“Herr Reichsführer,” the analyst said. “Most of our communications network has been badly damaged. What reports we have are often imprecise or wildly exaggerated. However, we do have a picture of just what’s been happening over the last few hours.”
Karl nodded impatiently, sipping his coffee.
“The police and military bases in Berlin itself seem to have gone over to the rebels,” the analyst continued. “I was able to speak briefly to an officer in the RSHA, Herr Reichsführer: he confirmed that the building was surrounded and on the verge of being stormed. None of the other SS installations within Berlin responded to our calls. They may simply be isolated or they may have been overwhelmed.”
He paused, waiting for Karl’s response. “Outside Berlin, the situation is confused. A number of military bases turned into war zones as our forces attempted to take control of the troops, provoking the soldiers to mutiny. At last report, Herr Reichsführer, most of the military bases in Germany Prime are probably in rebel hands. However, as it is clear the rebels didn’t plan for an uprising, they may be as uncertain of what’s actually going on as ourselves. It will take them at least a week, I suspect, to re-establish a chain of command and decide what to do next.
“Germany East remains solidly in our hands. The Heer units within Germany East are seemingly unaware of anything happening to the west, Herr Reichsführer. Germany North, Germany Arabia and Germany South are, so far, quiet, but Germany South may declare for the rebels when they finally work out what’s going on. We are not particularly popular there.”
Karl sipped his coffee, thoughtfully. “And the forces in South Africa?”
“No word,” the analyst said. “I don’t know which way they’ll jump.”
“Keep monitoring the situation and inform me if there are any major changes,” Karl ordered, looking at the map. The deployment base was looking alarmingly exposed. How long would it take the rebels to deduce where he’d fled? Not long, he suspected, if some of the Reich Council joined the rebellion. “How many men can you send to Berlin?”
Kortig frowned. “Right now, twenty-five at most,” he said. “We only have four assault helicopters fuelled up and ready to fly. The transport aircraft we were planning to use for Operation Headshot are already in Germany East. If we had a few days to make preparations…”
“We don’t have a few days,” Karl said. Right now, the rebels controlled Berlin and Berlin alone. Given time, that would change rapidly. “We need to launch a strike as quickly as possible and kill the rebel leadership.”
“That would be tricky,” Kortig observed. “Berlin is not exactly undefended.”
“Right now, the defences are confused,” Karl argued. “We can slip four helicopters back into Berlin and attack the Reichstag.”
“There isn’t time to mount the operation under cover of darkness,” Kortig said. “By the time the helicopters reached Berlin, the sun would be rising. We’ll have to launch the attack tomorrow night.”
He was right, Karl knew, even though it was bitterly frustrating. Twenty-five men, even Skorzeny commandos, would be hellishly exposed if they tried to launch an attack in broad daylight. The rebels would probably have already moved mobile antiaircraft missile launchers into Berlin, if they were expecting an immediate counterattack. It was what he would have done. Sending the troops in daylight was asking for disaster.
And yet, he asked himself, just how badly can they damage the Reich in a day?
“Start making the preparations,” he ordered. If the assault failed, if the rebel leadership survived, they’d have to prepare a far more elaborate response. “And make contact with our forces in Germany East. We have to prepare for war.”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer,” Kortig said.
Under other circumstances, Hans would have savoured the thought of being locked up in one of his own offices. The rebels had searched it, removed anything that could be used as a weapon and then told him not to try to leave the chamber on pain of death. Hans hadn’t tried to argue. Instead, he’d sat down as the door was closed and tried to get some sleep. There was no point in doing anything else. If he tried to escape, and succeeded, where would he go?
He was half-asleep when someone opened the door, but the sound jerked him awake instantly. A pair of soldiers stood there, looking down at him. Hans braced himself, wondering if he was simply going to be taken outside and shot, then rose to his feet, ready to meet his death with dignity. The soldiers searched him – again – and then escorted him through the network of corridors into a small office. Volker Schulze – instantly recognisable from the files on union activists – was sitting behind a table, looking tired. A large mug of coffee was perched in front of him.
“Herr Schulze,” Hans said. It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice – it had been hard enough trying to save the economy without the unions driving up costs and limiting production – but he had tried. “What can I do for you?”
Schulze looked up at him. “Answer me a question,” he said. “Where do your loyalties lie?”
“With the Reich,” Hans said, flatly. He had no objection to enriching himself at the same time as building the Reich’s economy, but there were limits. It was a constant headache – it had been a constant headache – that others didn’t seem to recognise those limits. “Where do yours lie?”
“With the Reich,” Schulze said. “Your subordinates speak highly of you, Herr Krueger.”
“Thank you,” Hans said. He’d played the political game long enough to have a very good idea of where the conversation was leading. “You want me to run the economy for you.”
Schulze didn’t bother to pretend to be surprised. “Most of the ministries haven’t had time to slip into disarray,” he said, instead. “Bureaucrats weren’t murdered, save for a handful who were killed to pay off old grudges; files weren’t destroyed, even in the RSHA. We need those ministries in working order just to take control of the Reich.”
Hans nodded. “And how much do you control right now?”
“Not as much as we’d like,” Schulze admitted. He smiled, rather darkly. “I should tell you that the Reichsführer sentenced you to death. The police unit that fired on the protesters had orders to sweep the Reichstag afterwards, capturing or killing the Reich Council. You would simply have been killed out of hand.”
“I wish I could say I was surprised,” Hans said. Holliston, damn the man, had clearly had his own plans for taking advantage of the chaos. Hans had thought Holliston respected the balance of power – the SS might not have come out ahead if the balance had shattered – but the protests had already crippled the Reich. “He always was a ruthless bastard.”
Schulze nodded in agreement. “You have two choices, Herr Krueger,” he said. “You can join us and help us to build a new government. Or you can refuse, whereupon you will be moved to a detention facility until you can be tried, afterwards, for your role on the Reich Council.”