Bitter Seeds by Tregillis Ian

Author:Tregillis, Ian [Tregillis, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2010-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

1 September 1940

Reichsbehörde für die Erweiterung germanischen Potenzials

On Sundays, Klaus took breakfast with Doctor von Westarp.

His parlor on the third floor of the farmhouse overlooked the grounds of the REGP. The treetops of the distant forest shimmered green, yellow, and red in an early autumn breeze. Over the susurration of leaves, one could hear the stutter of a machine gun, the whoosh and crackle of fire, the whumpf of muffled land mine detonations, Buhler barking orders off in the distance. Gravel pattered against the windowpanes. It came from the immense sand pit that had been constructed on the west side of the complex.

It was quieter inside. The doctor demanded strict silence during meals. Extraneous noise caused indigestion, he insisted. Silence during the meal, followed by a symphony and one cup (precisely eight ounces) of coffee. That was the doctor’s recipe for a vigorous constitution. But now Mahler’s Sixth had ended, and the gramophone hissed while the needle skipped around the center of the disc. Klaus used a toast point to mop up the last of his breakfast. Today it had been quail eggs, salty Dutch bacon, lemon curd, and bitter coffee mixed with real cream.

The doctor commanded such esteem in the eyes of the Reich’s leadership that he enjoyed the first pick of many spoils of war. And Klaus, having single-handedly rescued Gretel from enemy territory (therefore making possible the chain of successes that had inflated the doctor’s prestige over the summer) enjoyed von Westarp’s favor.

Skrreep. Von Westarp raised the gramophone needle, put the arm on its cradle, and gently lifted the disc with his fingertips. He tilted it this way and that, peering at it through his thick eyeglasses, inspecting it for dust and scratches with the same concentration he applied to subjects in his laboratory.

“I have a new task for you,” he said.

At last. A frisson of excitement ricocheted through Klaus, banishing the usual lethargy brought on by a fulfilling meal. He sat up. “I’m ready.”

Emboldened by his success in May, Klaus had been agitating for another mission to England. Gretel’s report regarding her experiences in enemy custody—though hard to believe at first—pointed the way to the conquest of Great Britain. Kill the sorcerers, and the island would fall. Klaus could do that easily.

But the high command had disregarded his suggestion. Gretel’s advice had guided the Luftwaffe through the systematic elimination of Britain’s air defenses. The island nation faced a deficit of fighting men, armaments, and morale. The OKW felt that Britain’s final defenses would collapse under a sustained bombing campaign.

It was slow and inefficient. Klaus could fix the problem in a matter of days.

Von Westarp exhaled forcefully in short little bursts, clearing the gramophone disc of dust. The motes danced in the sunlight slanting through the tall windows. Between exhalations he added, almost as an afterthought, “You must do this, or my reputation will suffer.”

“I would die to prevent that,” said Klaus. He was pleased with how genuine it sounded. Perhaps it was true.

“You will oversee the construction of new incubators.

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