Storm Front

Chapter Thirty-Three

Berlin, Germany

15 August 1985

“I’m glad to see you made it back alive,” Ambassador Turtledove said. “I was starting to worry.”

“It could have been a great deal worse,” Andrew assured him. “And we got the pictures out, which is something.”

“Definitely,” the Ambassador said. He waved a hand at the comfortable chairs. “Please, take a seat. I trust they weren’t too unpleasant?”

“Just slammed us into a cell for a couple of days,” Andrew said. “No search, no beatings… they must be going soft.”

“They certainly backed down when the entire city ground to a halt,” the Ambassador agreed, calmly. His secretary appeared with a couple of mugs of coffee. “Washington needs a full report, Andrew. What the hell is going on?”

“The cracks in the Reich have finally started to break open,” Andrew said. He took a long sip of his coffee before continuing. He’d expected worse when the Germans had swept him and Marshall off the streets, but the Reich had had worse problems than a pair of Americans poking their noses into the strikes. “We always knew they would, one day.”

The Ambassador nodded. His family was Jewish, although Andrew didn’t think he practiced himself. The Reich had slaughtered every Jew it could catch, without exception; there was no group in the United States that hated the Nazis as much as the Jews. He was mildly surprised the Nazis hadn’t protested Turtledove’s appointment – he was human, unlike the shambling monsters German children were taught to fear – but the Ambassador rarely met anyone outside the highest echelons of the Reich. It was unlikely the German population even knew his name.

“My contacts were predicting trouble,” Andrew added, after a moment. “The real question is just how far the Reich will reform.”

“It looks as though they have conceded everything,” the Ambassador noted. “Do you believe that’s true?”

Andrew shook his head. “I don’t see the old regime surrendering power so easily,” he said, carefully. “They were caught by surprise, I suspect, by the sheer volume of the strikes and street protests. The next time, sir, they will be a great deal better prepared.”

He took another sip of his coffee. “Legalising unions and protest groups may seem like a concession,” he added, “but it forces the leaders to come out into the open. They’ll paint targets on their backsides for the Waffen-SS to kick. I would be surprised if they weren’t already seeding the protest groups with spies and agent provocateurs, just to provide an excuse for crushing the crowds and arresting the leaders.”

“If the soldiers agree to fire,” the Ambassador noted.

Andrew shrugged. “The Waffen-SS will definitely fire,” he said. “Obedience and loyalty to appointed authority has always been one of their strengths. And… they’re like the marines, in some ways: a self-selected elite that considers themselves a cut above the rest.”

“As a retired marine,” Turtledove said stiffly, “I find that comparison highly insulting.”

“The principle is the same,” Andrew said, unfazed. He’d done his military service in the Rangers, before transferring to OSS. The lure of being like James Bond had drawn him into intelligence work, although supervillains and hot girls seemed to be remarkably thin on the ground. “The Reich has worked hard to ensure that the Waffen-SS owes loyalty to the Reich, to the concept of the SS, rather than to the German population. It doesn’t help that most of their eastern recruits see the westerners as…”

Turtledove smirked. “Cappuccino-sipping liberals?”

“More or less,” Andrew said. “The real problem, sir, is what happens after the protest movements are crushed?”

The Ambassador sighed. “That’s what Washington wants to know,” he said. “And it’s a question I can’t answer.”

“There are three possibilities,” Andrew said. He’d given the matter some thought while waiting in the prison cell. “First, the Reich goes back to normal. Second, there is a prolonged period of instability that will weaken the Reich over the long run. Third, outright civil war breaks out.”

“And the Reich has nuclear weapons,” the Ambassador said. “Do you think they’d start something with us, just to divert their people from the current crisis?”

Andrew frowned. He hadn’t considered that possibility.

“They’d need to provoke a bigger crisis than the Falklands War,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “One they could use to appeal to their own people. A shooting incident between the Brits and Germans? Something they could cool down if necessary. The real danger would be accidentally ending up with a full-scale war.”

He scowled, remembering a handful of war games he’d been required to observe during his last stint in Washington. There were too many questions over just how many advanced jet fighters, missiles and nuclear-powered submarines the Reich actually possessed, but it was generally agreed that the Germans could give the British a very hard time if they launched a major airborne offensive into British airspace, while using the Kriegsmarine to prevent reinforcements from the United States and Canada. And yet, could they do more? There were so many British and American troops in Britain itself that outright invasion might well be impossible.

But then, the same is true for us, he thought. Invading France would be one hell of a bloodbath.

The war games had suggested, even with both sides refraining from using nuclear weapons, that the war would be long, perhaps even terminating in a stalemate. Invading France would be costly, advancing through Iran into Germany Arabia marginally less so… it could be years before either side scored a decisive victory. And there were no silver bullets, no way to speed up the process. The United States and Britain would have to gird themselves for a fight that would make the last major war look like a minor spat.

“They’d have to be insane to provoke us,” the Ambassador noted. “They need shipments of computer tech from the United States.”

“They’re not exactly sane,” Andrew said. He knew too much about the Reich’s crimes to have any doubt about the nature of the beast. The Jews weren’t the only people marched into the concentration camps and gassed to death. Germany was a prison camp above ground and a mass grave below. “They may even feel that they can win a nuclear war.”

The ambassador shook his head in disbelief. Andrew understood. A nuclear exchange would devastate both sides, even with the ABM system. He doubted the Reich could survive after losing its cities, military bases and transit links to American nukes. God knew the enslaved populations would see a chance for freedom and take it, lashing out at what remained of the Reich. But the SS truly believed they were the Herrenvolk, the Master Race. They might feel they could survive a nuclear war and rebuild from the ashes.

“Washington would like to know if there’s anything we can do,” the Ambassador said. “Is there anything?”

Andrew frowned. Of all the personnel stationed in the embassy, he had the most contact with ordinary Germans. But even he didn’t know precisely what was going on in the Reich. The Germans themselves didn’t know.

“I don’t think so,” he said, finally. “We don’t know precisely who’s behind the protest movement, so we don’t know who to contact. And if we were caught speaking to the leadership, the Reich would have every right to declare us Persona Non Grata and toss us out of the country. They’d play the incident for all it was worth, sir. I think the only thing we can reasonably do is watch from a safe distance.”

Turtledove snorted. “Is there such a thing?”

“Maybe not, sir,” Andrew said. “But better the Reich remains concentrated on its own internal problems than looking at us and contemplating war.”

“There are some in Washington who’ll want to use this opportunity to put the boot in and end the cold war,” Turtledove said. He finished his coffee and placed the cup on the table. “Of course, they might just replace the cold war with a hot war.”

Andrew nodded. The Reich’s leadership had to be getting desperate, if they were prepared to make concessions rather than send in the Waffen-SS to bust some heads. They’d see the prospect of a war with America as a relief, perhaps. God knew they’d spent the last forty years preparing their population for one final war against the capitalist Jew-ridden pigs in the United States.

“Write a full report and include any suggestions you might have,” the Ambassador ordered, as Andrew finished his own coffee. “And make sure they know just how dangerous the situation is becoming. We don’t want to stumble into a war because some back-seat driver in Washington thinks he knows better than us.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew said. There might be a way to help the growing protest movement, but the Germans would turn against it if they believed that outsiders were helping the protesters. Hell, the Reich might see fit to portray them as American stooges. “Has the Reich said anything formally?”

“Not to us,” the Ambassador said. He didn’t sound surprised. The German Foreign Ministry talked to the Americans as little as possible. “I suspect they don’t want us to know just how bad things are becoming.”

Andrew nodded. “They’re likely to get worse,” he said. “I don’t see the regime just surrendering its grip on power. They’re not Americans. There aren’t regular elections with peaceful winners and losers. The Reich is a party-dominated dictatorship.”

“The federal government endures, no matter which party is in power,” the Ambassador said, curtly. “The Nazis may just need a few new figureheads.”

When, Reichsführer-SS Karl Holliston asked himself, had the Reich ever actually surrendered?

It hadn’t, as far as he could recall, certainly not to feckless civilians. The west had truly gone soft, if it was prepared to coddle strikers rather than punish them… and, for that matter, allow married women to march onto the streets as if they were men. Didn’t they know their duty was to remain at home, having babies and raising them while the men took care of the hard work? How dare they have political opinions of their own? How dare anyone have political opinions of their own?

Should have set the dogs on them, he thought. There were canine units in the east, deployed against work gangs of Untermenschen that rioted against their rightful superiors. And then have them publicly stripped and flogged to teach them a lesson.

But the Reich Council had surrendered. The Reich Council had made concessions. The Reich Council… had betrayed the Reich.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it had to be faced. Karl had thought he could count on Voss, as a matter of course, and several of the other ministers, yet they’d seen the protesters on the streets and turned against their sworn duty. Who cared how many students were arrested or killed on the streets when the Reich was in danger? The strikers… if they refused to work, they could be shot! And yet, the Reich Council – even the military – had betrayed its own people.

Two days, he thought, savagely. Two days and the world turns upside down.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. The reports had flowed in faster than the RSHA could handle them, long lists of new political committees all over the Reich. Thankfully, the rot hadn’t spread past Old Warsaw – Germany East wouldn’t tolerate dissent when the easterners had to fight constantly to defend their settlements – but it was everywhere else. Even a handful of warship crews had been caught holding political meetings, in defiance of naval regulations. The Kriegsmarine, which had failed in its duty once before, was now failing again by not stringing the crewmen from the nearest yardarm. And the French were growing bolder in their resistance to authority. It wouldn’t be long before strikes started to spread through the occupied territories.

And no matter what they say about the economy, he thought, the real threat is political.

Karl had never been to America, but he’d read the reports from German spies and political agents within the United States. America was a tottering country, permanently on the verge of collapse. The act of allowing the races to mingle alone had crippled the United States; allowing women the right to vote, to steer the course of global politics, had been worse. It was horrific to contemplate the destruction of all that was good, of all that was German, by a tidal wave of Untermenschen under the delusion that the state owed them something. One day, he was sure, the Americans would beg the Reich to save them from themselves, but until that day…

I have to make sure the madness doesn’t spread into the Reich, he told himself. And if the Reich Council cannot be relied upon, I have to handle it myself.

It was a bitter thought. He’d never liked or trusted the civilians, particularly the Finance Minister, but he’d thought he could count on the regular military as a fellow defender of German values. Young German lads might go reluctantly into the army – the Heer took conscripts, unlike any of the other services – yet when they left, they were imbued with the fighting spirit of Germany and a willingness to die in defence of the Reich. He’d expected better from the Field Marshals, the supreme commanders of the military, but they’d refused to do their duty and stand up to the whining civilians. They’d even allowed the rot to spread through their soldiers! It was worse than 1918-19!

“Herr Reichsführer,” Marie said. “Sturmbannfuehrer Harden is here to see you.”

“Good,” Karl said. “Send him in, then inform all callers that I am busy.”

He rose to his feet as Sturmbannfuehrer Viktor Harden entered the room and snapped off a perfect salute. He was a tall man, wearing a black uniform with a single death’s head pin on his shoulders. Harden lacked imagination, Kurt recalled, but he made up for it with bloody-minded ferocity that made him perfectly suited to one of the police battalions that supervised concentration camps, rounded up Untermenschen for work gangs, hunted down insurgents and policed Untermenschen townships in Germany East. There had been a whole string of complaints against the man, Karl reminded himself, mainly from senior military officers with weak stomachs, but Karl didn’t care. Harden got the job done and that was all that mattered to the SS.

“Herr Reichsführer,” Harden said. He sounded vaguely surprised. It was rare, vanishingly rare, for an SS police battalion to be ordered to Berlin. “You wanted to see me?”

“I did,” Karl said. He sat back down at his desk and studied Harden for a long moment before continuing. “You’ve heard the reports from Berlin?”

“Yes, Herr Reichsführer,” Harden said.

“The civilians” – it was hard not to spit in disgust – “believe that making concessions to the protesters will be enough to prevent another set of strikes,” he said. “Those concessions, however, will only whet their appetite for more concessions, for more political surrenders, for – eventually – the end of the Reich itself. It cannot be allowed.”

“Yes, Herr Reichsführer,” Harden said.

“The Berlin Guard cannot be relied upon,” Karl hissed. It was unthinkable, but it had to be tolerated, for the moment. The guard would be purged later or sent to South Africa. “Nor can the police. They will both be there, as a sign of strength, when the next protest begins, but they will do nothing to stop it. Their men have already been contaminated by the protesters, by the fear of injuring their women and children.”

He saw a smile of anticipation flicker across Harden’s face. The man was a monster, even by the SS’s standards, and his subordinates were, if anything, even worse. They had no qualms over slaughtering male prisoners and raping female prisoners before throwing any survivors into the army brothels – or worse. The unit existed purely to spread terror, purely to remind the Untermenschen that their lives belonged to the Reich. Bringing them to Berlin and turning them loose on Germans was a gamble, but it was one he had to take. There were times when even good Germans needed to be reminded that their sole duty was to the state.

“Yes, Herr Reichsführer,” Harden said. “My men will be happy to crush them for you.”

“Billet your men in the garrison,” Karl ordered. He’d been careful to ensure that only a handful of SS officers, let alone soldiers or civilians, knew he’d moved Harden’s unit to Berlin. “And stand ready to intervene when I call you.”

He watched Harden go with a cold smile. The man was thoroughly unpleasant – even a couple of SS officers had filed complaints – but he did good work. It didn’t matter to him just who his unit was told to attack; they’d slaughter helpless women and children, even German women and children, with the same enthusiasm they’d slaughter Slavic terrorists. The streets of Berlin would run red with blood. And, if something did go wrong, he would take the blame for the whole affair.

It was a shame, Karl thought. There were many good young women in the university, young women who should have been churning out the next generation of Germans. And the older women who’d spearheaded the protests in support of the strikers had good connections. They couldn’t be purged as long as their husbands held positions of power and influence. But that would change after Harden’s men had cleared the streets. The unmarried girls would be sent east, where they would become farm wives, while the married women were taught a sharp lesson before being returned to their husbands. They’d never dare go onto the streets again.

And the Reich Council will have no choice, but to back me, he thought, as he rose. There were other preparations to make. I will become the next Fuhrer and save my country from itself.