22 August 1985
“Using Herr Krueger is a gamble,” Gudrun said.
Beside her, Horst nodded in agreement. He’d appointed himself Gudrun’s bodyguard as soon as she’d been given an ill-defined role within the very provisional government, rather than trying to obtain a high office for himself. Given his role, which was probably included in one of the files taken from the RSHA, he’d felt it would be better if he avoided attracting attention. Gudrun didn’t seem concerned about his former masters, but not everyone would take the matter so lightly.
“Yes, it is,” Volker Schulze agreed. He turned to stare out of the window at the afternoon sky, then looked back at them. “Using any of the Reich Council is a gamble. But we don’t have many other experienced people.”
Horst had to admit he had a point. The provisional government was slowly making contact with military bases and police stations outside Berlin, trying to build up a picture of just what was happening, and it was becoming alarmingly clear that a great many senior officers were dead or sitting on the sidelines. Thankfully, the SS hadn’t quite realised just how much the Heer had focused on training its soldiers to use their initiative. SS troopers had killed senior officers, only to be killed themselves by junior officers, NCOs and ordinary soldiers. But it had created a horrible mess that wouldn’t be solved in a hurry.
“We can’t trust him,” Gudrun said, slowly. “Can we?”
“He hasn’t enriched himself excessively,” Schulze said. “I believe he has the best interests of the Reich at heart – and, right now, those include a peaceful transfer of power.”
“I hope you’re right,” Gudrun said. “Has there been anything from Germany East?”
“Nothing,” Schulze said. He smiled, rather tightly. “But apparently there have been a few mutinies in South Africa. The SS dropped the ball rather badly.”
Horst wasn’t so pleased. The troops in South Africa were unlikely to side with the SS, but they’d be reluctant to fight the Waffen-SS. They’d been fighting beside them for the last two years, after all. But it probably didn’t matter. Getting the troops back to the Reich would take far longer than they had, he suspected. The impending civil war would be fought with what weapons and manpower both sides had on hand. Thankfully, Schulze’s union included hundreds of men with military experience and there were thousands more in Berlin – and hundreds of thousands in Germany Prime.
“I may need you to speak to the French,” Schulze added. “And the Italians. God alone knows which way they’ll jump.”
“Offer them their political freedom,” Gudrun said. “Trade that for them staying quiet for the next few months.”
Schulze looked uncomfortable. “They’ll want parts of Germany Prime too.”
Horst nodded, sourly. Occupied France had been annexed, to all intents and purposes; native Frenchmen had been driven out and replaced with German settlers. If the provisional government tried to return the territory to France, there would be another outbreak of civil war. But the French would never forgive the Germans for keeping their land.
“We can sort that out after the war,” Gudrun said. “Can’t we?”
“Perhaps,” Schulze said. “But they’d have to be fools not to take advantage of our weakness to demand concessions. Their government is so unstable that it might go under any day now.”
He dismissed Gudrun. Horst followed her back to her office, then smiled as she closed and locked the door. But Gudrun seemed to have something else on her mind.
She met his eyes. “Does he have to worry about the French?”
“The government in Berlin, no matter who runs it, has to worry about the French,” Horst said, thoughtfully. “They’re not going to go away.”
“No,” Gudrun agreed, after a moment. “But we’re not going to go away either.”
Horst settled back in his chair as she returned to her desk and went to work. It was astonishing just how much paperwork was involved in forming a new government, particularly when very few of the people involved had any experience at all. Schulze, at least, had founded and run a union for a few weeks before becoming the leader of the provisional government. Gudrun had nothing more than theory and his advice to guide her.
“You might want to watch Voss,” Horst advised, when she read through his file. “He was always ambitious.”
“That’s the problem,” Gudrun agreed. She yawned suddenly. “Everyone who climbed to the top in the old government was ambitious.”
“Time for you to get some rest,” Horst said. He rose and held out a hand. “You can sleep in the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You take this bodyguard job too seriously,” Gudrun said, rising. A faint blush coloured her cheeks as she checked her watch. “I could stay up for longer…”
“It’s nearly midnight,” Horst said, firmly. “It’s time for you to go to bed.”
He concealed his amusement with an effort as they headed up to the residence level and walked down towards Gudrun’s suite. Her entire family was currently living in the Reichstag, along with the families of several other rebel leaders. Horst was surprised she’d managed to wrangle herself a separate suite, but he had to admit it was a relief. He knew her father would have made a fuss if he knew he was sharing a room with her, even if they weren’t sharing a bed.
“You know,” Gudrun said, as they entered her suite and closed the door, “you need a shower.”
Horst blinked. “I do?”
“Yes, you do,” Gudrun said. She pointed to the door leading into the bathroom. “Get in there.”
Horst did as he was told. Moments later, she joined him – and, when he turned to face her, wrapped him in a hug and kissed him as hard as she could.
Hauptsturmfuehrer Arul Falkenhayn braced himself as the helicopters swept over Berlin, heading directly towards the Reichstag. Night had fallen – half the city was in darkness – but he doubted they could maintain the advantage of surprise for very long. There was no such thing, despite American propaganda, as a truly silent helicopter. The rebels would have to be deaf as well as dumb not to hear them coming.
He glanced at his men, suited up and ready to go, and braced himself. He’d have felt better if the entire battalion had been prepping itself to jump into hell, but he only had twenty-one commandos and three helicopters under his command. The fourth helicopter had developed a fault that had proven maddeningly impossible to trace, let alone fix, before the mission had to be launched. There was no way to know if it was just another example of the Demon Murphy striking at the worst possible time or deliberate sabotage. Arul knew himself and his men to be loyal to the Reich – they’d planned to jump into Pretoria, after all – but the ground crews might not feel the same way. One of them might just have been cunning enough to do something to a helicopter and get away with it.
“Ten seconds,” the Strumscharfuehrer shouted. “Get ready!”
Arul stood, grabbed hold of the rappelling line, and prepared to dive out to meet his destiny.
Gudrun lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
She honestly wasn’t sure why she’d given herself to Horst. He was everything she wanted in a man – strong, capable and understanding – and yet, she hadn’t been taught to be so forward as to invite a man into her bed. She had wanted him, and she was sure he wanted her, and yet part of her knew their relationship had just changed for good. Konrad had wanted to go further than they had, she knew, and yet she’d been reluctant to commit herself to him completely. Now…