Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (26 page)

“Number twelve,” he said.

“Right this way,
Mein Herr
,” the woman said.  She glanced at Schrupp.  “I’ll be back in a moment for your choice, my dear.”

Kurt could feel his heart racing in his chest as the woman opened a door and showed him into a room.  It was larger than his bedroom at home, dominated by a giant four-poster bed that looked as though it had been dragged out of a museum.  The sheets looked clean - he hoped, desperately, that they were changed between visitors.  A side door opened into a small bathroom, with a shower, a toilet and a notice warning him to be careful how much water he used.  It was so out of place that it made him smile.  But then, water supplies to the city were in danger of being cut off.

The door opened.  He turned, just in time to see the girl step into the room.  She’d donned a silk dressing gown that clung to her curves in all the right places, hinting at the shape of her body rather than revealing bare skin.  She carried a tray in one hand, holding a small bottle and a pair of glasses.  Kurt found himself staring helplessly as she placed the tray on the mantelpiece and then turned to smile at him.  It made him feel as though he wanted to melt.

“Well,” she said.  “Is this your first time?”

“Yeah,” Kurt stammered.  He wasn't ashamed of being a virgin, even though he
had
had girlfriends in school.  His father had been right.  He had been in no position to marry until after he’d completed his education.  “Here and ... and everywhere.”

She smiled.  “I understand,” she said.  She patted the bed with one hand.  “Please, sit.  We have all the time in the world.”

Kurt sat, feeling conflicted.  She - he didn't even know her
name
- was beautiful, the most beautiful girl he’d seen.  He hadn't been close enough to any of his girlfriends to do more than kiss them; he’d certainly not been allowed to touch their breasts or slip his hand into their panties.  The recruits at the barracks had bragged, when the lights were out, of their exploits, but he’d just remained silent.  His father had also told him that most men lied through their teeth about sex.

The girl leaned forward and kissed his lips, her dressing gown coming undone and falling open to reveal her bare breasts.  Kurt stared, his hands jerking forward to touch them.  He’d never seen bare breasts, not outside a handful of magazines his father had beaten him for possessing.  They certainly hadn't been
real
.  But now ... they felt soft and warm against his hand, welcoming ...

“You have all night,” the girl whispered, as she started to undo his shirt.  “Lie back and enjoy it.”

***

“Start setting up the defence lines,”
Hauptsturmfuehrer
Hennecke Schwerk ordered, as they slowly took up position outside Berlin.  “And keep a close watch on our approaches.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Hauptsturmfuehrer
.”

Schwerk smirked as his subordinates scurried to do his bidding.  The company under his command might have been thrown together in a hurry - the remains of his former unit combined with two others - but he found it hard to care.  He’d been
promoted
!  None of his family had ever been promoted in combat, let alone been given command of a scratch unit in the middle of a war.  The company might be far from perfect - very few of the men had trained together - but they’d learned fast as they continued the march towards Berlin.

They’re pleased with me
, he thought, as he touched his new rank insignia. 
And I won’t let them down
.

He peered through the darkness towards Berlin.  Even in the darkness - the city had blacked out most of its lights - it was clear that Berlin was far larger than any city he’d seen, far larger than Germanica itself.  A sprawling nightmare, according to the map; a maze of government buildings, residential areas, factories, transit barracks and everything else a modern city needed to remain alive.  Berlin had never been rebuilt, unlike Moscow; there was no order to the city at all.  And yet, the defenders had already started to dig into the city.  Fighting their way into Berlin was going to be a nightmare.

We can do it
, he thought, coldly.  He was damned if he was conceding anything to the enemy, not now. 
And they won’t be able to stop us
.

A gunshot cracked out, far too close to him for comfort.  He ducked down, drawing his pistol with one hand as he searched frantically for targets.  The westerners weren’t
good
at sneaking around, not like the men and women who had grown up in a war zone, but a number of them had taken the risk of engaging the stormtroopers at night.  Schwerk had rapidly come to learn that nowhere could be trusted completely, not even a seemingly-deserted campsite that looked perfect for a night.  The sniping and IEDs were taking their toll on his men.  And they, in turn, had taken it out on the civilians.  Schwerk had watched, dispassionately, as prospective insurgents were hung; he’d turned a blind eye when a couple of his men had marched a female prisoner away from the camp for some fun.  The insurgents and those who sheltered them deserved no less.

He stayed low as he peered into the darkness, but no more shots echoed through the air.  The bastards were just trying to keep his men awake, rather than catching some desperately needed sleep.  Chances were that whoever fired the shot was already well away from the camp, but no one would know for sure.  Unless, of course, they stumbled across his body ...

Bastard
, he thought, as he rejoined his men.  Tomorrow, the enemy would have nowhere to run.  The stormtroopers were already surrounding Berlin, cutting off all routes in and out of the city. 
And you’ll soon be dead.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Berlin, Germany Prime

28 September 1985

“You really should not be up here,” Horst said, as Gudrun scrambled to the top of the ladder and peered into the distance.  “There are snipers out there.”

“I owe it to my conscience to take
some
risks,” Gudrun snapped.  They’d made up after their last argument, but even repeated lovemaking hadn't been able to hide the fact that their first disagreement had never been fully resolved.  “And I’m not in the front line.”

She ignored his snort as she peered towards the enemy lines.  The SS had crept close to Berlin under cover of darkness, laying out their positions and digging trenches with a thoroughness she could only admire.  Voss, from what she’d heard before they’d left the
Reichstag
, had admitted that the defenders didn't have a hope of making a successful sally without being torn to ribbons.  The SS lines were too strong.  And the handful of shells they’d hurled into Berlin - already - was merely a taste of what they could do, if the city refused to surrender.

“Get down,” Horst ordered, sharply.  “If they see you, they’ll take a shot at you.”

“They couldn't hit anything at this distance,” Gudrun said.  “And ...”

She yelped as Horst grabbed her foot and pulled.  Her fingers lost their grip on the ladder and she fell, straight into his arms.  She struggled, pulled herself free and found her footing, then whirled around to glare at him.  She’d never been so tempted to slap a man since one of her distant relatives had visited and spent the whole time staring at her chest.  And the little bastard had had the nerve to ask her out afterwards ...

“They are already sniping into the city,” Horst snapped.  “I don’t want to lose you too.”

“They couldn't hit me ...”

“They can and they will, if they think it’s worth taking the shot,” Horst snarled.  “What happens if you die?”

Gudrun glared.  “You think I'm
that
important?”

“I think you’re very important,” Horst snapped back.  “Who is going to stand up and tell the Chancellor that he’s in the wrong?  And who is going to make damn sure that the
Reichstag
actually lives up to its title?”

“I don’t think I'm the only idealist out there,” Gudrun said.  She wanted to yell and scream, but she knew it would be pointless.  The hell of it was that he had a point.  Germany had no real tradition of political debate, of the give and take that characterised democracy.  And it would be easy to slip back into fascism.  “And do you care more about me than about the
Reichstag
?”

“You,” Horst said.  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, very lightly.  “I don’t want to lose you.”

Gudrun shook her head in silent frustration.  She loved Horst, but his over-protectiveness got on her nerves.  And yet, he was better than many other boyfriends or husbands ... who knew what would happen when they got married?  Perhaps he’d change, or she’d change, or everyone else would change.  And if they didn't get married ...

Father would go mad
, she thought, as they slipped away from the ladder. 
He’d expect me to marry someone sooner or later
.

She smiled, despite herself, as she heard aircraft buzzing over the city.  A missile - an
American
missile - lanced up towards one of them, blowing the aircraft out of the sky.  Its comrades scattered, dropping bombs at random as they fled.  The bombing didn't seem to be very effective, but it would definitely add to the fear and panic threatening the city.  All of a sudden, getting married - or living in sin - no longer seemed a real problem.

Horst caught her arm.  “Gudrun, I want you to stay inside from this moment on,” he said, firmly.  “You’re in great danger.”

“No more than anyone else,” Gudrun said.  They reached the car; the driver opened the door for them, then carefully ignored their argument as he started the engine.  “We’re all in danger, aren't we?”

“Yes,” Horst said.  The reports of refugees being raped and murdered had continued to flow into the city, as if the SS had decided to simply take off the gloves.  “And yet you’re definitely one of the people the SS
really
wants.  Everyone else ... has at least a reasonable chance of survival.”

Gudrun snorted.  She’d read the reports from Stalingrad, the reports that had been deemed too sensitive to be published.  The Russians had come very close to fighting the
Wehrmacht
to a standstill.  If the stormtroopers chose to press into Berlin, the bloody slaughter would catch thousands of civilians as well as soldiers.  The provisional government had even asked the SS to allow the refugees and civilians to leave, but the SS hadn't even bothered to reply.  Voss had noted that the refugees actually weakened the defenders.  Either the defenders refused to feed the refugees - which would cause riots - or they fed the refugees and ran out of food quicker, ensuring that the SS could take the city without a fight.

“
No one
has a reasonable chance of survival,” she said.

“You certainly don't,” Horst said, flatly.  “And nor does anyone else on the purge list.”

“I know,” Gudrun said.  “How many names do they know?”

“They’ll be settling old scores as well as merely purging the provisional government,” Horst said.  “I expect they’ll kill just about every high-ranking military and civil official in the west.”

Gudrun couldn't disagree.  The SS had carried out a number of random atrocities, but they’d also rounded up and arrested - or killed - hundreds of government bureaucrats in captured towns.  They’d even arrested mayors, policemen and a number of soldiers who’d resigned, rather than fight their fellow Germans.  Gudrun had no idea why the SS had considered them suitable targets for a purge, but she couldn't deny the results.  Hundreds of other officials, caught in the path of the SS’s advance, had deserted their posts, making the evacuation efforts - already badly strained - completely impossible.  And, from what little she’d heard, the SS’s replacements were more concerned with political reliability than getting the occupied territory running again. 

“The country will fall apart,” she protested, weakly.

Karl Holliston had to be mad.  Gudrun knew - whatever Horst might say - that she wasn't particularly important.  She had no true power base of her own.  But Hans Kruger and Field Marshal Voss
did
have power bases, power bases that were part of the system that held the
Reich
together.  Murdering every last senior bureaucrat in the
Reich
might make the SS popular again - Gudrun had heard her mother grumbling about filling in form after form just to get a driving licence - but without them the system would simply collapse. 

“I don’t think Holliston cares,” Horst said.  “He just believes that purging the rot from the
Reich
will be enough to purify it.”

“And he thinks I’m the rot,” Gudrun said.

“Yes,” Horst insisted.  “Which is why you need to take very good care of yourself.”

He paused.  “If nothing else,” he added, “don’t give him the satisfaction of dancing a jig on your grave.”

Gudrun nodded.  “I ...”

“Shellfire,” the driver snapped.  He yanked the car to one side as shells crashed down on the city.  “Get ready to jump if necessary.”

The ground shook.  Gudrun braced herself, but the shells hadn't landed
that
close to their position.  She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked backwards to see flames and smoke rising from the impact point.  God alone knew who had been caught by the shells, if
anyone
had been caught by the shells.  The SS seemed to like hurling bursts of shellfire into the city at random. 

“That was alarmingly close,” Horst said.  He slapped the partition.  “Get us back to the
Reichstag
as quickly as possible.”

“
Jawohl
,” the driver snapped.

Gudrun caught Horst’s arm.  “We’re going to the hospital!”

“Not this time,” Horst said.  “Those shells could have been aimed at you.”

“I doubt it,” Gudrun said.  “If they knew where I was, surely they would have sent a commando team after me.”

“We’re not taking the risk,” Horst said.  “I’m taking you home.”

Gudrun saw the grim look in his eyes and decided that further argument would probably be futile.  Horst was determined to keep her safe, even from herself.  At least he wasn't trying to tell her she couldn't stay on the council ... she scowled at him, then sat back in her seat and crossed her arms.  Was it normal to feel so mad at someone who was actually trying to help, she asked herself, or was it just the strain getting to her?  There was no way to know.

She rose as soon as the car slipped into the underground garage and came to a halt.  “I need to talk to my mother,” she said.  “I’ll see you in the bunker?”

Horst gave her a concerned look.  “I’ll walk you to her apartment,” he said.  “And then I’ll wait outside.”

Gudrun opened her mouth to argue, then nodded reluctantly.  There was at least one spy in the
Reichstag
itself, perhaps two.  And if there was a spy on the council itself ... that spy wouldn't be connected to any other spies.  He’d be too valuable to go sneaking into Horst’s bedroom to leave notes and instructions.

“Very well,” she said. 

Her mother had moved into the
Reichstag
almost as soon as she’d been asked, after a brief show of reluctance.  Gudrun had been relieved, even though it meant she’d be living far too close to yet another pair of prying eyes.  It ensured her mother’s safety even in such trying times.  But, at the same time, her mother couldn't be protected completely.  She'd become far too involved with the various female protest groups.

“Gudrun,” her mother called, when she entered.  “How are you?”

Gudrun swallowed as Horst checked the room, then left, closing the door behind him.  Her mother had been just as inflexible as her father, although in a very different way.  Gudrun had never been the ideal daughter; indeed, they had never really understood one another.  And yet, being the only two women in the house had brought them together more than either of them might have wished.

Her mother eyed her for a long moment.  “Problems with him?”

“A few,” Gudrun said.  Hadn't her life been so much simpler last year?  “Is that normal?”

“Yes,” her mother said.  She waved Gudrun to a chair.  “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it.”

***

Oberstgruppenfuehrer
Alfred Ruengeler had been to Berlin more times than he cared to recall, although he’d never really
liked
the city.  It wasn't something he could put his finger on, a sense - perhaps - that there were just too many different attitudes clashing together in close proximity.  Germanica was cleaner and simpler, the work of an architect who’d built on the ashes of a dead city.  Berlin ... was a dark city.

And it would be hell to take, he thought, as he surveyed the growing defences through his binoculars.  The last contingency plans to defend Berlin had been drawn up in the 1960s, back when there had been a major disagreement between the
Reich
and America that could have easily led to war, but that had been before the sprawling had just exploded out into the countryside.  Now, Berlin was
huge
, far larger than any city the
Reich
had had to take by force ... and most of his men would be utterly unprepared for the role.

“They don’t seem to have any panzers,”
Sturmbannfuehrer
Friedemann Weineck pointed out, thoughtfully.  “Just ... antitank weapons.”

Alfred snorted, rudely.  If there was one thing he’d learned during the war, it was that the Panzer XI - the finest tank in the world, according to the designers - had a number of nasty little flaws.  Someone had sold the
Reich
a bill of goods, he’d concluded, after reading the umpteenth report of missiles punching through the panzer’s forward armour plating; someone was going to die, when he got his hands on them.  But it was something that would have to wait until the end of the war.