Ruengeler said he was always in his office at this time, he thought, grimly. Sweat ran down his back as he ran up the stairs, throwing a grenade down each of the hallways as he passed. And unless we get to him quickly, he’ll have a chance to make his escape.
“They’re dropping paratroopers,” the operator said, horrified. “Herr Oberstgruppenführer…”
Alfred drew his pistol in one smooth motion and shot the operator in the head, then shot the remaining five men in the operations room before they could react. Some of them would probably have joined him, he knew, as alarms howled through the Reichstag. But there was no time to try to convince them to join him, not now. He hit the emergency switch, closing and locking the doors, then sat down in front of the radio set. Reports were coming in from all over the city.
I suppose the enemy did have a plan, he thought. Dropping so many paratroopers into Germanica will hide the real threat.
Calmly, he started to issue false orders. The units that had been sent away from Germanica shouldn’t be able to return in a hurry, but the others — closer to the city — had to be kept out of the fight. It was unlikely that everyone would obey — they’d probably think that Alfred was mounting a coup — yet there should be enough confusion to keep most of the men out of the fighting. Alfred certainly hoped that was true. Too many good men had died in the last few months for him to be comfortable sending more to their deaths.
And then the entire building shook, violently.
Let us hope it ends quickly, he told himself. Because we will all die soon.
Herman hit the ground hard enough to hurt, rolling over, discarding his parachute and bringing up his weapon in one smooth motion. The shooting had already started, black-clad men pouring fire towards the paratroopers from the barricades as the fighter-bomber escorts roared overhead, seeking out targets of opportunity on the ground. Herman took cover as officers barked orders, forming the paratroopers up into rows for the assault on the Reichstag. He lifted his rifle as a bullet pinged off the masonry, scanning the building until he saw the sniper in the window and returning fire. The sniper fell backwards and vanished from sight.
And I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, Herman thought, grimly. He turned as he heard engines approaching from the north. Here they come…
The SS stormtroopers moved forward with fanatical determination, trying to assault the paratroopers in the rear. They didn’t seem to be so interested in taking cover, he noted; their vehicles were armoured against small arms, but their infantry weren’t even trying to seek protection. He couldn’t tell if they were desperate or merely poorly-trained — the best stormtroopers would have been sent west, surely — yet it hardly mattered. The paratroopers had antitank weapons designed to take out far heavier vehicles. One by one, the SS vehicles were wiped out.
“Take them out,” he shouted, as the stormtroopers hit the ground, but kept crawling forward, shooting as they came. “Now!”
The ground shook, again, as bombs fell over part of the city. Herman barely noticed as he hurled a pair of grenades towards the enemy, then ran forward — followed by several of his men — as the grenades exploded. The stormtroopers had no time to react before they were finished off, just as a second line of vehicles charged around the corner, guns blazing as they blasted streams of bullets towards the paratroopers. Herman hit the deck; Kurt, behind him, rolled a grenade forward and underneath the vehicle. It exploded into a fireball, giving the paratroopers time to slip back under covering fire from their comrades.
“Good work,” Herman grunted.
“Thank you, father,” Kurt said. “I…”
Herman saw the stormtrooper appear from nowhere, behind Kurt. He was taking aim at Kurt… he shoved Kurt down, trying to get him out of the line of fire before it was too late. The stormtrooper fired… and Herman gasped in pain, four hammer-blows slamming into his chest. He saw, through a haze of pain, the stormtrooper falling backwards, shot by someone, but it was suddenly very hard to think. The world seemed to be fading away…
“Father,” Kurt shouted. Herman could feel his son tearing at his uniform, trying to open the jacket so he could try to stanch the bleeding, but he knew it was too late. “Medic!”
Herman tried to speak, but the words refused to come. He wanted to tell his son that he loved him, that he loved all of his children, yet… yet his mouth would not cooperate. He couldn’t say a word. He wished, suddenly, that he’d had a chance to make love to his wife one final time, to hug his daughter, to tell his sons that he was proud of them…
…And then the darkness reached up and pulled him down.
Kurt had barely had a second to realise that there was someone behind him when his father, still immensely strong for a man his age, shoved him to the ground. He’d rolled over automatically, bringing up his weapon to shoot the stormtrooper dead…
…And then he realised his father had been mortally wounded.
He stared down at the old man’s body for a long moment, shaking his head in bitter grief and rage. There had been few better fathers, not in his experience. He’d known boys with fathers who let them do whatever they pleased and boys with fathers who beat them for the slightest mistake, but his father had been a mix of firm and fair. He hadn’t deserved to die saving his son…
…But it was how he would have wanted to go, Kurt thought. He was always looking out for us.
Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the battle. There would be time to mourn later…
…If any of them were left alive.
Karl Holliston had been reading paperwork when the aircraft flew overhead and the alarms went off, falling silent a second later. The building shook a moment later, causing him to dive under the desk and draw his pistol, ready to fight for his life. He nearly shot his own bodyguard when the man came running in, almost pulling the trigger before realising who he was seeing. If his bodyguard had turned on him, all was lost.
“Mein Führer,” the bodyguard snapped. “We’ve lost all contact with anyone outside the building!”
Karl swore under his breath as he crawled out from under the desk and hurried over to the large painting of Adolf Hitler on the far wall. A touch of a hidden button revealed a concealed communications set, linked directly to a high-power radio transmitter nearby. But when he tried using it, all he got in return was a screech of static that nearly deafened him. If he couldn’t make contact with his supporters, what good was he? And what could he do with the nuclear codes if he couldn’t pass them on?
“I can’t get through,” he snapped. He wished, suddenly, that he’d spent more time learning how to use the system. The basics were simple enough, but even tiny repairs were completely beyond him. He flipped through options that should have linked him with a dozen rooms in the Reichstag, but no one answered. Even the War Room was silent. “It’s not working.”