Maybe it won’t be that bad, he thought. They improved the tactical nuclear warhead design after the first blasts…
He bit down on the thought, angrily. The nuclear weapons dropped on four Arab cities had been designed to spread radioactive fallout, but he doubted the original designs could be improved that much. To believe otherwise was just wishful thinking. No, Holliston had sentenced thousands of loyalists — military and civilian — to death, just to protect Germany East from invasion. And he might just have succeeded. Voss’s grand plan to pocket the enemy troops lay in ruins.
We thought it was unthinkable, he told himself. And we were wrong.
He looked up at the map, then down at his hands. He’d known, of course, that the Reich had to take a ruthless line with Untermenschen, but he hadn’t cared to know the details. Of course not. The Heer had honour, something the SS notably lacked. And yet, the SS’s willingness to do truly horrific deeds should have warned him that they might be prepared to unleash nuclear weapons, just to ensure they came out ahead.
They were happy to arrest countless Germans for crimes against the Reich, he thought, numbly. I should have taken that as a warning.
He pushed the thought out of his head, angrily. There would be time for a post-mortem afterwards, if they survived so long. Right now, he needed to deal with the disaster washing over his troops before it was too late.
“Contact the remaining units,” he ordered. “They are to fall back and take up defensive positions.”
He scowled. Gath should have thought to do it already, if Gath was still alive. The communications network was in such a mess that he honestly didn’t know who was still breathing, who was wounded and who was dead. But if he hadn’t, Gunter had to issue the order. The offensive had come to a screeching halt. All he could do now was salvage as much as possible and hope for the best.
“Order the reserve medics to be prepared for heavy casualties,” he added. He cursed under his breath as the full implications struck home. The Reich had a number of medical units trained to deal with weapons of mass destruction, but nowhere near enough to cope with the sheer scale of the catastrophe. “But they are to apply nuclear protocols before taking the wounded into Berlin or any field hospital.”
The protocols might kill them, a voice whispered at the back of his head. Just washing them down to remove contamination might drive them over the edge.
He told the voice to go away, sharply. There was nothing else he could do. People caught in a cloud of radioactive dust would wind up with dust settling on their clothes. Washing them down might not save their lives, but it would save others. And yet, if they had been badly burned by the blast…
“And send an emergency message to the Chancellor,” he added. “I need to talk to him as soon as possible.”
“Jawohl.”
“Message from Generalfeldmarschall Brandenburg,” another aide called. “The Luftwaffe has lost every plane that was over the blast zone.”
Gunter nodded, unsurprised. Few aircraft could hope to fly near a nuclear blast and escape unscathed. The Americans claimed their latest bombers could fly to the Reich, drop an atomic payload on their targets and return in time for dinner, but hardly anyone believed them. There were a handful of intercontinental bombers in the Luftwaffe’s ranks, yet Gunter had always been sceptical of their value. They’d have to fly all the way to America, sneak through the most formidable network of air defence bases in the world, drop their bombs and somehow make it back home. ICBMs sounded a great deal more practical, when it came to launching nuclear weapons at the United States.
And dropping smaller bombs wouldn’t be worth the effort, he thought, sourly.
“Order the Generalfeldmarschall to get a couple of recon birds up as soon as possible,” he said, pushing the thought aside. He needed to know what the Waffen-SS was doing, despite the risk to the pilots. “I want recon reports!”
“Jawohl.”
Hennecke hadn’t known what to expect when he’d been ordered to take up position in a trench, but the colossal explosion — and the giant mushroom cloud — had left no doubt as to what had happened. Someone had detonated a nuke, perhaps two nukes; the enemy offensive had weakened, then stopped altogether. They’d been caught in the blast…
“Well,” someone said, from the rear. Hennecke couldn’t tear his eyes off the cloud as it loomed over them. “What do we do now?”
“We continue falling back, as per instructions,” Kuhn growled. He jabbed a finger eastwards as he hefted his pistol. “Start moving.”
Hennecke nodded in agreement. He hadn’t been taught much about nuclear blasts, but — for a reason he had never been able to understand — it was better to keep moving rather than finding shelter at once. Kuhn kept snapping out orders as the stormtroopers staggered to their feet and started to move; Hennecke kept a wary eye on him, wondering how long it would be before Kuhn realised that only a handful of penal soldiers were still under his command. He might find the few survivors something worse to do.
The air blew hot and cold, seemingly at random, as they kept moving. Hennecke gritted his teeth, trying not to breath more than strictly necessary; he swallowed, hard, as the skies started to cloud over, as if the blast had triggered the onset of winter. He glanced back, every few minutes, watching as the mushroom cloud slowly started to break up. He’d seen too many horrors since joining the SS — and starting the march to Berlin — but there was something about the cloud that chilled him to the bone. It looked profoundly unnatural.
But it may have saved us from the rebels, he thought, as they marched into the next set of defensive lines. The stormtroopers on duty were drawing water from a well and washing down all the newcomers, despite the cold weather and colder water. And yet, will we pay a price for having used it?
He shivered, helplessly, as cold water splashed over his body. His uniform clung to his skin afterwards, mocking him as the temperature plummeted rapidly. Kuhn — of course — didn’t give him any time to be miserable, instead pointing him in the direction of countless tasks that needed doing. Despite himself, Hennecke was almost grateful. The physical labour kept him from having time to brood. Some of the other stormtroopers looked as though they were too worn to get up, let alone fight if the enemy showed themselves.
And yet, as the wind picked up, he couldn’t help wondering what it might be blowing in their direction…
…And what would happen, in the long term, to anyone who had been too close to the blasts?
Chapter Nineteen
Washington DC/London, USA/UK
3 November 1985
“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”
President John Anderson kept his face impassive as he strode to the top of the table and sat down. He’d never liked the underground bunker, even though he knew it would keep him, his family and his staff alive if the Reich ever did start launching nuclear weapons at the United States. And he’d never really believed, despite the warnings of his predecessor, that the Third Reich was crazy enough to start a nuclear war. They would be completely annihilated by the American response…