But the Führer might think differently. It was less than two hundred miles from Warsaw to Berlin, as the crow flew. And a panzer could cover that distance in a few hours, if nothing happened to get in its way…
“I understand, Mein Fuhrer,” he said. “The offensive will proceed as fast as possible.”
“Very good,” Holliston said. “Keep me updated.”
Alfred sighed, inwardly, as the line disconnected. One of the operators was updating the ammunition consumption chart, warning him that stockpiles of ammunition were being used up faster than his worst-case estimates. There weren’t any major shortages – yet – but it was only a matter of time before they faced serious problems. Germany East could produce millions of rifle rounds, if necessary… producing panzer shells and bombs was far harder.
But they will be in the same boat, he thought. They’ll have the same problem too.
He sucked in his breath. The Reich had built up colossal stockpiles, after nearly running out of bombs and bullets during the last major war. But logistics had always been a secondary concern. Hitler had believed that Germans could muddle through, whatever happened, and had chosen to ignore how logistics constrained their operations. But it was growing alarmingly clear that all of the pre-war estimates had been badly inaccurate.
And we have been at war for less than a day, he thought. What will happen if we keep expending ammunition at the same rate for the next two weeks?
From his vantage point, Eduard Selinger could see the SS panzers as they advanced, one by one, down the autobahn. They’d clearly learned a few lessons, he noted to himself; the panzers were spread out, just to ensure that an air attack couldn’t catch more than one or two of the vehicles before the aircraft had to beat a retreat. A pair of helicopters hung overhead, swinging from side to side as they watched for potential threats; high overhead, a pair of fast-jet fighters were clearly visible. In the distance, he could see a number of mechanized infantrymen, hanging back to allow the panzers to take the brunt of any ambush.
Makes sense, he told himself, as he peered through the scope. But there isn’t an antitank team waiting in ambush.
He smiled, rather coldly, as he caught sight of the panzer commanders. They were perched on top of their panzers, their eyes scanning the horizon for significant threats rather than staying firmly buttoned down in their vehicles. Eduard didn’t blame them – it was harder to keep track of what was going on inside a panzer – but it made them vulnerable. They’d be ready to duck down the moment something happened, yet… he’d still have the first shot.
I stalked insurgents in South Africa, he thought. Carefully, he took aim at the lead commander and squeezed the trigger. This is easy…
The rifle fired. He moved rapidly to the next target and pulled the trigger again, trusting that he had hit the first target. The third target was already ducking down, moving with commendable speed; Eduard fired a shot anyway, in hopes of winging him. It didn’t look as though he’d succeeded, but at least he was sure his target knew he’d come very close to death. The panzers would be rather more careful about advancing now.
He rolled over, set the booby trap and headed for his escape route as the sound of approaching helicopters grew louder. They wouldn’t know precisely where he was, but the pilots would be experienced enough to shoot at any hint of movement and ask questions later. He dived down the gully and held himself still, hoping that his camouflage was enough to keep him hidden from prying eyes. The rattle of gunfire sounded, moments later, but it didn’t seem to be aimed anywhere near him. But as the helicopters passed overhead, he heard the sound of advancing infantry behind them. It was time to move.
Gritting his teeth, he crawled down the gully, reminding himself that he didn’t dare be taken alive. The SS wasn’t known for honouring the rules of war, but snipers rarely survived encounters with the Heer, let alone the Waffen-SS. He’d be lucky if they merely shot him in the head. Behind him, he heard a loud explosion as someone triggered the IED he’d placed near his hiding place. If he were lucky, the stormtroopers would slow down and advance carefully, suspecting that there were dozens of other IEDs in place. It was a common insurgent trick…
But not one I used, he reminded himself. There hadn’t been time to lay a network of traps, even if he’d had the explosives. And the moment they realise they’ve been tricked, they’ll pick up speed.
He glanced upwards as the helicopters started to return, willing himself to stay as still as possible. Someone on the other side had thought quickly, he admitted silently; the advancing infantrymen were the beaters, trying to force him to break cover, while the helicopters were ready to snipe him when he showed himself. He was tempted to remain still in the hopes the infantrymen would miss him, but it was too risky. The stormtroopers had been chasing insurgents for decades. They knew all the tricks.
Another burst of gunfire rattled out overhead, followed by an explosion. Eduard frowned, puzzled. He doubted the SS were firing missiles at random, not when each missile cost more Reichmarks than the average soldier earned in a year. And the explosion hadn’t been anywhere near him… he glanced up, again, as a streak of light flashed across the sky, followed by a jet aircraft. He smiled openly as he realised what had happened. One of the patrolling ME-356s had seen the convoy and decided to attack.
A stroke of luck, he thought, as more gunfire echoed behind him. It was probably futile – jet fighters were faster than speeding bullets – but it worked in his favour. The advancing stormtroopers would be more interested in seeking cover than giving chase. Hell, the panzers would be in real trouble. A jet fighter’s cannon could inflict significant damage. Time to leave.
Picking up speed, he crawled faster. Behind him, the sound of pursuit faded away.
Chapter Seventeen
Berlin, Germany Prime
13 September 1985
“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “Only councillors are allowed past this point.”
Gudrun looked at Horst, who shrugged. “I’ll get some of our stuff from the surface,” he said, shortly. “Don’t worry about it.”
The guard looked uncomfortable. Gudrun couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. On one hand, he had his orders; on the other, making an enemy out of a councillor could make his life very uncomfortable. She wouldn’t send him to Siberia – assuming it was possible – but he had no way to know it. Shaking her head – she would have to do something to convince the guards that the provisional government wasn’t as bad as the former council – she nodded to Horst and stepped through the door. Volker Schulze was sitting at the table, reading a detailed report; the remainder of the council was nowhere to be seen. Gudrun took a seat and waited, patiently, for the others to join them.
“The war has begun,” Schulze said, once the entire council had been assembled and the doors firmly closed. “Field Marshal?”
Field Marshal Gunter Voss nodded from where he was sitting. “We just re-established contact with the front lines,” he said. “The SS has launched a major offensive against us and is currently pushing into the teeth of our defences. My staff are still pulling the reports together, but it is clear that we severely underestimated their ability to disrupt our preparations. It may be some time before we are able to stop them.”