Christopher Nuttall - Chosen of the Valkyries

Anderson nodded, glancing carefully at Thatcher. “And that leads to a very different point,” he said. “Should we be trying to intervene?”

Andrew winced, inwardly. He’d expected that question from the moment he, instead of Ambassador Turtledove, was summoned to RAF Fairford. The Ambassador was there to be diplomatic, while Andrew worked for OSS, trying to develop new sources and covert networks within the Reich . If there was a determined attempt to support the provisional government, he would be running it…

But he wouldn’t have the final say. There would be factions in Washington – and London too, he suspected – that would be arguing for intervention, after reading a handful of carefully-slanted reports. Other factions, having read different reports, would be arguing for staying firmly out of the growing conflict. And neither faction would have a real feel for what was going on in Germany. Their leadership certainly wouldn’t be stationed in the Reich .

Andrew took a moment to compose his thoughts. This – this – was a chance to influence policy on a truly global scale. His words would shape the thinking of the most powerful man and woman in the world, a terrifying thought. He was no stranger to danger – he knew he ran the risk of being arrested, tortured and disappeared every time he made contact with one of his sources within the Reich – but this was different. Lives hung on his words. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

“There are a number of factors that should be considered, Mr. President,” he said, carefully. “First, perhaps most importantly, the provisional government is strongly nationalistic. They will not be pleased at an open suggestion of military support. Even if they were, the presence of American and British troops fighting alongside their men will hand their rivals a major propaganda coup. Entire generations of Germans have been raised to consider us the enemy. It may well undermine their position.”

He paused. “And they will suspect us of wanting to weaken the Reich ,” he added, after a moment. “Will we demand German withdrawal from France, for example, as the price of our support?”

Anderson frowned. “I thought they wanted freedom.”

Thatcher smiled. “So did George Washington and his fellows,” she pointed out. “That didn’t stop them keeping black slaves in bondage.”

“Touché,” Anderson said. He met Andrew’s eyes. “But should we not use this as a chance to remove the threat permanently?”

“If we back the rump into a corner, they will use nukes,” Andrew said, flatly. “And we could not guarantee that they wouldn’t be able to fire the missiles at us.”

He sighed. “Ambassador Turtledove has been trying to forge links with the provisional government, but – frankly – the government has too many other problems at the moment. If they lose the coming war… well, our opinion isn’t going to matter.”

Thatcher nodded, curtly. “What would you advise?”

“I would suggest providing limited intelligence support and nothing else,” Andrew said. He understood the urge to do something , but they were playing with nukes! “We can let them know, quietly, that we may not be averse to providing further help. But really, getting involved in their civil war would be a major commitment.”

“Particularly with the troubles in South Africa,” Anderson observed. “There are demands for intervention there too.”

“Another political headache,” Thatcher agreed. Her lips quirked into a smile. “Although, really, one that doesn’t involve nukes.”

Andrew nodded. South Africa had tried but failed to produce nuclear weapons. Or so he’d been told. South Africa’s nuclear program had taken a body-blow when South Africa had been expelled from the NAA, while the Reich wasn’t in the habit of providing nuclear weapons or nuclear technology to anyone. But even if South Africa did have nukes, what could they do with them? Blow up their own cities?

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Barton,” Anderson said. “I’m afraid there are quite a few others waiting to debrief you, but hopefully we should have an idea how to proceed before you return to Germany.”

He paused. “Do you anticipate any problems in returning?”

“No, Mr. President,” Andrew said. He rose. “The provisional government has seen fit to honour the treaties we made with their predecessors.”

“Let’s just hope it stays that way,” Anderson said. “This could spin out of control very quickly.”

“I would say that was a given, Mr. President,” Andrew said. “Both sides have enough military power to ensure that the coming war is far from short.”

Reichstag, Berlin

1 September 1985

Volker Schulze, Chancellor of the Greater German Reich – he’d refused to take Führer as a title – stood at the window and peered out over the city as the sun started to sink towards the distant horizon, feeling a gnawing concern within his gut. Berlin looked surprisingly calm, from his viewpoint, but he knew it was nothing more than an illusion. Gudrun and the Valkyries had unleashed forces he doubted they knew how to control, even if control was possible. The government’s absolute control over its population was gone, once and for all…

We were held in a cage , Volker thought, grimly. And now the bars are gone, some of us are leaving the cage.

He cursed the former Reich Council under his breath, wishing with all his heart that he’d been able to get his hands on the truly guilty men. Reichsführer-SS Karl Holliston had made his escape, while several of the other former councillors had fled to Germany East, rather than face the wrath of their fellow countrymen. Volker would have given a great deal for the chance to get his hands around Holliston’s neck and squeeze, even though he’d been an SS officer himself. The bastard had not only gotten Volker’s son mortally wounded; he’d had the gall to lie about it to the people. Volker wouldn’t have known anything about his son’s injury – and death – if Gudrun hadn’t sneaked into the hospital. It had been enough for Volker to switch sides and start a – highly-illegal – union. And now he was the head of the provisional government.

The thought made him smile, sourly, as he turned to face the table. His councillors – the new Reich Council – were slowly filling up the seats, looking as grim as he felt. Volker had no idea just how far any of them could be trusted, even though they were all under sentence of death if they were captured by the SS. Finance Minister Hans Krueger, at least, could be relied upon to try to mend the increasingly broken economy, but Volker had no illusions about some of the others. Two of them, at least, were ambitious enough to unseat him if they thought they could get away with it.

He surveyed the room, half-wishing that Gudrun was there. The mere presence of a woman – and a teenage girl, at that – was enough to agitate many of the older and more reactionary councillors. Volker hated to admit it, but he took a perverse pleasure in watching them being forced to take a woman seriously. Gudrun didn’t hold a portfolio – there had been no way to justify giving her a ministry – yet she was the single most popular councillor in Germany. It gave her a power her older counterparts could neither deny nor subvert.

She would have made one hell of a daughter-in-law , Volker thought, as the doors were firmly closed. And Gerde would have had real problems trying to bully her.