Designated Targets

feelings. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think so. Perhaps I would not have been so quick in my betrayal. Perhaps I was ready to throw it in after the Eastern Front. I don’t know, Muller. I did not have the luxury of growing up in your world.”

Willie patted his arm. “You were very sick, when you returned from Belgorod. That medal they pinned on you was supposed to make everything better. Men are full of such foolishness, Herr Muller. But not my Paul. He is a good man. We are good Germans.”

Muller controlled the sick sneer that threatened to crawl across his lips at the old phrase. “You are.” He nodded and waved his flexipad in their direction. “I have convinced my controllers of that. Although, it was the information you sent, Brasch, which has saved your hides.”

The engineer flushed with anger. “That is not why I sent it, as you well know. I have saved the hides of my enemy, and condemned thousands of my comrades. I did so without knowing that you were coming for me. I did so knowing that it probably meant the deaths of my wife and child when—not if, but when I was found out. So you can cram your insinuations back into your arse, where they came from, Herr Kapitan.”

“Paul, please,” Willie pleaded.

Muller smiled and shook his head. “No, Frau Brasch, your husband is right. I should not pick at this scab. He has done a great service, not just for the world, but Germany herself.”

“And so my reward is to be abandoned here,” said Brasch.

“Left, not abandoned,” Muller corrected. “Your wife and son will be smuggled out, and their disappearance covered up by the bombing raid in two days’ time. You, however, must stay. Like me. There is more work to be done.”

Brasch’s wife gripped her husband’s arm tightly. “But they will know, Paul. They will search the rubble and find we are not here, and they will think we have escaped.”

“There will be bodies to find,” said Muller, pushing on over the woman’s objections. “Don’t concern yourself with details. The Reich is full of bodies.”

“But our neighbors. They will all be killed.”

Muller shrugged. “This area of Berlin was taken by the Soviets at the end of my war. They are better off dead. And anyway, I have observed your neighbors these last few weeks. Some of them deserve everything they get.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Muller regretted his harsh words, but he did not soften them. If this woman and her son were to survive, they would need to toughen up.

“So two days,” said Brasch, bringing them back to business.

Muller scanned the latest data burst from Fleetnet. Sea Dragon was failing, the assault collapsing in on itself. Some German units had successfully landed on British soil, but the follow-on forces had been blocked. Raeder’s most powerful ships were scrap metal. And the Luftwaffe was being pounded out of the sky.

“Two days will mark the point of maximum confusion,” said Muller. “As the two army groups are forced to pull back from the French coast or be annihilated by the Allied air forces. In two days, a thousand British and American heavy bombers will strike at Berlin, to emphasize the scale of Hitler’s failure. A few of them, specially adapted for the mission, will bomb this neighborhood into rubble, to cover your escape.”

Muller let his eyes freeze on Willie Brasch.

“Do not warn anyone. You are already traitors to the Reich. Like me.”

“But there are children . . . ,” cried Willie.

“I know,” Muller shot back, suddenly giving vent to his own suppressed rage. “Some of them are my family.”

HMS TRIDENT, ENGLISH CHANNEL

“Outstanding work, Captain Halabi.”

“Thank you, Admiral. I’ll make sure to pass your compliments on to my crew. What would really make them happy, though, are some more Metal Storm loads.”

Kolhammer disappeared inside a cloud of white noise for a moment before his image winked back into clarity. The encrypted vidlink to Washington was very shaky.

“I’m sorry,” Kolhammer said. “I think you were asking for MS reloads. There’s a seaplane on its way now, should be there in seventeen hours. It’s carrying a pallet of ammo from the Clinton. That should take you back to twelve percent. After that, I’m afraid we’re tapped out. We’re going to need everything we’ve got for Hawaii. But the first hand-tooled Vulcans should be ready for air shipment to you in a fortnight. It’s not Metal Storm, but it’s a hell of a lot better than a couple of goddamned pom-poms.”

Halabi smiled. “It will be, sir. About Hawaii, sir—will you be needing me to prepare for redeployment? It’s going to be a very unpleasant business taking those islands back. Especially with the Dessaix on the loose.”

Kolhammer must have worked through his plans for the campaign already. He shook his head emphatically. “We’ll deal with the Dessaix first,” he said. “And we’ll need to redouble our efforts to determine whether any Task Force assets have fallen into enemy hands. The Soviets, for instance. But for now, you’re best off staying right where you are. The Hawaiian mission will be run by the locals, with input from us. But it’s their show, and they’ve agreed to leave the Trident in place.”

Halabi found herself in two minds. She agreed that the best role for the Trident was as a floating early-warning center. But she felt isolated here in her own country, and the brief prospect of rejoining the community of Multinational Force ships was quietly appealing.

She had retired to her ready room and suddenly realized it was the first time in over a day and a half she’d been alone. Kolhammer looked tired, but not as tired as she felt.

“I’m sorry, sir. Excuse me,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“That’s all right, Captain. You’ve earned some rack time.”

“Soon enough, Admiral. The Germans are in retreat. The bulk of their invasion fleet didn’t make it past the halfway point. And they’re not reinforcing the airborne forces that did land.”

“I read the last burst,” said Kolhammer. “There’s some hard fighting around Ipswich. But infantry against armor? It won’t last.”

Halabi frowned. “Your burst is a bit out of date, I’m afraid, sir. The British First Armored had to pull back. The Germans were a mix of Fallschirmjager and SS Special Forces. They were pretty well equipped with portable antiarmor systems. Panzerfaust Two-fifties, I think. Or a variation on that theme, anyway. A lot of them had good, basic body armor and they were all packing assault rifles with an over-under grenade launcher. They chewed up a lot of our men.”

Kolhammer’s mouth was set in a grim line. “So what’s happening? Do they have any kind of squad-level antiair systems?”

Halabi shook her head. “No, sir. So that’s what’s happening. The RAF have regained tactical control of our airspace, and those Cyclone gunships are near permanent fixtures above the German strongpoints.”

“I see. How’s their ammunition holding up?”

“I think we’ll run out of Germans before we run out of ammo, sir.”

Kolhammer sighed. “Well, we can’t do much better than that.”

The link dropped out.

Halabi stared at the wall of static for a full minute, wondering if the admiral might reconnect, but he didn’t.

She rubbed her eyes, which felt as though they’d been baking inside a pizza oven. She sent a quick note to McTeale, updating him on the schedule for Metal Storm reloads. The Trident hummed under her feet. They’d withdrawn into the comparatively safer waters south of Ireland. It meant that the ship’s own sensors weren’t available to directly monitor the main battlespace over the Channel and the southern counties, but the Admiralty had decided that with the German attack effectively broken, they could afford to downgrade to drone cover only.

Halabi chuckled: a dry, mirthless sound.

A few months ago, the ’temps wouldn’t have thought of drone coverage as a “downgrade.” It would have been a bloody miracle.