Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Ragnarok

  (Twilight Of The Gods III)

  Christopher G. Nuttall

  http://www.chrishanger.net

  http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/

  http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

  Cover by Brad Fraunfelter

  www.BFillustration.com

  All Comments and Reviews Welcome!

  Cover Blurb

  The Nazi Civil War rages on ...

  The Provisional Government has scored a significant victory, driving the Waffen-SS back from Berlin and winning itself time to plot a counteroffensive. But Karl Holliston - the self-declared Fuhrer of the Greater German Reich - isn't about to give up so easily. As mighty armies prepare for the final campaign, winter sweeps down from the east and both side prepare their ultimate weapons, the fate of the world hangs in the balance ...

  ... And if the Reich burns, the rest of the world may burn too.

  Author’s Note

  I’m not particularly fond of books, even alternate history books, that attempt to reproduce foreign accents or make excessive use of foreign terms. Unfortunately, writing a book set in Nazi Germany makes it impossible to avoid the use of some German words, including a number specific to Nazi Germany and the SS. I’ve done my best to keep this to a bare minimum and, just in case the meaning of the word cannot be deduced from context, I’ve placed a glossary at the rear of the book.

  Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s a word I’ve missed during the editing.

  And if you liked this book, please leave a review.

  CGN

  Prologue

  Berlin, Germany, 1950

  It was very quiet in the Reichstag bunker, deep under Berlin.

  Karl Holliston kept his face impassive - and his mouth closed - as the uniformed flunky displayed photograph after photograph on the big screen. Four cities, all in blackened ruins; the charred remains of hundreds of thousands of bodies clearly visible towards the edge of the blast zone. The dead were the lucky ones, Karl told himself; the survivors, if they somehow managed to escape the Einsatzgruppen waiting outside the cities, were doomed to die lingering deaths as the radiation worked its dark magic on their bodies. No medical treatment could save their lives, even if the Reich cared to try.

  And we wouldn't, Karl thought. They’re Untermenschen.

  But no one would have cared about his opinion, if he’d given voice to it. He was just Heinrich Himmler’s aide.

  “Four cities,” Field Marshal Albert Kesselring said.

  Himmler showed no emotion as he leaned forward. “Four cities that rose up against us,” he said, his voice utterly dispassionate. “I saw no reason to waste the lives of our soldiers in teaching them a lesson.”

  “The Americans have already announced that they will cancel the trade deals,” Speer said, flatly. The civilian licked his lips, nervously. “They’re calling it mass murder.”

  “Tell them to tell it to the Indians,” Himmler said. His face twisted into a sneer. “Or to the Japanese.”

  Kesselring slapped the table, hard. “It was decided that the atomic bomb would not be used ...”

  “... Unless the Reich itself was at risk,” Himmler said. “I determined that the Reich was at risk.”

  Speer looked incredulous. “You plan to argue that a bunch of religious fanatics in the desert could somehow threaten the Reich?”

  Himmler gazed back at him, evenly.

  “Untermenschen cannot be allowed to revolt,” he said. “It would give other Untermenschen ideas.”

  He nodded towards the map. “Or do you believe that we can continue to hold the Lebensraum in Russia if the Russians think we can be beaten? That they can drive us out of the lands we won by the sword? Or that we can keep our access to oil if the Untermenschen tribes revolt against us? We needed to take strong action and I took that action.”

  “You used nuclear weapons on four defenceless cities,” Speer said.

  “I destroyed four cities that would have been destroyed anyway, in the fullness of time,” Himmler countered. “Were we going to leave the useless Untermenschen alive?”

  No, Karl thought.

  He smiled to himself. The Arabs had been foolish to side with the Reich. They might have chafed under British rule - they might have feared and hated the Jews as much as the Reich itself - but the Reich intended to enslave or exterminate all Untermenschen. And the Arabs were definitely Untermenschen. They had gleefully assisted the Reich in driving out the British and slaughtering the Jews, only to discover that the Reich intended to slaughter them next.

  “I did what I had to do,” Himmler said. “The Fuehrer’s death made us look weak. If I hadn't taken action, who knows how far the revolt would have spread?”

  Karl nodded in agreement. Adolf Hitler might have been declining in his later years - he flinched away from the thought hurriedly, knowing that expressing it meant death - but no one had doubted he ruled the Reich. And there had been no designated successor. The three men at the table - Himmler, Kesselring, and Speer - were collectively the most powerful figures in the Reich, yet none of them had a strong claim to Hitler’s title. Who would take the throne?

  Himmler should, Karl thought. But the other two fear him.

  “Never again,” Speer said. “The decision to deploy nuclear weapons will not be left in your hands.”

  “Oh?” Himmler asked. “And you intend to enforce it ... how?”

  “There will be a new division of the military specifically charged with handling nuclear weapons,” Kesselring said. “They will take their orders directly from the Reich Council, no one else. There will be no nuclear release without authority from the very highest levels.”

  That’s not an answer, Karl thought.

  He weighed up the odds in his head. There were a dozen crack SS units deployed near Berlin, but there were also a number of Wehrmacht infantry divisions ... all on high alert since Adolf Hitler had died. If the power struggle over who should succeed Hitler turned violent, there was no way to know who would win. Karl had every faith in the Waffen-SS, but would Himmler order them to attack the Wehrmacht? Or to slaughter the other members of the Reich Council and present the Wehrmacht with a fait accompli?

  “The revolution begun by the Fuhrer must be completed,” Himmler said. “If we have to deploy nuclear weapons to reach our goals, we will deploy them.”

  Speer looked even paler than usual. “Even at the risk of war with America?”

  Himmler snorted, rudely. “Do you really think the Americans would sacrifice New York or Washington for the sake of Untermenschen? Or the British? We could turn Britain into a radioactive slagheap and they know it.”

  He cleared his throat. “The Americans will moan and whine because that is what Americans do,” he said. “They won’t risk war with us.”

  “They crushed the Japanese,” Speer said.

  “Little yellow men,” Himmler countered, dismissively. “We rule, directly or indirectly, a third of the world. We have millions of men under arms, hundreds of thousands of panzers, aircraft and U-boats; we are far stronger, far more formidable, than Imperial Japan. And we have nuclear weapons. We can destroy them.”

  “They can destroy us,” Speer said.

  “They will not risk their existence by waging war against us,” Himmler said.

  Kesselring tapped the table, sharply. “We have a compromise in mind,” he said. “You - the SS - will be given Russia as your private domain. You’ll have complete freedom to reshape society any way you choose. In exchange for this, you will accept the position of the Reich Council and surrender the SS’s claim to nuclear weapons.”

  Karl looked a
t Himmler, wondering how his ultimate superior would react. The SS already ruled much of Occupied Russia, enslaving or slaughtering the Russians while slowly establishing massive settlements on the soil. Himmler was being offered something he already had. And yet, the SS didn't have an entirely free hand. They still had to contend with the Wehrmacht and Speer’s civilian bureaucracy. To be rid of that, to create a land where the Volk could live free and hold up its head with pride ...

  And we would grow strong, he thought, as our success attracted more and more Aryans into the Reich.

  It wasn't ideal, he knew. Germany itself would not be transformed so radically. The civilian bureaucrats were already objecting to some of the more important transformations - and their influence would only grow stronger if the SS concentrated on Russia. But the Reich Council’s control would not last. It would grow weaker and weaker until the true masters took their place at the head of society.

  Himmler took a long moment to compose his reply. “You believe this will appease the Americans?”

  “This is not about the Americans,” Kesselring said. “This is about preventing a civil war.”

  Karl had to fight to keep his face impassive. He’d known what was at stake - everyone knew what was at stake - but he’d never heard it expressed so bluntly. There were just too many competing factions within the Reich, all held in check by Hitler. If the Reich Council couldn’t put together a compromise to stabilise the Reich, the entire edifice would go down into civil war. And that would utterly destroy the Reich.

  “The Americans are not our greatest threat right now,” Speer added. “Our greatest threat is ourselves.”

  Himmler barely moved for a long cold moment. “Very well,” he said, finally. “You’ll have your control over nuclear weapons.”

  “You will still have a seat on the council,” Speer said.

  Karl nodded, inwardly. Speer was the weakest member of the triumvirate. What was control over the economy, over the factories and farms, compared to control over the soldiers, sailors and airmen who fought to expand the Reich? Speer needed Himmler to keep Kesselring in line, just as much as he needed Kesselring to keep Himmler in line. No doubt Speer expected to slowly extend his influence eastwards, no matter what agreements were made. He’d assume the SS couldn't handle its own economy.

  He allowed himself to relax, just barely, as the three men discussed the practicalities of their agreement. It wasn't what he wanted - what he knew Himmler wanted - but it was enough to keep the triumvirate happy. And, in the long run, the SS would reshape Russia into a paradise, a good example to the rest of the Reich. It might take decades - or more - but eventually the entire Reich would follow in their footsteps.

  And as long as we never lose sight of our goals, he thought, we will prevail.

  Chapter One

  East Germany

  28 October 1985

  The village was a blackened ruin.

  Hauptsturmfuehrer Hennecke Schwerk barely noticed as he stumbled through the ruined streets, heading east. He’d lost contact with his unit - all that remained of his unit - two days ago, during the chaotic retreat from Berlin. Now, the handful of men surrounding him were the remnants of a dozen units that had been hammered so badly that they’d shattered, only a handful of troopers surviving long enough to escape the caldron and make their escape to the east. He walked over a body - male or female, it was impossible to say - barely registering its existence. There was no way to know if the dead person had been a loyalist, a traitor, or merely a poor innocent civilian caught up in the maelstrom washing over the Reich ...

  He shook his head, feeling a sudden surge of anger. There was no such thing as an innocent civilian, not now. The world was divided into loyalists, men and women who would give their all to preserve the Reich, and traitors, men and women who would tear it down and spit in the face of everything the Reich had achieved since Adolf Hitler had taken power in 1933 and reshaped the world. And the traitorous civilians had turned on the Waffen-SS and driven them from Berlin, driven them east ...

  They will pay, he promised himself. They will pay.

  He shivered as a cold wind blew from the east. They’d been meant to take their winter clothing with them - the Waffen-SS had plenty of experience fighting in colder climes - but the offensive had been organised in such a tearing hurry that they’d ended up outrunning their logistics network. East Germany was nowhere near as cold as the Urals - or even the garrison towns near Germanica itself - but it was still cold now. He wrapped his arms around himself as he kept walking, somehow. They’d make it back to friendly lines and then ...

  The Waffen-SS was not supposed to lose. It had never lost, not until now. Hennecke had grown up on stories of the black-clad stormtroopers fighting the French, the British, the Russians and a dizzying series of subhuman opponents who couldn't hope to stand up to the Reich. The Waffen-SS had always taken the lead in fighting, from the coldest realms of Germany East to the darkest depths of Africa. And it had never been bested, not until now.

  At least we lost to fellow Germans, Hennecke thought.

  The thought wasn't reassuring. He’d been told, time and time again, that none of their opponents could hope to match them, man for man. Even the vaunted British SAS or the American Marines were no match for the SS. But they’d faced their fellow Germans - the softies of the west - in combat ... and lost. Berlin had been held so strongly that thousands of blackshirts had died, even before the panzers had come to the traitor’s aid. Hennecke knew how close he had come to death, more than once. What sadistic god had deemed that he would survive long enough to flee Berlin and join the retreat?

  I am strong, he told himself. I survived because I am strong.

  He shivered, helplessly, as he heard a dull roar in the distance. An engine, he thought; he couldn't tell if it was a panzer or a truck. Watching the panzers come at him had been a nightmare, leaving him with an odd flicker of sympathy for the bandit Untermenschen who’d faced the armoured vehicles on the steppes. For once, the panzers hadn't been on his side ... he didn't want to look behind him, but there was no choice. And yet, there was nothing, save for plumes of smoke rising in the distance.

  Perhaps they’ve given up the pursuit, he thought, numbly. Perhaps ...

  It was wishful thinking, he knew. German soldiers - the Wehrmacht as well as the Waffen-SS - were taught to take the offensive and keep taking the offensive. And if their opponents were in retreat, their formations scattered and their command networks a joke, the soldiers were taught to take advantage of it. How many Frenchmen had gone into the camps, back during the war, because they’d been caught in the open and captured? How many Russians had been mown down by the advancing panzers because their leadership refused to even consider the virtues of retreat? He’d thrilled to such tales, back in the past ...

  ... They didn't seem so exciting now.

  He glanced up, sharply, as he saw something flicker at the corner of his eye. The overcast skies were clear - thankfully, the enemy wouldn't be able to peer down on them from orbit - but that could change in a hurry. He hadn't seen a friendly plane ever since the Wehrmacht had broken the lines around Berlin. The Luftwaffe was full of traitors. Almost all of their surviving pilots had sided with the rebels, bombing and strafing the loyalists as they retreated eastwards. Perhaps a handful of soldiers, some wounded, wouldn't be a tempting target, but he knew they couldn't take it for granted. The hatred he’d seen unleashed over the past few months was terrifying.

  “Don’t get caught by the traitors,” his superiors had warned. “They’re not taking prisoners.”

  They kept moving, driven onwards by the grim knowledge that the only way to survive was to reach friendly lines. But where were the friendly lines? Hennecke thought they were moving east - he’d lost his personal compass somewhere in the retreat - but what if he was wrong? They could be moving north or south ... And yet, the devastation surrounding him - the destroyed villages, the shattered roads - suggested that they were on the right tr
ack.

  But he hadn't seen anyone outside his group for days.

  Another farming village loomed up in front of him. Common sense suggested they should walk around it, but he was too tired to care. The village had been wrecked as thoroughly as the previous village, save for the church. It stood alone, surrounded by ruined buildings and piles of blackened debris; outside, a dozen men and women dangled from ropes, their decomposing bodies suggesting they’d been hanged weeks ago. He shuddered, even though he’d seen worse horrors during the advance westwards. Who knew why the villagers had been hanged? And who knew who’d done it?

  He didn't bother to issue orders. In truth, he was unsure if any of his companions would follow them. Instead, he walked straight into the church and looked around. It felt oddly peaceful, despite the horrors outside; he had to fight the urge to just slump down in one of the pews and collapse. There were few churches in Germany East - he’d certainly never been in one - but, just for a moment, he could understand why the religious took comfort in them. And then he started to search the building, looking for food or drink or something they could use to survive.