Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  But we wanted to expand the farms, he thought, sourly. There was no choice.

  He rubbed his forehead, feeling his head start to pound. Hitler had never faced a civil war, not since the Night of the Long Knives; Himmler had narrowly escaped a civil war by coming to terms with his opponents. But he had to face a civil war, as well as an internal threat from the Gauleiters who didn't support him. And he couldn't even move against them without triggering a major crisis. All he could do was wait and pray that the coming offensive was defeated.

  Pushing the thought aside, he rose and strode over to the giant window. Night was falling over Germanica, but the city was still brightly lit. The towering buildings, each one designed in the gothic style that had been so popular after the Third Reich had taken control of Europe, were a stunning testament to the city’s power. Even the centre of Berlin, designed by Albert Speer and Hitler himself, couldn't match the sheer grandeur of Germanica.

  But it will, he told himself. When we take the city, we will reshape it until all traces of the uprising are gone.

  He smiled at the thought. Victory would bring more than mere power; victory would bring the opportunity to truly make a mark on the Reich. Berlin would be purged, everyone who had served in the rebel government marched out of the city and shot, along with everyone related to them. The Heer, the Luftwaffe and the Kriegsmarine would be folded into the Waffen-SS, with loyalty to the New Order being placed ahead of everything else. And France, Italy and the other subject nations would be squeezed to the bone to rebuild the Reich. They’d been allowed too much independence over the past decade, even before the rebels started trying to dicker with them. They would learn that what little freedom they had was granted by the Reich.

  And they will lose it if they defy us, he thought.

  It wouldn't stop there, he promised himself. The damned university would be shut down, the student traitors marched east and put to work in forced labour camps. Women would be pushed out of the workforce altogether and forced to bear children, with marriages arranged by the state if the parents were unwilling to do it for their daughters. The population of the Reich would start to rise again, allowing the remainder of Germany East to finally be brought into the Reich. And the war in South Africa would be rejuvenated, with more and more troops sent to Africa until the blacks were finally - ruthlessly - crushed.

  The phone rang. He turned, feeling a hot flicker of anger. Who dared interrupt him so late at night?

  “Holliston,” he said, picking up the phone.

  “Mein Fuhrer,” Maria said. “Minister Kuhnert requests an urgent meeting.”

  “Oh,” Karl said. Territories Minister Philipp Kuhnert was an ally, of sorts. He certainly had nowhere else to go, after the uprising. Holliston trusted him marginally more than he trusted any of the Gauleiters. “Send him in, along with some coffee.”

  He kept his face blank as Kuhnert was escorted into the room. A serving girl, carrying a tray of hot coffee, appeared a moment later, placing the coffee on the table before bowing and retreating in haste. She was the daughter of one of the grandees, Holliston recalled; she’d been placed in the Reichstag, he suspected, in the hopes she’d catch a senior official’s eye and marry him. There were no Untermensch servants in the Reichstag itself.

  I should organise a match for her, he thought, as Kuhnert saluted. Hitler used to do it all the time.

  “Minister,” he said, stiffly. “I trust this is urgent?”

  “There was a report from the Urals, Mein Fuhrer,” Kuhnert said, bluntly. “A couple of outlying farms have been overrun and burned to the ground. The men on the spot say that all of the registered weapons have been stolen. They don't know what else might have been taken.”

  Karl sucked in his breath. “And the farmers?”

  “Dead, Mein Fuhrer,” Kuhnert said. “It was not pleasant.”

  “It wouldn't have been,” Karl said. Slavs were savages. Given a chance, they’d loot, rape and murder from one end of the Reich to the other. “Were all the bodies recovered?”

  “We think so,” Kuhnert said. “Unless there was someone there who wasn't on the registry ...”

  Karl dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. The Westerners might complain about having permanent files from birth to death, but Easterners were sensible enough to understand their value. Anyone staying at the farm would have had his presence noted and logged. No, there was no one unaccounted for.

  “I’ve heard a great deal of anger,” Kuhnert added. “The mobile reinforcements that should have responded to their cry for help were sent west two weeks ago.”

  “And so we lost a farm,” Karl mused. Losing one farm was annoying, but hardly fatal; losing more, particularly in the east, was a serious problem. Giving the bandits a victory - even an easy victory - would encourage them. “Can you calm the locals down?”

  “I doubt it, Mein Fuhrer,” Kuhnert said. “They are insistent that forces should be pulled back from the front to confront a more serious threat.”

  Karl slapped the table. “The rebels are a serious threat!”

  He glared down at his hands. Germany East was just too damned big. If he detached anything less than a full-sized infantry division ... he scowled. It would need something bigger than an infantry division to make a real impact on the bandits. And he couldn't even spare a single division. There was just too much to do in the west.

  “If this continues,” Kuhnert said, “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

  “Something stupid, perhaps,” Karl said. He had to do something, but what? “Tell them we’ll send reinforcements eastwards as soon as we can.”

  “I don't think they will accept that, Mein Fuehrer,” Kuhnert warned. “They have good reason to be sceptical of our promises.”

  “Then make sure they accept it,” Karl snarled. His head was definitely starting to pound. He was trying to save the Reich from those who would destroy it, from those who would give the land back to the Slavs ... and he was being badgered by petty details. “We will send them reinforcements as soon as we can.”

  He drank his coffee, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to keep him awake. He needed sleep, not ... not late nights. And yet, there was just too much to do.

  “Tell them that we will do what we can, when we can,” he added, firmly. Himmler had been lucky. He'd never had to cope with a civil war. “And make it clear that we don’t need the distraction.”

  “Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer,” Kuhnert said.

  Karl watched him go, cursing under his breath. There was far too much he had to do, far too many issues that required his personal attention. And yet, he simply didn't have the time to handle it all. He had no idea how Hitler or Himmler had coped ...

  I imagine it was easy, he thought, bitterly. They could trust their subordinates.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Farm #342, Germany East

  1 November 1985

  “This looks like a small fortress,” Kurt noted, as they drove towards the gates. “I’ve been in military bases that had fewer defences.”

  Horst shrugged. “It's fairly normal for Germany East,” he said. “You never know when you might come under attack.”

  He felt a flicker of homesickness as they stopped in front of the gates. The farm itself wasn't that big, but it was surrounded by a heavy metal fence and a handful of concrete firing positions. It didn’t look as though they were manned - and the barren fields looked deserted, the crops taken in for winter - yet he knew, from his early life, that they could be manned at terrifying speed if there was an attack. Every Easterner knew he might have to fight for his life at any moment.

  “Stay polite,” he muttered. “Inspectors or not, we don’t want to anger them.”

  He climbed out of the car, breathing in the familiar smell of farmland. A young girl - a year or two younger than Gudrun, if he was any judge - was walking down the drive towards the gates. She wore a checked dress that showed off both her chest and her muscles, her blonde hair plaited and hanging down
to brush against the top of her breasts. And she carried a rifle, slung over her shoulder. Horst knew better than to assume she couldn't use it. Chances were she’d be a very good shot.

  And she might be covered by someone else too, he reminded himself. The sky was darkening rapidly. They might suspect our motives.

  “Greetings, Fräulein,” he said, once the girl was in earshot. “My comrade and I seek shelter for the night.”

  The girl looked him up and down, her eyes wary. Horst held out his papers and allowed her to read them, wondering if she’d be able to tell the difference between real papers and cunning fakes. It would be ironic indeed if they were caught because a young girl insisted on checking with Germanica before allowing them through the gate. But she nodded, glanced behind the car and then opened the gate. Horst ordered Kurt to drive the car up to the farmhouse, then followed him at a more sedate pace. The girl locked and bolted the gate before walking up beside him.

  “It’s not been safe out there,” she said, gently. “Did you run into trouble?”

  “None,” Horst assured her. They’d passed a dozen plantations, but they hadn't seen any signs of real trouble. “What have you been hearing?”

  The girl didn't answer as they reached the farmhouse. It looked very much like a blockhouse, despite the desperate attempts to make it a little more homey. A middle-aged man was standing by the door, arms folded across his chest. Horst had no difficulty in recognising him as a military veteran as well as an experienced farmer and stern father, not someone who was likely to put up with any nonsense. He couldn't help feeling a flicker of sympathy for the girl.

  “Heidi, tell the girl to put more food in the stew pot,” the man said gruffly. He looked directly at Horst. “And who are you?”

  “Travellers, father,” Heidi said. She held out Horst’s papers. “They’ve come from the front.”

  “Go do as you’re told,” the man ordered. He scanned Horst’s papers for a long moment, then motioned for the two visitors to enter the farmhouse. Heidi scurried ahead of them and vanished in the distance. “I’m afraid we only have a hard floor and some blankets for guests.”

  “That will be quite sufficient,” Horst said, as he followed the farmer into his house. The interior reminded him of his family’s house, further to the east. “All we really need is something to eat, something to drink and a place to stay.”

  “I can do that,” the man said. He led the way into a dining room, of sorts. The walls were solid concrete, but all the furniture was wood. “Are you going all the way back to Germanica?”

  “That’s what our orders say,” Horst said.

  “Tell them we need more manpower out here,” the old man said. He poured three glasses of schnapps and handed them round. “The serfs are getting restless.”

  “And my brothers have gone to the war,” Heidi said, coming back into the room. “Have you seen them?”

  “Probably not,” Horst said. He didn't miss the look Heidi shot at Kurt. “But the war front was very disorganised when we were called back to Germanica.”

  He chatted to the farmer, watching - with some private amusement - as Heidi flirted inexpertly with Kurt. She’d probably pegged him as a Westerner from the start, someone who would either take her away from the farm or come to live and work with her, rather than someone who would take her down the road to another farm. He hoped Kurt had enough sense not to do anything stupid, no matter how charming Heidi was. The last thing they needed was a father insisting on an immediate marriage - or worse. There was no way their papers would stand up to inspection at a registry office.

  “The girl is late,” Heidi said, twenty minutes later. “I’ll go fetch her.”

  She rose and walked out of the room. The farmer motioned for them to rise and take their seats around the wooden table, refilling their glasses as they sat down. A faint slapping sound echoed out of the kitchen; a moment later, Heidi entered, followed by a dark-skinned woman with a nasty bruise on her right cheek. The woman was carrying a large pot, which she placed on the table before bowing and withdrawing from the room. She was so thin, Horst noted, that she looked almost like a walking skeleton.

  “I apologise,” Heidi said. “You can't get good help these days.”

  Kurt looked shocked, Horst saw, although thankfully he had the sense to keep his opinion to himself. His family had probably never had a Gastarbeiter maid, even though his father could probably have obtained one if he'd wanted. Horst, who had seen too many servants on his father and uncle’s farms, took it in stride. It was just part of life in the Reich.

  “Really, the war is sucking away too many people,” the farmer said. “There’s a whole plantation just down the road with minimal supervision.”

  Horst nodded. “It’s the war,” he said. “As soon as the traitors are defeated, things will return to normal.”

  He eyed the farmer carefully, wondering just what side the man was on. Talking so freely to a pair of inspectors ... did he think himself beyond reproach? Beyond punishment for defeatism? Or was he just too old to care? A man who had served the Reich loyally for decades might be quietly ignored, if he asked too many questions towards the end of his life.

  Besides, Horst thought, who’s going to hear him out here?

  Kurt leaned forward. “Can the two of you handle the farm on your own?”

  “For the moment,” Heidi said. She gave Kurt a charming smile. “But what will happen when spring rolls around and we have to plant more crops?”

  “We won’t be leaving,” her father said, gruffly.

  Horst felt a spark of pity. They weren't that far from the front. Heidi and her father would probably have to watch their farmhouse converted into a strongpoint, if they weren't overwhelmed by western armies or killed by bandits. The slave might be beaten down ... or she might be in touch with outsiders, telling them to wait for a chance to storm the farm. It wasn't as if two people could hold the wire indefinitely.

  “I hope your sons make it back,” he said, finally.

  “So do I,” the old man said. “So do I.”

  ***

  Kurt had known, from what he’d learned before he’d met Horst for the first time, that Germany East was different from Germany Prime. But he hadn't really believed it, despite Horst’s words. The farmhouse and the farmers were ... strange, by his standards; the old man seemed to trust his daughter, allowing her to carry a weapon and even talk to strange men without interference. And Heidi had casually slapped her servant ...

  It bothered him, more than he cared to admit. His father had never allowed a servant - Gastarbeiter or not - to enter their family house, even though his wife had had enough children to qualify for one. The poor girl might be a servant, but still ... she didn't deserve to be treated like a slave. And yet ... there was nothing he could do.

  “I shall withdraw for the night,” the farmer said. “Heidi, bring the gentlemen blankets and pillows.”

  “Of course, father,” Heidi said.

  She shot Kurt a look - she’d been shooting him looks all evening - and then turned and hurried out of the door. Kurt honestly wasn't sure what to make of her. No girl, at least in his experience, had ever been so forward, certainly not with him. Gudrun would have been grounded for the rest of her life if she’d acted like that - Kurt dreaded to think what their parents would have said, after they found out. But Heidi seemed to live by different rules.

  The farmer rose and made his way slowly out of the room. Horst watched him go, then glanced sharply at Kurt. “Be careful,” he muttered. “You don’t want to get her pregnant.”

  Kurt looked back at him, feeling his cheeks flush. “We’re not going to do anything,” he protested. “I don’t understand ...”

  “Be careful,” Horst repeated. “I’ll explain later.”

  Heidi returned, carrying a pair of large blankets and pillows. They looked rough, compared to proper bedding, but Kurt had plenty of experience sleeping in foxholes. Pillows and blankets would be practically paradisiacal,
compared to cold ground and open air. She spoke quietly to Horst, telling him where to find the bathroom, then started to organise the blankets on the floor.

  “You were born in Berlin,” she said. “What’s it like?”

  “It’s just like any city,” Kurt said. He wasn't a virgin, but the way Heidi was moving was incredibly distracting. There was just something about her that drew him to her, even though she wasn't quite the ideal of German womanhood. He'd never seen a girl so muscled in his entire life. “Far too many people to be comfortable.”