cuffs before Gudrun could think of any way to use them as a weapon. She would have sold her soul for a pistol and a skeleton key.

But getting out of here would still be impossible, she thought, morbidly. Perhaps I should find a way to kill myself.

She looked up at Katherine. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t want to ask for anything else, but her stomach was rumbling unpleasantly. “Can I have something to eat?”

“Yes,” Katherine said. She sounded displeased about something. “Wait.”

Gudrun sat down on the bed as Katherine backed out of the cell. If she’d had the energy, she would have laughed. She was too tired and hungry — and aching — to risk attacking Katherine, even if she’d thought she could win the fight. But Katherine was treating her as if she was an incredibly dangerous prisoner…

I can use that, she told herself. But how?

It felt like hours before a man stepped through the outer door, carrying a tray of food. He studied Gudrun coldly, his eyes flickering over her as if she wasn’t really worthy of his attention, but she felt nothing. Karl Holliston had paraded her in front of his men, trying to humiliate her by displaying her nearly-naked body… she was too far gone to care. The tray was pushed through the hatch in the wire, allowing her to pick it up and examine it. There was nothing apart from a bowl of slop and a plastic glass of water. The slop — she had no idea what was in it — smelt foul and tasted worse, but she ate it anyway. There was nothing else to eat. The water tasted… odd, odd in a manner she couldn’t describe. It dawned on her, too late, that the water might easily have been drugged…

…But there was nothing she could do about it.

Her head started to swim a moment later. She forced herself — somehow — to sit back on the bed and lie down before darkness started to overcome her. There was a crashing sound as the remains of the tray hit the floor, but she was too tired and dizzy to care…

…And then she fell straight into the darkness.

Karl Holliston cared very little for sex. Power, in his experience, was so much more rewarding; if nothing else, power could bring willing women to his bed. But he had to admit, as the doctors adjusted Gudrun’s position before beginning their examination, that she was a beautiful girl, practically the ideal of German womanhood. Blonde hair, flawless complexion, blue eyes, willowy figure… she would have made a good wife, if she’d stayed in her place. A woman shouldn’t be involved in politics. It was no place for her.

He scowled at the pale-faced doctor as he walked into the sideroom. The man was slime, even by the admittedly low standards of the SS. A sadist, a monster, a man with a complete lack of scruples… the SS found him useful, even as much of them found him surprisingly disgusting. Practicing his talents on Untermenschen was one thing, practicing them on good Germans was quite another. But there was no denying he knew his job.

“Well?”

“She isn’t a virgin, Mein Führer,” the doctor said. He licked his lips, salaciously. “The rumours that she was married may be true.”

“Or she simply gave up her virginity to the first man who came along,” Karl snarled. It had been years since he’d worn the black uniform to impress the girls, but he still remembered how easy it had been to get them into bed. “Is she pregnant?”

“Not as far as we know, Mein Führer,” the doctor said. “But if she was married only recently, a pregnancy might not show.”

Karl considered it for a moment, then dismissed the thought. It wasn’t as if he would have treated her any differently. Pregnant or not, Gudrun was too dangerous to be allowed to live unmolested. Normally, the female relatives of traitors would be shipped east and married off to men struggling to tame the frontier, but Gudrun was a traitor herself. Her mere existence was an offense against the natural order.

“Never mind,” he said. “How about her health?”

“Generally speaking, Mein Führer, she’s in rude health,” the doctor said. “If there was any starvation in Berlin, she wasn’t starving. The last few days, of course, won’t have been easy for her, but she’s not suffered any permanent damage.”

“Very good,” Karl said. Perhaps the titbit about Gudrun not starving — when the reports indicated that Berlin had been on the brink of starvation — could be used against her. “Can you break her?”

The doctor frowned. “It would depend on just what you wanted, Mein Führer,” he said, carefully. “Anyone can be broken, but…”

“I want her alive, able to answer questions, and ready to condemn her former allies,” Karl said, shortly. “She is not to be a quivering mass of jelly when we put her in front of the cameras.”

“Yes, Mein Führer,” the doctor said.

Karl fixed him with an icy look. The doctor had a proven track record for breaking his subjects, but not all of them had been useful afterwards. And Karl needed Gudrun to be useful.

“If she is useless to me afterwards,” he warned, “you too will be useless to me.”

The doctor swallowed. “Yes, Mein Führer,” he said. He’d only survived so long, even in the SS, because of Karl’s patronage. If Karl dumped him, for whatever reason, he’d be lucky to live long enough to flee the city. “But breaking her so completely will take time.”

“We have time,” Karl assured him. “But I want her ready as soon as possible.”