Ragnarok

Chapter Nine

Berlin, Germany Prime

30 October 1985

“I wish you weren’t going,” Adelinde Wieland said. “Herman, you have absolutely nothing to prove.”

“I’m an experienced soldier as well as a policeman,” Herman said. “They need me.”

“The war will not be won or lost because a slightly-overweight policeman picked up a rifle or not,” Adelinde said, curtly. “I may be a mere woman, but even I know that!”

Herman winced, inwardly. Nothing was the same any more. His daughter had turned the Reich upside down, his wife had turned into a politician… he honestly didn’t know where to stand. A year ago, he could have forbidden Adelinde — or Gudrun — from leaving the house, secure in the knowledge the law would back him up. Now… Adelinde would laugh at him if he tried. And he had never raised a hand to her before…

He took a sip of his coffee instead, wincing at the taste. They might be living in the Reichstag now, but they still couldn’t get good coffee. And breakfast had been nothing more than bacon, cheese and bread.

“I have to go,” he said, finally. “There’s no place for me here.”

“Foolish man,” Adelinde said. He would have snapped at her, perhaps broken his private rule about never striking her, if he hadn’t seen the tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you just because you think you have something to prove.”

Herman sighed, heavily. “Where else can I go?”

He met her eyes. “I won’t be a policeman much longer, even with our… connections,” he said. He’d never taken advantage of his daughter’s position before and he was damned if he was starting now. “The provisional government will disband most of us after the fighting is over — if we survive long enough to be disbanded. And what can I do then? Stay in bed like Frank?”

“My father died to save our lives,” Adelinde pointed out, stiffly.

“He died to save Gudrun’s life,” Herman said. It was irritating. He’d cordially disliked his father-in-law almost from the very moment Frank had moved in with them, but Frank had died a hero. “And I don’t want to be useless.”

Adelinde shook her head. “Please,” she said. “Don’t go.”

“I’ve already given them my word,” Herman said. “And you’ll find it easier to… to work if I’m not around.”

He sighed heavily, feeling an odd surge of bitter hopelessness. Nothing was the same any longer. And he was really too old to learn new tricks. He’d thought everything was predictable, a year ago; his sons would serve in the military, marry good women and sire children, while his daughter would become a housewife, bearing and raising the children of a good man. But now his daughter was a revolutionary, the country was gripped by civil war, and his wife wanted a career outside the home. And his entire family had been marked for death.

If I’d stopped Gudrun from going to university, he thought, would she be free now?

It was a bitter thought. He’d known how much the university meant to her, even though she couldn’t really do anything with a degree. What sort of man would be comfortable taking orders from a woman? Or hiring one, when there were plenty of male candidates for any given job? He’d honestly thought she was wasting her time. Hell, she could have gotten married at seventeen and had two or three children by now. No one would have thought any worse of her if she’d dropped out of school to marry and have kids. But instead…

“I can’t stay here and worry,” he admitted. “I have to keep myself occupied.”

Adelinde lowered her eyes. “Then take care of yourself,” she said. She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “And come back to me.”

Herman gave her a tight hug. He loved his wife. He’d loved her ever since he’d married her; he’d loved her, even when money had gotten tight and they’d had arguments that could probably be heard down the street. They’d lived together for twenty-five years; they’d raised their children together. And even now, even when he didn’t feel as though he understood the world any longer, he still loved her.

“I’ll come back,” he promised.

He kissed her once, tenderly, then picked up his jacket and walked out the door, heading down to the gates. The soldiers on duty saluted him as he passed; he saluted them back, then kept walking. He’d never really felt comfortable being feted, particularly as he hadn’t earned it in his own right. It was why he’d stayed a policeman after Gudrun had become a politician, even though he could have traded on her connections to rise in the ranks. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable boosting his own position.

And I don’t know what’s happened to her, he thought, numbly. Where is she?

He pushed the thought aside, somehow, as he made his way through the streets. Berlin felt different these days, now the siege was at an end. The massive street parties had faded, replaced by deserted houses as the older members of the city’s population were evacuated west and the younger members were pushed into the army. Even the young women had been given jobs, helping to clear the streets of rubble and keeping the city running. Herman couldn’t help wondering just what would happen in the future, now that Gudrun had shown that it was possible for a woman — a woman who was practically still a girl — to overthrow the government. Women wouldn’t remain subservient any longer.

The camp had been erected on the far side of the city, one of many providing refresher training to young men who had either left the military or had never served past the Hitler Youth. Herman joined the line of younger and middle-aged men and waited patiently until the guard checked his papers, then followed the pointing finger into the nearest set of barracks. A doctor gave him a quick check-up — he couldn’t help noticing that he was assisted by a pair of BDM maidens, something that would have been unthinkable in his day — before ordering him into the next room. Herman stepped through the door and joined another line of prospective soldiers, almost all of whom seemed to be middle-aged. He recognised a couple from the police and walked over to join them. The others seemed to be workers from all over the city.

They’ll have gotten their release from their employers, he thought, as a trio of NCOs ordered the men through another set of doors and onto the training field. They wouldn’t have been allowed to sign up without it.

He pushed the thought aside as the NCOs started to bark orders, putting the men through their paces. It was… kinder than he recalled, back when he’d been a paratrooper; he wondered, absently, if it was a subtle blessing or an unsubtle insult. He wasn’t the young man he’d been in those days, he knew; he was more mature, more controlled, but also less fit. He dreaded to think what the Hitler Youth would have done, if he’d turned up in such a state. Public humiliation would have been the least of it.

The memory made him shiver. There had been a boy in his class, a smart boy who’d been unfortunate enough to be a little pudgy. The Hitler Youth had put him through hell, mocking his weight, forcing him to humiliate himself time and time again… in the end, the boy had committed suicide and the instructors had just laughed, pointing to him as a prime example of a weak failure of a man. His parents had done nothing… Herman had no idea if they’d tried and failed, or if they’d hoped the Hitler Youth would make a man of their son. And now…

He could have kicked his past self for laughing. They’d laughed and joked about taking everything that was dumped on them, from endless exercises and forced marches to savage — often sadistic — corporal punishment. His own father had told him that pain was weakness leaving the body. But Herman had never been singled out, never been mocked in front of the entire class. Who knew what would have become of him if he had?

The Hitler Youth will not survive the coming years, he told himself, as the exercise routine finally came to an end. And the BDM has already been disbanded. Gudrun saw to it personally.

“Those of you who survived are being assigned to a rifle company,” the lead NCO bellowed, his voice shaking the parade ground. Herman looked around and discovered, to his shock, that a third of the volunteers had dropped out. He hoped, grimly, that it meant they’d merely discovered they couldn’t continue. “You’ll be issued weapons, then marched to the shooting range.”

And hope to hell we have enough bullets to sight our rifles properly, Herman thought, as they were marched to the next set of barracks. If we are short of ammunition, we may be in some trouble.

He gritted his teeth, feeling his body ache as he marched. Once, he’d marched over forty miles in a single day; now, he felt old and drained from a handful of exercises. Being a policeman in Berlin had seemed hard, but he should have known it was far — far — easier than being a soldier. Old age had crept up on him without him ever realising it. He winced as they walked past a group of younger men, the youngest barely old enough to shave. They looked far more energetic than the older men.

But we have to do what we can, Herman told himself, firmly. There’s nothing else we can do.

“You don’t look American,” a voice said, as Andrew stepped into the office. “That’s probably a good thing.”

“Thank you, Herr Oberleutnant,” Andrew said. “Can I pass for a Heer officer?”

Oberleutnant Sebastian Riemer looked Andrew up and down thoughtfully. “Probably not,” he said, after a moment. “Your German is perfect, but your pose is subtly wrong — you’d probably alarm anyone if you tried to take command.”

Andrew nodded, shortly. Riemer was unusual for a German soldier, in that he had close family connections in America. It was probably why he’d been detailed to escort Andrew, even though he was a potential security risk. He’d actually been in America, unlike almost every other officer Andrew had met. And, compared to the humourless SS officers who’d escorted him around before the civil war, he was a decent man.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t be loyal to the Reich, Andrew reminded himself firmly. The younger man was blond enough to have stepped off a recruiting poster, his eyes so blue as to be almost unreal. You cannot take the risk of trying to recruit him as a source.

“We’ve prepared papers for you,” Riemer added, picking up a wallet from the table and holding it out. “Make sure you stick to the cover story if you get caught.”

“Understood,” Andrew said. Posing as a German officer was risky, but being identified as American after being taken prisoner by the SS would be worse. Karl Holliston was unlikely to give much of a damn about American opinion after the United States had already intervened in the conflict. “I take it I don’t have any actual authority?”

Riemer shot him a wry smile. “What do you think?”

Andrew smiled back as Riemer escorted him through the door and down to the underground car park. A small vehicle — it looked so much like a jeep that Andrew was sure someone had stolen the plans from America — was waiting for them, a young soldier in the front seat. He climbed into the back and forced himself to relax as the jeep headed up the ramp and out onto the streets. Berlin seemed almost deserted.

Shortages of fuel, Andrew thought, grimly. Everything they have has been earmarked for the military.

He considered it for a long moment. The Reich had access to the vast oil fields of the Middle East, but the SS was in a good position to block all shipments to Germany Prime. That left the oil fields in Ploesti, yet they were supposed to be on the verge of running dry. It made him wonder just how bad the shortages were, in Germany Prime. The Reich was supposed to have put together a strategic oil reserve that made America’s look small, but he had no idea what had happened to it. By now, the demands of war might be making it run dry.

“You’ll be attached to a forward command post,” Riemer informed him, as they drove past the barricades surrounding Berlin and out into the countryside. “If you want to go further into the field, you may do so — but we cannot guarantee your safety.”

Andrew nodded. He’d seen too much of the fighting before the Waffen-SS had been driven away from the city, but he’d never realised just how much of the outskirts had been reduced to bloody rubble. Men and women — a surprising number of women — were poking their way through the debris, dragging out bodies and dumping them in the nearest mass grave; military engineers were working over the burned-out panzers, looking for pieces that could be salvaged and put back into service. It looked as though hundreds of panzers had been destroyed in the fighting, although Andrew had no way to know for sure.

A dull explosion echoed in the distance. Andrew glanced east and saw a plume of smoke rising into the air. A pair of aircraft headed eastward at terrifying speed, but evidently saw nothing worth attacking. Riemer didn’t even bother to look.

“They’ve been scattering mines and improvised bombs around as they make their way eastward,” he commented. “We’ve got teams out there scouring for booby traps, but they’re very good at hiding them.”

“They probably learned from the insurgents,” Andrew commented. American troops had had problems with IEDs too, in Mexico. “Don’t you have any locals who can help find them?”

Riemer gave him a sharp look. “Most of the locals were evacuated,” he said, crossly. “I wouldn’t give two rusty Reichmarks for the fate of the remainder.”

Andrew frowned. The Provisional Government had been filling the airwaves with tales of SS atrocities, although he had a feeling that most of their claims were being taken with a pinch of salt. German civilians were so used to being lied to — so used to being told lies that made it clear that their lords and masters didn’t have any respect for their intelligence — that they rarely believed anything they heard on the radio. But Andrew had heard enough — from his contacts and sources — to know that there had been atrocities. The Easterners had forgotten that the Westerners were also German.

He kept his thoughts to himself as they passed a line of men, wearing military uniforms and marching east. Andrew couldn’t help thinking that they looked surprisingly old for soldiers, although he knew there were some very long-serving soldiers in the National Guard back home. But then, the Reich was short on experienced manpower. They’d probably started press-ganging men who were too old to be front-line soldiers, but could teach the younger men what they needed to know before they went back to the war.

“They’ve been exchanging bursts of shellfire every so often,” Riemer said, as the sound of falling shells echoed in the air. “They just seem to be firing at random.”

Andrew scowled. German shooting wasn’t as accurate as he’d been led to believe — or so his observations suggested — but he had to admit that the SS could disrupt the Provisional Government’s preparations for war simply by firing shells at random. They might not hit anything important — it was unlikely they would hit anything important — yet they would cause confusion and damage morale. And they might consider anything that slowed down the coming offensive to be worth doing.

If winter comes before the Provisional Government can make it to Moscow, Andrew thought, the front line will literally freeze for five months.

He gritted his teeth as the jeep pulled into a military camp. Ambassador Turtledove had gone over the problem, again and again, with Washington. There was something to be said for prolonging the war — the Reich would be badly weakened — but it still heightened the risk of a nuclear release. Or something else that would upset the balance of power. There were plenty of rumours about other secret weapons…

But most of those rumours are nonsense, he thought. And they certainly haven’t shown any workable hardware.

He smiled at the thought as he clambered out of the car and submitted to a pat-down from the guards. There were plenty of stories about flying wings — and flying saucers — but the Reich had never managed to put them into practice. They’d certainly never managed to duplicate the B2 stealth bomber, even though they’d known it was designed to sneak through the vast air defences of the Atlantic Wall…

The irony chilled Andrew more than he cared to admit. It had taken decades — literally — for the panic over German super-science to die down. And why not? Germany had been first to launch a missile, first to put a man in orbit, first to put a man on the moon…

…But they’d never been able to match the United States. Countless billions of dollars had been spent, first in catching up with the Germans and then getting ahead of them…

And now the Germans are tearing themselves apart, Andrew told himself, as he walked into the tent. And we may have won the cold war without firing a shot.