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 experienced 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.”