Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  And there’s no guarantee of killing Holliston, he thought. The bastard might survive long enough to order a full-scale nuclear strike.

  He cleared his throat. “Find a target - a military target - somewhere within Germany East,” he said, slowly. “Make sure it’s somewhere that won’t cause us problems, when - if - we resume the offensive. That target will be destroyed with one of our atomic bombs.”

  “I must protest,” Krueger said, stiffly.

  “I understand,” Volker said. “But we cannot allow Holliston to believe that we will just bend over for him.”

  “There’s a large SS training centre,” Voss mused. “It might make an ideal target.”

  “Or the docks near Valhalla,” Grossadmiral Cajus Bekker offered. “They’d be close enough to Germanica for the civilians to see the flash.”

  Volker shook his head. He understood Bekker’s concerns - the SS controlled the docks near Valhalla, at the eastern edge of the Gulf of Finland, and it had captured a number of warships during the chaotic early days of the uprising - but the target was too close to Valhalla. The city would be devastated by the blast, even if it wasn't targeted directly. No, better to target a training centre. If nothing else, it might show everyone else in Germany East just how far matters had gone downhill.

  “The training centre will do,” he said, shaking his head slowly. A year ago, he had never even imagined that he would be making such decisions. And now, part of him had quietly accepted the deed and moved on. “Prepare the weapon and the delivery system.”

  “Jawohl,” Voss said.

  Volker looked from face to face. They all looked tired, tired and worn. He didn't really blame them, either. They all bore some responsibility for the nuclear holocaust, even if it had been Karl Holliston who’d pushed the trigger. And they all knew that they were helpless to put an end to the war.

  Horst is still on his way east, Volker thought. Maybe he can find allies in the east.

  He pushed the thought aside and leaned forward. “We’ll continue to repair our defences, raid their positions and generally make their lives miserable,” he said. “And we will do our best to ensure that the wounded are well treated.”

  “We can't,” Krueger said, flatly. “Our health system was on the brink for years. It was breaking down even before this catastrophe.”

  “We will try,” Volker said. He was not going to order the mass execution of countless soldiers, even if it would be a mercy kill. “We owe it to men who fought for us.”

  Krueger met his eyes. “At what cost?”

  “Whatever we have to pay,” Volker snarled. The surge of anger surprised him. If Konrad had lived, would his son now be dying of radiation poisoning? No, the uprising would never have taken place. But what would have happened instead? “We owe them.”

  He caught himself. “And I want everyone in this room to get some sleep,” he added, knowing it wouldn't be easy. He was tempted to uncork the bottle of wine in his quarters and have a stiff drink before he went to bed. His wife would have a fit, but he found it hard to care. “We are not in any fit state to face the world.”

  Sitting back, he watched as his cabinet slowly left the room. None of them looked happy; Voss was shooting nasty looks at Krueger’s back, while Krueger himself was mulling over the costs of coping with the nuclear blasts and rebuilding the economy. Even if the war came to an end tomorrow, it wouldn't be easy. The Reich was very short of hard cash. Volker knew - all too well - that there would be many hard years to come.

  And it doesn't matter, he thought, numbly. I’ve just sentenced hundreds of men to death.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Germanica (Moscow), Germany East

  4 November 1985

  Something was in the air.

  Gudrun could feel it as the orderlies entered her cell, two of them glaring at her as if they expected her to spring to life and attack them, the third carrying a long set of chains that she recognised from the last time she’d been taken out of the underground complex. She offered no resistance as they hauled her to her feet, searched her roughly - she honestly couldn't understand how they thought she could obtain and conceal a weapon when it was blatantly obvious that she was being watched continuously - and then shackled her hands behind her back so tightly that she winced in pain.

  “Forward,” the leader grunted.

  It wasn't easy to walk while shackled, but Gudrun had had plenty of practice. She inched forward, delaying as much as she dared; the guards, for once, didn't seem inclined to either slap her to force her to move quicker or pick her up and carry her. It was funny how she didn't feel concerned about the prospect any longer, but she’d been a prisoner for too long. The first time she’d had fingers poking and prodding at her most intimate places had been humiliating, yet it had lost its horror after the seventh or eighth time they’d done it. It was just something else to be endured.

  She shuffled down the corridor, feeling the odd sensation in the air growing stronger as she passed a couple of black-clad men. They didn't seem to be interested in her, neither leering at her naked body nor treating her as a potential threat; they seemed distracted, instead, by some greater thought. Gudrun puzzled it over as she was pushed into a white-walled room and marched over to a solid metal chair. The guards forced her to sit, snapped extra cuffs around her wrists and ankles, then marched off leaving her alone. Gudrun rolled her eyes at the cameras, trying to pack as much defiance as she could into an expression that had always annoyed her mother. Did they seriously believe that a woman - or a man - could hope to escape so many chains?

  The door opened. She turned her head, just in time to see Doctor Muller stepping into the room.

  Gudrun kept her face as expressionless as possible, drawing on her experience at school to keep from showing him a hint of fear. Doctor Muller was a sadist, as bad - no, worse - as any of the BDM matrons. And there was no one else in the room, no one who could take the brunt of his feelings. Gudrun had never been alone with any of the matrons, but she’d heard plenty of rumours about what happened to girls - and boys - who had. She hoped that none of them were true ...

  ... But given how much she’d uncovered, after the uprising, she rather suspected they were understated.

  “Gudrun,” Doctor Muller said. He walked around to face her, his eyes leaving trails of slime all over her body. “I have some questions and you are going to answer them.”

  “You’re finally going to ask me questions,” Gudrun said. She forced herself to giggle, although she doubted she’d fooled anyone. “You’ve had me as a prisoner for weeks and you’re finally getting around to asking me some questions.”

  “You’ve been in this complex for months,” Doctor Muller said, calmly. “And there was no need to ask you questions before.”

  No, I haven’t, Gudrun thought. Her period was approaching rapidly. She could feel the first pains in her womb. I can't have been here for more than two weeks at most.

  “I don’t know anything you can use,” she said, instead.

  “You were on the rebel council,” Doctor Muller said. “You were sent to France and Italy to speak with their treacherous rulers. I don’t think you were unimportant.”

  He reached out and twisted her nipple, hard. “You were important, weren't you?”

  Gudrun gritted her teeth to keep from yelping in pain. Her trip to France had been secret - and she’d never been to Italy. And yet the SS knew she’d been to France ... how? A spy in Berlin, a spy in Vichy ... she cursed, mentally. She’d probably never know.

  “I was just a girl,” she said. It hurt her pride, but it was probably better to let him underestimate her. “They didn't tell me anything important.”

  Doctor Muller slapped her, hard. Gudrun felt her head snap to one side, tasting blood in her mouth as he stared down at her. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from screaming, forcing herself to lower her eyes instead of showing defiance. If she knew sadists - and she’d met too many BDM matrons - submission was the only thing tha
t would save her from a beating. But as she felt blood dripping from her mouth and splashing on her legs, she knew it wouldn't be enough to save her.

  Something has changed, she thought. But what?

  “You were important,” Doctor Muller said. “And smart too, smart enough to understand what I’ve told you.”

  He caught her hair and pulled it, forcing her to look up at him. “You do understand what I’ve told you, don’t you?”

  Gudrun nodded, wordlessly. He’d told her that he knew she’d been to France, although his knowledge clearly wasn't perfect. And that meant that he might catch her in a lie, giving him all the excuse he needed to give her a proper beating. Something had definitely changed if the SS had abandoned mind games, if they’d decided they no longer needed her looking unharmed. But what?

  “Very good,” Doctor Muller said. He let go of her hair and stepped backwards. “Who is in charge of the nuclear weapons in Berlin?”

  “Not me,” Gudrun said. Her jaw hurt. “I ...”

  “I think we know that,” Doctor Muller said. “Who is in charge?”

  Gudrun swallowed, hard. She knew the answer - did she dare lie? Would he know if she did? Or would he just keep piling on the pressure until she confessed to a lie? Or ...

  “The codes were shared out,” she temporised. “I don't know ...”

  “Yes, you do,” Doctor Muller said. “Who has the codes?”

  Gudrun sighed. “The Chancellor, the Field Marshal and the Finance Minister,” she said, reluctantly. “It takes two of them to unlock a warhead.”

  “They basically kept the same security protocol the Reich Council used,” Doctor Muller mused. “Under what conditions would they use the weapons?”

  “I don’t know,” Gudrun said.

  Doctor Muller reached out and pinched her nipple, again. “Under what conditions would they use the bombs?”

  “I don’t know,” Gudrun repeated. “It was never discussed!”

  “It should have been discussed,” Doctor Muller said. “I think you’re lying.”

  Gudrun forced herself to think, even as he started pinching her, running his fingers over her body. The nuclear codes ... why would they want to know about the nuclear codes? Had someone actually used one of the bombs? Was that what was different? She couldn't imagine the Provisional Government using the weapons, but ... what if they had? Or what if Holliston was planning to use atomic bombs himself?

  She shivered as a thought struck her. What if he already has?

  “Doctor,” she said. “Has Holliston used an atomic bomb?”

  Doctor Muller slapped her, again. “You will address him by his title, you little bitch,” he snarled, as her head started to spin. She felt sick; she had to fight to keep from opening her mouth and throwing up. “He is the Fuhrer.”

  He punched her shoulder, hard. “Why will they use nuclear warheads?”

  Gudrun gritted her teeth. “I don’t know ...”

  She screamed as Doctor Muller hit her, again and again. She’d never imagined such pain, never imagined that a hail of punches and kicks could leave her begging for mercy. Nothing, not even the tender mercies of the matrons, had been so painful. But she didn't know the answer to his question. She didn't know if anyone knew the answer to his question.

  “Answer me,” Doctor Muller said. She was dimly aware of him pausing, his hands gripping her bleeding jaw. Her position had shifted, somehow, until she was leaning forward helplessly. “Answer the question.”

  Gudrun braced herself, then closed her eyes. Perhaps it would be quick.

  ***

  Katherine was no stranger to casual violence. She’d grown up on a settlement where beating Gastarbeiters was common, even before she’d joined the SS. She knew there were plenty of times when violence was the answer, the only answer; she had no compunctions about hurting someone who questioned her post or her value to the Reich. But she also had her orders from the Fuhrer, orders she couldn't disobey. And those orders specifically forbade allowing any serious harm to come to her prisoner.

  She snapped a command at the guards, then hurried out of the security room and down to the interrogation chamber. Gudrun’s screams echoed down the corridor, fading as her strength faded. Katherine braced herself, then strode into the chamber. Gudrun was kneeling, trapped in a restraint chair, while Doctor Muller stood behind her, unzipping his pants. He was going to rape her ...

  “Get away from her,” Katherine snarled. Her eyes flickered over Gudrun. She was bleeding, blood dripping to the white floor, but the damage looked mostly cosmetic. Doctor Muller was an expert at hurting someone without inflicting lasting damage. “Now!”

  Doctor Muller turned to look at her, his hand on his fly. “I have orders ...”

  Katherine grabbed him, yanked him forward and slammed him into the wall. “And I have orders to make sure she survives,” she snapped. “You are going to kill her.”

  She wanted to scream her disgust at him, perhaps knock his head into the wall several times, but she suspected it would be pointless. Doctor Muller didn't seem inclined to fight - like most of his ilk, he was a coward at heart - but she frog-marched him to the door anyway, shoving him out into the corridor. He’d probably go whining to the Fuhrer, rather than sneak back or do something else stupid. Katherine gritted her teeth, then turned to hurry back to Gudrun. The restraint chair wasn't designed to hold someone in that uncomfortable position indefinitely.

  No, it can hold them, Katherine reminded herself as she inspected the chair. But people can't endure it indefinitely.

  Doctor Muller was definitely a coward, she noted. Gudrun had been beaten half to death, yet he’d still kept her restrained while he prepared to rape her. Katherine silently promised herself a shot at the doctor’s back, then undid the cuffs around Gudrun’s ankles, allowing her to slip forward. The girl twisted her head, slightly, as Katherine released her wrists, holding Gudrun close to keep her from falling. A moment later, she had Gudrun lying on the ground, her blue eyes staring up at nothing.

  “Remain still,” Katherine said, as gently as possible. Gudrun would be in pain, considerable pain. And she didn't have two years of intensive training to draw on to help her survive. “Let me help.”

  She ran her hands up and down Gudrun’s body, checking for breaks. It didn't feel as though anything was broken, but she couldn’t help noticing how Gudrun flinched away at her gentle touch. She’d heard stories from the east, stories about women who had been beaten and raped by insurgents, stories about how they’d never been the same afterwards. Katherine had sneered at such women - weakness could not be tolerated - yet she had to admit that she'd never been raped. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was easier to understand afterwards. Those women had lost control of their own bodies, just as Gudrun had lost control of hers.

  “There’s no real damage,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. “I know it feels bad, but it could have been worse.”

  Gudrun shifted, uncomfortably. Katherine sat back and studied her for a long moment. Her pale skin - the very image of ideal German womanhood - was covered in nasty bruises, including both of her breasts and between her legs. Blood was still dripping from her jaw, although Katherine knew it looked worse than it actually was. She put out a helping hand as Gudrun tried to sit up, only to have her hand brushed away. Gudrun would be sensitive to physical touch for months - perhaps years - to come.

  And she’s married, Katherine thought. Horst Albrecht was a traitor, a traitor most foul. She would shed no tears for him when he was hung from meathooks below the Reichstag, the customary punishment for traitors. And yet, she couldn't help feeling an odd twinge of ... something. Gudrun had been far more impressive than she’d had any right to be. What will happen to her when she’s released?

  She told herself not to be stupid, angrily. Gudrun would never be released.

  “I don't know,” Gudrun said, slowly. Her voice was so weak that Katherine feared she had finally broken. “I don't know the answers.”

 
“So it would seem,” Katherine said, dryly.

  Gudrun twisted her head. One of her eyes was already turning black, suggesting that Doctor Muller had struck her there. Katherine cursed under her breath. She was no stranger to physical pain - her training had left her bruised and bleeding more than once - but there were limits. Doctor Muller had beaten Gudrun out of sheer sadism.

  And out of a desire to please his master, Katherine thought, coldly. I wonder if he was authorised to ask questions about nuclear weapons.

  “What ...” Gudrun coughed and started again. “What happened?”