And they have space to trade for time, he thought. And the more time they have at their disposal, the more force they can bring to bear against us.
“Very well,” Holliston said. “I shall leave the conduct of the war to you.”
“Thank you, Mein Führer,” Alfred said. He knew better than to take Holliston’s assurances at face value. The man was a hopeless micromanager. Indeed, he’d even volunteered to take command of the South African War personally. “Do I have your permission to launch the offensive as planned?”
“You do,” Holliston said.
“Heil Holliston,” Alfred said. He did his best to inject a note of confidence into the discussion. “I will see you in Berlin.”
There was a click on the other end of the line. Alfred returned the phone to its cradle, then looked at Weineck. “Send the signal,” he ordered. “We move as planned.”
“Jawohl, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said.
Alfred nodded, then sat down at the table as the operators started to work, picking up their phones and issuing the orders that would set one of the most powerful military machines in the world into action. The Panzers would start warming up their engines, the aircraft would start preparing for takeoff, additional supplies of live ammunition would be issued… he hoped, desperately, that their logistics held out for the duration of the war. Their contingency planning had been focused around relieving firebases and settlements within Germany East, not supplying a military advance towards Berlin. He’d rounded up every truck within the region, ignoring all objections, but he had no idea if they would be enough. No one had launched such a powerful offensive since 1947.
“Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said. “The commandos are receiving their orders now.”
“Good,” Alfred said.
He cursed under his breath. The steady barrage of patriotic music, interspersed with exhortations to join the legitimate heirs of Adolf Hitler rather than a rabble of traitors in Berlin, had been going out over the airwaves since it had become clear that the provisional government had survived the decapitation strike. Alfred rather doubted that anyone was paying attention to it – none of the people who’d crossed from west to east had mentioned the broadcasts during their debriefings – but it served a useful purpose. Now, specific songs would be played, informing the commandoes that the time had come to go to war. There was no stopping the war now.
Sighing, he rose to his feet and headed for the door. There was nothing for him to do now; nothing but wait for the first reports from the front. He pushed the door open and stared into the darkness, looking up at the stars overhead. The towns and settlements to the east had been ordered to go dark, for fear of attracting bombers. There was almost no light pollution at all. He leaned against the wall and removed a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up and puffing on it gratefully. Far too many Germans were about to die.
And whatever happens, the Reich will never be the same, he thought. He’d been a very junior officer when Adolf Hitler had died, but he’d been aware – far too aware – that the different factions in Berlin had nearly come to blows. A civil war will tear us apart.
He cursed, again, wishing he could talk openly to his subordinates. He was loyal – of course he was loyal! And yet, he knew all too well just what would happen when the war started in earnest. A military machine that had dominated the entire continent would be badly weakened, even if the war lasted no longer than Holliston expected. Rebuilding the economy would be very difficult, ensuring that the panzers and aircraft lost in the war could not be replaced quickly. The Americans would move ahead – far ahead – and the Reich would no longer be able to keep up.
But the merest whiff of disloyalty will get me killed, he thought grimly, as he looked up at the stars. And who will take command then?
The stars offered no answer. But then, he hadn’t expected one. He gazed at the twinkling lights, reminding himself that not all of them were natural. Some of them would be orbiting satellites: German and American. The battle for control of the satellites had been savage, with both sides trying to lock the other out. In the end, neither side had really won.
He dropped the cigarette on the ground and trod it into the dirt with his toe. There was nothing to be gained from worrying himself, not now. The offensive was due to kick off in less than seven hours, once the troops had moved up to their final jump-off positions. And then… who knew? Maybe the war could be ended quickly.
Sure, he told himself, as he walked back into the complex. And maybe Untermenschen will learn to fly.
Leutnant Kurt Wieland couldn’t help feeling a shiver running down his spine as he toured the darkened town, even though he knew he should be catching some sleep before he had to go back on duty. The sentries were awake – they would have regretted it for the rest of their careers if he’d caught them sleeping – but the entire town was so silent it was almost eerie, as if he was walking through one of the monster-infested villages of legend. He’d read all of the Beowulf stories when he’d been a child and the memories lingered, even after he’d learned that the worst monsters in the world walked on two legs.
He stopped at the edge of town, peering into the distance. There was a minefield there, along with a handful of traps that probably wouldn’t slow down a panzer for very long but give an infantry force a very nasty surprise. Several of his men had competed to produce the nastiest trap; digging trenches, filling them with broken glass and then camouflaging them with artistically-placed trees and bushes. A couple had even been filled with flammable material, harvested from a couple of the houses. Kurt didn’t feel right about stealing items from the former inhabitants – he’d already put four of his men on punishment duties for stealing ladies underwear – but there was no choice. He rather doubted the town would still be standing when the Waffen-SS had finished with it.
“Herr Leutnant,” Loeb said. “Can’t sleep?”
Kurt shook his head. He’d worked all day – he should have been able to sleep – but he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes closed. It was frustrating, after mastering the old trick of sleeping whenever he had a chance, yet perhaps it was understandable. He’d never had so much responsibility in his career. The men under his command were going to war, a war none of them wanted. And very few of them were truly ready for the war. Kurt was hardly the only combat virgin in the platoon.
You did fire on the SS in Berlin, he reminded himself. But they weren’t expecting you to open fire.
“The waiting is never easy, Herr Leutnant,” Loeb said. “But you really should sleep.”
Kurt gave him a ghostly smile. He knew he should sleep. But lying in his cot wouldn’t make him feel better, not when time was slowly running out. Everyone knew the big offensive couldn’t be far off, not when it was already growing colder. No one in their right mind would want to fight in the eastern winter, after all. The SS would want to get as much of the fighting over with as possible before winter started to hamper their operations.