He nodded towards the lounge. Horst exchanged glances with Kurt, then stepped into the room. A young man was seated on the sofa… no, a young woman. Horst straightened, one hand dropping to the pistol at his belt, as he recognised her. And judging by the way her eyes went wide, she recognised him.
“You…”
Horst drew his pistol, ignoring his uncle’s warning. “You took her!”
Katherine held up her hands. “Yes, I did,” she said, bluntly. “And I was wrong.”
“Katherine has a proposition for us,” his uncle said. “She’ll be in the bunker when the balloon goes up.”
Horst glanced at him, sharply. “She’s a loyalist…”
“I am loyal to the Reich,” Katherine said, tartly. “And the Reich cannot survive with Holliston at the helm.”
“Oh,” Horst said.
He carefully returned his pistol to the holster, unsure if he should laugh or cry. Katherine had been in command of the SS squad in Berlin. A position like that wasn’t handed out like beer at Oktoberfest. And a woman… she wouldn’t have reached such a position without being better than the men — and probably more fanatical too.
And Uncle Emil’s recruited her, he thought, numbly. Is he out of his mind?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. There were plenty of people who’d switched sides — Uncle Emil, Volker Schulze, Hans Krueger… hell, Horst himself. But Katherine… could she be trusted? How had she even known to find them?
“Your wife is still alive,” Katherine said. “The Führer plans to send her east in a few days.”
Horst swallowed, hard. East… even if they won the war, Gudrun would never be the same again. A dozen questions came to his lips, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers. She…
He took a breath. “How is she?”
“Bearing up very well,” Katherine said. “I believe the Führer regrets some of his early decisions concerning her. She is alive and well, if a little bored.”
Horst wasn’t sure he believed her. He knew too much about the SS. Gudrun was a special prisoner, but it was unlikely they’d refrain from torturing her. And yet…
“You knew to come here,” he said, flatly. “How?”
“I worked my way through the records, looking for someone who might be willing to help,” Katherine said, slowly. “I uncovered the connection between you and your uncle” — she nodded to Forster — “and decided he might be able to help me smuggle Gudrun out of the city.”
Horst shook his head slowly. “And you came here?”
Katherine, for the first time, showed a hint of annoyance. “I made sure to have an excuse,” she said, bluntly. “No one will question my visit.”
“If you’re in touch with Gudrun,” Kurt said suddenly, “you can ask her a question from us, can’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Katherine said. “But I have to be very careful when I speak to her.”
Oddly, Horst found that a little reassuring. He knew how ‘special’ prisoners were treated, even the ones who had to be treated gently. Gudrun would be under constant observation, her every last word and action scrutinised for hidden meaning. But Katherine would have no trouble speaking to her if her superiors knew she was in contact with the underground…
“Very well,” Kurt said. “I want you to ask her about what happened after the winter fire.”
Horst blinked. “The winter fire?”
“She’ll understand,” Kurt said.
“As you wish,” Katherine said. She took a breath. “You have heard the news?”
“There have been mutinies on the front line,” Forster said, when Horst looked puzzled. “Bad mutinies, depending on who you ask.”
Horst frowned. Was there such a thing as a good mutiny? And yet, had there ever been a genuine mutiny in the Waffen-SS? He couldn’t recall one… but then, he had technically mutinied too. And now Katherine was joining him in treachery…
Unless she’s conning us, he thought.
He shook his head. If Holliston had known about his presence, he would have had the residence surrounded and stormed. No one would have quibbled after Holliston displayed the body of Horst Albrecht, arch-traitor. Even the remaining Gauleiters would have kept their mouths firmly shut.
“We’ll discuss that later,” he said. How would Holliston react? He doubted it would be pleasant. “For the moment, get us the answer to the question. After that, we can discuss how to proceed.”
Katherine rose. “Understood,” she said, briskly.
She met his eyes. “I know that you have no reason to trust me,” she added. “But what I do now, I do for the Reich. This war must end.”
“Quickly,” Forster added. “Because if the front line is coming apart, Holliston is likely to do something desperate.”
“Or try to burn the world,” Horst said. He watched Katherine leave, wondering if they hadn’t just signed their death warrants. “Kurt, what happened after the winter fire?”
Kurt looked rather shamefaced. “It’s a long story,” he said. “But it’s not one she will ever forget.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Front Lines, Germany Prime
14 November 1985
Obergruppenführer Felix Kortig was caught on the horns of a dilemma.
The mutiny hadn’t spread as far as he’d feared, in the last two days, but he was uneasily aware that his men were wavering. Rumours were spreading like wildfire, ranging from grim stories of atrocities to suggestions that the entire army had been poisoned by the radioactive fallout. The more intact units, the ones that had been spared the brunt of the retreat, were largely free of mutineers, but he knew better than to take it for granted.
And I can’t wait for reinforcements either, he thought. I have to move now.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The brief encounters along the front lines had stopped, but that wouldn’t last. If the enemy realised that his entire force was in disarray, they’d throw in a general attack that would shatter his remaining defences and open the road to Germanica. They probably wouldn’t make it to Germanica — the roads were already becoming impassable because of the heavy snowfall — but they’d certainly be able to take up positions that would make it easier to reach the city when the snow melted.
He cursed, savagely, as he paced the tent. It had been a mistake, a bad mistake, to risk everything on one throw of the dice. And the mistake had been compounded by how poorly the wounded had been treated, after the nuclear blasts. It was hard to blame the mutineers for rising up against their superior officers, even though they’d signed their own death warrants — it wasn’t as if they had much to lose. The ones who had been contaminated with radiation poisoning would probably be grateful if they were shot.
And now the Führer commands that I put down the mutinies as quickly as possible, he reminded himself. But can it be done without weakening the forces I have left?
It was… frustrating. No, worse than frustrating. He’d never doubted his men before, even during the bloodiest battles in South Africa. The Waffen-SS was always faithful, always loyal. But now that loyalty was a joke. He didn’t dare show weakness in front of the stormtroopers, yet everything he did to safeguard his position and prevent another mutiny was a show of weakness. And if his men doubted him, who knew what they would do?