“What we have to offer depends on what you want,” he said, bluntly. He had the feeling that Schulze wouldn’t be impressed if Andrew tried to temporise. “At the very basic level, we can offer satellite imagery, as I showed Morgenstern; I believe you will find it superior to anything produced by the Reich.”
Schulze showed no overt reaction, but he twitched very slightly. Andrew smiled. The NSA would be pleased to hear that the Reich was far behind them in orbital imagery, although it couldn’t be taken for granted. There was a point beyond which the law of diminishing returns came into effect.
“We can also provide a certain level of logistical support,” he added, after a moment. “Our President is unwilling to actually commit American forces to your war, but otherwise… give us a list of requests and we will try to meet them.”
“I see,” Schulze said. “And what do you want in return?”
Andrew sighed. The thorny issue of payment had been debated hotly in Washington and London, ensuring that he’d been sent several contradictory sets of orders. A number of politicians had wanted to try to ensure that the Reich was rolled back to a more manageable size, but several generals had pointed out that the provisional government would either refuse outright or go back on the agreement after the war. The price had to be something they could live with, afterwards.
“Two things,” he said, bluntly. “First, we want an end to the war in South Africa. You pull your forces out, taking with you any South Africans who want to go.”
“Finding living space for them won’t be easy,” Schulze said, flatly. He didn’t seem inclined to refuse. “They will have to go to Germany South or Germany East.”
Andrew nodded. “Second, we would want an end to tariff barriers and free trade,” he added, carefully. This was likely to be the sticking point. “We want to be able to trade with France and the rest of Europe.”
“That may be harder,” Schulze said. He smiled for the first time. “We will have to haggle.”
Chapter Eighteen
Near Warsaw, Germany Prime
13 September 1985
“They’re coming,” the radio operator said. “I just picked up the warning.”
Kurt nodded, shortly. The first reports had come in just before dawn, a series of commando and missile attacks all along the front. Only an idiot would have failed to realise that the war had just begun, even before the first flight of aircraft had screamed overhead, heading west towards the inner defence lines. The war was definitely underway.
He glanced along the defence line as the seconds ticked by, wondering just how long they had before the Waffen-SS reached the town. It wouldn’t take long for a panzer to drive from the bridges to where he was lying in wait, but their way was blocked by snipers, antitank teams and dozens of carefully-concealed IEDs. Kurt doubted a handful of dead or wounded stormtroopers would be enough to stop the SS – the stormtroopers bragged of taking heavy casualties and yet carrying on the mission – yet it would definitely slow them down. The only question was just how much it would slow them down.
Not long, he thought, dryly. If they’d received the warning, the enemy was less than a mile away. And soon we will know how well we’ve done our work.
He walked from post to post, checking on his men and making encouraging comments as the seconds ticked away. It was the first taste of combat for many of them, even though they’d endured months of intensive live-fire training before they’d been inducted into the Berlin Guard. Some of them relished the challenge, some of them looked forward to testing themselves against the SS… and some of them were nervous, worried they would let their comrades down when the bullets started flying. They were all volunteers, Kurt reminded himself, but very few men would willingly leave when their comrades were ready to risk life and limb for the Reich.
And I wouldn’t want them beside me if they were, he thought, as he returned to his post and started to scan the horizon for incoming threats. They might break and run before I give the order.
Sweat trickled down his back as he waited, feeling as though time was beginning to slow down. The ground was still, but he could hear explosions and gunfire in the distance; aircraft flashed overhead, briefly visible before racing either east or west. There was no way to determine which side was flying them, let alone what they were doing. He’d been trained to recognise the basic American designs – everything from A-10 Warthogs to F-16 Falcons – but both sides in this war used the same equipment. The SS’s panzers were largely identical to the Heer panzers.
A gross oversight, he thought. An explosion flickered up in the distance, a plume of smoke wafting slowly into the sky. If they used different aircraft…
He sucked in his breath as the enemy panzers came into view, advancing forward with grim resolution. He’d known they were big – he’d trained alongside panzer crewmen – but he’d never understood what it meant to watch helplessly as a line of panzers charged a position, moving five abreast. Their main guns moved constantly, searching for targets; they crushed hedges and fences as they advanced, smashing them to dust beneath their treads. A tractor someone had abandoned, years ago, was crushed under the right tread of an advancing panzer, flattened into a pancake-like shape. Kurt knew, as icy fear gnawed at his heart, that he wouldn’t last a second if a panzer ran over him. Indeed, charging an enemy insurgent with an RPG was regarded as a pretty smart target.
Behind the panzers, he saw a handful of men wearing combat uniforms and carrying rifles, keeping their heads down as they searched for what little cover they could find. There was hardly any, but it didn’t stop them. Kurt had to admit they were good, even though they were exposed to his fire. They might well have a good chance of pushing him and his men out of the town, no matter what happened to the panzers.
He reached for the detonator and held it in his hand, silently counting down the last few seconds as the panzers advanced. One of them crashed through a stream as effortlessly as its partner had crushed the tractor, undeterred by the water or mud. Kurt hadn’t expected the stream to delay any of the stormtroopers, let alone the panzers, but it was still disconcerting to watch. The panzers would crush the entire town beneath their treads if necessary.
Now, he thought.
He pushed the button, sending the command to the explosives they’d concealed along the approach to the town. The explosion shook the ground savagely, picking up one of the panzers and hurling it over and over until it came to a stop; two more were tipped onto their sides and left lying on the ground, like crabs that had been turned upside down and couldn’t right themselves again. His missile crews opened fire seconds later, launching two missiles towards the remaining panzers as they started to lob shells into the town. It was far too late to keep his crews from picking them off, then engaging the advancing stormtroopers. Kurt saw a number of them drop to the ground before the remaining ones started to fall back. They’d be calling for reinforcements now, if he was any judge.
Pulling the whistle from his pocket, he blew it loudly and then hurried out of the post. The missile crews were already running, heading towards the other end of the town; the riflemen fired a handful of additional shots and then started running themselves. It was barely in time; Kurt threw himself down as he heard the aircraft approaching, then covered his head as cannon fire raked the spot where his men had been. The HE-477s retreated into the distance, leaving burning ruins behind. It wouldn’t be long before the SS rallied and threw a second offensive into the town.