“I’m sorry,” Heidi said. She stepped backwards and turned away from him, buttoning up her dress. Kurt forced himself to look away, even though parts of his body were screaming at him for being an idiot. “I thought… never mind.”
Kurt reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “You thought what?”
“We need someone else here,” Heidi said, sadly. She refused to turn and look at him. “And if you had stayed with me, you could have helped save the farm.”
“I don’t know how to run a farm,” Kurt said. He felt a sudden surge of pity. Heidi didn’t just need a man, Heidi needed a man who would stay on her farm. “And your brothers will come back…”
Heidi laughed, bitterly. “And do you really think they’ll be back before it’s too late?”
She turned to face him. “Stay with me,” she said. “We need you.”
“I have my duty,” Kurt said, bluntly. Did she expect him to give up his job? Or had she simply not thought that far ahead? “But when it’s done, I’ll see what I can do.”
Heidi snorted, then strode out of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Kurt stared after her, unsure if he should be relieved or angry at himself. Heidi had definitely been something different, but he understood her problem. He understood it all too well.
And there’s no way I can come back, he told himself, firmly. There was a bit of him that liked her, that admired her willingness to take an awful risk for her father’s farm. He wished, suddenly, that he’d met her without deception. And if I do, after the war, who knows what she will make of me?
Shaking his head, he washed quickly and headed back to the dining room. They’d have to leave early, in the morning…
…And, unless he was very lucky, he knew he would never see the farmhouse again.
Chapter Fourteen
Berlin/Front Lines, Germany Prime
3 November 1985
Berlin looked… different.
Volker Schulze stood on the roof of the Reichstag, peering east. The city was dark and silent, the curfew holding now the series of street parties had come to an end. Armed soldiers were patrolling, he knew, watching for trouble, but none of them were visible as he looked down at the streets. Berlin was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
They know the offensive is going to begin, he thought, as a cool breeze washed across the rooftop. And any spies still in the city know too.
It wasn’t a reassuring thought. Berlin had been riddled with spies, even before the uprising; entire divisions of informers, ranging from unhappy wives and bratty children to paid provocateurs, had been uncovered in the RSHA’s files. The Reich had told its citizens, time and time again, that it was good and right to inform on one’s friends and family, if they showed signs of disloyalty. And he had no doubt there were rings of spies and informers who had never been listed in the files, not when the different factions in the Reich were struggling for supremacy. He would be surprised if Karl Holliston didn’t know — already — that the Provisional Government was gearing up for an offensive against Germany East.
But he might not believe the reports, he told himself, although he knew it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Launching an offensive now is risky as hell.
He scowled as it grew colder. It would be colder still further eastwards as winter descended, a winter that had shattered entire armies in days gone by. Volker had fought in the east as a young man. He knew how dangerous the Russian winter could be. And yet he’d given orders that ran the risk — the very real risk — of leaving his forces caught outside winter quarters when the snow finally descended. There had been no choice, he told himself, but it still worried him. General Winter had come far too close to beating the Third Reich on its own.
There’s no choice, he told himself. He’d gone over the facts and figures time and time again, hoping for a better way. But there was none. The SS could not be allowed time: time to rebuild its forces, time to unlock the nuclear warheads, time to subvert the Provisional Government and trigger another civil war. We have to end the war now.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, feeling a sudden flicker of bitter envy for Herman Wieland. There was nothing to envy. Herman — a man in his late fifties — was going back to the front. And yet, he’d be placing his life at risk, while Volker knew he didn’t dare take a rifle himself and join the fight. It felt wrong, somehow, to send so many men to their deaths while he stayed behind, in safety. But what choice did he have? He was the glue holding the Provisional Government together.
And besides, the nasty part of his mind pointed out, you won’t survive long if the war is lost.
Volker nodded reluctantly, conceding the point. Konrad was dead already, his corpse laid to rest in a graveyard on the other side of Berlin, but his wife and daughter were still alive — and dangerously vulnerable. He’d had them both sent out of Berlin, their names changed to protect them from the remaining loyalists, yet he knew Holliston would stop at nothing to find and kill them if he won the war. Volker had never spoken to Holliston, but he knew the man’s reputation. He would do whatever it took to regain control and stamp his will on the Reich.
He felt a faint sensation of guilt as he peered over the darkened city. Thousands of Berliners had been evacuated westwards, now the siege had been lifted, but they still weren’t safe. And yet he’d made plans to have his wife and daughter shipped to Britain if the war was lost, if the SS recovered Berlin… none of the others in Berlin, save for the remainder of the government, had the ability to protect their families. It felt wrong, somehow, to put his family first, yet what choice did he have? He knew exactly what would happen to his family if the war was lost. The remainder of the population would probably be safe if they kept their heads down…
But that might not be true, he told himself, sourly. All the reports we received from the front lines…
Volker had no illusions about the SS. He’d been a stormtrooper. He knew just how brutal the SS could be. And yet, there had been a savagery unleashed in the last few months that was quite beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Villages smashed flat, towns devastated, men shot, women raped, children marched eastwards to an uncertain destination… it was as if a devil had come to Germany Prime. It was possible that some of the stories were exaggerated — he certainly hoped that some of the stories were exaggerated — but there was just too much evidence to support them. He’d even seen photographs of some of the mutilated bodies left behind by the SS.
He shook his head, tiredly. He’d thought he was joining the defenders of civilisation, when he’d joined the SS. And maybe many of the ordinary stormtroopers still believed that they were defending civilisation. But their leadership was as corrupt as any other department within the Reich, more interested in its own power than in protecting the Reich from its enemies. And they had betrayed their loyal servants…