Storm Front

Chapter Thirty-Eight

SS Deployment Base/Reichstag, Germany

21/22 August 1985

It had not been a comfortable flight.

Karl Holliston had hoped to fly directly to the Reich Command Bunker in East Germany, or perhaps loop round Berlin and head to Wewelsburg Castle, but the endless series of confused reports on the radio made it sound dangerous. There were outbreaks of fighting at military and SS bases, mutinies on the high seas and even clashes between jet fighters… if, of course, the radio could be believed. Karl was sure that most of the reports were badly exaggerated – he’d been taught there was always a period of confusion when something happened without warning – but it was hard to know for sure. The Heer might be divided, yet he had no doubt that the Kriegsmarine and the Luftwaffe would side with the rebels. They’d been infected with rebel propaganda right from the start.

He gritted his teeth as the helicopter, running on fumes, dropped towards the SS Deployment Base. SS Skorzeny had been preparing for its deployment to South Africa and – he cursed in frustration – most of its equipment had been boxed for transport. The unit, the only wholly reliable unit west of Poland, would need time, more time than he had, to prepare for a full-scale attack on Berlin. He grunted as the helicopter hit the pad, then staggered to his feet and hurried to the hatch. The ground crew were already moving in to secure the helicopter and refuel the craft. Behind them, a uniformed officer waited.

“Herr Reichsführer,” SS-Obergruppenfuehrer Felix Kortig said, as Karl clambered out of the helicopter. In the distance, the sun was setting over the mountains and darkness was falling over the land. “We have a briefing for you in the situation room.”

“Good,” Karl said. Perhaps, just perhaps, the situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed. “Have some coffee brought to the room too. We’re going to need it.”

He allowed Kortig to lead him into the base, barely noticing the stormtroopers standing guard at the doors. The entire garrison had gone into lockdown, although – as far as they were from civilian towns or military bases – it was unlikely there was any immediate danger. But that would change, he reminded himself, as they passed through a pair of armoured doors and into the situation room. The deployment base was hardly a secret.

“I have two companies on readiness,” Kortig informed him, “and a third picketing all the approaches. However, most of our equipment is already en route to South Africa…”

“I know,” Karl said, cutting him off. He wasn’t in the mood for excuses. “I need a situation briefing, right now.”

He took a seat as an orderly entered, carrying a tray of coffee. Behind him, a young analyst stepped into the room, looking pale. He seemed too young to wear SS black, Karl noted; the young troopers seemed to get younger every year. Karl felt a sudden flicker of wistfulness for his younger days, when all that mattered was getting the job done, which he pushed aside savagely. He might have made mistakes – bad rolls of the dice were inevitable – but the contest for supremacy in the Reich was far from over.

“Herr Reichsführer,” the analyst said. “Most of our communications network has been badly damaged. What reports we have are often imprecise or wildly exaggerated. However, we do have a picture of just what’s been happening over the last few hours.”

Karl nodded impatiently, sipping his coffee.

“The police and military bases in Berlin itself seem to have gone over to the rebels,” the analyst continued. “I was able to speak briefly to an officer in the RSHA, Herr Reichsführer: he confirmed that the building was surrounded and on the verge of being stormed. None of the other SS installations within Berlin responded to our calls. They may simply be isolated or they may have been overwhelmed.”

He paused, waiting for Karl’s response. “Outside Berlin, the situation is confused. A number of military bases turned into war zones as our forces attempted to take control of the troops, provoking the soldiers to mutiny. At last report, Herr Reichsführer, most of the military bases in Germany Prime are probably in rebel hands. However, as it is clear the rebels didn’t plan for an uprising, they may be as uncertain of what’s actually going on as ourselves. It will take them at least a week, I suspect, to re-establish a chain of command and decide what to do next.

“Germany East remains solidly in our hands. The Heer units within Germany East are seemingly unaware of anything happening to the west, Herr Reichsführer. Germany North, Germany Arabia and Germany South are, so far, quiet, but Germany South may declare for the rebels when they finally work out what’s going on. We are not particularly popular there.”

Karl sipped his coffee, thoughtfully. “And the forces in South Africa?”

“No word,” the analyst said. “I don’t know which way they’ll jump.”

“Keep monitoring the situation and inform me if there are any major changes,” Karl ordered, looking at the map. The deployment base was looking alarmingly exposed. How long would it take the rebels to deduce where he’d fled? Not long, he suspected, if some of the Reich Council joined the rebellion. “How many men can you send to Berlin?”

Kortig frowned. “Right now, twenty-five at most,” he said. “We only have four assault helicopters fuelled up and ready to fly. The transport aircraft we were planning to use for Operation Headshot are already in Germany East. If we had a few days to make preparations…”

“We don’t have a few days,” Karl said. Right now, the rebels controlled Berlin and Berlin alone. Given time, that would change rapidly. “We need to launch a strike as quickly as possible and kill the rebel leadership.”

“That would be tricky,” Kortig observed. “Berlin is not exactly undefended.”

“Right now, the defences are confused,” Karl argued. “We can slip four helicopters back into Berlin and attack the Reichstag.”

“There isn’t time to mount the operation under cover of darkness,” Kortig said. “By the time the helicopters reached Berlin, the sun would be rising. We’ll have to launch the attack tomorrow night.”

He was right, Karl knew, even though it was bitterly frustrating. Twenty-five men, even Skorzeny commandos, would be hellishly exposed if they tried to launch an attack in broad daylight. The rebels would probably have already moved mobile antiaircraft missile launchers into Berlin, if they were expecting an immediate counterattack. It was what he would have done. Sending the troops in daylight was asking for disaster.

And yet, he asked himself, just how badly can they damage the Reich in a day?

“Start making the preparations,” he ordered. If the assault failed, if the rebel leadership survived, they’d have to prepare a far more elaborate response. “And make contact with our forces in Germany East. We have to prepare for war.”

“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Kortig said.

Under other circumstances, Hans would have savoured the thought of being locked up in one of his own offices. The rebels had searched it, removed anything that could be used as a weapon and then told him not to try to leave the chamber on pain of death. Hans hadn’t tried to argue. Instead, he’d sat down as the door was closed and tried to get some sleep. There was no point in doing anything else. If he tried to escape, and succeeded, where would he go?

He was half-asleep when someone opened the door, but the sound jerked him awake instantly. A pair of soldiers stood there, looking down at him. Hans braced himself, wondering if he was simply going to be taken outside and shot, then rose to his feet, ready to meet his death with dignity. The soldiers searched him – again – and then escorted him through the network of corridors into a small office. Volker Schulze – instantly recognisable from the files on union activists – was sitting behind a table, looking tired. A large mug of coffee was perched in front of him.

“Herr Schulze,” Hans said. It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice – it had been hard enough trying to save the economy without the unions driving up costs and limiting production – but he had tried. “What can I do for you?”

Schulze looked up at him. “Answer me a question,” he said. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

“With the Reich,” Hans said, flatly. He had no objection to enriching himself at the same time as building the Reich’s economy, but there were limits. It was a constant headache – it had been a constant headache – that others didn’t seem to recognise those limits. “Where do yours lie?”

“With the Reich,” Schulze said. “Your subordinates speak highly of you, Herr Krueger.”

“Thank you,” Hans said. He’d played the political game long enough to have a very good idea of where the conversation was leading. “You want me to run the economy for you.”

Schulze didn’t bother to pretend to be surprised. “Most of the ministries haven’t had time to slip into disarray,” he said, instead. “Bureaucrats weren’t murdered, save for a handful who were killed to pay off old grudges; files weren’t destroyed, even in the RSHA. We need those ministries in working order just to take control of the Reich.”

Hans nodded. “And how much do you control right now?”

“Not as much as we’d like,” Schulze admitted. He smiled, rather darkly. “I should tell you that the Reichsführer sentenced you to death. The police unit that fired on the protesters had orders to sweep the Reichstag afterwards, capturing or killing the Reich Council. You would simply have been killed out of hand.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised,” Hans said. Holliston, damn the man, had clearly had his own plans for taking advantage of the chaos. Hans had thought Holliston respected the balance of power – the SS might not have come out ahead if the balance had shattered – but the protests had already crippled the Reich. “He always was a ruthless bastard.”

Schulze nodded in agreement. “You have two choices, Herr Krueger,” he said. “You can join us and help us to build a new government. Or you can refuse, whereupon you will be moved to a detention facility until you can be tried, afterwards, for your role on the Reich Council.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Hans protested, without heat. “Legally…”

“Legal is what the people in power say it is,” Schulze snapped. “You taught the entire Reich that lesson, Herr Krueger.”

He paused. “I might add that the Reichsführer and the SS are unlikely to roll over and play dead for us,” he warned. “You may be taken from our detention centre and thrown into an SS detention centre, if we lose the war.”

“I have no illusions about what they’ll do to me,” Hans said. Holliston had a whole string of grudges to pay off. “Or you, if you lose.”

It wasn’t a hard choice. The prospect of being put on trial chilled him to the bone. He understood the value of scapegoats – the Reich Council had turned quite a few people into scapegoats merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and the rebels, if they used him as a scapegoat for the Reich’s ills, could draw some political advantage out of his death. He’d done the best he could, he knew, but the population wouldn’t see it that way. The unionists alone had good reasons to want him dead.

And Holliston wants me deader, he thought, wryly. The rebels would probably shoot him out of hand, but the SS would torture him first, then slaughter his entire family. Joining the rebels is the only hope for any kind of survival.

“I’ll join you,” he said, simply.

“Glad to hear it,” Schulze said. “You can have some sleep, then you can start work tomorrow morning. By then, hopefully, we should have a clear idea of just what’s going on.”

Hans shuddered. It was possible, he supposed, that most of the military would join the rebels, just like the Berlin Guard. But it was equally possible that Holliston would take control of the entire Reich, save for Berlin itself. If that happened, the city would come under siege… and no one, not even newborn children, would be spared the consequences when it finally fell. He might just have joined the losing side.

But it doesn’t matter, he told himself, as the guards reappeared. I’m dead anyway.

He frowned. “If I may ask,” he said, “what happened to the Fuhrer?”

“He’s going to make a nice speech handing over power to the provisional government,” Schulze said, “and then he’s going to go into exile. There’s nothing to be gained by killing him.”

“I suppose not,” Hans agreed. He had no particular dislike of the Fuhrer. Besides, killing him would give the SS a martyr they could use for their propaganda. “He was always a harmless fool.”

“Gudrun,” Herman said, as he entered the office. It had taken him nearly an hour to work up the nerve. “Can I have a word?”

His daughter looked tired, too tired. She didn’t have any experience in administration – hardly anyone did, outside the bureaucracy – but she was doing her best. Herman couldn’t help wondering just how long she’d keep the post, even though she’d been a student leader; there were others who were far more experienced. And yet…

“Yes, father,” Gudrun said. She sounded tired too. She’d changed her shirt, at some point, but she looked as though she needed a shower and several hours of sleep. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to say I’m proud of you,” Herman said, closing the door behind him. “And of your brother.”

“It could have gone very badly without him, father,” Gudrun said. She waved him to a chair in front of her desk, pushing her paperwork to one side. “And you.”

Herman nodded. He’d believed in the new order, he’d believed in the state… but, in the end, the state had tried to gun down his daughter and thousands of innocent Germans. And his entire family had turned against the state. How could he argue with his wife, his daughter and all three of his sons?

“I do wish you hadn’t done it,” Herman said. The thought of his daughter in jail, or hanging naked from meat hooks under the RSHA, or being raped to death was terrifying. Even now, even after the regime had been crippled, he still shivered at the thought. “I…”

He shook his head, unable to find the words. His father had told him that there would come a time when he’d look at his daughter and see a different person, but he hadn’t believed the old man until now. Gudrun was no longer a girl, or a young woman; she was an adult who’d taken her destiny into her own hands. He still wanted to protect her, but he could no longer try to control her life.

“It had to be done,” Gudrun said, stiffly. “I wrote those leaflets.”

“Yes, it did,” Herman said. “And I’m proud of you for doing it, but I wish it hadn’t been you…”

He blinked in surprise as he registered what she’d said. “You wrote those leaflets?”

“I did,” Gudrun said. She met his eyes with a defiant stare that reminded Herman, once again, of his own mother. Gudrun’s grandmother had never taken any backtalk from her son when he’d been a child. “I lied to you, father, but I’m not sorry.”

Herman shook his head. A month ago, he would have exploded with rage. He hadn’t raised his children to lie to him, even if they did have to be less than honest with their teachers and the BDM matrons. Now… now he understood. Gudrun’s boyfriend had been crippled and the state had lied about it… and she’d taken a terrible revenge. The rebellion might still be crushed – Herman rather doubted they’d rounded up all the SS personnel in Berlin – but the state would never be the same again.

“I understand,” he said, finally. “Please don’t lie to me again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Gudrun assured him. She changed the subject hastily. “Did you get mother and the others here?”

“I did,” Herman said. He would have preferred to keep the rest of his family well away from the Reichstag, but Gudrun was a known rebel and Kurt might well have been marked too. If there were roving SS officers on the streets, Gudrun’s family might be targeted. There just weren’t enough police officers to ensure their safety anywhere else. “They’re all in rooms in the Reichstag, even Frank.”

Gudrun’s face flickered. Herman frowned, inwardly. Gudrun had never liked the disgusting old man, even though her mother insisted that Gudrun clean his room every day. Frank had never been a particularly decent man. Hell, he’d been slipping into the bottle long before Herman had met and married Frank’s daughter. The wretched drunkard had been a plague on the family ever since he’d moved in with his daughter. And yet, there was something on Gudrun’s face…

He dismissed it. There were too many other things to worry about.

“Get some sleep,” he advised. “You’ll need it, I think.”

Gudrun yawned. “There’s too much to do,” she said, softly. Another yawn put the lie to her words. “I have to work…”

“You’ll be making mistakes if you’re tired,” Herman told her, firmly. “You have a bedroom here, do you not? Get a shower, get into bed, get a good night’s sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

“Yes, father,” Gudrun said. “And you get some sleep too.”