“Nein,” someone said. “We want to go home!”
“Home,” someone else shouted. “Home!”
“This is mutiny,” the commander said. Hennecke could hear the hint of panic in his voice and knew that others would hear it too. What good was discipline applied to men who knew they were on the verge of death? “This is…”
The chant grew louder. “Home, home, home…”
“Damn it,” the commander shouted. Hennecke saw him unbuckling his holster. “You…”
Hennecke drew his pistol and shot the commander neatly through the eyes. He toppled backwards as Hennecke moved the pistol to his next target, shooting the stormtrooper before he could fire more than a single burst into the air. The crowd roared and threw itself forward on the remaining two stormtroopers, knocking them down, stamping them into the ground, kicking the very life out of them. Hennecke looked around for more targets, then started to laugh helplessly as he saw the remaining guards high-tailing it out of the camp.
Cowards, he thought. Given everything he’d gone through since the war began, he found it hard to have any sympathy for the well-dressed stormtroopers. And if that idiot — he glanced towards the commander’s body as it was stripped of weapons — had kept his fat mouth shut, he could have just let the shouting burn itself out.
He staggered, then led the way towards the storage tents. There were several boxes of rations inside, as well as a crate of fancy wine someone had liberated. He took a bottle for himself, then started to pass the rations out to the men. There was barely enough to feed everyone in the camp for two days, he saw, but it was hard to care about the long-term. Besides, they’d just mutinied against their legitimate commanders. The shitheads in Germanica would shit themselves so badly — the SS was renowned for its loyalty — that they’d probably drop a nuclear warhead on the camp.
They won’t let us get away with this, he thought. Weapons were already being handed round, but a few dozen assault rifles and ammunition wouldn’t stop the panzers when they came to crush the mutiny. Of course they won’t let us get away with this.
He laughed at the thought. Whatever comforting lies the nurses had tried to sell him, he’d known he’d been sentenced to death the moment he realised he had radiation poisoning. They’d use him as long as they could make him work, but they had no intention of curing him. They couldn’t cure him. He would have been killed the moment he got too weak to work. And the nurses…
A thought struck him. Taking a long drink from his bottle, he turned and strode towards the cabin — the sole true building in the campsite — that had been assigned to the nurses. A handful of men were already outside, eying the locked building with the look of lean and hungry wolves. Hennecke would have thought the nurses would flee, but evidently they hadn’t realised what was happening until it was too late. No one, but no one, harassed a nurse in the military. But discipline was a joke.
“Break the door down,” he ordered.
He laughed as four men threw themselves against the door, smashing it down. The nurses should have learned a lesson from what he’d done, a few days ago. Or had it all been a dream? No one had come to teach him a lesson for frightening one of the bitches, even though it was what would have happened in a normal camp. A soldier who harassed a nurse would be beaten senseless by his own comrades. But now…
Laughing and joking, they ran into the building. He heard screams as the nurses were captured and dragged out, beaten bloody when they tried to resist. Their clothes were torn from their bodies, leaving them exposed and shivering in the cold. Once, he would have felt shame and pity for putting German girls through such an ordeal; now, he only felt anger, hatred and a surge of lust so powerful that it overwhelmed him. The nurses started to scream as the men closed in, unbuttoning their pants as they surrounding the girls. Hennecke caught one — a little dark-haired woman, barely younger than himself — and forced his lips down on hers. His hands caught hold of her breasts and squeezed, hard.
She bit him, desperately. He yelped, then slapped her so hard she fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Hennecke laughed as he landed on top of her, rolling her over and holding her down as he forced his way into her. Her screams grew louder, but he ignored them. He no longer cared about anything, save for himself.
Afterwards, he walked away, heedless of her bitter sobs. Other men were already lining up for their own go at her, discipline utterly forgotten in the wake of the mutiny. Hennecke knew, at some level, that they’d gone too far, but it simply didn’t matter. They were dead men walking. If they weren’t killed by their own leaders, or by the rebels, or by the surviving nurses if they managed to get their hands on some weapons… the radiation poisoning would kill them. Survival simply wasn’t in the cards.
He sat down, feeling the pistol’s comforting presence in his hands. They’d come for him, of course, and he’d fight. He’d try to take down one or two of the bastards before the remainder overwhelmed him. And then…
Death, of course. He doubted he’d be allowed to survive long enough to stand trial — if, of course, the SS bothered with a trial. It wasn’t as if there would be any doubt of their crimes, not after the stormtroopers had fled. And then… who knew?
He’d never been a particularly religious man. Religion — Christianity, at least — had never been encouraged in Germany East, although all the attempts to reintroduce the Old Gods had sunk without trace. And yet, the thought of an afterlife called to him, even though he knew he was probably destined for Hell. But, really, what did he deserve? His crimes stretched back months. Mutiny, murdering senior officers, gang-raping nurses… they were merely the tip of the iceberg. Perhaps they’d been right, after all, when they’d condemned him to the penal unit. He’d failed the men placed under his command.
And that had been the worst crime of all.
He shook his head, ignoring the screams as they echoed behind him. His head was starting to pound again, mocking him. All he could do now was wait…
…And see what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Germanica, Germany East
12 November 1985
There had been a time, Oberstgruppenführer Alfred Ruengeler had thought, when giving bad news to Karl Holliston had been a relatively safe occupation. Clearly, that wasn’t true any longer.
“There’s been a mutiny?”
“Yes, Mein Führer,” the unlucky reporter said. “And it’s spreading.”
Alfred took a breath as Holliston’s face purpled. A mutiny among the Waffen-SS? It was unprecedented. The SS did not mutiny. Ever. But it had…
“The SS cannot have mutinied,” Holliston snarled. “It cannot.”
The reporter took a very visible breath. “Mein Führer, a number of forward bases have mutinied,” he said. “Senior officers have been shot or forced to flee; junior and enlisted men are in control. Stores have been looted, prisoners have been killed out of hand… there are even reports of entire units just breaking up and heading west. The entire front line may be on the verge of breaking up.”
“Get out,” Holliston snarled.