Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  He glanced at his watch, then at his comrades. They seemed to have managed to fall asleep, although some of them might be lingering on the very edge of awareness. He still recalled days from his youth when his comrades had sworn blind he’d been asleep, although he’d been awake and aware - or thought he’d been awake and aware - the whole time. Back then, he’d thought nothing of a forty mile forced march through the mud. Now ...

  I’m too old for this shit, Herman thought. It was 0530, according to his watch; the offensive was scheduled for dawn, still two hours away. I could be back home and in bed ...

  He scowled as he forced himself to stand up, despite his aching body. There was no point in trying to sleep, not now. He wasn't a young man any longer, able to survive on a few hours of sleep. Carefully, he picked his way to the door and peered outside. The guard was sitting on the ground, snoring quietly. Herman felt a hot flash of anger as he stared down at him, knowing it was sheer luck that an inspector hadn't passed. The entire unit would be in deep shit if their guard had been caught sleeping.

  And if we’d been caught by the enemy, he thought, we’d all be dead.

  He removed the guard’s weapon, then hissed at him to wake up. The guard jumped, one hand reaching for the rifle that was no longer there; Herman held it up, fighting down the urge to slam the butt into the guard’s face. He was no longer in the police force.

  “You fell asleep,” he growled. The guard looked younger than him, although not young enough to pass for a fresh-faced young man right out of the training centre. “You could have gotten us all killed.”

  He scowled as the guard began to splutter excuses. Yes, they were in the middle of an armed camp; no, that didn't excuse the guard falling asleep. Herman’s old instructors would not have hesitated to hand out harsh punishment to the entire unit, even during training; now, in the middle of a war, a soldier could be shot for falling asleep on guard. There was no excuse for doing something so stupid that an enemy could simply walk up to the makeshift barracks and lob a couple of grenades inside.

  “Idiot,” he said, finally. “Give me a cigarette and it won’t go any further.”

  The guard looked relieved as he removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held them out. Herman took one, his policeman’s eye noting the lack of any actual markings on the cigarette packet. Probably imported from France and sold on the black market, he decided, rather than purchased legitimately from an authorised dealer. Evading tax would have been a serious crime, two years ago - the authorities would have taken a very dim view of it - but it wasn't a problem now. Besides, Berlin’s vast stockpile of cigarettes had been drained by the war. No new shipments were coming into the city.

  He borrowed a match to light the cigarette, then inhaled the smoke. It tasted odd, compared to the ones he'd smoked on duty, but he found it hard to care. Doctors might insist that smoking posed a health risk - it was funny how they’d started saying that as the cost of smoking had begun to rise - yet he was a policeman. There had always been the risk of a violent death, even before the war. A suspect, knowing he’d be lucky to escape execution, might just choose to fight ...

  “Two hours,” the guard said.

  Herman nodded in grim agreement. They’d been told they’d be going to the front after the lead units had punched a hole in the enemy lines, but very little else. The older soldiers had been offended at being told so little, even though they knew it posed a security risk. There was just too great a chance of someone sneaking out of the camp, finding a telephone and calling his SS masters. Or merely going back to Berlin for some fun. There had been a surprising number of soldiers on punishment duty when the makeshift unit had arrived at the camp.

  We're too close to Berlin, Herman thought, dryly.

  It was a common problem. Soldiers - bored or aware of their own mortality - had a tendency to sneak out of camp in search of wine, women and song. Herman had often rounded up soldiers who’d made it to the pubs, marching them back to the camps and handing them over to their superiors. It was even a danger in a combat zone, even though the soldiers really should have known better. He’d heard horror stories about young men sneaking out of camp in South Africa, only to be caught, killed and mutilated by the local insurgents.

  But the stories could easily have been spread by the higher-ups, he reminded himself. How better to discourage soldiers from fraternising with the enemy?

  He leaned against the doorway and watched, grimly, as the camp slowly came to life. There would be no formal assembly, not today; units would form up, then march to the front lines and go to war. He wished, suddenly, for a hot bath or even a shower, but he knew they were both impossible. It was a military camp, not a holiday home. There were few luxuries even for the commanders.

  “Thank you,” the guard said. “I could have wound up in real trouble.”

  Herman scowled. He honestly wasn't sure he’d done the right thing. Falling asleep in the middle of a camp was bad enough, but falling asleep in a war zone could prove lethal. The guard deserved whatever punishment was meted out to him. And yet, Herman wasn't sure he could have coped with his punishment. He was no longer able to drop and give a hundred push-ups on command.

  “Never mind,” he said. “But if you fall asleep on duty again, I’ll kick you in the nuts and then slit your throat.”

  And I mean it, he added, silently. It wouldn't be the first time a dangerously-incompetent soldier had been pushed out or murdered by his comrades. You put us all in danger.

  He turned and peered back into the hut. There were few buildings still standing between Berlin and the front lines; the hut, he'd been told, had been patched up by the engineers before the company had been told to sleep there. He didn't know if they’d been given the hut because the higher-ups thought they’d need somewhere relatively warm and dry to sleep or if it was an unsubtle insult aimed at the old men. But he had a feeling he’d be wishing, soon enough, that they were back in the hut ...

  Time to get ready, he thought. Dawn was starting to waver on the horizon. In the distance, he could hear the sound of shellfire and explosions. It wouldn't be long before the first units started to advance on the enemy positions. We’re going back to the war.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Germanica (Moscow), Germany East

  3 November 1985

  Gudrun started awake ... and froze.

  She was in a different cell. The cage bars that allowed her guards to watch her were gone, the hard bed was gone ... instead, she was lying on a plastic bed, inside a room that reminded her of a swimming pool. She took a long breath as she sat upright and shuddered, unable to hide her revulsion. The room smelt like a swimming pool too, bringing back memories of learning to swim at school. She’d dreaded those lessons, but there had been no avoiding them. Or the wet towels snapped across her back and buttocks by the matrons when they thought she was deliberately lagging ...

  They moved me while I was asleep, she thought, numbly. She looked down and scowled as she realised she was still naked. It didn't bother her any longer, not when she knew there was far worse to come. But why?

  She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood. Her legs felt oddly steady, even though she knew she must have been drugged again. Perhaps she was growing used to whatever they were feeding her. Or perhaps she’d fallen asleep naturally and they’d just gambled that she wouldn't wake up, while they carried her to her new cell. She glanced around, studying the walls. They were solid plastic, smooth to the touch. She couldn't see any cameras.

  They’ll still be watching, she told herself, as she examined the door. It was sealed, unsurprisingly, so carefully worked into the walls that she honestly wasn't sure she was looking at the door until she traced out the frame. There were no handles, nothing to indicate how the door could be opened from the inside. They’ll be watching me to see what I do.

  She swept her gaze around the room, but saw nothing. The bed was really nothing more than plastic, hard to the touch. And yet it was warm ... t
he entire room was surprisingly warm. It felt almost like a sauna. Did they want to warm her up? Or were they just playing games with her mind? She honestly didn't know.

  Be grateful it isn't worse, she told herself. She’d had to undergo a medical exam, shortly after arriving - she had no idea how long she’d been in Germanica - and it had been humiliating, far worse than anything she’d experienced in the BDM. Being in a cell is better than on the examination table.

  She sat back down, shaking her head slowly. Perhaps they were trying to drive her mad with boredom. It wasn't going to work, if that was the case. She’d always been at the top of her class, in school; she hadn't been truly challenged until she’d gone to university and discovered that she wasn't the smartest person in the world after all. Boredom had been part of her life, ever since she’d found out that complaining about the lessons was a good way to be noticed by an angry teacher. And telling him that he’d got something wrong - and he had - hadn't helped either.

  Pushing the thought aside, she concentrated on a more important problem. How long had she been in Germanica? She didn't know - it felt as if the entire world had shrunk to her prison cell - but she was a woman. Her period had been a week off, more or less, before she’d been captured. And there was no way they could hide her blood from her.

  Or have they drugged me to ensure I don’t bleed, she asked herself. Or did Horst manage to get me pregnant?

  She closed her eyes in pain as the full implications dawned on her. They hadn't used protection - how could they, when contraception was almost unavailable save for older couples with more than three children? Horst could easily have gotten her pregnant, before or after the marriage. And if she was pregnant ... she swallowed, hard. The SS might not harm the baby - the parents were both of good bloodlines - but they would certainly take the child away.

  And I’ve been half-starved, she thought. My period might be delayed anyway.

  She worked her way through the logic, slowly. If she wasn’t pregnant, she’d only been in Germanica for a week, more or less. But if she was pregnant ...

  A dull thump echoed through the room. She looked up, alarmed. There was a hissing sound, right above her; moments later, a tiny hatch appeared in the ceiling. Seconds later, a stream of water poured from overhead and splashed down to the floor. The puddle spread rapidly until the bitterly cold water was splashing against her bare feet. Gudrun shivered, pulling her feet up until she was sitting on the bed; the water kept rising as more and more poured down into the room. She cursed under her breath, remembering how the matrons had used to push girls into the swimming pool, then forced her legs into the cold water. There was no way to avoid taking a swim.

  She started to shiver as the water rose higher. It was cold, so cold ... to her horror, the water just kept rising, threatening to drown her. She found herself kicking to stay afloat, her body rising until it was pushed against the ceiling, the water bubbling at her mouth ... did they mean to kill her? Panic fluttered at the back of her mind as she gasped for air, struggling to pull one last breath into her body. She was going to die in the cell ...

  ... And then the water level dropped so rapidly that she banged her leg against the bed, then landed badly on the wet floor. A grate had opened nearby, draining the water out of her cell; Gudrun was too tired to try to open it, even though she doubted it was a way out for her. Her throat hurt badly; she hacked and coughed, spitting up droplets of water she’d swallowed onto the floor. And it was suddenly very - very - cold.

  She forced herself to sit upright, wrapping her arms around her legs as cold air blew into the room. Her entire body shivered helplessly, mocking her. The gusts of air - it was hard not to think of them as wind - blasted over her body, coming from portals high overhead that opened and closed randomly. She couldn't help a flicker of guilt, remembering how she - and most of the other girls - had teased and tormented those who’d been poor swimmers. Perhaps she deserved to suffer ...

  Because it was safer to tease them than stand up for them, she thought, bitterly. The matrons hadn't done anything about the bullying. Hell, they’d been bullies themselves. And none of us wanted the matrons looking elsewhere. We were grateful when the matrons picked on the weaker girls.

  She ran her hand through her wet hair, knowing there was nothing she could do to straighten it out. The entire Reich was based on bullying, on the strong tormenting the weak ... why should the BDM have been any different? And she’d had more than her fair share of torments too ... except that wasn't entirely true. Gudrun’s father could have made real trouble for the matrons, if they’d stepped too far out of line. Perhaps she should have asked him to defend the other girls.

  A low rumble ran through the room. The floor hatches opened, spewing water back up and into the room. Gudrun yelped in shock as the water - scalding hot this time - splashed against her bare skin, then jumped back to get out of the way as the water kept rising. But this time it was too hot, burning her as it rose higher ... she scrambled back onto the bed, knowing it wouldn't give her more than minimal protection. And then it started to wash against her feet.

  She gritted her teeth, trying not to scream. It wasn’t hot enough to do real damage - she hoped - but it was hot enough to be extremely uncomfortable. And it was still rising, brushing against her knees. She stood on tiptoe, trying to keep as much of herself as she could out of the water, even though she knew it was futile. The water brushed against her thighs, then her breasts, then finally started lapping at her throat. She kicked desperately as her head bumped against the ceiling, hoping - praying - that the water would be released, again, before she drowned. Or was cooked ...

  ... Instead, water started pouring from the ceiling.

  She closed her eyes, expecting to drown at any second. But the water level seemed stable ... she realised, numbly, that the hot water was being drained as cold water poured from high overhead. The temperature dropped rapidly, so rapidly that she started to shiver within seconds. She tried to remember what she’d been told about hypothermia, but she couldn't remember anything, beyond the word having been used as a threat in swimming class. It had been enough to make her obey.

  And then the water level dropped, again. She found herself sitting on the floor, her entire body shaking helplessly.

  They can kill me at any moment, Gudrun thought, as the last remnants of the water drained away into the floor. That had always been true, but now she knew it. They can kill me any time they like.

  She shuddered, forcing her body to stand and lean against the wall. Her skin had gone red, as if she’d spent too long in the sun. She knew the colour would fade, that her skin would return to normal, but she didn't miss the underlying message. It wouldn't be long before they started inflicting more permanent harm on her, if she refused to talk. Or to help them ...

  Another low gurgle echoed through the room. Gudrun cursed as the water - warm water, this time - began to bubble up from the floor. It was rising slowly, but surely; she knew, deep inside, that she didn't have the energy to keep fighting. Part of her just wanted to give in, to let them drown her. It would be a victory, of sorts. The SS wouldn't have her to parade in front of her former allies. But it would also be a defeat. She would never see Horst again ...

  She cursed, savagely, then rolled over and drifted on her back. It had been nearly two years since she’d done it - she hadn’t gone swimming since she’d left school - but the old skill was still there. She promised herself, if she survived long enough, that she’d hunt down her old matrons and make sure they suffered for their crimes. Shutting down the BDM wasn’t enough.

  And the water level kept rising ...

  ***

  “She hasn't broken yet,” Karl Holliston observed.

  “No, Mein Fuhrer,” Muller said. “But she’s definitely weakening.”

  Karl shrugged. Watching a young girl being pushed to the brink of drowning, time and time again, wasn't particularly amusing. If Gudrun had been anyone else - a girl unfortunate enough to have the wr
ong relatives - he would have ordered her exile to Germany East without a second thought. Muller would have bitched about losing his test subject, but Karl would have taken no notice. The camps had plenty of room for SS doctors who forgot who gave the orders.

  But Gudrun wasn't someone else.

  He shook his head, feeling a blaze of helpless anger. Displaying Gudrun in front of his supporters - the upper leadership of Germany East - had been a mistake. No one had said anything overtly - not yet - but he knew that some of the Gauleiters had qualms. Gudrun was a young girl, barely old enough to bear children. They’d been raised to protect young women, to treat them as the queens and princesses they were ... to issue gentle correction, rather than outright torture. Forcing Gudrun to appear before them, naked and chained, had brought out their protective instincts.

  But none of them truly comprehended that Gudrun was a menace. In all honesty, Karl himself hadn't appreciated it until the Reich Council came apart at the seams. Gudrun was not a physical threat - she certainly wasn't a trained combatant - but that didn't make her any less dangerous. It was the ideals she represented, the truths she told, that threatened the integrity of the Reich. And her ability to talk otherwise sensible men into rebellion was truly dangerous. Karl dreaded to think what would happen if the Gauleiters managed to talk to her.