Because they seem easier, he thought. And very tempting.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Germany East was built on an ideal, the ideal of transforming a barren country into living space. It had built hard men and women, people who truly understood the harsh world around them. But Germany Prime… they’d had it easier for decades. They didn’t realise the truth, that one could either bend the world to one’s will… or be bent in turn.
“There is no prospect for peace,” Holliston said. “Do you wish to see your lands returned to the Untermenschen?”
He tapped the table sharply. “Does anyone wish to surrender?”
No, Alfred thought. He doubted that any of the senior officers would like the thought of giving up their power, even if it didn’t lead to their execution. But do they think the war can be won?
“As long as we have the power to preserve the ethos of Germany East,” Gauleiter Emil Forster said, “we must not surrender.”
Alfred frowned to himself. Gauleiter Emil Forster was an older man, one known to be stanchly conservative. He would have expected Forster to consider coming to terms with the rebels, if it was possible. Continuing the war might lead to defeat — or total annihilation. But then, who knew how long Germany East would survive if it still had contact with Germany Prime? Would the Easterners be seduced from their ideals?
“We will not surrender,” Holliston said. He looked at Alfred. “You will take command of the defence. You will ready the troops to resist the coming offensive. And you will hold the line.”
“Jawohl, Mein Führer,” Alfred said. He found himself torn between relief and fear. Relief that he hadn’t been executed; fear that he’d been given an impossible job. But what else could he say? Defeatism was punishable by death. “Given enough time, we can make Germany East impregnable.”
“And you will have something very special to help you,” Holliston added. He smiled, unpleasantly. “But for now… I believe we have other business.”
And there was something in the way he said it that chilled Alfred to the bone.
Chapter Three
Berlin, Germany Prime
29 October 1985
“That’s the latest set of reports, Herr Chancellor,” Field Marshal Gunter Voss said, as he tapped the updated map. “The SS lines are definitely beginning to solidify.”
Volker Schulze, Chancellor of the Greater German Reich — or at least the part of it that accepted the authority of the Berlin Government — nodded in irritation. He’d hoped, against experience, that the SS stormtroopers would have broken completely, but they were trained to rebound from defeat faster than any other military unit in the Reich. It had been years since he’d served alongside them, yet he still recalled how little difference losing the CO — or even the NCOs — had made. The SS, whatever its flaws, had been a meritocracy. A skilled stormtrooper — assuming he had good Aryan blood — had every prospect of rising in the ranks.
“I see,” he said, finally. Life had been a great deal less complicated last year, when he’d been nothing more than a factory foreman. “Can you keep thrusting forward?”
“Not until we get our logistics network up and running,” Voss said. “Herr Chancellor, we simply don’t have the logistics to push them further back.”
“Work on it,” Volker ordered. He knew Voss was right. No one had ever seriously contemplated having to fight a civil war, of all things. The Reich had countless contingency plans — everything from an invasion of Britain to a defence of Occupied France — but none of them had ever been put into practice. “I assume we are continuing to harass them?”
“Of course,” Voss said. “But we’re reaching the point of diminishing returns. Even our air supremacy is under threat.”
Volker scowled as he contemplated the map. The Luftwaffe had largely joined the provisional government, once the Reich Council had lost its grip on power, but the air force had paid a high price for its decision. A number of bases and aircraft had been destroyed, either by sleeper agents or cruise missiles, while the remaining pilots were exhausted and running out of supplies. They had planned for an intensive operational tempo, he’d been assured, but — once again — the Reich’s planning had not matched reality. He had a nasty feeling that he would have to order the air force to reduce its operations soon, before exhaustion and poor maintenance took an even greater toll on its pilots.
A shame we can’t send the navy, he thought. The Kriegsmarine had been solidly behind the rebels from the start, save for a handful of warships that had fled harbour and escaped to the east. They’ve done very little so far.
He shook his head in annoyance. It was a foolish thought, unworthy of him. The navy couldn’t come to grips with the SS, not when the SS was largely landlocked. Maintaining a blockade of the handful of ports in Germany East was largely pointless. The Americans weren’t going to sell supplies to the SS. And if the Chinese decided to pour fuel on the fire by shipping weapons to Germany East, there was nothing the Kriegsmarine — or anyone else — could do about it.
“Order the Luftwaffe to do whatever it sees fit,” he said, finally. “If they feel they have to reduce their operational tempo, they can reduce their operational tempo.”
Voss didn’t argue. That worried Volker more than he cared to admit. He’d been a stormtrooper, but he’d never reached high command. Voss, on the other hand, was a Field Marshal. He’d never hesitated to point out the limits of Volker’s experience before…
…And if he wasn’t arguing, it meant the situation was truly dire.
Volker looked down at the map, silently translating the pencil-drawn symbols into something understandable. Berlin was safe now, ringed by panzer divisions and infantrymen who’d force-marched from the coastal defences of France to the heart of the Reich. But the SS had utterly devastated the land between Berlin and Warsaw. The reports pulled no punches, none at all. Every last bridge had been destroyed, every last village and town had been devastated… improvised mines had been scattered everywhere, covered by a handful of commando teams who’d fired a couple of shots at the advancing soldiers, then scattered into the undergrowth and vanished.
And the enemy defence lines are forming, Volker thought, coldly. They’ll be ready for us soon.
He sighed, then looked up at Voss. “If we leave them alone for six months,” he said, “they’ll be ready for us.”
“Yes, Herr Chancellor,” Voss said.
Volker rubbed his eyes. He’d often considered emigrating to Germany East; he’d planned to emigrate, once he reached retirement age and his children were married off. And he’d visited, during his career. He knew just how tough the easterners were. Given time to raise and deploy a new army, they could make the cost of winning the war intolerable. If it had been possible, he would have accepted sundering the Reich in two. But he knew, all too well, that Karl Holliston wouldn’t accept anything less than the reconquest of the entire Reich.