“The SS are shooting,” Horst whispered. He was still holding her down. “Lie still and play dead.”
Kurt had barely had any time to deploy his men before the CO arrived, just as the marchers came into the square. They looked… harmless; there were girls in the lead who looked no older than Gudrun herself, followed by middle-aged women who could easily have been his mother, if things had been different. He forced himself to relax, despite the chant; the crowd might be loud, but it didn’t sound threatening.
And then the SS opened fire.
For a long chilling moment, Karl just stared. Girls were falling to the streets, their blood staining the roads. He’d thought himself used to horror and yet, watching innocent Germans gunned down was more than he could stand. His sister could be there, either in the midst of the students or on the ground, slowly bleeding to death.
“Do not fire,” the CO bellowed. He sounded shaken, but resolute. “Do not fire!”
Kurt lifted his rifle in one smooth motion and shot the CO in the head. His men – and the other units – just stared as his body dropped to the ground. Grumbling was one thing – soldiers always grumbled – but actually shooting the CO…? It didn’t happen. Kurt turned his weapon, pointing towards the SS, and opened fire.
Seconds later, his men joined him.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Berlin, Germany
21 August 1985
Viktor opened his mouth in shock as his men started to fall.
He hadn’t anticipated armed resistance. This wasn’t Russia, where the Untermenschen hoarded what weapons they could steal from Germans; this was Germany, where possession of automatic weapons was strictly regulated. The marchers should have been incapable of doing anything other than running for their lives – or dying, when his men shot them down like dogs. And he certainly hadn’t anticipated the soldiers opening fire on his men. The Heer might have its doubts over what his unit did, but they understood its value…
“Return fire,” he snapped. The army was in revolt. It was the only explanation. Thankfully, the SS existed to keep the army in line. “Kill them all…”
A bullet slammed into his chest. Viktor stumbled and fell, just as another bullet cracked into his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Kurt had always wondered just how the Berlin Guard would do against a crack unit of the Waffen-SS. The SS certainly boasted of their fighting prowess – Konrad had certainly been happy to insist that they were unrivalled on the battlefield – but the unit that had fired on unarmed civilians had disintegrated under the first salvo. He had expected more of a fight, honestly; men experienced in counter-insurgency warfare should take into account, he thought, the prospect of suddenly coming under fire from an unexpected direction. But the SS had melted away, leaving him with an unexpected problem. He’d just killed the CO and slaughtered an SS detachment. What the hell did he do now?
A man lurched out of the pile of marchers and stumbled towards him, blood trickling down his face. Kurt almost shot the newcomer before he recognised him; Volker Schulze, Konrad’s father. The man had been a factory foreman, if Kurt recalled correctly; if rumours were to be believed, he was also one of the unionists. And yet, he’d also been an SS officer before retiring to civilian life.
“Kurt,” Schulze said. It was suddenly easy to believe the man had been a soldier. “Get your men organised. We need to take the Reichstag.”
Kurt stared at him. “The Reichstag?”
“Yes,” Schulze insisted. “We have to stop the SS before they do something stupid. I’m getting everyone who has military experience lined up, but they don’t have any weapons.”
I’ve just started a civil war, Kurt thought, numbly. Had any unit mutinied so badly since the dark days of 1918? And he’d taken the lead. They’ll kill me when they catch me.
Training took over. “Jawohl,” he said. Schulze was a good man – and he was right. They could take the Reichstag and force the government to surrender before it was too late. “I’ll get my men organised now.”
“The… the troops mutinied?”
“Yes, Herr Reichsführer,” the observer said. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the alarm echoing through the building. “The Berlin Guard opened fire on Sturmbannfuehrer Harden’s men. They have been scattered, while the guardsmen prepare to storm the building.”
Karl had to fight to keep his expression under control. He’d expected a quick slaughter, followed by a long period of cleaning the blood from the streets and purging the politicians and activists who’d brought Germany low. But now… all of a sudden, it dawned on him that he might have made a deadly mistake. He was no coward – the thought of dying for the Reich held no terrors for him – but everything could be lost along with him. He’d been careful not to anoint a successor, knowing it would cause problems in the future. And yet, that too had been a mistake. If he died, there would be a power struggle within the SS at the worst possible moment.
I can’t allow myself to die, he thought. He knew just what the crowd would do to anyone they caught within the Reichstag, now the myth of the government’s invincibility had been shattered once and for all. And I cannot let the Reich Council make any more mistakes.
He rose. “Have my security detail escort me to the helipad,” he said. There was always a helicopter ready and waiting, just in case the Reich Council needed to leave in a hurry. “And then send out a message on the emergency channels. Condition Wilhelm. I say again, Condition Wilhelm.”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” the observer said.
Karl cursed savagely as he hurried out of the office and into the antechamber, where a trio of heavily-armed stormtroopers were waiting for him. Condition Wilhelm was a coup, to all intents and purposes; SS officers and infantry on thousands of military bases would take control and put the bases into lockdown, ensuring the mutiny couldn’t spread. And, by the time the dust had settled, the SS would be in complete control of Germany. But there hadn’t been time to make all the preparations…
And word will be spreading, he thought. He wondered briefly if he had time to lead the way to the council chamber and execute the councillors, starting with the damned Finance Minister, but he knew he didn’t dare. They’ll be screaming to the Heer, telling them to join the mutiny and turn on the SS.
“Herr Reichsführer,” the lead stormtrooper said. He carried a rifle in one hand, held at the ready. “The building has gone into lockdown; the corridors are clear.”
“Excellent,” Karl said, checking the pistol at his belt. He wasn’t the only one with a security detail, but the SS controlled the building. Everyone else would, hopefully, be running around in confusion while he made his exit. “Take me to the helicopter.”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” the stormtrooper said.
Gudrun had thought the last protest was bad, but this was a nightmare. She stood as soon as Horst rolled off her, yet she almost wished she hadn’t as she glanced around, taking in the horrors surrounding her. Hundreds of dead bodies lay on the ground, while the wounded were screaming for help, help she feared would never come. Even the sight of the soldiers finishing off the remains of the SS was no consolation. She’d led the dead and wounded to meet their doom.