Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (35 page)

Gudrun nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  She had a pure-perfect record from the Race Classification Bureau, one she’d had written out for her when she started planning to marry Konrad.  And there was a copy in front of the register.  He
knew
they were both pureblood Germans.  There was no need to demand a final oath in front of so many witnesses.  And yet, there was no point in making a fuss.

“I swear,” she said, finally.

The register pulled three certificates out of a folder on his desk, their names and details already filled in.  Gudrun took the first one and read it carefully, checking every last detail, before taking a pen and signing her name at the bottom.  She passed it to Horst, then read and signed the remaining two certificates.  Her father, her guardian, was the last person to sign his name.  Without his signature, it wouldn't be valid.

“You are now husband and wife,” the register said.  His tone hadn't changed at all.  “I wish you both a long and happy marriage.”

Gudrun fought down the urge to giggle, then turned to Horst and lifted her lips, allowing him to kiss her gently.  She heard Siegfried say something rude behind them, then grunt in pain, but she didn't care.  Horst held her for a long moment, then released her, his eyes shining with ...
something
.  They were married now.  Their lives had just been bound together, for better or worse ... her emotions were a mess.  Part of her was tempted, far too tempted, just to start crying.

Her father paid the Registrar, then marched her family out of the room.  Gudrun followed, holding Horst’s hand as they walked into the small dining room.  There wasn't much to eat - Gudrun was damned if she was feasting while much of the population was starving - but there were two bottles of expensive wine and some sweets from France.  It wasn't how she’d envisaged her wedding, when she'd thought about what she’d wanted as a young girl, yet the lack of ceremony didn't matter.  All that mattered was that they were together.

She glanced up at him, then giggled as he started trying to feed her.  Siegfried made even more rude noises, then quietened down as Kurt glared at him.  Gudrun sighed, wondering what his problem was, before deciding it didn't matter.  Siegfried was already far too spoilt simply by being the youngest.  Their parents weren't
quite
as strict with him as they’d been with their older children.

“Don’t drink too much,” her father advised as he passed her a glass of wine.  “You are already very emotional.”

Gudrun nodded.  Now the ceremony was over, part of her had doubts.  She had - technically - promised to obey Horst ... and the law would back him up, if there was a dispute.  And yet, she was damned if she was just submitting to him.  Even her own mother, however quiet she might be in public, was hardly submissive in private.  And yet ... she took a sip of the wine, silently grateful that her mother had forbidden her from drinking more than a glass on special occasions.  The boys could have their drinking contests, if they wished, but it wasn't something she cared to allow herself.  It was too dangerous.

She ate enough to keep herself going, then watched as her parents escorted her siblings out of the room.  If there was one thing to be said for such a simple ceremony, it was that Horst and she were left alone within two hours of the wedding.  A more complex ceremony would take far longer ...

“Mrs Albrecht,” Horst said, quietly.

Gudrun nodded.  She’d already determined that she would use her maiden name for her professional life, but she would be Mrs Albrecht in private.  And yet, even acknowledging it made her feel strange.  They were together now until one of them died.  Divorce was practically unthinkable.  If they had children, it would become completely impossible.

Horst rose and held out a hand.  “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” Gudrun said.  She stood and kissed him, as hard as she could.  “Let’s go.”

***

“I trust you had a few words with Siegfried?”

“Kurt already gave him a lecture,” Herman said, as he stepped into the room he shared with his wife.  Adelinde was already sitting on the bed, her blonde hair shining under the harsh electric light.  “He’s quite protective of Gudrun.”

“He’ll have to be protective of someone else soon,” Adelinde said, curtly.  She sounded annoyed.  “And Siegfried needs to grow up.”

“He’s twelve,” Herman reminded her.  “It’s going to be a while before he grows into a man.”

“I know,” Adelinde said.  “But he’s too old not to know when he’s being rude.”

Herman nodded.  His youngest son had always been a handful.  Herman had had less time for him, while Johan had been four years older than Siegfried and Kurt had been in military training, depriving Siegfried of a true playmate or someone to look up to.  And Gudrun had been a girl ...

He sighed as he sat down next to his wife.  He’d given his daughter away to a man she’d chosen, surrendering her to another man.  It felt wrong, even though he'd
known
that Gudrun would eventually move out from the moment she was born.  His daughter was no longer his little girl, but a grown woman.  Their relationship would never be the same.

And if Horst tries to boss her around,
he thought,
I’ll ...

He smiled in genuine wonderment.  It was odd, but Gudrun - perhaps - was the only one of his children who really took after him.  If Horst tried to boss her around, or beat her, Herman was sure he’d regret it very quickly - if he survived.  Gudrun had brought down a government!  A single man wouldn't present a real problem ...

Adelinde gave him a sharp look.  “What’s so funny?”

“Gudrun is very like me,” Herman said.  “And that’s odd.”

“Hah,” Adelinde said.  She stuck out her tongue.  “I’ve been trying to tell you that for a very long time.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Berlin, Germany Prime

20 October 1985

“The reports are clear,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Alfred said.  “I just heard back from the scouts.”

He paused.  Bad news was rarely welcomed by his superiors.  “The traitors are massing to the west,” he added.  “They should be ready to move within the week, perhaps ten days at the most.”

“So it would seem,” Karl Holliston said.  The
Fuhrer
sounded oddly calm, something that worried Alfred more than he cared to admit.  “What are they trying to do?”

Alfred turned to look at the map his staff had pinned to the wall.  “Depending on the timing,
Mein Fuhrer
, they either intend to punch open a relief corridor to Berlin or trap our forces against the city,” he said.  “It was what the Russians intended to do in Stalingrad.”

“The
Untermenschen
failed,” Holliston snapped.

“Yes,
Mein Führer
,
but we are not facing
Untermenschen
,” Alfred said.  “The traitors have successfully rallied a large percentage of fighting men to their banner.”

He took a breath.  “I would like permission to lift the siege and withdraw from the city,” he added, carefully.  Holliston was
not
going to take
this
calmly.  “I do not believe we can break into the city without taking hideous losses.”

“Out of the question,” Holliston snapped.  “To lose Berlin - again - would be disastrous.”

Alfred braced himself.  “The situation is grim,” he said.  “We have lost thousands of men in the battle and we will lose thousands more if we push onwards.  I believe we can take Berlin, but then we will lose it again when the traitor relief formations arrive.  Our logistics network is shot to hell and far too many of our units have been chewed up.  We need time to put our forces back on a secure footing.”

He cursed under his breath.  No one had ever anticipated a civil war.  Even the disagreements in 1950, after Hitler’s death, hadn't threatened all-out war.  Naturally, very few precautions had been taken to prepare for such a war.  The
Waffen-SS
was in the odd position of being an elite force that didn't have as much of the latest equipment as it would have preferred.  Many of the vehicles it deployed in Germany East wouldn't have lasted more than a minute on a modern battlefield, not against the massed power of the
Heer
.  They needed to trade space for time, time to get production started, time to learn from the battles they’d already fought ...

“Time is the one thing we do not have,” Holliston said.  “If they force us away from Berlin, we risk losing everything.”

“We may lose everything if we stay in position,” Alfred said.  “
Mein Fuhrer
, our ability to handle the coming storm is very limited.  And staying in one place will only pin us down ...”

“There are plans afoot to strike at the very heart of their power,” Holliston said.  “That will distract them, will it not?”

Alfred took a moment to calm himself.  The
Reichstag
should never have been left untouched.  His gunners could have pulverised the building and the surrounding area, destroying - or at least crippling - the traitor government.  It would have proved, beyond all doubt, that the government couldn't even protect itself.  And yet, Karl Holliston had flatly refused to allow the gunners to shell the
Reichstag
.  He’d made it clear, very clear, that the entire region was to be left strictly alone.  Even his spiteful destruction of the Ministry of Economics had been made after some soul-searching.

But we could rebuild
, Alfred thought, bitterly. 
Rebuilding the Reichstag would hardly be a major problem
.

“It might,” Alfred said.  “But their fighting men have nowhere to run.”

He sighed as he glared at the secure phone.  He’d studied the great campaigns in Poland, France and Russia and all three of them had one thing in common.  There had been room for both sides to manoeuvre, room for the defenders to break and run ... when they hadn't had that room, they’d tended to fight harder.  The Russians at Leningrad, Stalingrad, and Moscow hadn't been able to run and they’d fought like mad bastards.  He’d read the campaign records, including diaries that had been deemed too inflammatory to release to their families; if anything, he’d come to realise, those long-dead German soldiers had understated the nightmare of fighting in a city.  Berlin was being held so strongly that he doubted his ability to take the city ...

And if we do take the city
, he thought morbidly,
we may lose the war
.

“It will not matter, if we can retake the
Reichstag
,” Holliston said.  “Prepare your men for a final savage push.”

Alfred winced.  “
Mein Fuhrer
,” he said.  “Can your forces within the city take the
Reichstag
?”

“Yes,” Holliston said.  “And they can do much else besides.”

There was a pause.  “Prepare your men.  There is one final battle that must be fought.”

Alfred closed his eyes in pain.  Resistance - further resistance - would be worse than futile.  A single word from Germanica would be enough to ensure his death, either at the hands of an SS security force or a covert operative hidden within his staff.  He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there
was
someone keeping an eye on him.  If he resisted Holliston, if he ordered a retreat or even a redeployment to face the oncoming storm, his life and those of his family would be forfeit.

And if I retire
, he asked himself,
who will take my place
?

He shuddered at the thought.  The SS commanders ranged from enthusiastic to outright fanatical, the kind of fire-breathers who should never be in command of anything larger than a company.  There was something to be said for aggression on the battlefield, he had to admit, but it needed to be tempered with due care and long-term thinking.  An SS panzer division wasn't an assault troop and couldn't be treated as one.  And those who did couldn't be allowed to take command of the entire army.

“It shall be done,
Mein Fuhrer
,” he said, finally.  “When do you want the offensive to begin?”

“Four days,” Holliston said.  “Do whatever you have to do to make it work.”

“
Jawohl
,
Mein Fuhrer
,” Alfred said.

The line disconnected.  Alfred stared at the phone for a long moment, then returned the handset to its cradle, thinking hard.  The
Fuhrer
had told him to do whatever he had to do to make the offensive work, an order that gave him a great deal of latitude.  Karl Holliston probably wouldn't approve of just how far he intended to take the order and run with it, but Alfred found it hard to care.  If taking Berlin was the only thing keeping him - and his family - from ending their lives hanging from meathooks in a cellar under Germanica, he would do everything in his power to make sure the final offensive was actually
final
.

Rising, he strode into the next room and nodded to Weineck, who made his way over to stand beside his superior as Alfred studied the map.  The endless fighting might have overrun parts of Berlin, but none of them were particularly important.  A couple of suburbs had been completely worthless, save for the opportunity to wear down the defenders by forcing them to fight for the territory. 

And expend their ammunition
, he thought.  If
his
ammunition consumption calculations had been so badly off-base, surely theirs had been too. 
They can't have much left, can they?

Weineck glanced at him.  “
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
?”

Alfred frowned, without taking his eyes off the map.  Was Weineck receiving secret orders from Germanica?  Or would it be one or more of the communications techs, the men whose names he barely knew?  Or some of the guards?  Or perhaps his orderly, who had been with him for the last decade?  There was no way to know, no way even to
guess
.

“The
Fuhrer
wishes us to make one final push towards the
Reichstag
,” he said, flatly.  There was no point in worrying about it, not now.  “We need to make some preparations.”

“Of course,
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,” Weineck said.  “This time we will be victorious.”

And are you saying that for my benefit
, Alfred asked himself,
or for the edification of any listening ears?

He pushed the thought aside as he looked up at his aide.  “Pull all of the Category A units out of the front lines,” he ordered.  “Give them a day or two of rest, then prepare them for a final thrust.  We’ll mass our forces and advance under heavy shelling.”

Weineck frowned.  “Our stockpiles of shells are quite low ...”

“Then we need to bring in more,” Alfred said.  “And I want you to inform the gunners, when the offensive begins, that they are not to hold back.”

He ignored Weineck’s shock.  Standard procedure might have been to hold a number of shells in reserve, just in case there was an urgent call for fire support, but standard procedures would have to be abandoned.  As long as there was a hope, however faint, of breaking through the defence lines and punching their way towards the
Reichstag
, the gunners would have to do their utmost.

“The same goes for our remaining air power,” he added.  “Once the offensive begins, they are to strike at targets within Berlin, doing everything in their power to weaken the defenders.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,” Weineck said.  He still looked shocked.  “But ... but that will cost us badly.”

“Yes, it will,” Alfred said.  “But the
Fuhrer
has ordered us to take Berlin.”

He scowled as he turned to the overall map.  The traitors were gathering their forces under the protection of their remaining air force - and those damned American missiles.  Ideally, he would have preferred to deploy his air power to slow their advance, but that would drain the remainder of his aircraft for very little return.  He had to admire the traitors for choosing to leave Berlin uncovered, despite the American missiles; the decision might have cost them quite badly, but it had definitely worked out for them.

“I also want you to redeploy a number of commando teams,” he added.  “Once it becomes clear that we are storming the city, the traitors will attempt to send their own forces forward to engage us.  The commandos are to slow them down as much as possible.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,” Weineck said.

Alfred nodded, curtly.  His redeployments were the best hope the
Waffen-SS
had of breaking through the defence line and storming Berlin, but there was no way to avoid the sense that there was nothing he could do to prevent disaster.  A retreat now would look bad, yet it would preserve his forces and give him time to bleed the enemy ... doing unto them as they’d done unto the SS.  And yet, the
Fuhrer
would not listen.  He’d gambled everything on taking Berlin.

“And then I have a number of other redeployments that need to be handled,” Alfred added, slowly.  Maybe they could win the battle ... but if they didn't, he’d have to do what he could to avoid losing the overall war.  “But we will handle those later.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer
,” Weineck said.  He paused.  “Pulling back the Category A units will weaken the ongoing fighting.”