Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Into the vans,” he ordered, curtly.

  He wasn't the senior officer on the scene, not by a very long way. The CO would take personal command, unless one of the really high-ranking officers from the Reich Council decided to come out into the streets. Kurt doubted it, even though he was sure the Field Marshals were brave men. They wouldn't want blood on their hands.

  The thought chilled him to the bone as he followed his men into the van, then inspected his rifle as the engine roared to life. Do I want blood on my hands?

  ***

  Sturmbannfuehrer Viktor Harden had always seen people as not quite real. He had no idea why he’d never been able to make an emotional connection with another person, even the men under his command, but it wasn't something he wanted to change. At nine years old, he’d killed his baby sister, just for distracting his parents from tending to his needs; at thirteen, he’d poisoned a teacher who’d dared to punish him in front of the class; at fifteen, he’d raped and murdered one of his classmates merely to see what it was like to combine sex and murder. He’d never had anything resembling a conscience...

  ... And, when he'd been arrested after a moment of carelessness with his seventh victim, he’d been given a choice between joining the SS and being unceremoniously executed. It hadn't been a hard decision.

  Viktor didn't understand - honestly didn't understand - why so many of his fellow officers had qualms about carrying out anti-terrorism procedures. He didn't give a damn how many Untermenschen died, let alone how they died. Slaughtering entire villages was perfectly acceptable, as far as Viktor was concerned; using their deaths to intimidate thousands of others into submission was a bonus. The men under his command, too, used their impulses in the service of the SS. Others might sneer, others might look away, but Viktor gloried in the nightmares he unleashed. Let the Untermenschen hate, as long as they feared; let them stare in horror at what he did to their men, women and children, before bowing the knee to the Reich.

  He had no qualms about unleashing hell onto the streets of Berlin. He had, after all, no emotional connection to the marchers at all. They were common people, just like his parents; they weren't quite real. Viktor had always snorted at SS officers who said, as if they were paragons of morality, that they would never rape an Untermensch woman, that they would never sully themselves by fucking a subhuman animal. To him, it mattered little if his targets were Untermenschen - or Germans. All that mattered was that his superiors allowed him to indulge himself, in exchange for unquestioning service.

  “Take aim,” he ordered, as the marchers slowly came into view. “Prepare to fire.”

  His lips curved into a cruel smile of anticipation. Some of the girls advancing towards him were young, young enough to be innocent, young enough to be untouched by the world... and yet, old enough to understand what he would do to them. Manipulating them like putty was a pleasure - and, when one was burned out, he slit her throat and moved on to the next girl. There was never any shortage of Untermenschen women for his games.

  ***

  Horst hadn't been sure just what to expect as the marchers closed in on the Reichstag. The SS guards in front of the building were nowhere to be seen - perhaps they’d retreated inwards and shut the gates - while a line of Berlin Guardsmen were jumping out of vans at the far edge of Victory Square. Judging from their frantic movements, mixed with confusion, they weren’t sure what they should be doing. Their training hadn’t covered peaceful protest marches in Germany itself.

  He turned his gaze past the Reichstag and froze. Men, black-clad men, were forming a rifle line, pointing weapons towards the marchers. He’d seen it before, in Germany East; men standing ready to repel a charge of Untermenschen. Except, in Germany, their targets weren’t Untermenschen, but Germans...

  “Get down,” he barked, hurling himself at Gudrun. “Get down...”

  She fell under his weight and hit the ground, Horst landing on top of her, just as the riflemen opened fire.

  ***

  Gudrun thought, just for a second, that Horst was attacking her. He’d knocked her down hard enough to hurt, pinning her so soundly that she could barely move. Panic flared in her mind as she tried to struggle, even though it was useless. Horst was just too heavy for her to budge until he wanted to let her go. And then she heard the sounds of shooting...

  The crowd recoiled in shock. She twisted her head, just in time to see a young girl fall to the ground, blood leaking from what remained of her head. Others were falling too, some dropping to the ground to avoid the bullets, others wounded - or dead. Horst pushed her down hard, shielding her with his body. She couldn't even move her head any longer.

  “The SS are shooting,” Horst whispered. He was still holding her down. “Lie still and play dead.”

  ***

  Kurt had barely had any time to deploy his men before the CO arrived, just as the marchers came into the square. They looked... harmless; there were girls in the lead who looked no older than Gudrun herself, followed by middle-aged women who could easily have been his mother, if things had been different. He forced himself to relax, despite the chant; the crowd might be loud, but it didn't sound threatening.

  And then the SS opened fire.

  For a long chilling moment, Karl just stared. Girls were falling to the streets, their blood staining the roads. He’d thought himself used to horror and yet, watching innocent Germans gunned down was more than he could stand. His sister could be there, either in the midst of the students or on the ground, slowly bleeding to death.

  “Do not fire,” the CO bellowed. He sounded shaken, but resolute. “Do not fire!”

  Kurt lifted his rifle in one smooth motion and shot the CO in the head. His men - and the other units - just stared as his body dropped to the ground. Grumbling was one thing - soldiers always grumbled - but actually shooting the CO...? It didn't happen. Kurt turned his weapon, pointing towards the SS, and opened fire.

  Seconds later, his men joined him.

  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, wond
ering 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.