Karl dismissed him, then keyed the intercom. “Maria, inform Oberstgruppenfuehrer Ruengeler that I wish to speak with him over the secure phone,” he ordered. It would take time – Ruengeler had been spending far too much time at the front, getting a personal feel for the situation, rather than staying in the CP – but it would just have to be endured. “Inform me the moment he’s on the line.”
“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Maria said.
Rising to his feet, Karl paced over to the window and stared out over his city. It was a towering monument to the dreams of the Volk, to what could be achieved if the Volk was bound together by a single movement. The gothic structures surrounding him were larger-than-life, the reflection of a pitiless will to dominate and reshape the world. It was magnificent; it was always magnificent. And yet, everything they’d built could be lost, if the war was lost. The traitors were playing games with the Volk itself.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, cursing the bastards under his breath. Didn’t they realise what was at stake? The world was savage, red in tooth and claw. Their dominance had come at a price. Countless Germans had fought and died to build the Reich, from the men who had marched into Poland in 1939 to the men and women who fought insurgents in Germany East and South Africa. To give the Untermenschen a chance to harm the Reich wasn’t just treason, it was… it was worse, yet he could think of no word for it. Karl understood the ebb and flow of politics, the complex series of moves and countermoves that sometimes left a knife buried in a comrade’s back, but this was gambling with the future of the Reich itself. Karl would have sooner disbanded the SS than see the Reich collapse into rubble.
We had the will to dominate the world, he told himself. But do we still have it?
The secure telephone rang. He strode back to the table and picked it up. “Holliston.”
“Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said.
“You need to push the advance forward.” Karl said, bluntly. “Take whatever risks are necessary to reach Berlin.”
There was a long pause. “Mein Fuhrer, the advance is already moving as quickly as possible,” Ruengeler said. “I don’t believe it can be pushed any faster.”
Karl swore, inwardly, as he turned to stare at the map. The advance was grinding forward slowly, too slowly. He’d hoped for a swift strike towards Berlin, but the traitors were stalling his men and slowing them down. It was frustrating. Worse, perhaps, it was costly. If some of the reports were to be believed, replacing every lost aircraft, every lost panzer, would be a nightmare. He might win the war and purge all of his enemies, but the Reich would be so gravely weakened that the Americans would roll over them with ease.
“It has to be done,” he growled. He didn’t dare discuss everything over the telephone line. It was meant to be secure, but the Americans were very good at intercepting messages. He’d even read reports claiming that the Americans had actually found a way to hack into the telephone network without a physical connection. “I need you to have Berlin cut off, at the very least, within the week.”
He forced himself to take a breath. “What is the current situation?”
“We’re advancing, slowly but surely,” Ruengeler said. “Unfortunately, they’re holding back their airpower.”
Karl frowned. “I was told that we were grinding their aircraft out of existence.”
“They’re holding them back, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said. “And that worries me.”
“That makes no sense,” Karl told him, flatly. “If they had the airpower to take control of the skies, they would have used it.”
“We haven’t shot down anything like enough aircraft to weaken them, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said.
“And yet they are allowing us to strike at Berlin,” Karl sneered. Bombing the capital gave him no pleasure, but at least it made it clear to the citizens that the traitors had brought war to their city. “Why would they do that unless they were running out of aircraft?”
“They’re conserving their strength,” Ruengeler said. “I suspect they are preparing a counteroffensive of their own.”
Karl snorted. “Take Berlin and it won’t matter what they’re planning,” he snapped. “We can win the war and put an end to the traitors, then save the Reich from the Americans.”
He went on before Ruengeler could say a word. “Push the offensive forward,” he added, sharply. “And don’t hesitate to relieve any officers who are insufficiently aggressive.”
“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Ruengeler said.
Karl put the phone down, hard. Ruengeler was starting to annoy him, even though he was one of the most experienced officers in the Reich. Couldn’t he see that there was more at stake than simple military victory? A long drawn-out war would be disastrous, no matter which side actually won. They’d inherit a broken state. The satellites would be making a bid for freedom, the Untermenschen would be rising up against the SS. Everything the Reich had built over the past fifty years would be in doubt.
And I will not allow the Reich to collapse, he thought, as he tapped the intercom. Whatever the cost, I will not allow the Reich to collapse.
“Maria,” he said. “I want to see Frank at once.”
It was nearly five minutes before Standartenfuehrer Frank entered the chamber and saluted, smartly. He was a man who could easily have stepped off a recruiting poster: tall, blond, handsome and very muscular. Karl had wondered, back when he’d first met Frank, why he had never joined the Waffen-SS, but a glance in his file provided the answer. Frank’s father had been a researcher who’d worked on nuclear weapons and his son, while lacking his father’s intellectual gifts, had done his best to follow in his footsteps. Karl could hardly disapprove. His own father had been among the very first men to join the SS.
“Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said.
“I need a progress update,” Karl said. “Have you managed to unlock the nuclear warheads?”
“Not as yet,” Frank said. His face was carefully impassive. “The Permissive Action Links have proved unpleasantly resilient to tampering.”
Karl scowled. “And the missiles cannot be fired?”
“The missiles can be fired at their preset targets, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank told him. “However, they cannot be detonated. The warheads cannot be detonated without the correct command codes. Even selecting new targets will be very difficult.”
Karl scowled. “And the missile crews cannot help?”
“They were never trained to work on warheads, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “Their only task was launching the missiles, should the command ever come. Any maintenance work was handled by engineers who would be flown in from Berlin.”
“And so the Americans have us over a barrel,” Karl breathed.
“I don’t believe so, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “If the Americans did fire on us, I’m sure we’d be able to get the arming codes from Berlin.”
Karl snorted, rudely. The early-warning network was in shambles. If the Americans decided to gamble and launched a massive first strike, it was quite possible that their missiles wouldn’t be detected until the nukes actually started to detonate. And by then it would be far too late. The Reich would have been utterly shattered. Hell, if they were lucky, the Americans would destroy the Reich’s missiles on the ground.