The Berkut Read Online Free PDF

APRIL 29, 1945, 9:40 A.M.
    Moving his group through Berlin's catacombs, Brumm concentrated on the plan and tasks that lay ahead. In planning this mission they had anticipated mass confusion in the city-indeed, they had counted on it as a key factor-but they hadn't realized how bad it would be. Since parachuting into the city, nothing had gone quite as anticipated. Still, here he was safely across the Spree River and on his way to the rendezvous. This was the critical step. If the rendezvous was a failure or if something had happened to the others, the rest of the plan would be jeopardized; in fact, there wouldn't be any plan, just a desperate attempt at the last moment. But while he understood the implications of failure, he didn't dwell on the probabilities. He had a job to do and would do it to the fullest extent possible, using his abilities and instincts to guide him when necessary. And now he had his Valkyries as extra cards in this gambit.
    Having led the girls up from Stadtmitte Station, Brumm felt happy to be above ground again. The shelling from across the river was furious, as was return fire from nearby. Russian aircraft buzzed over the city, dropping bombs and strafing without discrimination. The war had come to Berlin in full fury.
    He could easily fix the Russian positions. As tacticians they lacked German finesse and sophistication. The Ivans were very conservative in their approaches to battle. It was not their courage that was suspect but their comprehension of the ways of war. Both he and the Soviets knew that without American materiel the Russians would be under Reich control today. But with Allied equipment and weapons, and their own millions of bodies to throw into the fray, they had pushed relendessly, until the Wehrmacht was shoved back across the Oder. On the western front, Allied pincers were closing. Vienna had fallen to the Soviets. The Americans, Brumm figured, would now be beyond the Elbe and driving toward Berlin. The British had captured Hamburg and were pushing methodically and cautiously across northern Germany. The massive Reich had shrunk dramatically. Perhaps an East- West linkup had already taken place; if not, it would happen soon. It had no bearing on his situation one way or another, but, as a soldier, he wondered.
    Certainly the Russians were not yet close to the Spree. It was their practice to cover troop advances with artillery fire, dropping a lethal curtain of explosives just ahead of their advancing troops. To Berliners who were noncombatants, this seemed like chaos, but the Ivans were deliberate, and the shells falling in the city told Brumm exactly where they were. Like any other human event, war could be read by those trained in its secrets.
    The closer the Ivans got, the heavier the fighting would be and the less willing individual Russian soldiers would be to sacrifice themselves, with the end so obviously near. The Soviet troops, he suspected, would be leery of everything, and because of their caution and the heavy flow of civilians fleeing the city, he calculated that his party could make its escape.
    Two blocks from where the Friedrichstrasse intersected the BelleAlliance Platz, the colonel turned onto a narrow side street. To his surprise, it was relatively free of debris. He sent Waller and two of her companions across the street, and after they were in position he surveyed the area. Unlike most other streets, there were no bodies of German soldiers hanging from the light posts-reminders from fanatics that the city must be defended. Those who tried to escape fighting were being hanged and displayed as a deterrent. This block seemed almost the way it must have been before the Russian assault: neat, quiet and ordinary.
    Very few people knew that underneath the tightly packed row of hundred-year-old red brick homes was a system of bunkers built several years before in great secrecy. The construction workers had been slaves and had been eliminated when the work was completed.