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.”
“It can't be helped,” Alfred said, bluntly. “Let them retake a few metres of territory, if they feel they are not being lured into a trap. We will take the entire city soon enough.”
***
Being a barmaid, Katharine Milch had decided shortly after she had started her new job, wasn't something she would have inflicted on anyone, particularly working in a distinctly low-end bar in the poorer parts of Berlin. Her figure, in a uniform that was practically indecent, had been complimented so many times she’d lost count, while she’d had to slap seven men for groping her breasts or pinching her bottom. Indeed, if the bartender hadn't been a brutish lout of a man, she suspected she would have had to fight to save her virtue from the mob.
But it did have its advantages, she had to admit. The men who clustered into the bar at the end of each day were workers, workers in occupations deemed too important to let them go join the army. They were a mass of bitter resentment, caught between the demands of their work and taunts that implied that they were cowards. Katharine poured them endless mugs of cheap beer and listened to their comments, occasionally adding a comment of her own. It was odd, she conceded, but the provisional government might have outsmarted itself when it had legalised unions. There were unions popping up everywhere now.
Idiots, she thought, after hearing one man complaining about having to work overtime in an ammunition factory. It was hard to keep the scorn off her face. The wolf is at the door and you’re whining about not being able to see your wives and children.
She shook her head at the thought as her shift finally came to an end, then handed her apron over to the next barmaid with an inescapable sense of relief. Her skin stank of beer - she’d had a mug thrown over her by a half-drunk lout - yet at least she hadn't had to use any of her training to fight them off. She wanted a shower, even though she’d endured worse during her training, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. Water rationing was growing tighter and tighter by the day, leaving ordinary Berliners increasingly short of drinking water, let alone washing water. She’d just have to wipe herself down when she reached the apartment and hope it was enough.
The streets were dark when she walked home, forcing her to keep a sharp eye out for footpads and rapists. Berlin really had gone to the dogs, she thought, her lips twisting in disgust. Once, the crime rate had been minimal; now, there were thousands of horror stories running through the city, everything from thieves and pickpockets roaming freely in broad daylight to Untermenschen rapists running wild. Most of the stories were exaggerated - she’d planted a few herself - but there was a hard core of truth to them. Berlin was dying and the signs of death were all around her. Even if the siege was lifted tomorrow, the once-great city would never be the same again.
She reached the apartment without trouble and strode up the stairs, trying hard to keep from doing anything that might attract attention. There was little so blatantly obvious as someone trying not to sneak around, her instructors had taught her. The trick was to remain calm, composed and pretend - if only to one’s self - that one had every right to be there. Police questioned the people who seemed out of place, not the ones who looked normal.
At least they won’t ask questions if I stay in the flat, she thought. There are fewer and fewer girls on the streets these days.
“Message from Odin,” Hans said, once the door was closed. “We’re to move as planned in four days, unless it gets put back.”
Katherine gave him a long look. “Are you sure?”
“The message was repeated four times,” Hans said. He’d served with her long enough not to have any great objection to her femininity. She trusted him, just as she trusted the other men on her squad. “Four days ... unless it gets put back.”
“An all-out offensive on the city,” Katherine mused. Their operations had always been planned to take place under cover of an assault; indeed, she was surprised they hadn't been called into action sooner. “And a kidnapping operation.”
She scowled. In her experience, trying to be clever - trying to do too many things at once - was asking for trouble. She would have preferred to concentrate on one or the other, not both. But she understood, from innumerable briefings
, just how important it was that both parts of the operation were pulled off successfully.
“Check with Loki,” she ordered, reluctantly. “See how many men he has in the city.”
“Understood,” Hans said. “The others have yet to report back.”
Katherine scowled. There was nothing so dangerous, she knew from bitter experience, as something that stuck out like a sore thumb ... and a handful of military-age men lurking in an apartment definitely stuck out, particularly when they should be on the front lines. She’d had no choice, but to send them out, allowing them to pose as soldiers, policemen or workers ... even though it ran the risk of disaster.
“When they do, inform them that we will be making the final preparations for Strike One,” she said. Thankfully, the traitors had long since lost control of large parts of Berlin. She had no idea how the Reich Council had managed to miss the growing protest mobs, but their successors hadn't learned from their mistakes. “I’ll need to speak to Loki about Strike Two.”
She closed her eyes in irritation. Loki might have faith in his people, but she didn’t. Too many of them had slipped up in the months prior to the uprising, before the traitors had taken control of the city. Indeed, she’d been careful to ensure that Loki knew nothing about the other cells ... although he would have to know, if he was going to assist her with Strike Two.
And if I put it completely in his hands, it might just be screwed up anyway, she thought, darkly. She opened her eyes. Too many bastards have already messed up - and there’s no way to know if they screwed up legitimately ... or if they’re on the other side.
“The plan seems too good to be true,” Hans pointed out, carefully. “There are just too many ways it could go wrong.”
“I know,” Katherine said. Anything that looked too good to be true probably was. “And that is why we are not going to be using his plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Berlin, Germany Prime
23 October 1985
“They’re not pulling back,” Volker Schulze said. “They’re preparing for a new offensive.”
“It looks that way,” Voss said. He sounded tired. He’d just got back from inspecting one set of defences, Volker knew, and he’d be heading back out in an hour, after he’d given his report. “They’re still shooting at us, but the pressure has slacked. Prisoner interrogations suggest that we’re facing reservists all along the lines.”
Volker frowned. “And there’s no hope they’re pulling back?”
He shook his head before Voss could answer. It was nothing more than wishful thinking - and he knew it all too well. The Waffen-SS wasn't setting up defensive lines to the east, or withdrawing to more defendable territory. They were massing their troops, giving them time to rest and recuperate before they launched another major offensive. And, because their reservists were still keeping up the pressure, the defenders couldn't take advantage of the pause to rest themselves. There was, quite literally, nowhere to run.
“Our forces are still massing here and here,” Voss said, tapping points on the map. “They should be ready to advance within five days.”
Volker scowled. “Will they be in time?”
“It depends on just what they have in mind,” Voss said, honestly. “We’re putting together contingency plans to advance earlier, if only to open up a corridor to Berlin, but that would run the risk of allowing them to extract most of their own forces before it was too late.”
“Which would prolong the war,” Volker mused.
“Or shorten it,” Voss countered. “An engagement in open terrain would give them some advantages.”
Volker rubbed his eyes. He might have a bedroom in the bunker, where there was no constant shellfire to keep him awake, but he’d barely been able to sleep properly since the siege had begun. The war had to be fought, he knew; the war had to be won ... but the Berliners were suffering in a way that would have been unimaginable, a scant few months ago. He’d certainly never dreamed of being their leader, let alone forced to watch helplessly as his city was slowly reduced to rubble. The war could end tomorrow - and that was another piece of wishful thinking - and it would still take years to rebuild.
And the city will be savaged if the Waffen-SS break through the defences, he thought. It will be the end of days.
He shuddered, wondering just how many men and women were secreting weapons or poison around their person to ensure that they didn't fall into enemy hands. The reports flowing in from occupied territory were an endless liturgy of horror. Men killed or rounded up and forced to serve the SS; women raped or marched east to be married to SS stormtroopers and raise the next generation of easterners; children taken from their parents and transported to an unknown destination. It was hard to be sure just how many of the reports were actually true - the pre-war intelligence network had been shot to hell - but one thing was clear. The hatred between west and east was growing - and so was the fear.
There’s no way we can live together, he thought, grimly. All we can do is try to slay the monstrous beast in its lair.
He turned to look at the map, shaking his head slowly. Even if they won the battle, even if they smashed the forces laying siege to Berlin, getting to Germanica would take months. The winter was already starting to take hold in the east, making it harder and harder for the easterners to move troops and supplies westward ... his forces would have the same problem, if they wanted to launch an eastern offensive. No, any counterattack would have to wait until the spring ... assuming, of course, that they survived the coming offensive. And that would give the easterners ample time to prepare.
“We may have only a handful of days,” he said. If there was a spy on the council - and young Albrecht had proved it - the SS would know the situation as well as he did. He would have cut his losses and withdrawn from Berlin, but the SS clearly disagreed. “Can we withstand their offensive?”
“I hope so,” Voss said.
Volker shot him a sharp look. That was hardly a ringing endorsement.
Voss sighed. “Our forces have considerable experience in using the terrain to their advantage,” he said, heavily. He didn't mention that troops - mainly untrained volunteers - who hadn't learned had died. “But we are short on ammunition as well as everything from rations to hospital beds. A single push forward might be enough to bleed us dry.”
“And production isn't keeping up with demand,” Volker muttered.
The irony chilled him to the bone. He’d created the very first union, he’d ensured that the workers had the power to resist the government’s demands ... and now he had to force the workers to produce guns and ammunition in record quantities. And the threatened strikes weren't the worst of it, he knew all too well. The machinery was slowly breaking down, threatening to render the factories useless. His men had no time to fix the damage or even produce more ammunition.
We could ask the Americans for ammunition, he thought, sourly. But their ammunition wouldn't be suitable for our weapons.
Voss met his eyes. “We could try to discuss a truce,” he offered. “They can have the east and we can have the west.”
“They won’t go for it,” Volker said. “Not after ... not after all the bloodshed.”
“The alternative is this war lasting much longer,” Voss said. “Even if Berlin falls ... we do have more troops and panzers at our disposal.”
“True,” Volker said. He smiled, rather tiredly. “But will the government hold together if we lose Berlin?”
***
“So,” her father said. “How are you enjoying married life?”
Gudrun blushed. There had been no hope of a real honeymoon - that would have to wait until the war ended, if it ever did - but they had managed a handful of days away from the maddening crowd. It had been odd, sleeping together without fear of discovery, lying together and talking about their hopes and dreams for the future ... the war nothing, but a grim awareness at the back of their minds. But there had been no hope of prolonging the holiday any longer. The fight
ing was about to get a great deal worse.
“It has its moments,” she said, finally.
“Glad to hear it,” her father said.
He nodded to Horst, then tapped the table, motioning for them both to sit down. “The good news is that I think we’ve isolated the spy within the Reichstag itself,” he said. “By noting the timing of the messages left for Horst” - he nodded to Gudrun’s husband - “and comparing them with the servants who actually left the building, we believe that Elfie Fruehauf is the most likely candidate.”
Gudrun took a moment to place the name. Elfie Fruehauf was a senior cleaner, if she recalled correctly; a thirty-year-old woman who lived and worked in the Reichstag. She’d practically passed unnoticed, even when Gudrun had been trying to get to know the staff. Being unnoticed had to be a desirable skill for a spy, she figured. No one had suspected Horst until after he'd confessed to her personally.
Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) Page 35