by Daniel Wyatt
Although Heinrich Himmler was on the run from the Russians, he still loathed seeing anybody stabbing him in the back. Zeller and Bormann were in cahoots. They had sworn a pact. Were Bormann and Zeller trying to escape with V-4 blueprints and deal with the Americans? Himmler knew he couldn’t get at Bormann because he was too close to the Fuehrer. So, he’d go after Zeller, instead.
Himmler opened his door.
His adjutant, Ludwig Hahn, had a telephone receiver to his ear. “Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer?”
“Get me Colonel Geinns on the phone, immediately.”
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer.” The adjutant spoke into the phone. “Yes, I will tell my superior. Thank you.” He hung up.
“Tell me what?”
“Herr Reichsfuehrer! Our people have located Count Bernadotte of the Swedish Red Cross.”
“They have?”
“Yes.”
“Finally. Where’s he been?”
“The Swedish Embassy in Lubeck.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“Do you wish to speak to him in person?”
“Not now, you fool.”
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer. But you—”
“Sometime soon, perhaps.”
Harz Mountains
Zeller was bound, gagged, and whisked from his bunk inside the barracks in the cool of the evening by two SS guards and dragged outside into the darkness of the compound. Wearing only a long nightshirt, Zeller shivered. Two guards pushed the scientist to his knees.
Colonel Geinns walked up, his boots crunching the gravel. “For crimes against the state, Karl Zeller, you are to be shot on orders from Heinrich Himmler. Do you have any last words?”
Zeller nodded.
“Release the cloth from his mouth,” Geinns demanded, and waited for one of the guards to obey.
“Yes, I have something to say,” Zeller gasped, his breath steaming the air.
“What is it? Quickly.”
“Save yourselves. United States officials have files on Nazi atrocities. They are receiving more and more such information all the time. They know about the torture and the Jewish concentration camps. Run while you can. You, Geinns are mentioned. You and Himmler. Run. Run.”
“Shoot him!” Geinns yelled.
Two revolvers flashed in the night. Four bullets later, Zeller lay dead on the stones.
Lake Lucerne
Hollinger and McCreedy had drinks in their hands on the hotel terrace. “Shakes you up, don’t it?” McCreedy said.
Hollinger agreed, nodding. “Yeah, that it does.”
They looked over the lake and the Swiss mountains, glittering in the moonlight. They had come outside to get a breath of air after reading the printed reports, only a few days old. Belsen and Buchenwald concentration camps had been liberated by British and American troops. The full horror of Nazi crimes were now evident. At Belsen, near Hamburg, the British saw 10,000 unburied dead and over 40,000 starving, sick, and dying prisoners, exposed to the elements. The Americans found Buchenwald, near Weimar, in similar ghastly condition. Twenty thousand were still alive, barely. Thousands dead.
McCreedy guzzled his wine, the moonlight reflecting off his glasses. “I still have to wonder about something, the cynic that I am.”
“What?”
“According to our sources, Himmler is responsible for... these...”
“Horrors?” Hollinger said.
“Yeah, horrors. For some reason Bormann is trying awfully hard to convince us that Himmler is the man that the Allies will hold responsible for the concentration camps.”
“So?”
“So, pal, Bormann is Hitler’s confidant. Bormann had to have some say in it. The orders to eliminate the Jews would have come through Hitler’s office.”
“Didn’t I suspect Bormann from the beginning?”
“Yes, you did, I admit.”
Hollinger set his glass down on the outdoor table. “Messy damn business.”
“You know what I think, Wesley, old boy?” McCreedy turned his back to Hollinger.
“What do you think, Tom?”
“Our side wants Bormann’s neck, along with all the fancy machinery. The OSS brass, I think, are laying a trap for him.”
“Why do you figure that?”
“He knows too much. He has the goods on Dulles, on Nazi bank accounts, you name it. He can’t be trusted. Once the public gets all the facts about the camps, Bormann will be a marked man. And you know what else? Bormann knows it.”
“You think so?”
“I’m sure he does. He’s no dummy. Our deal with him is not going to be as cut and dried as we think. There has to be some reason why he’s held up in Berlin, waiting for the Russians. He’s up to something.”
“You think he may try his own escape?”
“It’s highly possible,” McCreedy said. “In fact, I’d bet on it.”
“You may be right. But we still have our OSS orders. All we can do is wait until he makes his move.”
TWENTY-THREE
Berlin — April 20
Martin Bormann stood back from the others and viewed the dismal morning scene in the crowded Chancellery garden. Today was a public holiday for Adolf Hitler’s fifty-sixth birthday.
Everyone did their best to ignore the crunch of Russian artillery fire off in the distance. General Zhuvov’s victorious troops had now reached the north-eastern suburbs of the once great German capital. And here was the Fuehrer, looking every bit of twenty years older, accompanied by Hermann Goering, Heinrich Himmler and Josef Goebbels, pinning medals on eager members of the Hitler Youth, and shaking hands with them. Also in the throng of bodies stood Albert Speer and Joachim von Ribbentrop, both hollow eyed. Bormann grunted to himself. What a picture they were. And what about the Hitler Youth? They were chosen to be the rear line of the nation’s defense for the pathetic Nazi leadership. They would fight the Russians to the last. That wouldn’t take too long. Hours? Minutes?
Bormann was disgusted. So deplorable. So distressing. More needless deaths. He looked across the garden and caught Goering’s eye, and they shook their heads at each other.
* * * *
Goering emerged from the depths of the bunker shortly after noon to find Bormann smoking, waiting opposite a battered concrete wall, while the others were below celebrating what was sure to be Hitler’s last birthday on earth. The Luftwaffe leader lumbered over to the Little Fat Man. They stood two feet apart, Goering in his new, clean khaki uniform, tailored to his body, and Bormann in his equally-startling white Reichsleiter tunic, riding breeches and glossy riding boots.
“Blood brother, Herr Bormann.”
“Blood brother, Herr Goering.”
“It just came through. Nuremberg has fallen to the Americans,” Goering said, gravely.
Bormann huffed. “The site of our Party rallies. Does the Fuehrer know?”
“Yes. That’s not all. Marshall Rokossovski’s Second White Russian Front has moved along the Lower Odor and has taken Pomerania and Mecklenburg. And all the Fuehrer can say is, ‘and now it’s a fight for Berlin. The Russians will suffer their greatest defeat.’ He almost looked relieved. When I left, the Fuehrer was speaking with Admiral Doenitz behind closed doors.”
Bormann puffed on his cigarette. “Yes, Goering, and do you know why?”
“I’m sure I can guess. Herr Doenitz will be the new Fuehrer.”
“Yes, and in particular Hitler is advising the admiral to establish his headquarters at Obersalzberg, before the Russians encircle Berlin and cut us off.”
“Then despite what Hitler said about the upcoming Russian defeat, he must admit that the end is near.”
“Yes, but we — you — can do something before Doenitz takes over.”
“What can I do?”
“You can seize power yourself, before the Fuehrer dies.”
“How? And why take that chance at this point in time if we are waiting to deal with the OSS?”
“Because you can deal better as the
new Fuehrer. Listen to me, you fool. Did the Fuehrer not make you — by decree — his official successor on June 29, 1941?”
“Yes, but—”
“Here’s what you can do. Where were you planning to go after Berlin?”
“I will return to my mountain chalet at Berchtesgaden, of course.”
With your family and art treasures, you fat cow, Bormann thought. “Of course. At your chalet, you are only a few miles from the Swiss border. Perfect. I want you to know that Doenitz will not be accepted as the new leader. The land forces know that you were confirmed as Hitler’s successor. They will listen only to you, not a navy man.”
Goering felt proud. “They will?”
“Yes, they will. I am certain of it. I would stake my life on it. Besides, you must be the new leader so that you can take care of Himmler and give him his just desserts.”
“Himmler? Why Himmler? What does he have to do with this? Is he planning to take power?”
Bormann inhaled slowly, and blew out some smoke. “Because he has our scientists held up, under SS guard, in the Harz Mountains. And he killed one of them.”
“He did! Who?”
“My contact, Zeller.”
Goering’s face reddened. “The butcher!”
“Yes, blood brother. Himmler is and always was a butcher. If we don’t get rid of him, he’ll cut his own negotiations with the Americans, and use the scientists to do it. What we have to do is deliver the scientists and the—”
“The blueprints,” Goering interrupted. “Are they out of harm’s way?”
Bormann smiled for a moment, stamping his cigarette into the ground. With Zeller dead, Bormann’s situation appeared grave in one respect. His smile faded as he thought of his line to the OSS, now cut. “Very safe. And Himmler doesn’t know a thing about them.”
“Wait. What is that?” Goering looked to the sky. Miles away. Dark specks... and streams of white. High-altitude aircraft.
“American bombers,” Bormann said the words for the Luftwaffe leader.
“And it’s only fitting on Hitler’s birthday,” Goering added.
“Yes, isn’t it. We had better get below before the fireworks start. But first, do you agree to take power.”
“When?”
“When I tell you. Go to your chalet and sit tight.”
“I can see one problem.”
“What problem?”
“The Fuehrer. What if he objects?”
“Don’t you worry about the Fuehrer.” Bormann smiled. “I’ll look after that. All you have to do is to notify the Fuehrer of your intentions and I will see to the rest. I guarantee it. Besides, he seems more relaxed now that Eva has been here a few days.”
Hitler’s mistress of twelve years, pretty Eva Braun, had arrived to join her lover on the fifteenth of April. The German public knew very little about her and her association with the Fuehrer. Word in the bunker was that the two would be married shortly.
“Ah, Eva,” Goering uttered, sadly. “It is too bad she has come for her wedding... and her funeral.”
Bormann nodded in agreement. “Yes, she never was very bright.”
Wustrow
Two things were certain to Heinrich Himmler upon his return to his headquarters by aircraft later on that day: he would never visit Berlin again by choice, and he would never see Hitler alive again. The Fuehrer was lost in his own world of drugs and phantom armies made up of young boys ready to die for a cause not worth anything any more. Before he left Berlin, Himmler had already put his plans into place. He conferred with his Gestapo man in the city, Heinrich Muller, giving instructions to murder all the important political prisoners involved in the July 20, 1944 bomb plot to assassinate Hitler.
Himmler entered his office. Now, in light of recent news, he had to make more plans. According to SS reports, Patton’s men had found the radio-controlled V-4’s. Had the Americans got word of the slave labour there? Himmler knew he had no collateral to negotiate with the Allies, except for the scientists.
He called his tired adjutant in.
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer?” Hahn answered.
“We can’t turn in, not yet. I want extra SS guards on the scientists at Bleicherode. They are to be taken further south, near the Swiss border.” Himmler had a map spread out on his desk. “Bavaria. There’s some old army barracks at Oberammergau.”
“Are these orders from Berlin?”
“No. They are my orders. Do it. I will accept all responsibility.”
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer.”
“Then, send a memo to all concentration camp commandants telling them to release all remaining camp prisoners.”
“All of them, Herr Reichsfuehrer?”
“Yes. Jews. Men, women, children. Everybody. Also, in the memo I want it stated that all crematoriums were used to kill the victims of war epidemics. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer.”
“Another thing, get me Count Bernadotte of the Swedish Red Cross. Right away!”
“At this hour?”
“Yes, at this hour! Step to it!”
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer.”
“Get back to me.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Berlin — April 22
The day did not start out favourably for those seven hundred who still remained out of blind loyalty in the Fuehrerbunker. News had arrived, threefold: Nine hundred four-engined Royal Air Force bombers had turned Bremen to ashes. The First French Army had taken Stuttgart. The Second British Army were pounding at the doors of Hamburg. Still, Adolf Hitler held hope that Berlin would not go the way of Stuttgart and Nuremberg before it.
His reason?
SS General Felix Steiner was given command of the 11th Panzer Army, ordered by the Fuehrer to head southeast to slice the Soviet Red Army in half and lift the siege on Berlin. Rising at nine that morning, Hitler was expecting a positive report from Steiner. Soon. Hitler had great confidence in Steiner, who had stopped the Red Army advance only weeks before at Pomerania. Could he do it again? In Hitler’s world, Steiner could. Never mind that the general had only a few thousand men with only a handful of usable tanks.
Tagebuch in hand, Bormann saw the act unfold; a pitiful scene it was too. In a conference, the overly-optimistic Army Chief of Staff General Hans Krebs was giving Hitler the verbal report of Steiner’s progress. According to Krebs, the battle was actually going quite nicely for Steiner. Bormann knew better. What a liar Krebs was. Bormann’s suspicions were confirmed when General Alfred Jodl interrupted the meeting by telling Hitler that the city was surrounded. A grin formed on Bormann’s lips, then faded quickly. He sat up, waiting for the truth to clear the air.
“Where is Steiner? What’s he doing?” Hitler asked Jodl.
“He is not doing... that well,” Jodl admitted. “The Russians have broken through.”
The Fuehrer went into a rage, shaking, stomping his feet. “Everyone has deserted me! Cowards! That’s what they are! All cowards!” Then he sank into his chair, holding his throat, breathing heavy. His body began to twitch. He lowered his voice, and uttered, “The war is lost. Lost. There is nothing left to fight for.”
Bormann gulped. Here was the man who he had admired for so many years. Now look at him. “If you lose faith, mein Fuehrer, then everything is lost. Is it not?”
Hitler nodded, his head jerking. “Yes.”
“There is still a way out, mein Fuehrer.”
Hitler stared at the wall. “How, Bormann? Tell me, how.”
“Leave for your Berchtesgaden estate at once. From there, a neutral country can take you in. Spain or Argentina, perhaps. With the rugged terrain in the mountains, we can fend off the Allies for weeks or months while someone negotiates on your behalf.”
Hitler shook his head. It took him a long time to answer. “Himmler told me the same thing yesterday by telephone. But there is no safe haven for me. For the rest of you, that’s another story.” He looked up at Bormann, his eyes glassy. “Bormann?”
Bormann stood, clicked his heels. “Yes, mein Fuehrer.”
“I will never leave Berlin. Do you hear me? I want you to destroy all documents in the Fuehrerbunker.”
“Yes, mein Fuehrer. I will see to it right away.” Perfect, thought Bormann, showing no emotion.
Berlin — April 23
In the afternoon, Bormann peeled the telegram off the machine in the communications room. Else Krueger gazed from afar. As she turned away, he grinned to himself, heading for Hitler’s office.
“Mein, Fuehrer, I think you should read this,” he said, at the open door.
Hitler was staring off, his mind absent of thought. Patting his dog, Blondi, he glanced up from his desk. “What is it, Bormann?” Hitler took the telegram and read it.
MY FUEHRER! IN VIEW OF YOUR DECISION TO REMAIN AT YOUR POST IN THE FORTRESS OF BERLIN, DO YOU AGREE THAT I TAKE OVER, AT ONCE, THE TOTAL LEADERSHIP OF THE REICH WITH FULL FREEDOM OF ACTION, AT HOME AND ABROAD, AS YOUR DEPUTY IN ACCORDANCE WITH YOUR DECREE OF 29 JUNE 1941? IF NO REPLY IS RECEIVED BY TEN O’CLOCK TONIGHT, I SHALL TAKE IT FOR GRANTED THAT YOU HAVE LOST YOUR FREEDOM OF ACTION AND SHALL CONSIDER THE CONDITIONS OF YOUR DECREE AS FULFILLED, AND SHALL ACT FOR THE BEST INTEREST OF OUR COUNTRY AND OUR PEOPLE. YOU KNOW WHAT I FEEL FOR YOU IN THIS GRAVEST HOUR OF MY LIFE. WORDS FAIL ME TO EXPRESS MYSELF. MAY GOD PROTECT YOU, AND SPEED YOU QUICKLY HERE IN SPITE OF IT ALL.
YOUR LOYAL,
HERMANN GOERING
Glassy-eyed, Hitler said, slowly, “It doesn’t matter who arranges the capitulation, now. Goering could do it, I suppose, although he’s corrupt and a drug addict.”
Bormann did not expect this. He stepped forward, knowing that he would have to act quickly. “But mein Fuehrer, the Reichmarshall demands an answer from you by ten tonight. That... that is high treason.”
Hitler’s mood quickly changed. He squeezed the paper in his fist. A slow burn began to heat inside him. “You’re right. The traitor! An ultimatum! Giving me until ten o’clock tonight! How dare he!”
“Yes, he is a traitor. What should we do, mein Fuehrer?”