“Seems a better deal than we get,” Horst said. He’d seen how pride could keep a man fighting when a tactical withdrawal to a superior position would probably have worked better, in the long run. “A man who backed out now would be branded a coward.”
Gudrun gave him a sharp look, then settled into the car. She’d insisted on wearing trousers, rather than a dress. Horst was torn between admiring her insistence on practicality and worrying about soldiers admiring his wife’s shapely legs. But at least they would let her move quickly if there was an emergency. She’d even spent the last few nights in the shooting range, mastering the small pistol he’d given her. Maybe allowing her to burn through so much ammunition was wasteful, but at least it meant she could defend herself, if necessary.
Unless she loses the pistol, Horst thought. Gudrun was fit – the BDM had made sure of that, if nothing else – but she was no match for a grown man, particularly one who had had intensive combat training. Stormtroopers who had their asses kicked by women only existed in bad American propaganda. If she loses the pistol, she’s in deep shit.
He settled in after her, feeling an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. The driver started the engine as Horst leaned backwards, trying hard to calm himself. He hadn’t felt so bad since the day he’d reported for basic training, when he’d discovered that all the practical work he’d done trying to get ready for the Waffen-SS had been largely futile. His instructors hadn’t hesitated to tell him precisely what they thought of him too. He’d honestly believed the bastards would arrange a training accident if they thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t come up to scratch.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The car slowly rolled out of the garage, passing through two checkpoints without stopping and turning onto the empty road. Their outriders, sirens howling, joined them seconds later, the riders watching carefully for signs of trouble. Horst forced himself to relax, one hand fingering the pistol at his belt as he waited. They had nearly four hours before all hell was due to kick off. He could wait until then…
The waiting is always the worst, he reminded himself, grimly. I’ll feel better when the shooting actually starts.
Katharine Milch waited behind, keeping her weapons well out of sight, as two of her team – dressed in police uniforms – rousted the homeless out of the ambush site. It wasn’t ideal, but there were very few truly ideal places in Berlin. No matter what she did, she was sure an alert would go out at once and armed troops would rush to the rescue. The timing might just be in their favour – reading between the lines, she rather suspected that the main phase of the final offensive was due to kick off soon – yet it would be no consolation to her team if they were caught in the open.
Limited room to manoeuvre, she told herself. If all went according to plan, the target and her escorts would be trapped, completely at her mercy. And if we get out before they respond, we should get away clean.
“That’s the place cleared,” Hans called. “We can move in now.”
“Do it,” Katherine ordered.
She glanced at her watch, grimly, as they took up positions. Timing was everything – and yet the timing could not be precise. They were dependent on matters outside their control, matters she knew couldn’t be controlled without giving the game away far too soon. If the bodyguard acted fast – and he wouldn’t be expecting her move – the entire operation could fail completely. But then, if it did fail, she’d have ample time to break contact and vanish before it was too late.
And then we can join the other cells, she thought, tartly. At least our time won’t be completely wasted.
Gudrun could tell that Horst was worried, even though he was doing a very good job of pretending to be unconcerned. He was slumped back in his chair, his eyes half-closed, instead of holding her in his arms or talking quietly. She knew he wouldn’t be concerned about the driver – they were married, after all – but about the plan. Using his wife as live bait couldn’t sit well with him.
At least he let me do it, she thought. She had no desire for a real fight, no desire to find out if he would keep his word to let her have an independent life. It spoke well of him, she supposed, that he was letting her be bait. And yet, was it really a good sign? Horst might have been a better husband if he’d refused. But if he lets me do this, he can hardly object to me being on the council…
The car shook violently, twisting and turning as it slammed into one of the outriders and roared into a side road. Horst started, one hand drawing his pistol, as gunfire broke out; Gudrun looked up, just in time to see two of the remaining outriders blown off their motorbikes before it was too late. The driver slammed the partition between the driving seat and the passenger compartment, the doors unlocking seconds later as the vehicle lurched to a halt. Horst swore out loud as the gunfire grew louder, a handful of bullets pinging off the car as the attackers – whoever they were – took care of the final set of outriders.
“Stay down,” Horst snapped, pulling her to the ground. “Keep your head down!”
Gudrun nodded as she reached for her pistol. Something had gone badly wrong… no, they’d been driven right into an ambush. The driver had betrayed them! She looked up in alarm as the door opened, then realised that Horst was slipping out of the vehicle. Two more gunshots echoed out before he managed to slam the door. Gudrun barely had a moment to pray before the door nearest to her was yanked open and a strong arm caught hold of her. The driver leered down at her as he tugged her into the street.
“Bastard,” Gudrun swore, bringing up the pistol. The driver’s eyes went wide as she pulled the trigger four times, feeling the weapon jerking in her hand. She wasn’t a good shot, not compared to Horst or the instructors on the shooting range, but she could hardly miss at point-blank range. “You…”
The driver tottered backwards and collapsed to the ground, blood leaking from four bullet wounds. Gudrun barely had a moment to savour her victory – or recoil in horror from ending a person’s life – before a strong hand caught hold of her wrist and twisted it sharply. She screamed in pain, letting go of the pistol as her new captor pulled her all the way out of the car and slammed her head to the pavement. There was a flash of pain, then the darkness reached out and swallowed her.
Katherine smiled as the driver died – he had never been intended to survive, despite being a long-term sleeper agent – and then peered down at the blonde girl beneath her feet. Gudrun Wieland didn’t look like much, Katherine decided, as she hauled the girl up and threw her over her shoulder. She’d certainly not realised the driver wasn’t alone. Katherine had darted backwards, ready to take cover if Gudrun opened fire on her, but it hadn’t been necessary.
She unhooked a grenade from her belt and hurled it into the car, then turned and started to run. Gudrun was lighter than she’d expected, puny and weak compared to an eastern woman, but she had to be sneaked out of the city. And that wouldn’t be easy.
Mission accomplished, she thought, as the car exploded behind her. And all we have to do is lie low.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a detonator, clicking off the safety and then pushing the button firmly, transmitting a radio signal across the city. It would set off alarms, she knew, but it was already too late. A series of explosions echoed over the city, ensuring that it would be harder for the defenders to react… and signal the forces waiting on the other side of the defence lines. It was time for the battle to begin.