“Traitor,” Schwarzkopf managed.
“You’re the ones who covered up the deaths of my comrades,” Horst sneered. “We could have handled it.”
Cold bitter hatred flowed through his heart. He still remembered the betrayal he’d felt, back when he’d discovered that Gudrun was telling the truth. Konrad had been wounded, crippled beyond any hope of recovery, yet no one had bothered to tell his parents. The SS was supposed to look after its people, wasn't it? And yet, Schwarzkopf had clearly killed the bartender just to cover his tracks. The bartender’s wife was probably dead too, if she hadn't been arrested when she tried to leave the Reichstag.
He gathered himself, meeting Schwarzkopf’s eyes. “Where is she?”
Schwarzkopf smirked. “And which her are we talking about?”
“You know who I’m talking about,” Horst said. Schwarzkopf tensed as Horst placed the tip of the knife against his eyeball. “Tell me where she is or I’ll blind you.”
“She’s gone,” Schwarzkopf said. He snorted, rudely. “Did you think I would know where to find her?”
Horst stared down at him for a long moment. “You took her out of the city?”
“That was the plan,” Schwarzkopf said, casually. “Of course, they could have been killed as they crossed the lines. Or shot up by the stormtroopers as they retreat ... nice-looking girl like yours, traitor. What do you think they're going to do to her?”
“Damn you,” Horst said. “How were they planning to get out of the city?”
Schwarzkopf laughed at him. “What were you doing during training? Fondling yourself? I wasn't told any of the details and if you bothered to actually think, you’d know I wasn't told any of the details.”
Horst had to pull the blade back just to keep himself from ramming the dagger through the eye and straight into the brain. Schwarzkopf was right. No covert operative was ever told more than they needed to know, just in case they were captured by the enemy and forced to talk. Horst had endured weeks of training in resisting interrogation, but his instructors had made it clear that anyone could be broken. It was far safer not to know anything he didn't specifically need to know.
And there was no trace of a lie in Schwarzkopf’s voice. He wouldn't have been trusted completely, not by the commandos. If they’d suspected Horst - and it was clear they’d suspected Horst - they would have suspected his handler too. Horst had dropped the ball - or so they’d claimed to believe - and that meant that his handler had screwed up too, either by believing Horst or not keeping a close eye on him. No, Schwarzkopf wouldn't know anything useful and ...
A wave of despair threatened to overcome him. The commandos definitely wouldn't stay in the city, not if they had orders to take Gudrun alive and deliver her to Germanica. And that, at least, had to be true. They could have tested Horst’s loyalty if they’d merely wanted her dead. But ... if they tried to cross the lines surrounding the city, they might just be killed in the crossfire ... and, if that happened, Gudrun would likely die too.
“You love her,” Schwarzkopf mocked. “And if you had kept a closer eye on her, she might not have died.”
Horst stabbed him. Schwarzkopf let out a gurgle as the dagger slipped into his brain, his body convulsing one final time before falling still. Horst stared down at him bitterly, wondering why he’d ever liked the older man. But back then he’d been secure in his role, he’d been sure he was doing the right thing. The students could be allowed a great deal of latitude, but they couldn't be trusted. It had been his job to keep an eye on them ...
... And he’d done it, too, until Gudrun had opened his eyes.
“Damn you,” he breathed. He wasn’t sure if he were talking to Schwarzkopf’s body ... or himself. “Damn you to hell.”
Horst searched the body quickly, but found nothing apart from a pistol and two spare clips of ammunition. Schwarzkopf would have dumped everything that might have led a team of investigators back to his lair, taking that particular secret with him to the grave. And he’d mocked Horst ...
He wanted to die, Horst thought. He opened Schwarzkopf’s mouth and frowned as he saw the suicide tooth, still in place. And he didn't want to kill himself.
Gritting his teeth, Horst rose, kicked the body savagely and then searched the bar from top to bottom. There was no sign of anything that might lead him to the commandos; indeed, it looked as though the bar had been stripped of anything useful. The barrels of beer he would have expected to find were missing. Rationing had bitten hard, he knew, but it was still puzzling ... unless someone had handed out the beer in hopes of causing a riot. Who knew?
A riot would make a good cover for trouble, he thought, grimly, and ...
He sat down, hard, after he finished his search. He’d found nothing. He’d found nothing and Gudrun was gone. He didn't even know where to begin looking for her. He wouldn't even know if she was alive or dead, unless her dead body was found somewhere in the next few days. And it might not even be recognised before it was dumped in a mass grave ...
I might never know what happened to her, he realised. And yet, if she falls into enemy hands ...
There was nothing he could do to find her, he told himself, as he headed to the door. He didn't have any way to know what had happened. And all he could really do was return to the Reichstag, report in and hope he didn't get blamed for her capture. If, of course, she had been captured ...
If she has, he vowed silently to himself, I will get her back, even if I have to tear Germany East apart.
***
“The Category A units have made it out of the kessel, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said.
Alfred scowled, ignoring Weineck’s tone. The Category B units had not made it out of the trap. One by one, they were being overrun and either crushed or forced to surrender. Some of them had died in place, fighting savagely, but others had simply surrendered once they realised they’d been sacrificed like pawns on a chessboard. Alfred knew he should be angry at them, yet there was no real point. He'd thrown them away, knowing they would be defeated, just to buy a little more time.
“Redeploy our airpower to keep us covered,” he ordered. No one seemed to have checked with Germanica - yet - but it was only a matter of time. “And then order the remaining units to move away from the city.”
He shook his head, slowly. A German army hadn't been in headlong retreat since ... since 1918, when the British had broken their lines and advanced into Germany itself. Even the desperate fighting around Moscow, back in 1941-42, hadn't seen such a retreat, although a number of units had made tactical withdrawals. The Waffen-SS’s reputation for invincibility had been shattered in a single catastrophic day. Rebuilding what they’d lost in men and material alone would take time, but rebuilding their reputation could take years ...
If we have the time, he thought, numbly. He was too tired, too worn, to care. The traitors will mount a counterattack as soon as possible.
Weineck cleared his throat. “It's time to evacuate, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” he said, bluntly. “The demo teams have to rig the farm to explode.”
Alfred nodded. He was tempted to stay behind, to join the men he’d expended during the futile attempt to slow the enemy, but someone had to explain the retreat to the Fuhrer. If he took all the responsibility upon himself, perhaps - just perhaps - the remainder of his command staff would not be purged. The Reich was going to need them, in the weeks and months to come. There was no one else in Germany East capable of preparing for the coming onslaught.
“Understood,” he said, taking one last look at the map. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Forty
Berlin, Germany Prime
25 October 1985
“You utter ...”
Horst barely had a chance to duck before Kurt Wieland threw a punch right into his face, sending him staggering backwards. It was all he could do, torn between tiredness and the bitter sense of failure, not to hit his brother-in-law back as hard as he could. Kurt had every reason to be mad at him, but
there were limits.
“That will do, Kurt,” his father-in-law said. He looked ashen, but grimly composed. “Horst. What happened?”
“He let her get captured,” Kurt snapped. “Father ...”
“I said, that will do,” his father repeated. “Horst ...?”
Horst took a breath. “The driver was a spy,” he said, numbly. Even in hindsight, there had been no clues to miss. He’d never suspected the driver for a moment. And yet, it was the SS who taught close-protection officers their skills. The bastard must have been seduced back during his training. “He drove us right into a trap.”
“And Gudrun was captured,” Kurt snarled. “Or killed!”
“There was no body in the car,” Horst said, quietly. A police team had gone over the wreckage as things quietened down, but they’d found nothing. “They either managed to get her out of the city ...”
“Or she was killed somewhere along the way,” Kurt said. His voice hardened. “How do we know you didn’t betray her? You worked for the goddamned blackshirts!”
“He could have betrayed her long ago,” his father said, quietly.
“Unless it was all a plan to put the SS firmly in control of the Reich,” Kurt snapped.
Horst sighed, feeling too tired to go on. “Only a complete lunatic would come up with such a plan and expect it to work,” he said. He wanted to shout, but he didn't have the energy. “We were fooled - we were all fooled - because we thought we were fooling them. Now shoot me or let me decide what to do now.”
Kurt looked as if he was ready to go for his pistol, but his father stepped forward before he could make up his mind. “What do you plan to do?”
“Go after her,” Horst said, flatly.
“It’s suicide,” Kurt said.
Horst glared at him. “Would you rather I left my wife and your sister in their hands?”
Kurt started forward. “And what sort of husband would let his wife walk straight into a trap?”
Horst balled his fists, ready to fight. Kurt was right. He should have insisted on using a double from the start and forbidding Gudrun from accompanying them, rather than planning to make the switch in the early afternoon. Gudrun would have made a fuss, but he could have handcuffed her to the bed or simply locked her up to keep her from leaving. She would have killed him, probably - he’d taught her the basics of using a knife as well as a pistol - yet at least she would have been alive.
“I don’t think he was offered a choice,” his father-in-law said. “Kurt, sit down. We need to think.”
He met Horst’s eyes. “Do you think you can succeed?”
“I think so,” Horst said. In truth, he had no idea ... but he was damned if he was just abandoning her. Gudrun deserved so much better. “They won’t kill her at once, not if they do have her.”
“They’ll have her in the deepest darkest dungeon they have,” Kurt said. “Getting her out is going to be a nightmare.”
“There’s no such thing as an impregnable fortress,” Horst said. It had been Hitler himself who’d pointed out the critical flaw in the Belgium fortresses, back in 1940. Gudrun would be buried beneath the remains of the Kremlin, where the SS had an extensive prison facility ... once they got her there, of course. “I’ll find a way to get in.”
“You might just find a way to get killed,” Kurt pointed out.
Horst shrugged. There was no other hope. The provisional government would have to launch a counterattack, invading Germany East before Holliston managed to unlock his supply of nuclear weapons, but it would take weeks, at best, before the invasion force was ready to go. And then it would be moving right into the teeth of a Russian winter. Horst would have been surprised if the military agreed to consider moving before the snows had melted and the roads were traversable again.
They could have her on a plane to Germanica by now, he thought. And then they’ll start breaking her, piece by piece.
But Kurt was right. It wasn't going to be easy. Slipping across the border - either on foot or in the air - was one thing, but moving from state to state within Germany East would be nearly impossible without the right papers. And it was unlikely he could get his hands on the right papers, after the RHSA burned to the ground. Forging them would be very risky ...
“I see no alternative,” he said. Getting to Germanica without being caught would be tricky, but he was a native of Germany East. He did know how to get around. “Do you have any options yourself?”
Kurt scowled, but shook his head bitterly.
He loves his sister, Horst thought. It wasn't entirely a surprise, but it was uncommon - at least in Germany East. Brothers stayed with the family, sisters went off to join other families. And yet, that might not even happen in Germany Prime. People didn't move away from the settlement when they married. He cares about her.
“Come with me,” he said.
He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Tolerating Kurt for Gudrun’s sake would have been easy - Kurt had played his own role in starting the uprising - but asking Kurt to accompany him was different. It was stupid. Kurt was a Heer infantryman, not an SS operative or a commando. And yet, he knew he couldn't withdraw the offer. It was too late.
“You’re going to be needed on the front,” his father-in-law said. “Kurt ...”
“I will,” Kurt said, addressing Horst. “There’s no shortage of qualified officers who can take my place.”
“We’ll see what your superiors say,” his father grunted. “Horst, when do you plan to leave?”
Horst frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said. Leaving now would give him a better chance to slip through the enemy lines - the Waffen-SS were still retreating in confusion - but waiting a week would let him see just what was developing on the ground. Maybe, just maybe, some kindly soul would assassinate Karl Holliston and negotiate a truce. “At least a day or two from now.”
Kurt sneered. “You don’t want to leave at once?”
“I do,” Horst said, tiredly. His patience snapped. “I’m exhausted, hungry and not in the best of states. I need a good night’s sleep and some food before I can even consider departing.”
He forced himself to control his voice. “And if you don’t want to get yourself killed if you come with me,” he added, “I suggest you do the same yourself!”
Turning on his heel, no longer caring if Kurt put a bullet in it, he strode through the door and down the corridor towards the quarters he’d shared with Gudrun. It felt like it had been years since he’d last stepped into them; he closed the door behind him and then sagged against the wall. There were signs of her presence everywhere, from the nightgown her mother had given her for the wedding night to the notebook she’d been writing in ... he slumped to the ground, cursing himself under his breath. She’d wanted him to treat her as an equal, but it had led right to her capture ...
They won’t kill her at once, he told himself, firmly. There’s still time.
Sure, his own thoughts answered. And what they’ll do to her before they kill her will break her, once and for all.
He rose, somehow, and stumbled towards the bed. Sleep wouldn't come easy, even though he needed it desperately. Tomorrow ... he would have to plan the most dangerous mission of his career, knowing that failure would mean certain death for both of them ...
... And, perhaps, the end of the war itself.
***
“The reports are quite clear,” Voss said. “They’re retreating.”
“Good,” Volker said. “Can we chase them all the way back to Germanica?”
“No,” Voss said. “We’re going to have to lay the groundwork for taking the war into Germany East. As it is, the last set of orbital images suggests that the SS bastards are digging into their former defence lines near Warsaw. Digging them out is going to be difficult.”
“Giving them plenty of time to muster their resources for the final battle,” Volker said.
“Yes,” Voss agreed. “But there are limits to how many reservists they can pull off the
settlements.”
Volker nodded in agreement. Security in Germany East had to be maintained - or the Russian insurgents would attack the settlements and destroy them. He had no way to know for sure, but he would have bet good money that sending so many reservists westwards had weakened the defences badly enough to allow an upswing in attacks. And sending CAS aircraft westwards hadn't helped either, he was sure. The SS’s air power had often made the difference between losing a settlement or slaughtering the attackers.
Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) Page 40
