Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Thank you,” Schulze said. He glanced at Generalfeldmarschall Markus Brandenburg, who looked grim. “What happened to the Luftwaffe?”

  “We took a bloody nose,” Brandenburg said. He sounded angry at his own words. “They attacked a number of airbases, killing or wounding well over three hundred pilots as well as destroying a number of planes. Our hopes of air supremacy were destroyed with them, Herr Chancellor. We may have to husband our remaining fast-jet fighters just to keep a protective shroud over Germany Prime.”

  He glared at the map, as if it had personally offended him. “The SS always controlled far too many CAS aircraft,” he added. “They have a very definite advantage in that category.”

  “Because you refused to fly them for us,” Voss snapped. “You never wanted the Heer to have its own air arm.”

  “It flies, it’s ours,” Brandenburg snapped back. “If that principle had been honoured, the SS wouldn't be anything like a major threat!”

  Schulze slapped the table, hard. “Enough,” he said, sharply. “There is no point in trying to refight the battles of the past. We must grapple with the situation facing us, rather than the situation we would wish.”

  Gudrun nodded in agreement. Her father had been a young man when the Luftwaffe had stubbornly insisted on hoarding all aircraft to itself, even though both the Heer and the Kriegsmarine had wanted aircraft of their own. She wasn't sure how the SS had managed to build up its own air force, but she had a feeling - reading between the lines - that CAS aircraft were seen as inherently less glamorous than fast-jet fighters. And yet, when fighting a counterinsurgency, fast-jet fighters were far less useful than slow but precise bombers.

  “Yes, Herr Chancellor,” Brandenburg said. He paused. “We are looking at ways to move support aircraft back from South Africa, but that will require some degree of cooperation from the French. Can we trust them to help us?”

  Schulze looked at Gudrun. “Your thoughts?”

  “The French aren’t stupid,” Gudrun said. It flew in the face of pre-uprising orthodoxy, but she didn't care. “I think they understand, deep inside, that an SS victory spells doom for France. Holliston is not going to let them get away with trying to take advantage of the Reich’s problems for themselves. The panzers that roll through Berlin will keep rolling until they reach Vichy. I don’t expect the French to do anything that might prevent us winning the war.”

  “Unless they’re scared of Holliston,” Foreign Minister Engelhard Rubarth grunted. “They won’t want him to blame them for anything.”

  Kruger snorted. “Is there anything they can do,” he asked rhetorically, “that will cleanse them of the shame, in his eyes, of being born French?”

  Gudrun nodded. Holliston was not likely to show mercy to the French, not when the French had already played a minor role in setting the stage for the uprising. He’d need a foreign enemy to reunite the shattered Reich and the French would make excellent candidates. The German population was already conditioned to look down on them, while their ability to resist a panzer-led invasion was almost non-existent. Invading Vichy France and snuffing out their government would accomplish multiple goals for Holliston. Gudrun had never met him in person, but if what she’d heard was true, the simplicity would appeal to him.

  “Then discuss it with them as a matter of urgency,” Schulze said. He looked at Rubarth. “Is there anything new from the rest of the world?”

  “The Italians have offered a couple of combat-ready divisions,” Rubarth said. He didn't sound pleased. “The Turks have, so far, agreed to keep forces from transiting through their territory into Germany Prime, but that may not last.”

  “Italians,” Voss said. “Do they want us to lose?”

  “The Italian government may not last for much longer anyway,” Rubarth said. “I don't think we can count on them.”

  “Of course not,” Schulze said. “And economically?”

  “Still pretty bad,” Kruger said. “But we should be able to keep things fairly stable for the next few weeks. A long drawn-out war will kill us.”

  Gudrun nodded. Thousands of factory workers had been called to the colours, while others had founded dozens of new unions and were competing for increased wages, reduced hours and political accountability. Schulze must find it annoying, she suspected; he’d started the union movement, only to see it grow out of control. Cracking down on unions wouldn't be any easier for the provisional government than it had been for the Reich Council.

  “Keep me informed,” Schulze said, addressing Voss. “The rest of us ... we carry on.”

  “We have no choice,” Kruger said. “The future of the Reich itself is at stake.”

  “Yes,” Schulze said. “And that leads to a question. Do we accept the American offer of covert assistance?”

  “Out of the question,” Voss said, immediately. “We would save the Reich from Holliston, only to become a suburb of Washington DC. The Americans will demand a high price for their help.”

  “Beggars can't be choosers,” Morgenstern pointed out. “And we are beggars. What price our national pride if the nation itself is lost?”

  Gudrun frowned, inwardly. Hilde Morgenstern had complained, loudly, about being sent to America. Indeed, she’d even talked about running off before reluctantly submitting to her father’s insistence that she take the flight out of Berlin. For once, Morgenstern had shown actual firmness in dealing with his daughter, something that surprised and bothered Gudrun more than she cared to admit. She knew what would have happened if she’d talked back to her father like Hilde - she wouldn't have been able to sit comfortably for several days - but Hilde had always been a spoilt brat. Morgenstern was clearly more worried than he wanted to let on about the outcome of the war.

  “Holliston will use it against us,” Voss predicted.

  “The Americans will soon be sending their spying aircraft overhead,” Brandenburg predicted, dourly. “We may as well ask for copies of the photographs.”

  Schulze blinked in surprise. “You can't stop them?”

  “It was never easy to stop those damnable planes while the air defence network was actually fully integrated,” Brandenburg admitted. “The Americans would buzz our network from time to time, sending aircraft over the Reich ... all of which were too high or too fast to shoot down. Even when we did hit an aircraft and bring it down, we never talked about it.”

  Gudrun frowned. No one had told her that before. But then, the Reich Council would not have wanted to admit that the Americans could fly through the Reich’s airspace at will. Even shooting one or more of the aircraft down wouldn't be enough to make up for the humiliation of knowing the defence network could be penetrated. No wonder the Reich Council had never levelled that charge against the Americans. It was something that could easily rebound on them.

  “They will make us pay an immense price,” Voss predicted, sharply. “Does it not suit them to keep us fighting each other?”

  “Yes, it does,” Morgenstern said. He sounded oddly forceful. “But it does not suit them to have an SS-run government in Berlin. They can do business with us, Field Marshal, while they could not talk to Holliston.”

  “And bringing the arms race to an end can only benefit us,” Kruger added. “It was pushing us towards bankruptcy even before the uprising.”

  “It will make us weak,” Voss said. “And the Americans will take advantage of it.”

  “We will still have our nukes,” Rubarth pointed out. “There will be limits to how far they can push us around and they will know it.”

  “Oh,” Voss said. “Are you prepared to risk a nuclear war to keep France under our thumb?”

  Rubarth looked back at him. “Are they prepared to risk a nuclear war to get France out from under our thumb?”

  “Probably not,” Schulze said. “We will talk to the Americans. And if they charge an unacceptable price, we will decline their assistance.”

  “We are not in a good position to bargain,” Rubarth commented. “And they know that
too.”

  On that note, the meeting ended.

  ***

  Berlin was tense, Andrew Barton noted, as the car flowed towards the Reichstag. A couple of buildings had been blown into piles of rubble - a number of nearby buildings had been damaged by flying debris - but the remainder of the city was largely undamaged. And yet, Berliners seemed torn between fear and a growing hatred and defiance of the SS. The speakers he recalled from the days since the uprising were gone; instead, men were lining up outside recruiting offices and drilling with weapons, readying themselves for the coming onslaught. He smiled, despite himself, as he spotted a number of blonde-haired maidens studying battlefield medicine in one of the parks. They probably wouldn't be allowed to fight - the Reich rarely allowed women in the combat arms - but they’d be able to do their bit to support the men.

  They would have had some practical first aid training in school, he recalled. And all they have to do is build on it.

  He rolled his eyes at the thought. There were few advantages to German-style education, but he had to admit that German schoolchildren received a great deal of practical education in everything from cooking to basic medicine and first aid. Indeed, while there were puritans in the states who hated the idea of teaching children about sex, the Reich made sure its children knew the facts of life before they started having children of their own. And yet, none of the textbooks he’d seen discussed contraception. Even condoms were restricted, available only to housewives who’d already had at least four children.

  The car rolled into the underground garage and came to a halt. Two armed men stepped forward as the driver opened the door, both wearing body armour instead of the ceremonial uniforms he was used to seeing. They frisked him as soon as he was out of the car, making sure he wasn't carrying anything dangerous. Security had always been tight around the Reichstag, but now the shooting had finally begun ... they’d be twice as paranoid and four times as willing to do whatever it took to keep their leaders safe.

  Not that we are any different, Andrew thought, as he was escorted into an elevator that headed upwards as soon as the doors hissed closed. There’s a ring of steel around the White House too.

  The doors opened, revealing that he'd been brought to the very highest level. Offhand, he couldn't recall anyone - even Ambassador Turtledove - who had been invited so high, a sign that the Reich took the matter very seriously. Normally, diplomatic meetings were held in a lower office specially set aside for that purpose. But now ... he straightened up as he was shown into Chancellor Schulze’s office. The man looked very tired.

  “Chancellor,” he said, in flawless German. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “The invitation was a little vague,” Schulze said. His English was badly-accented, but passable. He’d have been a child when English had practically been a mandatory second language in the Reich. “Am I to assume you are not a simple attaché?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said. Morgenstern would have taken his words to Schulze, he knew. There was nothing to be gained by pretending to be something he wasn't, not now. “I have authority to discuss certain matters with you.”

  Schulze’s eyebrows rose. “And Ambassador Turtledove knows nothing?”

  “Ambassador Turtledove understands that certain matters can only be discussed under the table, so to speak,” Andrew said. He was surprised that Schulze hadn't picked a representative of his own, briefed him carefully and then ordered him to handle the discussions. He’d have to consider what that might mean later. “My presence here is completely deniable.”

  “One would hope so,” Schulze said. He sat back in his chair. “I am no diplomat, Herr Barton, and I have no time to waste dancing around the issue. What are you prepared to offer and what do you want in exchange?”

  Andrew took a moment to gather his thoughts. Schulze had thrown him off, deliberately or otherwise. There was no way to know if it was genuine or a deliberate attempt to appear either unconcerned ... or naive. And yet, he had to respect Schulze’s wishes. The United States was in a strong position, but it wasn't that strong. Failing to come to an agreement might just ensure that the SS won the war.

  “What we have to offer depends on what you want,” he said, bluntly. He had the feeling that Schulze wouldn't be impressed if Andrew tried to temporise. “At the very basic level, we can offer satellite imagery, as I showed Morgenstern; I believe you will find it superior to anything produced by the Reich.”

  Schulze showed no overt reaction, but he twitched very slightly. Andrew smiled. The NSA would be pleased to hear that the Reich was far behind them in orbital imagery, although it couldn't be taken for granted. There was a point beyond which the law of diminishing returns came into effect.

  “We can also provide a certain level of logistical support,” he added, after a moment. “Our President is unwilling to actually commit American forces to your war, but otherwise ... give us a list of requests and we will try to meet them.”

  “I see,” Schulze said. “And what do you want in return?”

  Andrew sighed. The thorny issue of payment had been debated hotly in Washington and London, ensuring that he’d been sent several contradictory sets of orders. A number of politicians had wanted to try to ensure that the Reich was rolled back to a more manageable size, but several generals had pointed out that the provisional government would either refuse outright or go back on the agreement after the war. The price had to be something they could live with, afterwards.

  “Two things,” he said, bluntly. “First, we want an end to the war in South Africa. You pull your forces out, taking with you any South Africans who want to go.”

  “Finding living space for them won’t be easy,” Schulze said, flatly. He didn’t seem inclined to refuse. “They will have to go to Germany South or Germany East.”

  Andrew nodded. “Second, we would want an end to tariff barriers and free trade,” he added, carefully. This was likely to be the sticking point. “We want to be able to trade with France and the rest of Europe.”

  “That may be harder,” Schulze said. He smiled for the first time. “We will have to haggle.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Near Warsaw, Germany Prime

  13 September 1985

  “They’re coming,” the radio operator said. “I just picked up the warning.”

  Kurt nodded, shortly. The first reports had come in just before dawn, a series of commando and missile attacks all along the front. Only an idiot would have failed to realise that the war had just begun, even before the first flight of aircraft had screamed overhead, heading west towards the inner defence lines. The war was definitely underway.

  He glanced along the defence line as the seconds ticked by, wondering just how long they had before the Waffen-SS reached the town. It wouldn't take long for a panzer to drive from the bridges to where he was lying in wait, but their way was blocked by snipers, antitank teams and dozens of carefully-concealed IEDs. Kurt doubted a handful of dead or wounded stormtroopers would be enough to stop the SS - the stormtroopers bragged of taking heavy casualties and yet carrying on the mission - yet it would definitely slow them down. The only question was just how much it would slow them down.

  Not long, he thought, dryly. If they’d received the warning, the enemy was less than a mile away. And soon we will know how well we’ve done our work.

  He walked from post to post, checking on his men and making encouraging comments as the seconds ticked away. It was the first taste of combat for many of them, even though they’d endured months of intensive live-fire training before they’d been inducted into the Berlin Guard. Some of them relished the challenge, some of them looked forward to testing themselves against the SS ... and some of them were nervous, worried they would let their comrades down when the bullets started flying. They were all volunteers, Kurt reminded himself, but very few men would willingly leave when their comrades were ready to risk life and limb for the Reich.

  And I wouldn't want them beside me if they were, he thought
, as he returned to his post and started to scan the horizon for incoming threats. They might break and run before I give the order.

  Sweat trickled down his back as he waited, feeling as though time was beginning to slow down. The ground was still, but he could hear explosions and gunfire in the distance; aircraft flashed overhead, briefly visible before racing either east or west. There was no way to determine which side was flying them, let alone what they were doing. He’d been trained to recognise the basic American designs - everything from A-10 Warthogs to F-16 Falcons - but both sides in this war used the same equipment. The SS’s panzers were largely identical to the Heer panzers.