“They would like to surrender, but they insist on talking to the dissident leaders,” the voice said, after four minutes. “Is that acceptable?”
“Fine,” Kurt said. Volker could talk to them. He’d been in control of the unions, after all; he was probably the most powerful man in the dissident movement. “We’re coming up now, so put your weapons on the ground and step away from them.”
He forced himself to walk up the stairs, unsure of what he’d see when he reached the top. A handful of soldiers wearing combat battledress – close-protection specialists, he guessed – and a couple of civilians, looking nervous. They were rapidly cuffed as Kurt led the way into the next room, where a dozen men waited for him. The Fuhrer and Field Marshal Voss were instantly recognisable – their portraits hung in the barracks – but the others were strangers.
“This is an outrage, soldier,” the other Field Marshal said. “Stand down at once and…”
“So is ordering troops to fire on innocent civilians,” Kurt snapped. He lifted his rifle and gestured threateningly. “If any of you are carrying any weapons, say so now.”
He gave them a moment, then jerked his rifle barrel, indicating they were to rise. “You will be kept separately from the other prisoners until we have decided your final disposition,” he said. He had no idea what would be the best thing to do with the former Reich Council; that, too, was best left to Volker – and Gudrun. “Do not attempt to speak without permission or you will be shot.”
And if they do regain power, he thought morbidly, as his men searched the uppermost level and marked offices as temporary cells, they’ll have problems deciding precisely which of my crimes to put on my execution warrant.
It felt like hours before Gudrun could take a rest. Horst by her side, she had thrown herself into helping the wounded and preparing the dead for honourable burial. It had been a nightmare – the streets were slippery with blood – but there had been no choice. Someone had to take charge and deal with the chaos. By the time Kurt – wearing his combat uniform – came to find her, she was tired and cranky.
“Gudrun,” Kurt said. He looked around, then back at her. “If I’d known this would happen when I helped you sneak into a hospital…”
“She did the right thing,” Horst said. He somehow managed to sound fresh. “The government had to be beaten.”
Kurt gave him a sharp look. “And how much of the country do we control?”
“Good question,” Gudrun said. She rose and peered at her brother. “Who’s in charge right now?”
“Konrad’s father,” Kurt said. “He wants to see you.”
“I’m coming,” Gudrun said. “Horst?”
“I’ll come with you,” Horst said. “If you’ll still have me.”
Gudrun slipped her hand into his. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She sobered as she followed her brother through the remains of the gates and into the building. She’d never been inside and part of her was quietly fascinated, a feeling that faded as she realised just how much of the country’s wealth had been lavished on the building while large parts of the population barely had enough to eat. Hundreds of prisoners, their hands cuffed, sat in the hallway, looking at the floor despondently. It was easy to tell that they expected to be shot out of hand.
“They stole the artwork from all over the Reich,” Horst commented quietly, as they walked up the stairs. “Herman Goring used to collect pieces of irreplaceable art. When he died, his family passed it to the Reich Council.”
Gudrun nodded. She wasn’t surprised.
“Gudrun,” Volker Schulze said. He was standing alone in a large war room, covered with maps of Germany and the Reich. “Did you know what you’d start?”
“No,” Gudrun said. How much did he know? Kurt could have told him she’d known about Konrad long before anyone else – no, he merely thought she’d pushed him into using his contacts to check up on his son. “I didn’t.”
“But you started this,” Volker Schulze said. He waved a hand at one of the maps. “You can now help me clean up the mess.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SS Deployment Base/Reichstag, Germany
21/22 August 1985
It had not been a comfortable flight.
Karl Holliston had hoped to fly directly to the Reich Command Bunker in East Germany, or perhaps loop round Berlin and head to Wewelsburg Castle, but the endless series of confused reports on the radio made it sound dangerous. There were outbreaks of fighting at military and SS bases, mutinies on the high seas and even clashes between jet fighters… if, of course, the radio could be believed. Karl was sure that most of the reports were badly exaggerated – he’d been taught there was always a period of confusion when something happened without warning – but it was hard to know for sure. The Heer might be divided, yet he had no doubt that the Kriegsmarine and the Luftwaffe would side with the rebels. They’d been infected with rebel propaganda right from the start.
He gritted his teeth as the helicopter, running on fumes, dropped towards the SS Deployment Base. SS Skorzeny had been preparing for its deployment to South Africa and – he cursed in frustration – most of its equipment had been boxed for transport. The unit, the only wholly reliable unit west of Poland, would need time, more time than he had, to prepare for a full-scale attack on Berlin. He grunted as the helicopter hit the pad, then staggered to his feet and hurried to the hatch. The ground crew were already moving in to secure the helicopter and refuel the craft. Behind them, a uniformed officer waited.
“Herr Reichsführer,” SS-Obergruppenfuehrer Felix Kortig said, as Karl clambered out of the helicopter. In the distance, the sun was setting over the mountains and darkness was falling over the land. “We have a briefing for you in the situation room.”
“Good,” Karl said. Perhaps, just perhaps, the situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed. “Have some coffee brought to the room too. We’re going to need it.”
He allowed Kortig to lead him into the base, barely noticing the stormtroopers standing guard at the doors. The entire garrison had gone into lockdown, although – as far as they were from civilian towns or military bases – it was unlikely there was any immediate danger. But that would change, he reminded himself, as they passed through a pair of armoured doors and into the situation room. The deployment base was hardly a secret.
“I have two companies on readiness,” Kortig informed him, “and a third picketing all the approaches. However, most of our equipment is already en route to South Africa…”
“I know,” Karl said, cutting him off. He wasn’t in the mood for excuses. “I need a situation briefing, right now.”
He took a seat as an orderly entered, carrying a tray of coffee. Behind him, a young analyst stepped into the room, looking pale. He seemed too young to wear SS black, Karl noted; the young troopers seemed to get younger every year. Karl felt a sudden flicker of wistfulness for his younger days, when all that mattered was getting the job done, which he pushed aside savagely. He might have made mistakes – bad rolls of the dice were inevitable – but the contest for supremacy in the Reich was far from over.