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

by Christopher Nuttall

  He settled in after her, feeling an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. The driver started the engine as Horst leaned backwards, trying hard to calm himself. He hadn't felt so bad since the day he’d reported for basic training, when he’d discovered that all the practical work he’d done trying to get ready for the Waffen-SS had been largely futile. His instructors hadn't hesitated to tell him precisely what they thought of him too. He’d honestly believed the bastards would arrange a training accident if they thought he couldn't or wouldn't come up to scratch.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  The car slowly rolled out of the garage, passing through two checkpoints without stopping and turning onto the empty road. Their outriders, sirens howling, joined them seconds later, the riders watching carefully for signs of trouble. Horst forced himself to relax, one hand fingering the pistol at his belt as he waited. They had nearly four hours before all hell was due to kick off. He could wait until then ...

  The waiting is always the worst, he reminded himself, grimly. I’ll feel better when the shooting actually starts.

  ***

  Katharine Milch waited behind, keeping her weapons well out of sight, as two of her team - dressed in police uniforms - rousted the homeless out of the ambush site. It wasn't ideal, but there were very few truly ideal places in Berlin. No matter what she did, she was sure an alert would go out at once and armed troops would rush to the rescue. The timing might just be in their favour - reading between the lines, she rather suspected that the main phase of the final offensive was due to kick off soon - yet it would be no consolation to her team if they were caught in the open.

  Limited room to manoeuvre, she told herself. If all went according to plan, the target and her escorts would be trapped, completely at her mercy. And if we get out before they respond, we should get away clean.

  “That’s the place cleared,” Hans called. “We can move in now.”

  “Do it,” Katherine ordered.

  She glanced at her watch, grimly, as they took up positions. Timing was everything - and yet the timing could not be precise. They were dependent on matters outside their control, matters she knew couldn't be controlled without giving the game away far too soon. If the bodyguard acted fast - and he wouldn't be expecting her move - the entire operation could fail completely. But then, if it did fail, she’d have ample time to break contact and vanish before it was too late.

  And then we can join the other cells, she thought, tartly. At least our time won’t be completely wasted.

  ***

  Gudrun could tell that Horst was worried, even though he was doing a very good job of pretending to be unconcerned. He was slumped back in his chair, his eyes half-closed, instead of holding her in his arms or talking quietly. She knew he wouldn't be concerned about the driver - they were married, after all - but about the plan. Using his wife as live bait couldn't sit well with him.

  At least he let me do it, she thought. She had no desire for a real fight, no desire to find out if he would keep his word to let her have an independent life. It spoke well of him, she supposed, that he was letting her be bait. And yet, was it really a good sign? Horst might have been a better husband if he’d refused. But if he lets me do this, he can hardly object to me being on the council ...

  The car shook violently, twisting and turning as it slammed into one of the outriders and roared into a side road. Horst started, one hand drawing his pistol, as gunfire broke out; Gudrun looked up, just in time to see two of the remaining outriders blown off their motorbikes before it was too late. The driver slammed the partition between the driving seat and the passenger compartment, the doors unlocking seconds later as the vehicle lurched to a halt. Horst swore out loud as the gunfire grew louder, a handful of bullets pinging off the car as the attackers - whoever they were - took care of the final set of outriders.

  “Stay down,” Horst snapped, pulling her to the ground. “Keep your head down!”

  Gudrun nodded as she reached for her pistol. Something had gone badly wrong ... no, they’d been driven right into an ambush. The driver had betrayed them! She looked up in alarm as the door opened, then realised that Horst was slipping out of the vehicle. Two more gunshots echoed out before he managed to slam the door. Gudrun barely had a moment to pray before the door nearest to her was yanked open and a strong arm caught hold of her. The driver leered down at her as he tugged her into the street.

  “Bastard,” Gudrun swore, bringing up the pistol. The driver’s eyes went wide as she pulled the trigger four times, feeling the weapon jerking in her hand. She wasn't a good shot, not compared to Horst or the instructors on the shooting range, but she could hardly miss at point-blank range. “You ...”

  The driver tottered backwards and collapsed to the ground, blood leaking from four bullet wounds. Gudrun barely had a moment to savour her victory - or recoil in horror from ending a person’s life - before a strong hand caught hold of her wrist and twisted it sharply. She screamed in pain, letting go of the pistol as her new captor pulled her all the way out of the car and slammed her head to the pavement. There was a flash of pain, then the darkness reached out and swallowed her.

  ***

  Katherine smiled as the driver died - he had never been intended to survive, despite being a long-term sleeper agent - and then peered down at the blonde girl beneath her feet. Gudrun Wieland didn't look like much, Katherine decided, as she hauled the girl up and threw her over her shoulder. She’d certainly not realised the driver wasn't alone. Katherine had darted backwards, ready to take cover if Gudrun opened fire on her, but it hadn't been necessary.

  She unhooked a grenade from her belt and hurled it into the car, then turned and started to run. Gudrun was lighter than she’d expected, puny and weak compared to an eastern woman, but she had to be sneaked out of the city. And that wouldn't be easy.

  Mission accomplished, she thought, as the car exploded behind her. And all we have to do is lie low.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a detonator, clicking off the safety and then pushing the button firmly, transmitting a radio signal across the city. It would set off alarms, she knew, but it was already too late. A series of explosions echoed over the city, ensuring that it would be harder for the defenders to react ... and signal the forces waiting on the other side of the defence lines. It was time for the battle to begin.

  “The bastard is still alive,” Hans grunted, as he caught up with her. “I don’t think he’s mortally wounded.”

  Katherine shrugged. Horst Albrecht hadn't been trustworthy, no matter what his handler had said. Either he was an incompetent buffoon, which was unlikely, or he was an outright traitor. He’d had the perfect opportunity to stop the traitors before they became more than a gaggle of students and missed it completely. No, he was a traitor himself. If he hadn't been one when he’d started, he was definitely one now.

  She scowled at the thought. Men could never be trusted completely when sex was involved, she knew from painful experience, and Horst Albrecht had been fucking the girl she was carrying. And he’d even married her. Katherine was no stranger to doing unpleasant things for the Reich, but marriage? No, Horst Albrecht could not be trusted. And if he survived the next few days, he would either be executed by the SS or his fellow traitors. They'd assume he was responsible for Gudrun’s capture and take it out on him.

  “They’ll blame him for this,” she said. “And no matter what he says, they’ll never believe him.”

  ***

  Horst staggered to his feet, feeling oddly unsure of just what had happened. He’d been attacked by a pair of commandos ... they’d been commandos. He was sure of that, if nothing else. Their basic training and fighting style was identical to his, although they’d been far more practiced them himself. He’d shot one, he thought - there was definitely a body in front of him - but the other had started to pound on him before Horst had finally managed to bury a knife in his heart. Or was that nothing more than a hazy memory of something else? His head felt
as if he’d been drinking heavily the night before ...

  Gudrun!

  The thought snapped him out of his daze. Turning, he looked towards where the car had been and recoiled in shock as he realised it was nothing more than a burning wreck. The flames were so intense that he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if Gudrun was still in the car she was dead. And yet, they’d wanted her alive ... he stumbled forward and noted, to his relief, that the rear door was open. Gudrun had had a chance to get out ...

  He cursed as he nearly tripped over the body and stumbled, then glared down at the remains of the driver. Someone had shot him in the chest, three or four times; the damage was far less extensive than Horst had anticipated. Gudrun had to have killed him, he realised. The pistol he’d given her was far lighter than the one he carried himself. But three bullets to the heart would be enough to stop anyone.

  Should have worn body armour, he thought, as he kicked the driver’s body. He’d never suspected the driver, not even once. And yet ... in hindsight, he should have been a prime suspect. No one paid attention to drivers. You swinehund traitor ...

  He gathered himself, somehow. There had been a quick-response team on alert, but it had failed to show. The outriders were dead. Explosions were echoing over the city ...

  ... And Gudrun was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Berlin, Germany Prime

  25 October 1985

  Hauptmann Kurt Wieland wasn't sure if he was being rewarded for good service or being punished for some unspecified offense. His unit had been recalled, shortly after Gudrun’s wedding, and deployed to defend the Reichstag, relieving a mixed unit of policemen, security troops and military forces belonging to the various political factions. He had strict orders, from Volker Schulze himself, to make sure that no one entered the complex without both clearance and a thorough search, but just about everyone who wanted to get in seemed to believe they could browbeat his troopers. He’d come far too close to ordering a complete strip and cavity search on one bureaucrat before the man had hastily backed down and stopped issuing threats to have the entire unit reassigned to Siberia.

  Although how he expected to get us to Siberia is an open question, Kurt thought. I ...

  He jerked up as he heard the sound of an explosion, followed by several more in quick succession. Those hadn't been shellfire! And they’d been well within the safe zone surrounding the Reichstag. He dreaded to think how many people had hurried into the safe zone, believing that the SS would leave it untouched, only to be caught now by bomb attacks on a scale unseen since the Arab Rebellions. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people were dead or wounded ...

  “Incoming fire,” Loeb snapped.

  Kurt ducked behind shelter as the first antitank missile slammed into the defences, followed by a hail of RPGs. The first explosion shattered the guardhouse, but the Reichstag itself was largely unharmed. Kurt allowed himself a moment of relief - the designers had planned on the assumption that there would be a nuclear war - then started to bark orders as commandos opened fire, pouring gunfire into the Reichstag.

  “Lock down the building,” he bawled. One of the explosions, unless he missed his guess, had been far too close to the barracks. The soldiers on duty would have problems getting to the Reichstag, even though they were bare minutes away if they sprinted. And if the bomb had been in the barracks, hundreds of good men would be dead now. “Send a warning up the chain. Tell them we need help ...”

  He swore again as he heard the sound of shellfire, shells crashing down all over the city. The SS had mounted a coordinated attack, hitting the Reichstag at the same time as they thrust forward and into the defence lines. Command and control networks were probably disrupted badly, if they weren't down altogether. The defenders knew to hold the line - he’d had similar orders before his men had been pulled out - but it was going to be harder to send reinforcements to plug the holes before the SS rammed an infantry division through them.

  “Aircraft,” Loeb barked. “Watch the skies.”

  Kurt nodded, grimly. The SS air attacks had dropped down to almost nothing over the last few days, but now they were back with a vengeance. A missile rose up to blow one of the planes out of the sky, yet the others kept coming, targeting defence lines, garrisons and power plants right across the city. Berlin might survive the offensive, but life in the city would never be the same again.

  He shook his head, dismissing the thought, as the shooting outside grew louder. It didn't matter, not now. All that mattered was holding the line ...

  ... And praying, desperately, that help arrived in time.

  ***

  “The main offensive has begun, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said. “Resistance is still strong.”

  Alfred nodded impatiently. Taking out the enemy command and control network was a core facet of modern war, but it hardly mattered in Berlin. The defenders had nowhere to run and no reason to expect to be treated well if they surrendered. His forces had taken a handful of prisoners, but almost all of them had been badly wounded before they’d finally stopped fighting and two of them had died shortly after being captured. The basic interrogation - the POWs had been shipped east, on the Fuhrer’s direct orders - had made it clear that no one dared surrender, simply out of fear of being shot as soon as they were captured.

  Damned bastards, he thought.

  The thought gnawed at his mind. He was no stranger to the horrors of war - he’d seen more horrors than any pampered westerner - but allowing so many atrocities to be committed had been stupid. They hadn't even had the sense to win the war outright before starting the reign of terror. And he’d wanted to stop it. It would have been so easy to hang a few of the worst offenders, just to encourage the others, but the Fuhrer had refused to allow it. Terror might weaken the defenders, he’d argued, yet it had also made them reluctant to surrender. And that gave them the determination to fight on when all seemed lost.

  He looked up. “And the enemy reinforcements?”

  “No movements as yet, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said.

  “They’ll move soon,” Alfred predicted.

  He kept the rest of the thought to himself. The Fuhrer had shot a number of men for ‘defeatism’ and he had no intention of joining them. And yet, the military logic was beyond doubt. His force, burnt out after weeks of savage fighting, simply didn't have the time to stand off even a single armoured thrust. And the enemy, if the latest reports were accurate, had enough panzers massing in place to launch two thrusts. His forces would wind up trapped between two advancing jaws.

  We have to break through to Berlin, he thought, coldly. Whatever happens, we have to get through now. Or we lose.

  ***

  The enemy were keeping their heads down, Hauptsturmfuehrer Hennecke Schwerk noted, as he led his men towards the first enemy position. It had been worked into a suburb of Berlin, a blur of housing, shops and a single large school, but twenty minutes of shellfire had left most of the once-proud suburb in ruins. The school was nothing more than a pile of rubble - he couldn't help thinking that the children would be pleased - while most of the homes had been badly damaged. Only the shops remained intact, although their windows were smashed and several nearby vehicles were burning brightly. Hennecke’s commanders hoped to loot the shops to feed their men.

  He dropped to the ground as he heard a burst of machine gun fire, then motioned four of his men into a flanking formation while the others opened fire, trying to keep the gunners from noticing that the attackers were trying to outflank them. They’d used the tactic before, time and time again, but this time it failed. Several other machine guns opened fire, picking off the flankers before they had a chance to get into position. Hennecke felt his lips curl in sharp irritation, remembering the pre-battle briefing. They’d been ordered, in no uncertain terms, to break through the enemy defences, stopping for nothing.

  Tapping his radio, he called in an airstrike. There was a long pause, long enough for him to wonder if someth
ing had gone wrong, then three HE-477s roared over the battlefield, their cannons pouring explosive shells into the enemy position. The machine gun fire stopped abruptly, but the aircraft weren't finished. Hennecke stayed low as one aircraft dropped a handful of tiny bombs on the enemy, then turned and flew eastwards. A missile rose up from the ground, behind them, only to drop to the ground and explode somewhere to the east. The pilots had escaped in time.

  “Forward,” he yelled, as he rose and ran towards the smouldering remains. “For the Reich!”

  There was almost no incoming fire, although he kept his head low just in case. The enemy seemed to have been wiped out, save for a couple of young men who were both badly wounded. There was little hope for them, he knew, even if they got to a field hospital in time. He shot them both - it was a mercy kill - and then swore as mortar shells started to land around them. The enemy had had plenty of time to plot out their firing positions ...