Herman stood, feeling his heart starting to race as the jumpmaster ordered them through the entire routine. They’d studied the city extensively, during the flight, but a single misstep could put them several miles from their target. The skies were clear, according to the pilot, yet that would change very quickly. Surely, someone would notice that a dozen giant aircraft hadn't been cleared to fly over the city ...
But their radar system is a mess, Herman thought. He checked his equipment for the final time. And they’re not ready for us.
“Go,” the jumpmaster barked.
One by one, the paratroopers made their way to the hatch and plunged down towards the streets below.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Germanica, Germany East
16 November 1985
“Go,” Horst snapped.
Panic was already spreading through the streets as the squadron of heavy aircraft roared overhead, paratroopers spilling from their hatches and plunging downwards. Horst knew that Kurt would be amongst them, but he didn't have time to worry about his brother-in-law as he led his squad towards the Reichstag. Dressed in SS uniforms, carrying papers that marked them out as Einsatzgruppen, no one should bat an eyelid as they passed, not when the skies were darkening with paratroopers. A loud explosion echoed over the city as one of the radio transmitters blew, taken out by a Volkssturm team. They’d probably wanted some revenge for all the sneering they had to endure from the SS.
Armed soldiers were running to the Reichstag from all directions, some trying to take up positions on the barricades while others were hurrying towards the gates. Horst joined the latter, knowing that the guards would wave them through in silent contempt. Hardly anyone liked the Einsatzgruppen, save for Holliston and his cronies. The Waffen-SS saw them as cowards who only shot unarmed people; the bureaucrats and intelligence officials saw them as butchers who made it harder to exploit conquered populations. They’d be beneath suspicion.
The gates were rattling closed as they approached, but they managed to get through into the antechamber before it was too late. He heard shooting outside - the first wave of paratroopers would have landed already - but it was dulled as the secondary gates slammed shut. The Reichstag was a fortress, to all intents and purposes. It would be some time before the paratroopers managed to get into the building and by then everything would be finished, one way or the other.
An officer was barking orders, trying to organise fallback defensive positions for when - if - the gates were breached. Horst lifted his rifle and shot him, his squad opening fire a second later, sweeping the antechamber with bullets. Men fell in all directions, too shocked to return fire; Horst checked the nearest man, then led the way up the stairs. There was no point in trying to be stealthy, not now. They had to get to the Fuhrer’s office before it was too late.
Ruengeler said he was always in his office at this time, he thought, grimly. Sweat ran down his back as he ran up the stairs, throwing a grenade down each of the hallways as he passed. And unless we get to him quickly, he’ll have a chance to make his escape.
***
“They’re dropping paratroopers,” the operator said, horrified. “Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer ...”
Alfred drew his pistol in one smooth motion and shot the operator in the head, then shot the remaining five men in the operations room before they could react. Some of them would probably have joined him, he knew, as alarms howled through the Reichstag. But there was no time to try to convince them to join him, not now. He hit the emergency switch, closing and locking the doors, then sat down in front of the radio set. Reports were coming in from all over the city.
I suppose the enemy did have a plan, he thought. Dropping so many paratroopers into Germanica will hide the real threat.
Calmly, he started to issue false orders. The units that had been sent away from Germanica shouldn’t be able to return in a hurry, but the others - closer to the city - had to be kept out of the fight. It was unlikely that everyone would obey - they’d probably think that Alfred was mounting a coup - yet there should be enough confusion to keep most of the men out of the fighting. Alfred certainly hoped that was true. Too many good men had died in the last few months for him to be comfortable sending more to their deaths.
And then the entire building shook, violently.
Let us hope it ends quickly, he told himself. Because we will all die soon.
***
Herman hit the ground hard enough to hurt, rolling over, discarding his parachute and bringing up his weapon in one smooth motion. The shooting had already started, black-clad men pouring fire towards the paratroopers from the barricades as the fighter-bomber escorts roared overhead, seeking out targets of opportunity on the ground. Herman took cover as officers barked orders, forming the paratroopers up into rows for the assault on the Reichstag. He lifted his rifle as a bullet pinged off the masonry, scanning the building until he saw the sniper in the window and returning fire. The sniper fell backwards and vanished from sight.
And I don't know if he’s dead or alive, Herman thought, grimly. He turned as he heard engines approaching from the north. Here they come ...
The SS stormtroopers moved forward with fanatical determination, trying to assault the paratroopers in the rear. They didn’t seem to be so interested in taking cover, he noted; their vehicles were armoured against small arms, but their infantry weren't even trying to seek protection. He couldn't tell if they were desperate or merely poorly-trained - the best stormtroopers would have been sent west, surely - yet it hardly mattered. The paratroopers had antitank weapons designed to take out far heavier vehicles. One by one, the SS vehicles were wiped out.
“Take them out,” he shouted, as the stormtroopers hit the ground, but kept crawling forward, shooting as they came. “Now!”
The ground shook, again, as bombs fell over part of the city. Herman barely noticed as he hurled a pair of grenades towards the enemy, then ran forward - followed by several of his men - as the grenades exploded. The stormtroopers had no time to react before they were finished off, just as a second line of vehicles charged around the corner, guns blazing as they blasted streams of bullets towards the paratroopers. Herman hit the deck; Kurt, behind him, rolled a grenade forward and underneath the vehicle. It exploded into a fireball, giving the paratroopers time to slip back under covering fire from their comrades.
“Good work,” Herman grunted.
“Thank you, father,” Kurt said. “I ...”
Herman saw the stormtrooper appear from nowhere, behind Kurt. He was taking aim at Kurt ... he shoved Kurt down, trying to get him out of the line of fire before it was too late. The stormtrooper fired ... and Herman gasped in pain, four hammer-blows slamming into his chest. He saw, through a haze of pain, the stormtrooper falling backwards, shot by someone, but it was suddenly very hard to think. The world seemed to be fading away ...
“Father,” Kurt shouted. Herman could feel his son tearing at his uniform, trying to open the jacket so he could try to stanch the bleeding, but he knew it was too late. “Medic!”
Herman tried to speak, but the words refused to come. He wanted to tell his son that he loved him, that he loved all of his children, yet ... yet his mouth would not cooperate. He couldn't say a word. He wished, suddenly, that he’d had a chance to make love to his wife one final time, to hug his daughter, to tell his sons that he was proud of them ...
... And then the darkness reached up and pulled him down.
***
Kurt had barely had a second to realise that there was someone behind him when his father, still immensely strong for a man his age, shoved him to the ground. He’d rolled over automatically, bringing up his weapon to shoot the stormtrooper dead ...
... And then he realised his father had been mortally wounded.
He stared down at the old man’s body for a long moment, shaking his head in bitter grief and rage. There had been few better fathers, not in his experience. He’d known boys with fathers who let them do whatever the
y pleased and boys with fathers who beat them for the slightest mistake, but his father had been a mix of firm and fair. He hadn't deserved to die saving his son ...
... But it was how he would have wanted to go, Kurt thought. He was always looking out for us.
Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the battle. There would be time to mourn later ...
... If any of them were left alive.
***
Karl Holliston had been reading paperwork when the aircraft flew overhead and the alarms went off, falling silent a second later. The building shook a moment later, causing him to dive under the desk and draw his pistol, ready to fight for his life. He nearly shot his own bodyguard when the man came running in, almost pulling the trigger before realising who he was seeing. If his bodyguard had turned on him, all was lost.
“Mein Fuhrer,” the bodyguard snapped. “We’ve lost all contact with anyone outside the building!”
Karl swore under his breath as he crawled out from under the desk and hurried over to the large painting of Adolf Hitler on the far wall. A touch of a hidden button revealed a concealed communications set, linked directly to a high-power radio transmitter nearby. But when he tried using it, all he got in return was a screech of static that nearly deafened him. If he couldn't make contact with his supporters, what good was he? And what could he do with the nuclear codes if he couldn't pass them on?
“I can't get through,” he snapped. He wished, suddenly, that he’d spent more time learning how to use the system. The basics were simple enough, but even tiny repairs were completely beyond him. He flipped through options that should have linked him with a dozen rooms in the Reichstag, but no one answered. Even the War Room was silent. “It’s not working.”
Cold ice ran through his veins. If he was isolated so completely that he couldn't even get a single message out ...
His bodyguard grabbed his arm, shocking him out of his daze. “We have to get out of here!”
“Down to the bunker,” Karl said. He gathered himself, as best as he could. He wasn't sure quite what was going on, but the Reichstag was definitely under attack. One of the Gauleiters was mounting a coup, perhaps. The rebels would have had real trouble projecting force so far from the front lines. “We need to get in touch with the rest of the country.”
He scooped up the nuclear briefcase as the bodyguards opened the rear door and peered through carefully, before motioning him to follow them down the corridor. Karl did as he was told, silently promising himself that he’d make whoever was responsible for this atrocity very sorry indeed. He had the nuclear codes, he had a communications network built under the bunker that was practically indestructible ... all he needed to know was who was attacking him. Or maybe he'd just fire on Germany Prime instead. Let the bastards burn.
Or fire on America instead, he thought. The sound of shooting echoed through the building, growing closer and closer. Let the entire world burn.
He gritted his teeth in rage as they slipped down a flight of stairs. He’d been so close to total victory, so close to stamping his will on the entire planet ... he still would, once he made contact with his allies. No one, not even the Gauleiters, could subvert everyone. The loyalist units outside the Reichstag could quash the coup with brutal efficiency, then teach the Gauleiters a lesson by laying waste to their lands. And then he’d crush the rest of them, just to make sure that no one could get in his way ever again.
His bodyguard stopped, holding up a hand. The sound of shooting was definitely getting closer. Karl took a tighter grip on his pistol, silently cursing under his breath as he recalled they were completely out of touch with the rest of the Reich. If he died, here and now, the nukes would never fly. And Germany East would collapse into chaos if the coup-plotters failed to take control quickly enough to ward off challenges.
“Down this way,” the bodyguard said. “Hurry!”
***
Horst wasn't surprised when the Fuhrer’s door turned out to be defended with fanatical enthusiasm. No one was allowed to join a personal protective detachment unless they were ready and able to give up their lives to protect their charge. And yet, he didn't have time to deal with them. He snapped orders, then hurled a whole string of grenades down the corridor. The explosions were deafening in the confined space, the walls solid enough to ensure that the guards took the brunt of the blasts. Horst ran over their shattered bodies and straight into the outer office. A middle-aged woman with a formidable face took one look at them and fainted. He gave her a kick, just to be sure she wasn’t faking it, then ran into the inner office. It was deserted.
He swore, feeling numb horror running down his chest. The radio set looked to be working, but the faint background noise from the speaker suggested that it couldn't reach anyone in or outside the Reichstag. Horst hoped, desperately, that was true, even as the building shook once again. If Holliston had already sent orders for the nuclear silos to launch their missiles, all hell was already breaking out ...
It isn't over yet, he thought. If he can't get a message out, he’ll go to the bunker.
Another explosion shook the building. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to recall the plans Uncle Emil had located for them. The Reichstag had plenty of back passages that could be used to get a lone man down to the bunker, probably including some that didn't appear on the plans. But if he was trying to get someone downstairs without being spotted ...
“This way,” he ordered. “Quickly.”
A protective detail wouldn't want to pick a fight, not if it could be avoided. He’d never considered such work for himself, but he’d covered the basics in training. It was better to sneak through enemy territory, rather than run the risk of losing the person they were supposed to protect. And if there were hidden passages running through the Reichstag, he’d expect them to be used too.
And there are hidden passages in Berlin, he thought. He’d gone through the Berlin Reichstag with a fine-toothed comb, after the uprising. There had been at least seven passageways that hadn't been on any of the diagrams and, if he was forced to be honest, he had never been quite sure that he’d found all of the passages. Why can't they have them in Germanica too?
He pushed the thought aside as they hurried down the stairs. They had to hurry. Time was very definitely not on their side.
***
Karl almost wet himself when the shooting started, two of his bodyguards firing down towards the ambushers while the remainder covered him, their weapons searching constantly for targets. He’d never been in danger before, not really; even the escape from Berlin, a hair-raising moment, hadn't been that bad. But now ...
He cringed as the building shook time and time again. Whatever was happening outside, it sounded as though the building was being stormed. He nearly jumped out of his skin when one of his bodyguards caught hold and yanked him down the corridor, running past a trio of bodies in green Heer uniforms. Karl felt his head churning in absolute shock. The rebels? It couldn't be the rebels! How could they even have managed to get so far east?
Someone betrayed me, he thought, numbly.
It was the only answer that made sense, he told himself, as another burst of shooting rattled out behind him. The rebels couldn't have gotten into the Reichstag without help. He knew the radar network was a mess - in hindsight, it had been a mistake not extending the defence chain to cover aircraft heading east from Germany Prime - but it wasn't that bad. Someone had to have made certain that no warning was passed up the chain. And that meant ...
He looked down at the nuclear briefcase and smiled. It didn't matter. He could send the orders as soon as he entered the bunker, orders that would burn the entire world. The Reich would pay for betraying him and his dream.
“Go forward,” his bodyguard snapped, as the sound of running footsteps above them grew louder. “And don’t stop for anything.”
Karl gritted his teeth and ran. The bunker doors loomed up in front of him, guarded by two grim-looking stormtroopers. He ran through, snapping a comma
nd at the two guards. The doors slammed shut a moment later, sealing the bunker off from the remainder of the building. And the inner doors would start closing in a few seconds ...
He smiled. They wouldn't get to him now.
***
Horst threw himself to one side as a stream of bullets nearly took off his head, then hurled his last two grenades down the stairs. The explosion shook the building, sending plaster dripping down from the ceiling as he hurried to the bottom of the stairs ...
... and swore out loud as he realised they were too late.
The bunker doors were firmly closed. He stepped forward, his fingers pressing against the solid metal. He’d seen the diagrams. Even if they somehow broke through the first layer, there were enough inner layers to make it impossible to get down into the bunker, certainly not before the end of next year. Holliston could just walk through the escape tunnel to an SS base. And even if the escape tunnel was blocked, he could still launch the nuclear missiles and go out in a blaze of fire.
Ragnarok (Twilight of the Gods Book 3) Page 37