The messenger turned and retreated as fast as he could without actually running. Alfred took a moment to think. The reports from Holliston’s spy — still sitting comfortably within the rebel government — had made it clear that the rebels had no intention of taking the offensive until spring. But a mutiny — one that threatened to weaken or destroy the front lines — might cause them to change their minds. Launching an offensive into the driving snow would be nightmarish, but it might just pay off for them. Even if it didn’t…
He shuddered. The Waffen-SS had been through hell over the last few months. They were trained and conditioned to fight Untermenschen, not their fellow Germans. He’d already been keeping track of a series of disturbing incidents — suicides, in particular — that had suggested that discipline was breaking down, but now…? A mutiny was unprecedented, yet the seeds had been sown over the last few weeks. The retreat from Berlin, the breakdown in supplies, the nuclear contamination… yes, he could see soldiers turning on their officers and shooting them down. It had happened before, during the final days of Stalin’s Russia.
And back at the end of the Second Reich, he thought, numbly. Are we doomed to be defeated again?
“It cannot have happened,” Holliston said. He sounded shaken, so badly shaken that Alfred almost felt sorry for him. “The SS cannot mutiny.”
“The report would not have been passed up the chain to Germanica if it hadn’t been verified,” Alfred said. He doubted anyone would be keen to report a mutiny. The officers on the ground, if they hadn’t already been killed, would be sent to the camps after the mutiny was crushed. If, of course, the mutiny was crushed. “Mein Führer, we need to take action.”
Holliston didn’t seem to hear him. “They swore to be always faithful,” he said. “They cannot have turned on me.”
He looked up, sharply. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know, Mein Führer,” Alfred said. He hated confessing to ignorance at the best of times; now, with Holliston clearly losing his grip, he had the feeling it might prove fatal. “I will attempt to garner more information, if you wish.”
He sighed, inwardly. The command and control network was already in tatters, thanks to the chaos caused by the civil war. Radio links to the forward bases were unreliable, if the bases hadn’t already been overrun by the mutineers. He found it hard to imagine the entire front line disintegrating into mutiny, but if the command network went down completely it would be hard to restore any kind of control. Each unit would be cut off from its fellows, so completely isolated that it could mutiny — or be overwhelmed by the rebels — and no one would be any the wiser.
We never planned for civil war, he thought. The possibility was never considered.
“Do it,” Holliston ordered. “And then prepare to move troops from Germanica to crush the rebels.”
Alfred blinked. Holliston wanted him to move troops away from Germanica? Now, more than ever before, the troops protecting the city were the only ones Holliston could rely on. But perhaps that was the point. The other units — particularly the Volkssturm — might not be reliable when it came to crushing mutineers. They might side with the mutineers and turn their guns on their officers instead.
And weakening the defences of Germanica can only help us, he told himself.
“I shall see to it at once, Mein Führer,” he said. “At least we know the rebels are not planning an offensive.”
Holliston gave him a ghost of a smile. “They are too scared of our nuclear weapons to risk taking advantage of the mutiny,” he said. “Perhaps we should use them to destroy the mutineers.”
Alfred hesitated. “Let me see how bad the situation is, Mein Führer,” he said. Bathing the mutineers in radioactive fire might satisfy Holliston, but it might also force the rebels in Berlin to take action. “Perhaps it can be handled relatively quickly.”
But it wouldn’t be, he knew, as he saluted and left the giant office. The mutiny — whatever had actually happened — was too good an opportunity to let pass. He’d do as he’d promised, he’d send troops to the west, then he’d make sure Forster knew that he’d have a window of opportunity. But he wasn’t sure if there was time to get anything organised. There were simply too many loyalists in Germanica.
And too many others who have nowhere else to go, he thought, grimly. They’ll be doomed if the entire government shatters.
He swallowed, hard. The Reich had never known defeat. Sure, there had been setbacks, but no real defeats. They had grown used to a reputation for invincibility, even though they’d won their victories against inferior foes. The French, the Russians… the British would have been crushed, too, if they hadn’t been able to retreat behind the English Channel. Every time they’d matched their army against the Reich they’d lost — and lost badly, even when the odds had been in their favour. Rommel had practically driven them all the way to India by the time Britain and Germany finally made peace.
But now there had been a defeat, a shattering defeat. And it had come hard on the heels of the chilling realisation that the Reich was not united behind the Führer.
He composed himself as he strode into the war room. The staff were already hard at work, trying to track the progress of the mutiny. A glance at the map told him that the situation wasn’t as bad as he had feared. Several forward bases had been lost completely, but most of them were either reserved for the walking dead — men suffering from radiation poisoning — or penal units. There had been incidents further east, but none of them had turned into full-fledged mutinies.
Yet, he told himself. A number of bases were definitely out of contact. Bad weather… or mutiny? The situation is still developing.
“The Führer has ordered us to move reinforcements from Germanica to the front,” he said, as his staff assembled. “I want orders to be sent within the next hour.”
He kept his face impassive as he started to thumb through the list of available units. The Führer would probably smell a rat if all of the loyalist units were dispatched, but a number could be shipped west without arousing suspicions. And, with a little effort, they could be kept out of touch even if the Führer changed his mind. And then…
We may be about to find out, he thought, grimly. And if Forster can’t mobilise his forces, we’re all about to die.
Karl Holliston sat in his office and brooded.
He had been raised on stories of loyalty. He’d been told there was no one more faithful to the Reich than the SS, in any of its incarnations. And he’d thought it was true. SS stormtroopers threw themselves into battle, time and time again, to defend the Reich; SS Einsatzgruppen purged entire camps of Untermenschen, dissidents and other enemies of the state, just to make sure that they could not rise from the ashes and threaten the Reich anew. Himmler had crafted a force — the most formidable fighting force on the planet — that was pledged to defend the Reich.