Adolf Hitler had wanted to be an architect, Karl recalled, and Albert Speer had been more than happy to make his dreams reality. Germanica was larger-than-life, dominated by towering gothic buildings and monuments to the great victories won by the Third Reich over its many enemies. There was something about the sheer grandeur of the buildings that made Untermenschen feel small and puny, Karl knew, even though he felt the buildings suited him and his dreams. Here, there were no limitations on the Volk. No accountants to quibble over the cost, no bleeding-heart westerners moaning and whining about ‘human rights;’ nothing to stand in their way as they built the Thousand Year Reich. And not a single Untermensch in sight!
He leaned forward, enjoying the view. Blond young men, wearing a multitude of uniforms, strolling beside blonde-haired young women who were clearly readying themselves for a happy life of Kinder, Küche, Kirche. They would birth and raise the next generation of Germans - true Germans, Germans who would not let anything stand in their way between them and true greatness. It was with them, Karl was sure, that he would take the entire world and remake it, as Hitler himself had dreamed. And now the time was at hand.
Smiling, he took one last look, then turned and strolled back into the office. It was large, a duplicate of the giant room Hitler had occupied before he’d died in 1950. Two SS flags hung from the walls, surrounding a giant map of the world. Germany East was immense, stretching from what had once been Poland to Kamchatka, but he knew better. It would be the work of generations before Germany East was tamed. Until then, it would continue to breed strong and hardy Germans willing to do whatever it took to keep themselves alive.
“Mien Führer,” Maria said. His assistant was standing by the door, seemingly unwilling to walk over to the desk. It had been decades since the Reich had a true Führer and no one was quite sure how to react. “Oberstgruppenfuehrer Alfred Ruengeler is here, as you requested; he’s currently waiting in the antechamber. Your ... other guest is currently passing through security.”
Karl smiled. He hadn't missed the hint of disapproval in her voice. Maria was, in very many ways, a strict conservative. Quite how she squared that with actually working outside the home was beyond him, but it hardly mattered. Maria couldn't hope to wield power on her own, not in the remorselessly masculine SS. She was loyal because none of Karl’s rivals would trust her any further than they could throw her.
“Have her wait in the antechamber, once she arrives,” he ordered. “And show the Oberstgruppenfuehrer in.”
He sat down at the desk and smiled to himself as Oberstgruppenfuehrer Alfred Ruengeler entered the room. Ruengeler had been working a desk for the last four years, but he was still a tall powerfully-built man with short blond hair and a badly-scarred face. Karl knew that he took every opportunity he could to get out of the office and tour the settlements personally, despite the risk of assassination. Ruengeler had just never been very comfortable serving behind a desk. Indeed, he’d even requested a transfer to South Africa, even though it would have meant an effective demotion.
A fighter, Karl thought, as Maria brought them both coffee. The SS blend, not the weak slop served in Berlin. And I need fighters.
“Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said. “I have the report you requested.”
Karl leaned forward, eagerly. “Can you complete the mission?”
“I believe so, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said. “Our tactics were designed for a rapid advance against stiff enemy opposition. Here, we are intimately familiar with much of the terrain involved, an advantage we had no good reason to expect during training. A combined-arms thrust involving both armour and elite forces should be more than sufficient to open the route to Berlin.”
He paused. “The true danger is the enemy withdrawing into Berlin.”
Karl snorted. “They’ll never be able to hold the city.”
Ruengeler looked doubtful. “The Slavic Untermenschen held Leningrad for three years, even though they were grossly inferior to us,” he said. “They were eating one another when the defences finally fell. I would expect better from the Berliners. If we fail to take Berlin quickly, we will have real problems imposing our will on the remainder of the Reich.”
“Then we will thrust as hard as we can,” Karl said, firmly. “Do we have any major problems?”
“Our air support arm is going to have problems,” Ruengeler said, flatly. “Much of the forces at our disposal were designed for close-air support, not air supremacy. We have a number of jet fighters at our disposal, but the traitors have more. They also have all five aircraft carriers into the bargain.”
“We are already taking steps to handle their advantages,” Karl said. It was wasteful, but he would sooner lose half the Luftwaffe than the Reich. Soldiers, sailors and airmen were meant to be expended, if necessary. “And the Kriegsmarine is unlikely to take a major role in events.”
“They do have marines, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler reminded him. “And their ship-mounted cruise missiles may be a major problem.”
Karl shrugged. “They will not be a problem,” he said, firmly.
“As you say, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said.
He cleared his throat. “The offensive should be ready to launch in two weeks, perhaps less,” he said. “By then, all the forces will be in place and our logistics support network will be well underway ...”
“I believe it should be possible to launch the offensive earlier,” Karl said. “Is that true?”
“We would be launching the offensive with what we have on hand,” Ruengeler said. “I believe that waiting at least ten days would allow us to throw a much harder punch into their defences. We need reserves to handle any unanticipated little ... problems.”
Bloody noses, Karl translated, mentally. Or outright defeats.
He studied the map for a long moment. It was just over three hundred miles from the front lines to Berlin, assuming nothing slowed the assault force down as it mounted the first true Blitzkrieg in forty years. The forces that had stormed into Russia, back when the Reich had been embarking on its grand plan of conquest and transformation, had done as well, yet they’d faced Untermenschen. His forces faced Germans. Degraded Germans, perhaps, but still Germans. A delay - a setback - might prove fatal. His only consolation was that the enemy couldn't really afford to trade space for time.
They can't surrender Berlin, any more than we can refuse to try to take it, he thought, stroking his chin grimly. Giving up the capital will doom their cause.
He looked up at Ruengeler. “And that is your considered military opinion?”
“Yes, Mein Führer,” Ruengeler said. He was strong, too strong to wilt easily before a Fuhrer. “Too much can happen when an offensive finally begins. I would prefer to have forces on hand to ... deal with the problems before they get out of hand.”
Karl sighed. “You do realise that you’ll be giving them an extra two weeks too?”
“I understand the factors involved,” Ruengeler insisted, calmly. “But give us two weeks and we will be ready to deal with any countermoves they make.”
“I hope you’re right,” Karl said.
He ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to order his forces to attack instantly, but he knew better. Expending an entire team of crack commandos was one thing - his forces weren't significantly weakened by their absence - but thousands of tanks and hundreds of thousands of infantry? Losing a Waffen-SS division would be costly, very costly. It would certainly encourage his enemies to consider overthrowing him. Karl Holliston, after all, was no Adolf Hitler.
“I’ll be flying to Warsaw tomorrow morning,” Ruengeler added. “I should have more than enough time to get everything organised before the offensive starts in earnest. Ideally, Mein Fuhrer, we should have enough time to make our gains before winter sets in.”
Karl nodded, tightly. Winters in Eastern Europe weren't quite as nasty as winters in Germany East, but the coming winter would still impose limitations on military operations. His troops were trained and experi
enced in arctic warfare - the insurgents didn't let up just because it was cold enough to kill a grown man - yet they’d be needed back home. God knew the insurgents would take advantage of the chaos to launch additional attacks against German settlements.
“Very good,” he said. “Make sure you send anyone on the purge list back to Germanica for trial and punishment.”
“Of course, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said, as he rose. “It will be done.”
He sounded faintly displeased at the thought of having his Waffen-SS troopers mistaken for Einsatzgruppen extermination squads, but Karl had no doubt he’d do his job. The purge list included thousands of Germans who had come under suspicion for one reason or another, as well as everyone closely related to them. All traces of heresy had to be exterminated, even if it meant catching a few innocents along with the guilty. They had to die so that the Reich could live.
“Good luck,” Karl said.
He held up his hand in salute. Ruengeler returned it, then about-faced and marched out of the giant office. Karl watched him go, wondering just how long it would be until he had to dispose of the older man. Ruengeler was extremely competent, but he asked too many questions - and, besides, he was just a little too squeamish for the task ahead. Purging the first set of names was one thing, yet that would only be the beginning. Germany had to be purified before she could rise from the ashes.
Maria stepped into the office. “Should I show your other guest into the room?”
“Yes, please,” Karl said. Maria’s disapproval was almost amusing. One would think he’d called a prostitute from the gutter. “And then hold all my calls.”
He rose as Maria left the office, only to return a moment later with a tall woman wearing a black SS uniform. The thought of a woman wearing such a uniform had seemed absurd, he recalled, until he’d first met Hauptsturmfuehrer Katharine Milch. She was impressive, he had to admit; tall, blonde, her curves clearly visible through her uniform. And yet, her file made it very clear that she was one of the most ruthless people - male or female - in the Reich. The string of successes to her name warned him that Katharine Milch was not a woman to take lightly. Her cold blue eyes silently challenged him to do just that.
“Mein Fuhrer,” she said. Her voice was a warm contralto, but there was a hint of sharpness in it that made his hindbrain sit up and pay attention. “I understand that you have a special task for me?”
“I do,” Karl confirmed. There was something about her that flustered him, more than he cared to admit. “Please, take a seat.”
He sat down facing her, studying her carefully. She was beautiful, in the ice-maiden fashion that was so popular in the Reich. Her face looked to have been carved out of flawless marble, her hair was tied up in long braid that fell over her shoulders and her uniform drew attention to the size of her chest. And yet, the more Karl looked at her, the more he became aware that she moved like a professional ... that she was a professional. She didn't show him a single wasted movement.
This woman is dangerous, he thought, as he leaned back in his chair. Part of him wanted to take her to bed, but the remainder knew it would be a dangerous mistake. She might even have a realistic shot at the top job.
“In two weeks, perhaps less, we will be launching a military operation to recover Berlin and eliminate the rebels,” he said, flatly. Katharine could be trusted - and besides, the rebels weren't fools. They’d know an offensive was coming. “You and your unit have been held back for a reason. I have a specific task for you.”
He met her eyes, levelly. “Can you get into Berlin?”
Katharine showed no visible response to the question. “I believe it shouldn't be too difficult,” she said, after a moment. But then, he knew she wouldn't have shown any traces of doubt, whatever her real feelings. She wouldn't show any weakness in front of a man. “We would not have travel papers, of course, but the system for producing and tracking paperwork seems to have collapsed. If necessary, we would pose as refugees making our way westwards until we reached Berlin. Unfortunately, they have gained control of the air defence network to the west.”
Karl nodded. They’d slipped one assault team to Berlin via helicopter, but that trick wouldn't work twice. He’d be astonished if they even managed to get a helicopter over the front lines without it being intercepted and shot down. Any assault teams would have to make their way over the border on foot, just to make sure they avoided detection. Katharine would have to do the same herself.
“Very good,” he said. “Once you’re in Berlin, you are to make contact with underground elements that have remained in place and plan the capture or assassination of the so-called provisional government. This is to be done when they are coping with our offensive, so they have no time to put replacements forward to take command. Ideally, I want them held in place until they can be forced to issue an order to surrender; if necessary, you are to kill them and smuggle their heads out as proof.”
“They would be fools,” Katharine observed tonelessly, “if they all stayed in one place.”
“Capture or take out as many as you can,” Karl said. He shrugged. “Taking them alive would be nice, but killing them is acceptable.”
He reached into his desk drawer and produced a file. “Except for this one,” he said, holding the file out to Katharine. “I want her alive.”
“Gudrun Wieland,” Katharine read. She skimmed through the file with ease, her brow furrowing slightly. “The one who started all this.”
“So they say,” Karl said. He wasn't sure it was true. Katharine might be a professional killer, but very few women could match her. Gudrun Wieland’s file made it clear she was nothing more than a university student. Maybe they claimed she’d started the chain of events that led to the uprising, but Karl rather doubted it. There was a man hiding behind her, he was sure, someone who remained unidentified. “I want her alive.”
Katharine quirked her eyebrows. “May I ask why?”
“They have turned her into a symbol of their cause,” Karl said, bluntly. “A true flower of German womanhood, the lover of a wounded boy, the heroine who avenged him ... such a symbol cannot be merely killed. She must be forced to recant before she is patted on the backside and told to go back to the kitchen.”
He felt a sudden hot flash of anger that disturbed him. It was impossible to believe that Gudrun was the true leader of the uprising, the person who’d started the first pebble rolling down the hillside. Her background - father a policeman, brother a soldier, boyfriend an SS stormtrooper before he was badly wounded - told against it. And yet ... if she was guilty, Gudrun had fooled a great many people. She’d even been arrested, only to be released for lack of evidence. It was far more likely that someone had talked her into posing as the founder, after she’d been arrested.
And if she is guilty, he thought, she will pay for it.
There were ... techniques ... used for breaking women, women and their male relatives. He wouldn't hesitate to order them used, just to make it absolutely clear that Gudrun Wieland would not be able to hide behind her sex. If she was guilty, she’d be tortured to death ... it went against the grain to inflict such horrendous punishment on a German girl, but it had to be done. And then her entire family would be killed too ...
Serves them right for letting her get out of hand, he thought, nastily. Her father should have beaten any trace of rebelliousness out of her before she grew into a young woman.
“I will certainly do my upmost to ensure she is brought here,” Katharine said coolly, breaking into his thoughts. “But you do realise that smuggling one prisoner, let alone a dozen, out of Berlin will not be easy?”
“You may have to keep them under wraps in the city until it falls,” Karl said. Berlin was vast, easily large enough for an experienced team to hide for weeks if necessary. The normal surveillance systems were completely offline. “I know it won’t be easy, but it has to be done.”
“I understand, Mein Führer,” Katharine said. She rose, a movement that drew his attent
ion to her chest. “And we will do our very best to deliver the traitors to you in chains.”
Chapter Five
Near Vichy, France
2 September 1985
“Wake up,” Horst said, poking her shoulder lightly. “We’re almost there.”
Gudrun opened her eyes, then stretched. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows, revealing that they were driving up a mountainside road towards a large French building half-hidden in the foliage. Guards could be seen everywhere, manning the gates and patrolling the grounds, wearing desert tan uniforms and flat caps that reminded her of something she’d seen back in school. The Foreign Legion, she recalled, as the driver took them through the gates and parked outside the chateau. Foreigners who’d travelled to France to fight for her - and leave their pasts behind.
Horst scowled. “They’re not supposed to be here,” he said, grimly. “By treaty, the Foreign Legion isn't meant to return to Mainland France.”
Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) Page 5
