He took one last look at the council, currently issuing more orders to the Berlin Guard, and slipped out of the chamber. Sturmbannfuehrer Viktor Harden was on alert – the police unit had been ready to move ever since the first rumours had been allowed to leak – and his men would be on their way within minutes. And then the protesters were in for a nasty surprise.
And the Berlin Guard can keep its hands clean, he thought, nastily. The Guard would be purged when he was Fuhrer. They can walk straight into the concentration camps after they help us clear up the mess.
“They want us where?”
“There’s a crowd of marchers heading towards the Reichstag, the CO bellowed, as soldiers hastily grabbed weapons and equipment. “The Reich Council wants us in place to turn them away from the building, if necessary!”
Kurt shuddered as he checked his rifle while heading down to the vans. They’d anticipated deployment onto the streets, but now the call had come chaos reigned supreme. He couldn’t help noticing that many of the soldiers under his command were exchanging nervous glances, clearly unsure of themselves. They’d been preparing to fight barbarian terrorists in South Africa, where it was kill or be killed, not German civilians on the streets of Berlin. They all came from Berlin, Kurt knew; their friends and families might be their targets, not Untermenschen.
And Gudrun will be out there somewhere, he thought. He’d taken a great deal of ribbing from his fellow officers about his sister’s role in the university protests, although – thankfully – his superiors had either not made the connection between him and Gudrun or chosen to ignore it. They had too many incidents of mutinous chatter to worry about a junior officer with an unfortunate relative. What do I do if they order us to open fire?
He sucked in his breath as he looked at the men. The younger ones looked eager – this would be their first taste of action, although it couldn’t compare to a battlefield – but the older ones were clearly concerned. Many of them had wives and children… how could they bear the thought of firing into a crowd of protesters? German protesters. As God was his witness, Kurt honestly didn’t know which way to jump. If the CO ordered him to open fire on the crowds, what should he do?
“Into the vans,” he ordered, curtly.
He wasn’t the senior officer on the scene, not by a very long way. The CO would take personal command, unless one of the really high-ranking officers from the Reich Council decided to come out into the streets. Kurt doubted it, even though he was sure the Field Marshals were brave men. They wouldn’t want blood on their hands.
The thought chilled him to the bone as he followed his men into the van, then inspected his rifle as the engine roared to life. Do I want blood on my hands?
Sturmbannfuehrer Viktor Harden had always seen people as not quite real. He had no idea why he’d never been able to make an emotional connection with another person, even the men under his command, but it wasn’t something he wanted to change. At nine years old, he’d killed his baby sister, just for distracting his parents from tending to his needs; at thirteen, he’d poisoned a teacher who’d dared to punish him in front of the class; at fifteen, he’d raped and murdered one of his classmates merely to see what it was like to combine sex and murder. He’d never had anything resembling a conscience…
…And, when he’d been arrested after a moment of carelessness with his seventh victim, he’d been given a choice between joining the SS and being unceremoniously executed. It hadn’t been a hard decision.
Viktor didn’t understand – honestly didn’t understand – why so many of his fellow officers had qualms about carrying out anti-terrorism procedures. He didn’t give a damn how many Untermenschen died, let alone how they died. Slaughtering entire villages was perfectly acceptable, as far as Viktor was concerned; using their deaths to intimidate thousands of others into submission was a bonus. The men under his command, too, used their impulses in the service of the SS. Others might sneer, others might look away, but Viktor gloried in the nightmares he unleashed. Let the Untermenschen hate, as long as they feared; let them stare in horror at what he did to their men, women and children, before bowing the knee to the Reich.
He had no qualms about unleashing hell onto the streets of Berlin. He had, after all, no emotional connection to the marchers at all. They were common people, just like his parents; they weren’t quite real. Viktor had always snorted at SS officers who said, as if they were paragons of morality, that they would never rape an Untermensch woman, that they would never sully themselves by fucking a subhuman animal. To him, it mattered little if his targets were Untermenschen – or Germans. All that mattered was that his superiors allowed him to indulge himself, in exchange for unquestioning service.
“Take aim,” he ordered, as the marchers slowly came into view. “Prepare to fire.”
His lips curved into a cruel smile of anticipation. Some of the girls advancing towards him were young, young enough to be innocent, young enough to be untouched by the world… and yet, old enough to understand what he would do to them. Manipulating them like putty was a pleasure – and, when one was burned out, he slit her throat and moved on to the next girl. There was never any shortage of Untermenschen women for his games.
Horst hadn’t been sure just what to expect as the marchers closed in on the Reichstag. The SS guards in front of the building were nowhere to be seen – perhaps they’d retreated inwards and shut the gates – while a line of Berlin Guardsmen were jumping out of vans at the far edge of Victory Square. Judging from their frantic movements, mixed with confusion, they weren’t sure what they should be doing. Their training hadn’t covered peaceful protest marches in Germany itself.
He turned his gaze past the Reichstag and froze. Men, black-clad men, were forming a rifle line, pointing weapons towards the marchers. He’d seen it before, in Germany East; men standing ready to repel a charge of Untermenschen. Except, in Germany, their targets weren’t Untermenschen, but Germans…
“Get down,” he barked, hurling himself at Gudrun. “Get down…”
She fell under his weight and hit the ground, Horst landing on top of her, just as the riflemen opened fire.
Gudrun thought, just for a second, that Horst was attacking her. He’d knocked her down hard enough to hurt, pinning her so soundly that she could barely move. Panic flared in her mind as she tried to struggle, even though it was useless. Horst was just too heavy for her to budge until he wanted to let her go. And then she heard the sounds of shooting…
The crowd recoiled in shock. She twisted her head, just in time to see a young girl fall to the ground, blood leaking from what remained of her head. Others were falling too, some dropping to the ground to avoid the bullets, others wounded – or dead. Horst pushed her down hard, shielding her with his body. She couldn’t even move her head any longer.