Christopher Nuttall - Storm Front

“Turn off the light,” Horst snapped, jumping to his feet and running around the bed. His gaze snapped upwards as shots rang out over their heads. “We have to get to the lower levels.”

He caught her hand, holding his pistol in the other, and dragged her towards the door. She wanted to tell him to put some clothes on, but she was suddenly very – very- afraid. The SS had managed to mount a counterattack, even though the military officers had believed it to be impossible. Berlin was heavily defended, after all…

“They’re not trying to retake the building,” Horst muttered, as he opened the door. His thoughts must have been running along the same lines. “They couldn’t have put together a large force or it would have been a great deal louder. They’re just trying to kill as many of us as possible.”

“Just,” Gudrun repeated. The building shook, violently. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. “What do we do?”

“Get out of the firing line,” Horst said. He didn’t seem troubled by his nakedness, even though doors were opening all the way down the corridor. “Move it!”

Arul knew there was no point in playing games, not when the element of surprise was rapidly slipping away. The helicopters swept their machine guns across the rooftop, wiping out the guards before they could put up a fight, as the commandos dropped down to the roof. He silently saluted the designers – the layer of armour under the stone had resisted the bullets effortlessly – as a missile slammed into the hatch, opening a pathway into the Reichstag . A second later, another missile lanced towards one of the helicopters, which exploded with staggering force. Thankfully, its complement of commandos were already on the roof and heading into the building.

No hope of escape now , Arul thought, as he heard the chatter-chatter-chatter of machine guns, deeper and heavier than the weapons mounted on the helicopters. The forces on the streets had responded with remarkable speed, despite the confusion. But then, this was always a suicide mission .

He cursed under his breath as he threw a grenade ahead of him, hastily recalling the building plans he’d seen. There hadn’t been any time to plan a proper operation, let alone gain the intelligence they needed; they’d been forced to decide, eventually, that all they could do was storm the building and kill everyone they met. There was no way they could escape, not once the enemy was alerted. All they could do was kill as many people as they could before they were wiped out themselves.

And at least we’re coming in through the roof , he thought, tossing another grenade into a doorway as they ran past. Most of their forces are down on the ground .

A pair of soldiers appeared at the far end of the corridor, weapons at the ready. Arul fired a long burst from his rifle, then hurled a grenade as more soldiers appeared. Clearly, the enemy had anticipated a helicopter attack… although, if they had, why hadn’t they cleared the Reichstag instead of turning it into their headquarters? Who gave a damn about the symbolic value of the building Hitler and Speer had designed if the rebel government was wiped out?

“Franz is hit,” the Strumscharfuehrer snapped. “Albus is dead.”

Arul nodded, then hurried onwards. There was no point in worrying about the wounded – they’d all be dead, soon enough. He heard someone screaming over the racket and glanced through a door. A woman was lying on the bed, staring at the body of her husband and screaming; a young boy sat next to her, his face in shock. Arul shot them both and moved on, leaving the room behind. They were rebels or related to rebels. Either way, they had been sentenced to death.

“Get further down the stairs,” he ordered. The rebels would be confused, but if they’d done any planning at all they’d either be sealing themselves in the panic rooms or trying to get out of the building. “Try and cut them off.”

Frank Reinecke had been having a nightmare when the alarms went off. He jerked awake, so dazed and confused that it took him several moments to remember that he was in the Reichstag , after Gudrun had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. There was no way he could ever wash the blood from his hands – he would have killed himself, if he hadn’t feared the fires of hell – but at least the government had been toppled. And yet, it seemed the government wasn’t dead after all. Frank had never really been a combat soldier – the Einsatzgruppen had rarely been called upon to do more than slaughter defenceless victims – yet he had no trouble recognising the sound of a firefight. It was hard to be sure – he’d been going deaf over the last three decades – but it sounded very much as though the enemy were heading down from the roof.

Grabbing his cane in one hand and his service revolver in the other – he’d kept it ever since he’d left the Einsatzgruppen , despite his daughter’s objections – he staggered towards the door and out into chaos.

Gudrun was never quite sure what hit her. One moment, she’d been running down the corridor with Horst; the next, she’d been picked up by… something … and hurled into the wall. She banged her head hard enough to stun her, leaving her dazed and confused as she fell to the ground. Somehow, she managed to twist around, just in time to see a pair of black-clad figures running towards her. They’d seen her move. It was too late to play dead…

She closed her eyes and waited.

Arul didn’t feel any guilt as he saw the half-naked girl on the floor, even though she was young enough to be his daughter. Like everyone else in the Reichstag , she was either a rebel or related to a rebel; he had no compunctions about gunning her down as casually as he’d killed his other targets. He walked towards her, intending to crush her neck and save the bullet he would have wasted on her, then looked up as he saw a man staggering out into the hallway. Just for a second, Arul stared in disbelief. The man was old, leaning heavily on a cane…

…And carrying a pistol in one hand.

The moment of hesitation proved fatal. Arul heard the Strumscharfuehrer grunt in pain as the old man opened fire, bending over as the first bullet slammed into his chest and the second smashed his goggles, slamming right through them and into his brain. The Strumscharfuehrer was dead before he hit the ground. Arul shouted in rage, pointing his rifle at the old man and pulling the trigger. He could have sworn he saw a smile on the man’s face before three bullets struck his body, sending him falling to the ground. What did he have to smile about?

He turned back to the girl and – too late – found out.

Horst had been knocked ass over teakettle by the blast – a grenade, he thought – but he’d managed to keep hold of his pistol as the commandos ran up behind him. They’d been looking at Gudrun – she’d been too dazed by the impact to play dead – and he’d been bracing himself to intervene when Frank Reinecke, of all people, had appeared and opened fire, killing one of the SS commandos. Horst sat upright, despite the aches and pains, and took aim at the other commando. The man had no time to react before Horst fired, putting a bullet through his mask and into his brain.

He staggered to his hands and knees and crawled over to Gudrun. She was almost certainly in shock – there was a nasty bruise on the side of her head – and staring at the remains of her grandfather, mumbling to herself. Horst wasn’t sure if she liked him or not, but he’d given his life to save hers. That, at least, deserved recognition.