And the traitors are already in bed with the Americans, he thought, darkly. They might refuse to send us the arming codes.
“We should never have placed so much faith in our system,” he growled. “It never occurred to us that we would lose control of Berlin.”
“The government didn’t want anyone using nukes without their approval, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank pointed out.
“I know,” Karl growled. “They didn’t trust us.”
He shook his head. Deploying tactical nukes in 1950 might have been the only way to end the Arab Uprisings quickly – the Reich had been reeling after Hitler’s death and really didn’t need more problems – but it had come at a cost. The Americans, who had been going back to sleep, had started pouring money into defence, while the Reich Council had worked hard to ensure that no one could detonate a nuke without their blessing. No one at the time had realised that the Reich would be sundered in two. They’d known that unity was the only thing that kept the Reich from being ripped apart by its enemies.
“If you had a tactical nuke,” he said flatly, “could you detonate it?”
“Perhaps, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “We are working on readying a number of tactical warheads now. However, the PAL system is designed to be extremely tamper-resistant, to the point of destroying the warhead if it isn’t handled very carefully. It may be impossible to guarantee that the nukes will detonate.”
Karl sighed. “And if we start building our own nukes?”
“It would take years, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “We may have a number of breeder reactors under our control, but assembly has always been done in Germany Prime. I think we would be starting from scratch. Building the machines to make the machines, if you will pardon the expression, will be costly – if we can do it at all.”
“Another mistake,” Karl said. Germany East’s industry was limited. In hindsight, that had been a mistake too. “We can’t get the tools without winning the war.”
“Yes, Mein Fuhrer,” Frank said. “Producing them for ourselves will take too long.”
“Do a study, see if there’s any way to speed up the process,” Karl ordered. He didn’t hold out much hope, but at least they could try. “Dismissed.”
He watched Frank leave, then turned his attention to the map. His forces were advancing forward slowly, too slowly. Their gains would be worthless if they couldn’t consolidate them by capturing Berlin, destroying the traitorous government. And yet, if they couldn’t take Berlin…
I’ll make the world burn before I surrender, he told himself, savagely. And the traitors will pay for their crimes.
Chapter Twenty-One
Berlin, Germany Prime
18 September 1985
Horst wrapped his greatcoat around his body as he walked slowly down the darkened street, wishing he could wear a hood. A chilly breeze was coming from the east, sending shivers down his spine, but he needed to be recognised. The cell had picked an excellent spot for their meeting, he had to admit. A watcher lurking near one of the warehouses would be able to recognise Horst – and ensure he was on his own – long before Horst saw him. He’d worked through a dozen possible ways to have a police observer nearby – Gudrun’s father had had quite a few good ideas – but none of them had been workable. The merest hint that he wasn’t alone would be enough to get him killed.
He glanced up as he heard the sound of aircraft engines buzzing over the city, wondering if they were friendly or very hostile. Berlin had been bombed several times, the bombers dropping their bombs seemingly at random. Horst had never served in South Africa – or on any campaign, if he were forced to tell the truth – but some of his friends had insisted that the Waffen-SS’s pilots could drop their bombs with startling precision. If that were true, the bombers had definitely been bombing at random, more to frighten the civilians than for any actual military value. They hadn’t struck any targets within half a mile of the Reichstag.
And they might even hit their own people, he thought, feeling a flicker of grim amusement. I doubt the pilots know there’s an SS cell beneath them.
He waited, ready to seek cover, but no bombs fell. The sound of aircraft engines slowly faded into the darkness. Horst allowed himself a moment of relief, then kept walking slowly towards his destination. The warehouses had long-since been stripped of anything useful, the guards and workers relocated elsewhere. There were quite a few homeless Berliners squatting in them, according to the police, but no one really cared. They weren’t causing trouble – and, in any case, there was nowhere else to put them. He kept a sharp eye out for trouble as he kept moving, knowing that the crime rate had also skyrocketed in the less-pleasant parts of Berlin. The omnipresent fear of the police and the SS was gone.
And now people know they can change the world, he thought, as he reached the location and checked his watch. He was two minutes early. Who knows what will happen the next time the government becomes unpopular?
He pushed the thought aside as he leaned against the building and waited, feeling unseen eyes watching him from the shadows. Covertly, he checked around, but saw nothing. It didn’t really surprise him. An experienced SS observer wouldn’t let himself be seen, in any case, nor would they bother with any games. If they suspected his loyalties, he would probably have been picked off by a sniper as he walked down the road. Unless, of course, they thought he could be manipulated.
My life was much simpler before the uprising, he thought. Back then, I thought I knew how the world worked.
“Horst,” a quiet voice said.
Horst tensed, then turned to see Schwarzkopf emerging from the shadows. The SS handler looked like a homeless man, smoking a homemade cigarette and wearing a tattered outfit that was too large for him. If Horst’s experience was any guide, he’d be wearing something else underneath, something that would pass without comment anywhere in Berlin. Dump the clothes, lose the cigarette and comb his hair… he’d look very different. It wasn’t a very clever disguise, but it didn’t have to be. All it had to do was work.
“I came, as ordered,” Horst said. He didn’t like Schwarzkopf’s surprising stealth. He’d always assumed that the handler was nothing more than a bureaucrat. But then, he’d presumably been a field agent himself before he’d been promoted. “I am at your disposal.”
“Of course,” Schwarzkopf said. Horst couldn’t tell if he was being mildly sarcastic or stating a fact. “I have a great many questions for you.”
Horst inclined his head, then waited.
“I have heard that the Americans have been reaching out to the provisional government,” Schwarzkopf said, bluntly. “Is that true?”
“I haven’t heard of any American contacts,” Horst said. “But I am not allowed to attend the council meetings.”
It was only half true. He didn’t attend meetings, but Gudrun told him everything. And yet, he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else – and nor would any of the other councillors. The American contacts had to remain a secret. And yet… was Schwarzkopf fishing… or was someone playing both sides of the field? There were several councillors who might be able to switch sides – again – if they made themselves useful to Karl Holliston. They might be passing information to the east.