But he already knew the answer. Using the atomic bomb on German soil — so close to so many cities — was horrific beyond words. No one had imagined, even in their darkest nightmares, that Karl Holliston would unleash nuclear fire on pureblood Germans. But he had… and now thousands of soldiers were dead, with thousands more dying slowly from blast wounds and radiation poisoning. The Americans and British had already started shipping in medical supplies, but it was pathetically inadequate to cope with the sheer scale of the problem. He didn’t even want to imagine how many people would die in the next few weeks.
We knew he was a monster, he thought, as he turned and walked back towards the armoured vehicle waiting for him. But we didn’t realise just how much of a monster he was.
The doors opened as he approached, readying the decontamination procedure. Volker stepped inside, closing his eyes instinctively as water washed down and over the protective suit. He’d been assured that the whole process was safe, that it offered the greatest chance of avoiding contamination, but part of him found it hard to accept. A handful of irradiated dust could cause all sorts of problems if he took it back to Berlin.
He stepped into the next compartment as the vehicle lurched to life. He’d practiced several times before heading out to the blast zone; he removed the suit and his undergarments, then stepped into the third compartment and straight into the shower. Warm water splashed down, washing his naked body clear of any contamination. An orderly met him outside the shower and passed him a bathrobe, then led him into the driving compartment. The vehicle itself would have to be decontaminated before the crew — and Volker — could disembark.
And then I have to go straight back to Berlin, he told himself, firmly. There’s no time to waste here.
The roads were jammed, he discovered, as he climbed into the official car and started the journey back home. Countless ambulances and buses had been pressed into service, rushing wounded men back from the front lines. Volker had seen some of the wounded and, despite himself, knew he never wanted to see such sights again. Far too many of the injured men were beyond all help, no matter what medicine arrived from America. He’d nearly punched the doctor who had suggested it would be better if the wounded were simply given mercy kills, even though cold logic insisted the swinehund had a point. There was nothing his government could do to save their lives.
And I’m the one who gave the orders that sent them back to the war, Volker thought. But what choice did I have?
He closed his eyes in bitter pain. Everything he’d done had seemed so logical, so right. And yet, countless men were now dead — or worse than dead — because they’d followed his orders and gone to war. He’d never imagined that Holliston would use nuclear weapons on his fellow Germans, let alone contaminate German land for years.
He’s mad, Volker thought. And we have to stop him.
Berlin was practically a ghost town, he noted, as the vehicle drove through the barricades and into the city. The streets were empty, save for a handful of men wearing protective gear and carrying Geiger counters. Even the prostitutes were following orders and staying indoors, even though it would cost them money. But they had no choice. The level of radiation in Berlin had risen sharply in the last day, while the wind might shift at any moment, blowing radioactive fallout towards the city. Keeping the population indoors while the worst of the contamination faded away was the only way to keep them alive.
And it might not be enough, Volker thought. We’ll be dealing with the consequences for generations to come.
He passed through the security barriers outside the Reichstag, then walked down to the bunker. If Holliston was mad enough to use those horrific weapons, he might decide to destroy Berlin as a show of power. And what would happen then?
We’ll have to fire back, he thought, as he stepped into the briefing room. And then he’ll launch another bomb… and another…
He’d glanced at a handful of nuclear war simulations, back when he’d found himself Chancellor. They hadn’t seemed important at the time, not with a brewing civil war and a hundred smaller problems that had to be addressed. But the briefing papers hadn’t made pleasant reading. Some of them had asserted that there would be a single savage nuclear exchange between the Reich and the North Atlantic Alliance, others that two or three missiles would fly at a time and that the agony would be prolonged indefinitely.
“Be seated,” he said, grimly. “Do we have an updated report?”
“Over five thousand men confirmed dead or missing, believed dead,” Luther Stresemann said. The Head of the Economic Intelligence Service sounded stunned, as if he didn’t quite believe his own words. “Approximately ten thousand soldiers and civilians badly wounded — so far. The count is nowhere near complete.”
“And vast amounts of direct and indirect economic damage,” Hans Krueger added. “I…”
“To hell with the economy,” Voss snapped. “We have worse problems at hand!”
Volker tapped the table. He doubted that any of them had slept in the last day or two, not after the offensive had begun. Now… they were all short-tempered, wanting to fight each other rather than calming down and deciding what to do coldly and rationally. But what could they do?
“The situation is dire,” he said. “It may take us weeks to come to grips with it…”
“The situation is disastrous,” Voss corrected. “Herr Chancellor, there is no hope of resuming the offensive before spring.”
“And if that’s the case,” Volker said, “we may have no hope of resuming the offensive at all.”
“Yes, Herr Chancellor,” Krueger said. “The impact of those nuclear detonations might have been enough to tip our economy right over the edge. Workers have stayed home over the last twenty-four hours, even outside the red zone. I’d say we’ll be looking at complete collapse within the next few weeks.”
Volker met his eyes. “And then… what?”
Krueger stared back at him. “There will be a cascade of failures as factories and other industrial plants shut down, each closure starting the next closure,” he said. “Workers will be dismissed, placing more pressure on our social security networks at the worst possible time; money will run short, making it impossible to convince farmers to ship food into the cities as we won’t be able to pay them. We can paper over the cracks for a while, Herr Chancellor, but I doubt we can make it last until spring.”
He swallowed hard. “It will be just like 1919 and 1932,” he added. “Only a great deal worse.”
Volker rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t old enough to remember the Great Depression, but he’d heard the stories of deprivation… and how the Volk, desperate for a saviour, had turned to Adolf Hitler. How long would the Provisional Government last if another Hitler arose on the streets and demanded power? And what could he do to stop it?
“That’s a long-term problem,” Voss said. “Right now, we have to retaliate.”
Krueger coughed. “You would sentence countless Germans to death?”
“Right now, Holliston thinks he’s scared us,” Voss snapped. “He thinks we’re too scared of his nuclear arsenal to resume the offensive.”