Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Nothing like a farm,” Heidi said. “What’s it like?”

  Kurt considered his answer for a long moment. “Very different from a farm,” he said, finally. “I had to go to school ... did you go to school?”

  “I had a day or two every week at the village,” Heidi said. She looked down at the wooden floorboards for a long moment. “That was enough for me, according to father. My brothers didn't get much more until they joined the Hitler Youth.”

  Kurt smiled. “There are giant shops where you can buy anything you like,” he said. “And cinemas and countless places to go ...”

  “With a girl,” Heidi said, deadpan. “Have you taken many girls to the cinema?”

  “No,” Kurt said, feeling embarrassed. He’d dated a few times, but never seriously. He hadn't even lost his virginity until he’d gone to the brothel, after his promotion. “Life in the city isn't that free.”

  “A pity,” Heidi said. “I saw a movie reel once about a city. It looked like paradise.”

  “Here might look like paradise too,” Kurt said. He frowned. “How are things out here?”

  Heidi sighed. “I don't know how we’re going to get through the next year,” she admitted, reluctantly. “Father keeps telling me to keep my chin up, but ...”

  She shook her head. “We need my brothers back if we are going to plant anything,” she added, bitterly. “Or we have to hire workers from the east ...”

  “Or bring in more slaves,” Kurt said.

  “I don't know if we can trust them,” Heidi said. “There are only two of us here. And if we can't meet our quotas ...”

  Kurt frowned. “What happens if you can't meet your quotas?”

  “I'm not sure,” Heidi confessed. “We might lose the farm. Or someone might be allocated to work here. Or ...”

  “I see, I think,” Kurt said.

  He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the younger girl. She wanted to stay on the farm. He couldn't imagine her having any problems finding a husband in Germany East; she was pretty, smart and knew everything about working on a farm. And it probably wouldn't have been hard for her to leave the farm, even without her father’s permission. No, she wanted to stay on her father’s farm ...

  Would she inherit? Kurt didn't know. In Germany Prime, the father’s possessions would go to his sons - there were limits to how much could be passed to the daughters. But in Germany East, who knew? He had a feeling the land might go to whomever could work it.

  Horst returned to the room, wearing a faded brown bathrobe that looked two sizes too small for him. Heidi glanced at him, then motioned for Kurt to follow her. There was no sign of the farmer - or the serving girl - as they walked down the short corridor and into a small bathroom. A steaming bucket of warm water sat next to the bathtub.

  “We don’t have running water out here,” Heidi said. She smiled, oddly nervously. “The visitors we get from the cities always comment on it.”

  “There’s hot and cold running water in Berlin,” Kurt said. He’d never really appreciated what a luxury it was until he’d gone into barracks, where spending more than a minute under the water was bound to attract the wrath of the Scharfuehrers. “I always loved standing under the shower.”

  Heidi nodded as he turned to face her, then moved forward and kissed him, hard. Kurt suddenly found himself torn between his body, which was reacting in all sorts of ways to the beautiful girl in his arms, and his mind, which insisted that kissing her back was a very bad idea. But it seemed a small concern, a very small concern, when she was alive and warm and ...

  He kissed her back, feeling her shuddering against him. His hands roamed over her dress, feeling her muscles moving as she stroked his back. Her tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as his fingers fiddled with her dress, eventually allowing it to fall to her waist; her breasts bobbled free, jutting out firmly and pressing against his chest. She didn't need a bra, part of his mind noted as his fingers started to stroke her breasts; her fingers were fiddling with his belt, trying to undo it ...

  Somehow, he pulled back. “Your father,” he said. He grunted in shock as she pulled him back, her hands reaching into his underwear to take hold of his cock. “What ... what will he say if he catches us?”

  Heidi’s face flickered with ... irritation. “Nothing.”

  Kurt stared at her. He knew precisely what his father would have said - and done - if he’d caught Gudrun making love to a stranger. Gudrun wouldn't have been able to sit comfortably for a week, while the stranger would have been pitched out of the house ... if he hadn't been arrested and hauled off to jail. He couldn't believe that any father, anywhere, would turn a blind eye. Hell, he doubted his father wanted to think about what his married daughter did with her husband.

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said. It wasn't easy to turn her down, not when he could see her bare breasts and her hand was holding him, but somehow he mustered the will. “I can’t leave you here.”

  Heidi let go of him, her face cycling through a bewildering series of emotions. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, genuine tears. Kurt felt an odd stab of guilt, realising that he’d humiliated her by turning her down. And yet ... he couldn't just sleep with her, then leave her behind.

  “I’m sorry,” Heidi said. She stepped backwards and turned away from him, buttoning up her dress. Kurt forced himself to look away, even though parts of his body were screaming at him for being an idiot. “I thought ... never mind.”

  Kurt reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “You thought what?”

  “We need someone else here,” Heidi said, sadly. She refused to turn and look at him. “And if you had stayed with me, you could have helped save the farm.”

  “I don’t know how to run a farm,” Kurt said. He felt a sudden surge of pity. Heidi didn't just need a man, Heidi needed a man who would stay on her farm. “And your brothers will come back ...”

  Heidi laughed, bitterly. “And do you really think they’ll be back before it’s too late?”

  She turned to face him. “Stay with me,” she said. “We need you.”

  “I have my duty,” Kurt said, bluntly. Did she expect him to give up his job? Or had she simply not thought that far ahead? “But when it’s done, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Heidi snorted, then strode out of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Kurt stared after her, unsure if he should be relieved or angry at himself. Heidi had definitely been something different, but he understood her problem. He understood it all too well.

  And there’s no way I can come back, he told himself, firmly. There was a bit of him that liked her, that admired her willingness to take an awful risk for her father’s farm. He wished, suddenly, that he’d met her without deception. And if I do, after the war, who knows what she will make of me?

  Shaking his head, he washed quickly and headed back to the dining room. They’d have to leave early, in the morning ...

  ... And, unless he was very lucky, he knew he would never see the farmhouse again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Berlin/Front Lines, Germany Prime

  3 November 1985

  Berlin looked ... different.

  Volker Schulze stood on the roof of the Reichstag, peering east. The city was dark and silent, the curfew holding now the series of street parties had come to an end. Armed soldiers were patrolling, he knew, watching for trouble, but none of them were visible as he looked down at the streets. Berlin was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

  They know the offensive is going to begin, he thought, as a cool breeze washed across the rooftop. And any spies still in the city know too.

  It wasn't a reassuring thought. Berlin had been riddled with spies, even before the uprising; entire divisions of informers, ranging from unhappy wives and bratty children to paid provocateurs, had been uncovered in the RSHA’s files. The Reich had told its citizens, time and time again, that it was good and right to inform on one’s friends and family, if they showe
d signs of disloyalty. And he had no doubt there were rings of spies and informers who had never been listed in the files, not when the different factions in the Reich were struggling for supremacy. He would be surprised if Karl Holliston didn't know - already - that the Provisional Government was gearing up for an offensive against Germany East.

  But he might not believe the reports, he told himself, although he knew it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Launching an offensive now is risky as hell.

  He scowled as it grew colder. It would be colder still further eastwards as winter descended, a winter that had shattered entire armies in days gone by. Volker had fought in the east as a young man. He knew how dangerous the Russian winter could be. And yet he’d given orders that ran the risk - the very real risk - of leaving his forces caught outside winter quarters when the snow finally descended. There had been no choice, he told himself, but it still worried him. General Winter had come far too close to beating the Third Reich on its own.

  There’s no choice, he told himself. He’d gone over the facts and figures time and time again, hoping for a better way. But there was none. The SS could not be allowed time: time to rebuild its forces, time to unlock the nuclear warheads, time to subvert the Provisional Government and trigger another civil war. We have to end the war now.

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, feeling a sudden flicker of bitter envy for Herman Wieland. There was nothing to envy. Herman - a man in his late fifties - was going back to the front. And yet, he’d be placing his life at risk, while Volker knew he didn't dare take a rifle himself and join the fight. It felt wrong, somehow, to send so many men to their deaths while he stayed behind, in safety. But what choice did he have? He was the glue holding the Provisional Government together.

  And besides, the nasty part of his mind pointed out, you won’t survive long if the war is lost.

  Volker nodded reluctantly, conceding the point. Konrad was dead already, his corpse laid to rest in a graveyard on the other side of Berlin, but his wife and daughter were still alive - and dangerously vulnerable. He’d had them both sent out of Berlin, their names changed to protect them from the remaining loyalists, yet he knew Holliston would stop at nothing to find and kill them if he won the war. Volker had never spoken to Holliston, but he knew the man’s reputation. He would do whatever it took to regain control and stamp his will on the Reich.

  He felt a faint sensation of guilt as he peered over the darkened city. Thousands of Berliners had been evacuated westwards, now the siege had been lifted, but they still weren't safe. And yet he’d made plans to have his wife and daughter shipped to Britain if the war was lost, if the SS recovered Berlin ... none of the others in Berlin, save for the remainder of the government, had the ability to protect their families. It felt wrong, somehow, to put his family first, yet what choice did he have? He knew exactly what would happen to his family if the war was lost. The remainder of the population would probably be safe if they kept their heads down ...

  But that might not be true, he told himself, sourly. All the reports we received from the front lines ...

  Volker had no illusions about the SS. He’d been a stormtrooper. He knew just how brutal the SS could be. And yet, there had been a savagery unleashed in the last few months that was quite beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Villages smashed flat, towns devastated, men shot, women raped, children marched eastwards to an uncertain destination ... it was as if a devil had come to Germany Prime. It was possible that some of the stories were exaggerated - he certainly hoped that some of the stories were exaggerated - but there was just too much evidence to support them. He’d even seen photographs of some of the mutilated bodies left behind by the SS.

  He shook his head, tiredly. He’d thought he was joining the defenders of civilisation, when he’d joined the SS. And maybe many of the ordinary stormtroopers still believed that they were defending civilisation. But their leadership was as corrupt as any other department within the Reich, more interested in its own power than in protecting the Reich from its enemies. And they had betrayed their loyal servants ...

  Behind him, a door opened.

  “Your aide told me I’d find you up here,” Voss’s voice said.

  Volker didn't turn. “I like looking at the city,” he said. “It reminds me of what we’re fighting for.”

  Voss stepped up beside him. “I never liked Berlin,” he said. “There were too many people here.”

  “Perhaps,” Volker said. It was true, he supposed. Anyone who wanted to make a name for himself would come to Berlin, given time. There had been no shortage of talk over the last two decades about restricting the growth of the city’s population. “But it’s also the capital of the Reich.”

  He sighed as he peered towards a particularly dark section of the city. The power distribution network had failed there, after an SS suicide squad had attacked the transformers and destroyed them. Normally, it would have been a simple repair, but there was nothing normal about a city under siege. The engineers swore blind they were working on the problem, yet there was a lack of spare parts. And there were several other parts of the city where the electrical supply was hanging by a thread ...

  And if we can't keep Berlin lit, he thought grimly, what good are we?

  The thought sent a cold shiver running down his spine. There was no way to avoid the simple fact that the Reich Council - in its various incarnations - had ruled the Reich for over thirty-five years, ever since Adolf Hitler had died. It had enjoyed a certain legitimacy through sheer longevity. But his government had barely been in existence for a couple of months. It certainly didn't control the state as completely as the Reich Council had done.

  And, in overthrowing the Reich Council, he reminded himself, we proved that a government could be overthrown.

  He shook his head, bitterly. He’d looked into the hidden history of protest movements within the Reich - communists, democrats, feminists - and they’d all ended badly, so badly they’d been scrubbed from history and almost forgotten. Indeed, he’d never heard of women demanding rights after the war. The SS had crushed the movement - the women themselves had been dispatched to Germany East - and everyone had pretended that it had never happened. But the women had been lucky, compared to the communists. They’d wound up hanging from meathooks in cellars below Berlin.

  Voss cleared his throat. “Herr Chancellor?”

  Volker cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. Confessing weakness had always bothered him, but he trusted Voss. The Field Marshal had had ample opportunity to take power for himself after the Reich Council had fallen. “I was woolgathering.”

  “The lead units are in position,” Voss told him. “We can launch the offensive at daybreak.”

  Volker glanced at him. “I would have thought that was a little predictable.”

  “We don’t have the finely-tuned army we’d need to launch a night-time offensive,” Voss reminded him. “If we had more time ...”

  “We don’t,” Volker said, sharply.

  He turned to look at the other man. Voss knew - he was one of the few who did - just how little time the Reich actually had. They needed to win - quickly - or they would lose, no matter who came out ahead. Holliston would inherit a broken country if he ever retook Berlin. And yet, Volker didn't dare risk so many men without some guarantee of victory ...

  Don’t be stupid, he told himself, sharply. There is never any guarantee of victory.

  It was tempting, chillingly tempting, to call off the offensive. He could do it, too. But there would be someone who wouldn't get the message, who would launch an attack without support and get slaughtered for it. And that too would be bad.

  “Launch the offensive as planned,” he ordered. “Pocket and destroy the bastards.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Chancellor,” Voss said.

  Volker nodded as he led the way towards the door. He would have liked to convince the stormtroopers to surrender, but he knew that was unlikely. Even without the atrocities to fuel a
nger - he’d been quietly warned that his soldiers could not be expected to take prisoners - the stormtroopers would be unlikely to surrender without being hammered into the ground first. They were tough.

  And they will die to defend a man who fled Berlin rather than fight, Volker told himself, bitterly. He’d been a stormtrooper. If things had been different, he might have been one of the black-clad men on the other side of the front lines. And their deaths will be for nothing.

  ***

  Herman couldn't sleep.

  The makeshift accommodation was staggeringly uncomfortable, leaving him with aches and pains even as he tried to catch a few hours of sleep. He couldn't remember having any troubles sleeping on the hard ground - or a handful of blankets - when he’d been a paratrooper, but he’d been nearly thirty years younger at the time. Now ... he felt old and frail, even as he tried to sleep. Part of him honestly worried that he wouldn't be able to get up and walk in the morning.