Storm Front

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Berlin, Germany

21 August 1985

Viktor opened his mouth in shock as his men started to fall.

He hadn’t anticipated armed resistance. This wasn’t Russia, where the Untermenschen hoarded what weapons they could steal from Germans; this was Germany, where possession of automatic weapons was strictly regulated. The marchers should have been incapable of doing anything other than running for their lives – or dying, when his men shot them down like dogs. And he certainly hadn’t anticipated the soldiers opening fire on his men. The Heer might have its doubts over what his unit did, but they understood its value…

“Return fire,” he snapped. The army was in revolt. It was the only explanation. Thankfully, the SS existed to keep the army in line. “Kill them all…”

A bullet slammed into his chest. Viktor stumbled and fell, just as another bullet cracked into his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Kurt had always wondered just how the Berlin Guard would do against a crack unit of the Waffen-SS. The SS certainly boasted of their fighting prowess – Konrad had certainly been happy to insist that they were unrivalled on the battlefield – but the unit that had fired on unarmed civilians had disintegrated under the first salvo. He had expected more of a fight, honestly; men experienced in counter-insurgency warfare should take into account, he thought, the prospect of suddenly coming under fire from an unexpected direction. But the SS had melted away, leaving him with an unexpected problem. He’d just killed the CO and slaughtered an SS detachment. What the hell did he do now?

A man lurched out of the pile of marchers and stumbled towards him, blood trickling down his face. Kurt almost shot the newcomer before he recognised him; Volker Schulze, Konrad’s father. The man had been a factory foreman, if Kurt recalled correctly; if rumours were to be believed, he was also one of the unionists. And yet, he’d also been an SS officer before retiring to civilian life.

“Kurt,” Schulze said. It was suddenly easy to believe the man had been a soldier. “Get your men organised. We need to take the Reichstag.”

Kurt stared at him. “The Reichstag?”

“Yes,” Schulze insisted. “We have to stop the SS before they do something stupid. I’m getting everyone who has military experience lined up, but they don’t have any weapons.”

I’ve just started a civil war, Kurt thought, numbly. Had any unit mutinied so badly since the dark days of 1918? And he’d taken the lead. They’ll kill me when they catch me.

Training took over. “Jawohl,” he said. Schulze was a good man – and he was right. They could take the Reichstag and force the government to surrender before it was too late. “I’ll get my men organised now.”

“The… the troops mutinied?”

“Yes, Herr Reichsführer,” the observer said. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the alarm echoing through the building. “The Berlin Guard opened fire on Sturmbannfuehrer Harden’s men. They have been scattered, while the guardsmen prepare to storm the building.”

Karl had to fight to keep his expression under control. He’d expected a quick slaughter, followed by a long period of cleaning the blood from the streets and purging the politicians and activists who’d brought Germany low. But now… all of a sudden, it dawned on him that he might have made a deadly mistake. He was no coward – the thought of dying for the Reich held no terrors for him – but everything could be lost along with him. He’d been careful not to anoint a successor, knowing it would cause problems in the future. And yet, that too had been a mistake. If he died, there would be a power struggle within the SS at the worst possible moment.

I can’t allow myself to die, he thought. He knew just what the crowd would do to anyone they caught within the Reichstag, now the myth of the government’s invincibility had been shattered once and for all. And I cannot let the Reich Council make any more mistakes.

He rose. “Have my security detail escort me to the helipad,” he said. There was always a helicopter ready and waiting, just in case the Reich Council needed to leave in a hurry. “And then send out a message on the emergency channels. Condition Wilhelm. I say again, Condition Wilhelm.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” the observer said.

Karl cursed savagely as he hurried out of the office and into the antechamber, where a trio of heavily-armed stormtroopers were waiting for him. Condition Wilhelm was a coup, to all intents and purposes; SS officers and infantry on thousands of military bases would take control and put the bases into lockdown, ensuring the mutiny couldn’t spread. And, by the time the dust had settled, the SS would be in complete control of Germany. But there hadn’t been time to make all the preparations…

And word will be spreading, he thought. He wondered briefly if he had time to lead the way to the council chamber and execute the councillors, starting with the damned Finance Minister, but he knew he didn’t dare. They’ll be screaming to the Heer, telling them to join the mutiny and turn on the SS.

“Herr Reichsführer,” the lead stormtrooper said. He carried a rifle in one hand, held at the ready. “The building has gone into lockdown; the corridors are clear.”

“Excellent,” Karl said, checking the pistol at his belt. He wasn’t the only one with a security detail, but the SS controlled the building. Everyone else would, hopefully, be running around in confusion while he made his exit. “Take me to the helicopter.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” the stormtrooper said.

Gudrun had thought the last protest was bad, but this was a nightmare. She stood as soon as Horst rolled off her, yet she almost wished she hadn’t as she glanced around, taking in the horrors surrounding her. Hundreds of dead bodies lay on the ground, while the wounded were screaming for help, help she feared would never come. Even the sight of the soldiers finishing off the remains of the SS was no consolation. She’d led the dead and wounded to meet their doom.

She swallowed hard, wondering if anyone would still listen to her, and cleared her throat. “If you’re not wounded, start helping those who are,” she shouted. Thankfully, the BDM had taught basic first aid, even if it had been more focused on helping children than adults. She silently promised herself she’d thank her tutors if she survived the day. “Bandage their wounds… sort out who can be saved!”

Her eyes caught sight of a boy she knew to be a skilled runner. “Get to the nearest hospital,” she ordered, hoping he wasn’t too stunned. None of the students had any real experience with uncontrolled violence. “Tell them we need doctors and ambulances out here now!”

Horst grabbed her arm. “Send someone to the nearest computer station,” he ordered. “We have to spread the word.”

Gudrun stared at him, wildly. “We have spread the word,” she said. “And look what happened!”

“It’s going to get worse,” Horst said. “You know what the SS will do, if the bastards have a chance to rally. The military needs to be warned!”

Herman hurried onto Victory Square with the remainder of the police reinforcements – and stopped in horror at the sight that greeted him. Dead bodies, wounded students and adults… it was like stepping into a war zone. And they were Germans, not Untermenschen. He looked at the soldiers, readying themselves for an assault on the Reichstag, and the bodies of the SS men lying where they’d fallen, and knew civil war had begun. The soldiers wouldn’t have attacked the SS unless they’d stepped well over the line.

“Get in touch with the station,” he ordered. The Captain was nowhere to be seen, unsurprisingly. He probably couldn’t decide which side to take and was hiding, rather than commit himself. “Tell them to send all the medics they can find.”

He caught sight of Gudrun and shivered. His daughter seemed unharmed, but her white shirt was stained with blood and she was organising the students to take care of the wounded. He wanted to drag her away from the scene, yet he knew it was far too late. Gudrun had asserted her independence, no matter what he thought about it. He looked up at the brooding Reichstag – a sniper could easily start raining bullets down on the crowd – and then reminded himself it was time to take a side.

“And warn them to arrest any SS officers in eyesight too,” he added. He glanced up as a helicopter lifted off from the building’s roof and vanished into the distance. Thankfully, either it wasn’t armed or the pilot thought the soldiers had antiaircraft missiles on hand. “It’s the only hope of preventing a civil war.”

Hans was in shock.

He’d been tricked, he saw now, and the hell of it was that he’d practically tricked himself. He had been so grateful for Holliston’s support for the budget cuts that he hadn’t really considered why Holliston had supported him. He’d seen one reason – Holliston did have something to gain from budget cuts – but he hadn’t seen the other. Holliston had deliberately provoked a protest march, which he’d then turned into a massacre.

And even he didn’t expect to see the Berlin Guard turn on the SS, Hans thought. The whole world had been turned upside down.

“He’s gone,” Voss said. The building was in lockdown, but the military security detachments were trying to open a pathway to safety for the Reich Council. “Left his secretary and ran for the helicopter.”

Hans closed his eyes in bitter pain as a low rumble ran through the building. There was no point in trying to escape, not now. The secret passageways led directly to the various ministries dotted around Victory Square, but the mob had the streets under control already, even if they hadn’t stormed the buildings themselves. They’d counted on using the helicopter to escape Berlin, if the Americans launched a surprise attack, and Holliston had beaten them to it. It was impossible to escape the feeling that the SS Reichsführer had intended to cause a riot and leave his comrades to die.

“I managed to get a brief message out to the nearest garrison,” Voss added. “They’ll warn the rest of the Reich about the SS.”

The building shook, again. Hans sighed and sat down, wondering just what would happen when the mutineers burst into the chamber. It wouldn’t be long now.

Kurt had no idea what sort of opposition would await his men in the Reichstag, but there was no time to do more than the most basic planning before knocking down the gates and swarming the building. Several of his men had vanished in the chaos; a number of policemen had offered to bring up the rear, including – he was surprised to see – his own father. Kurt ordered them to be ready to take prisoners, then led the way into the building. There was almost no opposition, save for a pair of SS troopers who were blasted out with thrown grenades after they made a stand. Kurt couldn’t help being glad the murdering bastards he’d killed hadn’t been anything like as determined to hold the line.

“Hands on your heads,” he bellowed, as they cleared the ground floor and made their way up to the next level. “Get the prisoners down to the halls and leave them there, under guard.”

There was no further resistance as they slipped further and further up the building. Kurt couldn’t help being astonished by the sheer opulence of the decorations – including hundreds of artworks he’d only seen in books – and just how quickly the low-level bureaucrats surrendered, when they saw the soldiers. The building was solid enough to ensure that a determined defence could hold it for quite some time, particularly when the intruders had no idea which corridor led where. But he was grateful for the lack of resistance, right up until they broke onto the highest level. A hail of fire greeted the soldiers as they climbed up the stairway.

“Surrender,” Kurt shouted. A handful of grenades would be more than sufficient to clear the way. “Give up now and you won’t be harmed.”

There was a long pause, then someone shouted back. “What about the Reich Council?”

“They will not be harmed either, provided they surrender,” Kurt said. He had no idea if he was authorised to make any such promises – it wasn’t as if they had a command authority – but it would encourage them to surrender without further delay. “Tell them to give up and they will remain unharmed.”

He muttered orders to his men as he waited for a reply. God alone knew what sort of equipment the Reich Council had on hand. They could be calling for help, even now, although the Berlin Guard itself was the closest military unit to the city. Unless, of course, the Waffen-SS had another division on hand. He didn’t think there were any closer than Warsaw, but he hadn’t thought the SS would bring a police unit from Germany East to Berlin either.

“They want to negotiate,” the voice shouted, finally.

Kurt shook his head. It sounded like a delaying tactic to him. “They can surrender now or we’ll force our way into the chamber,” he said. “You have five minutes to decide.”

He braced himself, unsure just what to expect. The Reich Council didn’t seem to have expected trouble, not if they were gathered in the Reichstag rather than observing events from a safe distance. Indeed, if the SS hadn’t opened fire, there probably wouldn’t have been any trouble. Everything he’d seen suggested that the Reich Council had been as surprised as the Berlin Guard… although there was the lingering question of just who’d been in that helicopter.

“They would like to surrender, but they insist on talking to the dissident leaders,” the voice said, after four minutes. “Is that acceptable?”

“Fine,” Kurt said. Volker could talk to them. He’d been in control of the unions, after all; he was probably the most powerful man in the dissident movement. “We’re coming up now, so put your weapons on the ground and step away from them.”

He forced himself to walk up the stairs, unsure of what he’d see when he reached the top. A handful of soldiers wearing combat battledress – close-protection specialists, he guessed – and a couple of civilians, looking nervous. They were rapidly cuffed as Kurt led the way into the next room, where a dozen men waited for him. The Fuhrer and Field Marshal Voss were instantly recognisable – their portraits hung in the barracks – but the others were strangers.

“This is an outrage, soldier,” the other Field Marshal said. “Stand down at once and…”

“So is ordering troops to fire on innocent civilians,” Kurt snapped. He lifted his rifle and gestured threateningly. “If any of you are carrying any weapons, say so now.”

He gave them a moment, then jerked his rifle barrel, indicating they were to rise. “You will be kept separately from the other prisoners until we have decided your final disposition,” he said. He had no idea what would be the best thing to do with the former Reich Council; that, too, was best left to Volker – and Gudrun. “Do not attempt to speak without permission or you will be shot.”

And if they do regain power, he thought morbidly, as his men searched the uppermost level and marked offices as temporary cells, they’ll have problems deciding precisely which of my crimes to put on my execution warrant.

It felt like hours before Gudrun could take a rest. Horst by her side, she had thrown herself into helping the wounded and preparing the dead for honourable burial. It had been a nightmare – the streets were slippery with blood – but there had been no choice. Someone had to take charge and deal with the chaos. By the time Kurt – wearing his combat uniform – came to find her, she was tired and cranky.

“Gudrun,” Kurt said. He looked around, then back at her. “If I’d known this would happen when I helped you sneak into a hospital…”

“She did the right thing,” Horst said. He somehow managed to sound fresh. “The government had to be beaten.”

Kurt gave him a sharp look. “And how much of the country do we control?”

“Good question,” Gudrun said. She rose and peered at her brother. “Who’s in charge right now?”

“Konrad’s father,” Kurt said. “He wants to see you.”

“I’m coming,” Gudrun said. “Horst?”

“I’ll come with you,” Horst said. “If you’ll still have me.”

Gudrun slipped her hand into his. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She sobered as she followed her brother through the remains of the gates and into the building. She’d never been inside and part of her was quietly fascinated, a feeling that faded as she realised just how much of the country’s wealth had been lavished on the building while large parts of the population barely had enough to eat. Hundreds of prisoners, their hands cuffed, sat in the hallway, looking at the floor despondently. It was easy to tell that they expected to be shot out of hand.

“They stole the artwork from all over the Reich,” Horst commented quietly, as they walked up the stairs. “Herman Goring used to collect pieces of irreplaceable art. When he died, his family passed it to the Reich Council.”

Gudrun nodded. She wasn’t surprised.

“Gudrun,” Volker Schulze said. He was standing alone in a large war room, covered with maps of Germany and the Reich. “Did you know what you’d start?”

“No,” Gudrun said. How much did he know? Kurt could have told him she’d known about Konrad long before anyone else – no, he merely thought she’d pushed him into using his contacts to check up on his son. “I didn’t.”

“But you started this,” Volker Schulze said. He waved a hand at one of the maps. “You can now help me clean up the mess.”