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

by Christopher Nuttall

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t regret it. I have four lovely children and a husband who does his very best for them - and me. There are worse husbands out there, but few better ones. Your father is a good man.”

  Gudrun cocked her head. “Even if he did have shouting matches with Kurt?”

  “That’s what happens when a young boy grows into a man,” her mother said. “He starts clashing against the older man in the house.”

  She smiled, rather tiredly. “The sooner Kurt gets married, the better.”

  “I’ll see if I can find anyone who might be interested,” Gudrun said. “I owe him that much, I think.”

  She finished dressing and checked her watch, then allowed her mother to lead her out of the door and down towards the wedding chamber. It was bare, save for a single desk placed at the rear of the room. A man stood behind it, wearing the drab uniform of a bureaucrat; he gave her a single look, then nodded to himself as she entered the room. There was nothing obviously wrong with her, Gudrun guessed. It would have been a different story if she’d had dark skin or anything else that marked her out as - perhaps - not being racially pure.

  “Gudrun,” her father said, as he stepped into the chamber. He held a brown envelope in one hand. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, father,” Gudrun said.

  She looked back as Horst entered the room, flanked by Kurt, Johan and Siegfried. Horst wore a simple Heer uniform without any rank badges, very unlike the black dress uniform he would have worn as an SS stormtrooper - as Konrad would have worn, if things had gone differently. She felt a sudden stab of guilt, as if she was betraying his memory, even though she knew it was absurd. Konrad wouldn't have wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone, no matter what else happened. And yet ...

  Kurt and Johan wore their uniforms, she noted, while Siegfried wore a simple black suit that had been tailored to fit him. He hadn't yet entered his final growth spurt, but he was already tall and muscular for his age. He’d thrown a colossal fit when his father had banned him from joining the boxing club and then sulked for days before finally subsiding. Gudrun hoped that he hadn’t said anything nasty to Horst. But then, Kurt would have walloped him if he had. Horst was alone, his family on the far side of the border. And there was no way to know if they were even alive.

  “I love you,” she mouthed.

  “I love you too,” Horst mouthed back.

  Siegfried made gagging motions, which stopped abruptly when their father turned his gaze on him. Gudrun allowed herself a moment of relief, then looked at her father, wondering just what thoughts were going through his head. His little girl was getting married, leaving the family home for the last time. Gudrun hadn't set foot in her home for nearly a month, now, but it hardly mattered. Her relationship with her father would never be the same again.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”

  The register looked up at them as they approached the table. Up close, he had a bland featureless face that seemed completely unremarkable. His eyes flickered over Horst, then moved to Gudrun. Her father put the brown envelope on the desk; the register opened it with a knife, then pulled out the documents and checked them, one by one. Gudrun felt her heart beginning to race as time seemed to slow down, even though she knew it was an illusion. The slightest mistake with the paperwork would be enough to get the ceremony cancelled, at least until the mistake could be sorted out ...

  He’d have to be an idiot to say no now, she thought, with a flicker of amusement. Doesn’t he know who we are?

  “Everything appears to be in order,” the register said, finally. He looked at Horst. “Your documentation is very limited.”

  “That was covered when we obtained the marriage certificate,” Horst said, flatly. “The original copies of my documents - my file - are in the east.”

  The register nodded. “Understood,” he said. “And now ...”

  He spoke casually, almost as if he were bored. “This ceremony will make you husband and wife in the eyes of the Reich,” he said. “From the moment you sign the documents and take the marriage certificate, you will be married, whatever ceremony you plan to hold afterwards.”

  Gudrun nodded. This was it, the end of her life as a daughter, the start of her life as a wife ...

  “I must ask you both to swear, now, that you carry no taint of non-Aryan blood within you,” the register said. “Do you swear?”

  “I swear,” Horst said.

  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.