It was an intoxicating sensation. He’d never known true power in his life; he’d certainly never known true freedom. He could use his uniform to bully civilians — he’d certainly done it — but that wasn’t true power. There had always been others who could break him with a single word, while even civilians could complain if he was too brutal. But now, there was a girl — perhaps an officer’s whore — completely at his mercy. He could do anything he liked to her. There were just too many possibilities…
And then his strength failed him and he fell back to the ground, letting go of her. The girl scrambled backwards, rubbing her throat. There were dark marks on her pale skin, easily visible in the semi-darkness. She let out an odd sound — half-gasping, half-choking — and then jumped to her feet and practically ran out of the tent. Hennecke found himself giggling helplessly, despite the throbbing pain — and the grim awareness that he might be in deep shit, if the girl made a report. The officers might just have him killed…
…And the hell of it, he decided as he crawled back to his blanket, was that it might be a relief.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Berlin, Germany Prime
5 November 1985
It had been nearly thirty years, Volker recalled, since he’d set foot on the SS Training Centre at Kursk. He’d been part of an opposition force, teaching young SS recruits what they could expect when they put on the black uniforms and went to war. The base had been immense, graduating tens of thousands of stormtroopers every year. Wewelsburg Castle might still be the single most prestigious place for a stormtrooper to train, but Kursk might have overtaken it in a few years.
But now Kursk was gone.
Volker had debated endlessly, with himself and others, over the wisdom of using a atomic bomb of his own. And it had been his decision. Destroying Kursk was safer than blasting a whole city — or somewhere that was likely to cause problems for the Heer — but there was no way to know how Holliston would react. Would he accept the retaliation without demur or would he lash out himself, in response? The would-be Führer was becoming dangerously unpredictable.
He didn’t want to look at the photographs, but he forced himself to study them anyway. The first set showed the training base he remembered; barracks, training grounds and airfields designed to ensure that the prospective stormtroopers received the widest-possible education before they actually went to war. The second showed what was left, after the nuke had detonated: flattened buildings, ruined training grounds and burning aircraft. Volker had ordered an airburst, in the hopes of limiting fallout, but he knew it would still be a problem for the clean-up crews. But Holliston was not short of slave labourers who could be sent in to do the dirty work…
And we can’t get to the blast zone near Warsaw, he thought, grimly. They’re on their own.
He braced himself, then looked up at Ambassador Turtledove. The American looked older too, somehow, even though his country wasn’t officially involved in the war. But Volker knew that Karl Holliston had crossed a line when he’d deployed tactical nuclear weapons near Warsaw. If he’d been willing to unleash radioactive hell on his own people, why would he hesitate to fire on the United States? And there was no way to know if he could fire on the United States.
“My country would prefer that no more nuclear weapons were used,” Turtledove said.
Volker snorted. “My country would prefer the same,” he said, sarcastically. “How do you intend to convince Holliston not to use more nuclear weapons?”
He didn’t blame the Americans for being cautious. If the long-predicted American Civil War — their second civil war — had actually taken place, the Reich would have been careful too. But the Americans could afford to be dispassionate, to limit what help they offered to minimise their exposure. Volker — and every citizen in the Reich — had no such luxury, not with a man like Karl Holliston on the other side. It was fight or surrender. There was no middle ground.
“My analysts believe that Holliston will not risk a general exchange,” Turtledove said. He had the indefinable tone of a man who didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “They think he’ll understand the warning and back off.”
“I have never known him to back off,” Volker said.
He’d never spoken to Karl Holliston, but he’d studied the man’s career. Holliston had been almost disturbingly ambitious, even at a young age; he’d served as Himmler’s aide for nearly seven years, giving him plenty of time to learn where the skeletons were buried and considerable understanding of the use and abuse of power. He’d been making a long-term power play even before the Reich Council had collapsed; now, as self-appointed Führer, he had no choice but to keep pressing the offensive. He couldn’t afford to have his image called into question.
He nodded at the message that had been passed through Finland. The Finns had been trying hard to remain neutral as the Reich tore itself apart, not out of love for the Germans — Volker was sure — but the grim awareness that, if they backed the wrong side, the winner would take a terrible revenge. Holliston hadn’t pushed the issue, somewhat to Volker’s surprise. The Finns didn’t have nuclear weapons or modern aircraft, but they did have a formidable army and plenty of shipping they could use to attack Germany Prime.
“He wants us to surrender,” he said, tapping the note. “And we will not surrender.”
“No,” Ambassador Turtledove said. “But can you win the war?”
Volker snorted. Victory in the Battle of Warsaw — as it was already being called — would have bought him some time, but defeat — and such a catastrophic defeat — had been disastrous. It would take weeks, perhaps months, for the economy to recover… if it ever did. Too many people had fled their homes out of fear of radiation poisoning, not trusting the official government broadcasts that reassured them that they were perfectly safe. And Volker had to admit, privately, that he wouldn’t have trusted the official broadcasts either. The Reich Council had lied so often that its successor was rarely believed.
“Perhaps,” he said, finally.
He sighed as he turned to look at the map. There was no silver bullet, no way to win quickly; they had to march all the way to Germanica and remove Holliston from power. But he doubted Germany had the capability, any longer, to put together the force necessary to do that, even without nuclear weapons. With atomic bombs… Holliston might be quite safe in his fortress. He might even start thinking about pushing westwards again.
If we could be sure of dealing openly with him, he thought, we might try to come to terms.
Ambassador Turtledove cleared his throat. “My government is prepared to step up the aid program,” he said. “Will that make any difference?”
“I wish I knew,” Volker said. He’d been a stormtrooper — and a factory foreman — long enough to know that confessing weakness was a dangerous mistake, but he was too tired to care. “Even if you committed American troops to the war, you’d still have to get them to Germanica.”