“Understood,” Hennecke said.
He shrugged. It wasn’t as if the remains of the town were going anywhere.
We’ll just have to bulldoze the debris out of the way, he thought, as he directed his men to start patrolling the outskirts. And then we can start running supply lines down the road towards the autobahn.
Kurt had expected trouble when they retreated, but he’d badly underestimated just how quickly the SS could throw a ring of steel around the town. Indeed, if he hadn’t reacted quickly himself, punching through the stormtroopers and escaping into the countryside would have been impossible. He had no intention of seeing the inside of a POW camp – he’d be used against Gudrun, once his captors figured out who he was – but escaping had cost him two more men. By the time he reached the RV point, he was tired, drained and thoroughly sick of the war.
“Grab something to eat, Herr Leutnant,” the Oberfeldwebel running the RV point said. “The CO will be reorganising the formations over the next couple of hours.”
Kurt nodded, too tired to argue. He wasn’t blind to the implications, either. He’d hurt the enemy, but he’d taken heavy losses to do it. And the next engagement might be just as bad, costing him worse. And then… he shook his head slowly at the thought. They might run out of manpower before the SS reached Berlin.
He took a bottle of water and sipped it, trying to be optimistic. They’d met the SS and given them a bloody nose – and they’d never planned to hold the town. Five panzers destroyed or damaged was hardly a small bloody nose. But there was no denying that the enemy was still advancing, doing their best to push the defenders back. And the defenders were falling back.
We have more firepower, he told himself, firmly. All we need is time to get it into position.
Oberstgruppenfuehrer Alfred Ruengeler totted up the reports with a pronounced feeling of displeasure, mixed with a grim pride in his men. After the first set of victories – the bloodless capture of one of the bridges would definitely go down in the history books – his men had started to run into a wily and elusive enemy determined to make them fight for every last inch. Each encounter had cost him badly, forcing him to slow the advance as he ran more panzers and supporting vehicles over the bridges. Indeed, if he hadn’t had air superiority, he suspected the offensive would have been stopped in its tracks.
He stood outside the command post, watching the sun sinking slowly in the west. Darkness was falling over the land, bringing the panzers to a halt… although he knew it wouldn’t stop the fighting. His stormtroopers were trained and experienced at pushing forward under cover of darkness, keeping the enemy jumpy as the logistics officers struggled to keep the panzers fuelled and armed. They hadn’t had a real war in far too long, he admitted. And smashing the joint logistics network into rubble hadn’t helped either.
But we’re advancing towards Berlin, he told himself, firmly. It was technically accurate, even though the advance was proceeding at a far slower pace than planned. And we will reoccupy the city soon.
He shook his head as he lit a cigarette. His troops were good, but their officers and NCOs were reporting increasingly harsh anti-westerner sentiments. So far, most of the towns and villages they’d stumbled across had been evacuated, yet it was only a matter of time before they encountered civilian populations. And then… he dreaded to think what would happen then. None of his men had been trained to avoid civilian casualties.
And the Führer won’t give a damn, he thought. He dropped the cigarette on the ground, then stamped on it. He’s already got a list of men and their families he wants to purge.
Alfred shuddered. There was no way they were going to be able to avoid an incident, no matter how harshly the men were disciplined. And then… if nothing else, the traitors would be able to use it to rally support. No one cared what happened to a bunch of Untermenschen, but good Germans? That was important.
And if they become committed to their cause, he asked himself, what happens to us?
Chapter Nineteen
Berlin, Germany Prime
16 September 1985
Horst followed Gudrun through a hospital, silently marvelling at just how well she was able to connect with the wounded – civilians and soldiers – who had been brought to the building for treatment. She stopped and spoke to all of them, from the soldier who had been shot in the leg by a sniper to the little girl who’d been wounded when flying debris broke her arm, her words – perhaps – making it easier for them to believe that they hadn’t been wounded in vain. Gudrun had worried over sounding fake, as if she didn’t really care, but her hesitations and moments of silence only added to the effect. She wasn’t a radio broadcaster, reading the script; she was someone trying her best to be real.
He kept his face impassive as a pair of wounded soldiers flirted cheerfully with her – they would never have dared flirt with anyone else on the council – and tried hard to resist the temptation to organise an extremely dangerous posting for both of them. They had been wounded in combat, true, and such wounds carried high status in the Reich, but they were flirting with his girl. And yet, they didn’t know Gudrun was his girl. How could they? She wore no wedding ring, nothing to suggest she was anything other than an unmarried young girl. Someone who flirted with a married woman would be in deep shit, but not someone who flirted with an unmarried girl…
You’re being an idiot, he told himself, sternly. She’s being nice to them and they are trying to keep themselves from falling into depression.
Gudrun looked relieved as the tour finally came to an end and they made their way back to the car. Horst felt relieved too, even though they were out in the open without anything like enough security to suit him. Volker Schulze or Hans Kruger would have had a small army protecting them, if they left the bunkers, but Gudrun had only two bodyguards: himself and the driver. Maybe they didn’t consider Gudrun that important, compared to the two older men… Horst knew, deep inside, that Gudrun would be a target. There was such a thing as malice and revenge. Holliston would definitely want Gudrun alive so he could make her death memorable.
“I think you need more security,” he said, once the car doors were closed. “You’re naked out here with only me.”
“I’m not naked,” Gudrun said. She glanced down at her jacket, which obscured the shape of her breasts. “Really…”
“You know what I mean,” Horst said. Three days of fighting had seen the SS slowly advancing forward, pushing the defenders back. He’d heard nothing from the stay-behind cell, but his training told him that it was merely a matter of time before they got back in touch with him. “You need more security.”
Gudrun shook her head. “I don’t feel so close to people” – she nodded towards the hospital as they drove away – “when I have a dozen men surrounding me.”
“It only takes one person to kill you,” Horst said. He’d been nervous all the time they’d been outside the car, although really the car was no true protection. It was bulletproof, but a single RPG or antitank missile would be more than sufficient to turn it into scrap metal. Or a carefully-placed IED. “He might be posing as one of your admirers until the moment he stabs you with a knife.”