A riot would make a good cover for trouble, he thought, grimly, and…
He sat down, hard, after he finished his search. He’d found nothing. He’d found nothing and Gudrun was gone. He didn’t even know where to begin looking for her. He wouldn’t even know if she was alive or dead, unless her dead body was found somewhere in the next few days. And it might not even be recognised before it was dumped in a mass grave…
I might never know what happened to her, he realised. And yet, if she falls into enemy hands…
There was nothing he could do to find her, he told himself, as he headed to the door. He didn’t have any way to know what had happened. And all he could really do was return to the Reichstag, report in and hope he didn’t get blamed for her capture. If, of course, she had been captured…
If she has, he vowed silently to himself, I will get her back, even if I have to tear Germany East apart.
“The Category A units have made it out of the kessel, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said.
Alfred scowled, ignoring Weineck’s tone. The Category B units had not made it out of the trap. One by one, they were being overrun and either crushed or forced to surrender. Some of them had died in place, fighting savagely, but others had simply surrendered once they realised they’d been sacrificed like pawns on a chessboard. Alfred knew he should be angry at them, yet there was no real point. He’d thrown them away, knowing they would be defeated, just to buy a little more time.
“Redeploy our airpower to keep us covered,” he ordered. No one seemed to have checked with Germanica – yet – but it was only a matter of time. “And then order the remaining units to move away from the city.”
He shook his head, slowly. A German army hadn’t been in headlong retreat since… since 1918, when the British had broken their lines and advanced into Germany itself. Even the desperate fighting around Moscow, back in 1941-42, hadn’t seen such a retreat, although a number of units had made tactical withdrawals. The Waffen-SS’s reputation for invincibility had been shattered in a single catastrophic day. Rebuilding what they’d lost in men and material alone would take time, but rebuilding their reputation could take years…
If we have the time, he thought, numbly. He was too tired, too worn, to care. The traitors will mount a counterattack as soon as possible.
Weineck cleared his throat. “It’s time to evacuate, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” he said, bluntly. “The demo teams have to rig the farm to explode.”
Alfred nodded. He was tempted to stay behind, to join the men he’d expended during the futile attempt to slow the enemy, but someone had to explain the retreat to the Fuhrer. If he took all the responsibility upon himself, perhaps – just perhaps – the remainder of his command staff would not be purged. The Reich was going to need them, in the weeks and months to come. There was no one else in Germany East capable of preparing for the coming onslaught.
“Understood,” he said, taking one last look at the map. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Forty
Berlin, Germany Prime
25 October 1985
“You utter…”
Horst barely had a chance to duck before Kurt Wieland threw a punch right into his face, sending him staggering backwards. It was all he could do, torn between tiredness and the bitter sense of failure, not to hit his brother-in-law back as hard as he could. Kurt had every reason to be mad at him, but there were limits.
“That will do, Kurt,” his father-in-law said. He looked ashen, but grimly composed. “Horst. What happened?”
“He let her get captured,” Kurt snapped. “Father…”
“I said, that will do,” his father repeated. “Horst…?”
Horst took a breath. “The driver was a spy,” he said, numbly. Even in hindsight, there had been no clues to miss. He’d never suspected the driver for a moment. And yet, it was the SS who taught close-protection officers their skills. The bastard must have been seduced back during his training. “He drove us right into a trap.”
“And Gudrun was captured,” Kurt snarled. “Or killed!”
“There was no body in the car,” Horst said, quietly. A police team had gone over the wreckage as things quietened down, but they’d found nothing. “They either managed to get her out of the city…”
“Or she was killed somewhere along the way,” Kurt said. His voice hardened. “How do we know you didn’t betray her? You worked for the goddamned blackshirts!”
“He could have betrayed her long ago,” his father said, quietly.
“Unless it was all a plan to put the SS firmly in control of the Reich,” Kurt snapped.
Horst sighed, feeling too tired to go on. “Only a complete lunatic would come up with such a plan and expect it to work,” he said. He wanted to shout, but he didn’t have the energy. “We were fooled – we were all fooled – because we thought we were fooling them. Now shoot me or let me decide what to do now.”
Kurt looked as if he was ready to go for his pistol, but his father stepped forward before he could make up his mind. “What do you plan to do?”
“Go after her,” Horst said, flatly.
“It’s suicide,” Kurt said.
Horst glared at him. “Would you rather I left my wife and your sister in their hands?”
Kurt started forward. “And what sort of husband would let his wife walk straight into a trap?”
Horst balled his fists, ready to fight. Kurt was right. He should have insisted on using a double from the start and forbidding Gudrun from accompanying them, rather than planning to make the switch in the early afternoon. Gudrun would have made a fuss, but he could have handcuffed her to the bed or simply locked her up to keep her from leaving. She would have killed him, probably – he’d taught her the basics of using a knife as well as a pistol – yet at least she would have been alive.
“I don’t think he was offered a choice,” his father-in-law said. “Kurt, sit down. We need to think.”
He met Horst’s eyes. “Do you think you can succeed?”
“I think so,” Horst said. In truth, he had no idea… but he was damned if he was just abandoning her. Gudrun deserved so much better. “They won’t kill her at once, not if they do have her.”
“They’ll have her in the deepest darkest dungeon they have,” Kurt said. “Getting her out is going to be a nightmare.”
“There’s no such thing as an impregnable fortress,” Horst said. It had been Hitler himself who’d pointed out the critical flaw in the Belgium fortresses, back in 1940. Gudrun would be buried beneath the remains of the Kremlin, where the SS had an extensive prison facility… once they got her there, of course. “I’ll find a way to get in.”
“You might just find a way to get killed,” Kurt pointed out.
Horst shrugged. There was no other hope. The provisional government would have to launch a counterattack, invading Germany East before Holliston managed to unlock his supply of nuclear weapons, but it would take weeks, at best, before the invasion force was ready to go. And then it would be moving right into the teeth of a Russian winter. Horst would have been surprised if the military agreed to consider moving before the snows had melted and the roads were traversable again.