"So I heard. You know most of the events in the bunker, you say. What you want are details of the last day."
"Well, the last two days."
"All right. Let us begin with the evening of April 28, in 1945. Hitler announced that he was going to marry Eva Braun. To legitimize their long love affair and to repay her loyalty after she vowed she was going to die in the bunker with him. Anyway, Josef Goebbels found a justice of the peace, the very one who had married him and Magda. The justice was pulled out of a Volkssturm detachment fighting along the Friedrichstrasse. The marriage certificate was prepared, and signed by two witnesses, Goebbels and Martin Bormann. The wedding ceremony was held after midnight. About twelve-thirty in the morning on April 29. There were eight guests. They all celebrated with a small banquet after. Eva became slightly drunk on champagne. Hitler drank some, too, and tried to join the mood of gaiety. But once he was heard to mutter, 'It is all finished. Death will be a relief for me. I have been betrayed and deceived by everyone.' He meant Göring and Himmler, who—without authority—had tried to sue for peace and save their own necks, and some of his generals, who had lied to him."
Vogel watched Emily making her notes.
He resumed. From the smoothness of his telling, Emily realized that he had recounted the same story many times and was comfortable with it.
"In that underground bunker there was no day or night," said Vogel. "Hitler usually worked through the night and slept all morning. Before the wedding he called in his favorite secretary, Traudl Junge, and dictated two wills to her—a short testament in which he explained why he was marrying Eva Braun, and a longer political testament explaining the same nonsense about how the war had been forced on him by international Jewry. He waited up until Frau Junge had typed his three-page personal testament, and his ten-page political one, then he signed them and had his signatures witnessed, and then he was ready for sleep. But you know all that, don't you, Fräulein Ashcroft?"
"Most of it. What came next is what is most important to me. I hope you will omit nothing, Herr Vogel."
Vogel went back and forth in his rocking chair. "That morning, and between four-thirty and five-thirty A. M. on April 30, were the only times Hitler and Eva slept together as man and wife. At eleven in the morning on April 29, they were awake. By noon Hitler had held his last war conference, by rote, pointless. Next he sent off couriers with his testaments to get them out of Berlin. Then he began to get ready for death."
"Tell me how."
"He was worried about the efficiency of the potassium cyanide that Himmler had once given him. He wondered whether the capsules still had their potency and whether Himmler had given him the right ones. He wanted to be sure."
"That was when Hitler tried out a poison capsule on his dog."
"Ah, you know," said Vogel.
She could not tell if he was pleased with her knowledge or irked at being preempted. She decided not to show off her knowledge, but to let him tell as much as possible in his own words.
"His dog, yes," Vogel resumed. "Hitler summoned one of his four doctors in the bunker, Dr. Werner Haase. With considerable reluctance, Hitler said he wanted to learn whether the capsules were dependable and decided that a capsule should be tried out on his favorite Alsatian, Blondi. Dr. Haase forced a capsule into the dog's mouth. He reported to Hitler, 'Death was almost instantaneous.' This satisfied Hitler. That day Hitler also parted with his favorite possession. It was an oval painting of Frederick the Great that had hung over his bunker desk. Hitler had always worshipped Frederick because in 1762, near the end of the Seven Years' War and about to suffer defeat at the hands of the Russians, Saxons, and Austrians, Frederick had miraculously managed to survive when the alliance fell apart upon the czarina's death. Hitler took down this painting of Frederick and gave it to his favorite pilot Hans Bauer. He asked Bauer to keep it or preserve it in a museum. When Bauer tried to escape later, he took the painting out of its frame and slid it under his shirt. But the Russians caught and interned him—and presumably the painting as well."
Vogel went on to recall what of consequence had happened next. "By nine that evening—Sunday, the twenty-ninth—Hitler received a news flash, transmitted by Stockholm radio, that Mussolini had been caught in northern Italy by partisans and executed along with his mistress Clara Petacci. It is unlikely that Hitler knew the horrible aftermath. In any case, he didn't appear interested. At midnight, he learned that Berlin could not be defended any longer and that Russian soldiers would reach the Chancellery during the coming day. At two-thirty in the morning Hitler wanted to say good-bye to his immediate staff. Twenty of the staff lined up in the bunker corridor, and Hitler, with Bormann at his side, shuffled down the line briefly shaking hands with each. Near daybreak Hitler went to sleep with Eva."
"When did you say he awakened?"
"At five-thirty A.M. on April 30. His last day. He was told that the Russians were coming through the Tiergarten, had reached Potsdamer Platz, and one Soviet unit was no more than a block from the Chancellery and the bunker itself."
"Wasn't he scared?"
"Quite calm," said Vogel. "Perhaps catatonic. He knew the end had come. He ordered Günsche to round up two hundred liters of gasoline or petrol—"
"The same thing," said Emily, writing.
"Günsche phoned Kempka, the chauffeur who was in charge of transport supplies, and asked for the two hundred liters. Kempka couldn't imagine why so much was needed. He said there was not that much on hand and it would be risky to search for more. Günsche told him to find what he could, and bring the filled jerricans to the Führerbunker exit that opened into the garden. Kempka finally found one hundred eighty liters—there were about twenty liters in each jerrican—and got three strong SS guards to help him roll them up to the garden. While this was happening, about two-thirty in the afternoon, Hitler calmly decided to have his last lunch. He asked his two favorite secretaries, Frau Trudl Junge and Frau Gerda Christian, and his somewhat timid vegetarian cook, Fräulein Konstanze Manzialy, to join him. Eva Braun Hitler did not join them. They ate spaghetti and sauce, and a tossed salad. Meanwhile, the Russian artillery was sending barrage after barrage of shells into the area. One shell exploded near the bunker entrance, where I was standing guard, and the force of it knocked me over. I was terribly frightened. I crawled down the steps into the corridor to protect my-self. That's when I saw, with my own eyes, Hitler's second and last farewell at the end of the corridor. He had just come out of his private rooms with Eva behind him. He was wearing his usual visored cap, field-gray jacket with the Iron Cross pinned on it, and black trousers and shoes. Frau Hitler was wearing a dark blue polka-dot dress and her imported Italian pumps. There were twelve men and five women in the corridor this time, as far as I could count. All lined up before the framed Italian paintings on the corridor wall. Hitler was limply shaking hands with everyone. Eva was hugging the women, and allowing the men to kiss her hand. Then Hitler and Eva went back to their rooms, as the others dispersed. At this point, Magda Goebbels burst out of her quarters and tried to speak to Hitler. Giinsche blocked her way. Magda screamed something like, 'I must see him. He cannot commit suicide. There is still time to take off for Berchtesgaden.' So insistent was Magda that Giinsche repeated Magda's message. Hitler mumbled, 'Too late, too late for anything.' Linge had joined Giinsche, and Hitler said to Linge, Linge, old friend, I want you to join the breakout group and get away.' Linge asked, 'Why, my Führer?' Hitler replied, 'To serve the man who will come after me.' Then he added to Linge, 'Close the door. Wait in the anteroom. After ten minutes, open the door and come inside.' Then he and Eva killed themselves."
Emily interrupted. "But no one saw it?"
Vogel replied, testily, "How could they? His last instructions were to be left alone."
"How did they know he and Eva killed themselves?"
"Because after ten minutes they opened his door and found them both dead on the blue and white velvet sofa."
"They must have heard the shot?"<
br />
"They heard nothing. The steel double door to Hitler's private quarters was not only fireproof and gasproof, but also soundproof."
"Some historians wrote that a shot was heard."
Vogel shook his head vigorously. "No, no. That was a mistake. When Kempka rushed into the bunker later, to find out what was happening, Günsche told him Hitler was dead. Günsche used a familiar gesture, pointing a finger into his mouth as if it were a pistol, although he knew that Hitler had shot himself in the temple. Later, when Kempka was interrogated by American and British intelligence officers, they asked him whether he'd heard the suicide shot. Kempka knew what they wanted to hear, so he told them that everyone had heard the shot. Actually, no one had heard any shot."
"After ten minutes, when Hitler's aides entered his room, were you among them?"
"No," said Vogel regretfully. "I was ordered back to my post outside the bunker entrance. But I saw more afterward and I will tell you about that. Anyway, I heard what happened when the others went into Hitler's living room. Linge entered first, and he was nauseated by the smell of bitter almond and cordite in the room. He was followed by Bormann, Günsche, Goebbels, and Artur Axmann, head of the Hitler Youth, who had just arrived."
"They all saw Hitler dead?" said Emily.
"Saw both of them dead. Hitler was slumped in the left corner of the sofa. He had bitten a cyanide capsule and also, with his right hand, put the muzzle of the black Walther 7.65 pistol to his right temple at eyebrow level and pulled the trigger. The shot drilled a hole into his temple and blood was oozing from the wound. His pistol had slipped down to the carpet."
"And Eva Braun Hitler?"
"She was two feet away. She had kicked off her pumps, tucked her legs under her. She had bitten into the cyanide capsule and fallen against Hitler, her legs knocking over a white Dresden vase of tulips on the coffee table. She had apparently considered also using a pistol, a smaller Walther, but Linge found it unused on the table, its chambers still fully loaded. Dr. Ludwig Stumpfegger, an orthopedic surgeon, was summoned. He examined them, and pronounced them both dead."
"Both dead," repeated Emily. "Then the cremation?"
"I saw much of it myself," said Vogel quietly. "Horrifying." He was lost in thought a moment, then began speaking again. "Along with several other guards, I was one of the Zaungäste—what you would call peeping Toms. I was told the valet Linge threw a brown army blanket over the upper part of Hitler's body covering his bloody face. Linge carried Hitler from his private room through the anteroom into the corridor toward the bottom of the stairwell leading up to the emergency exit into the garden. But Hitler weighed about one hundred eighty pounds and was too heavy for Linge alone. He handed the body over to the three young SS men, who carried it head first up the four flights of stairs. After that came Bormann, carrying Eva, partially covered with a blanket but her face clearly visible. Kempka told me Bormann was carrying her like 'a sack of potatoes.' Kempka knew how much Eva had disliked Bormann in life, so he snatched her body away from Bormann, and turned it over to Günsche who carried it up the stairs with the help of two more SS men. Briefly, between Russian shell bursts, I could hear or sense that something was happening alongside the Führerbunker. So I left my post and came around to see what was taking place."
"You saw them bury the two?"
"I saw it all," said Vogel. "The three SS men had come out hauling Hitler's body from the bunker."
"Could you see his face?"
"It was still covered. But I could plainly see his familiar black trousers and thick shoes sticking out from under the blanket. About ten meters from the exit there was a shallow trench. Hitler's body was lowered into it. Then they brought out Eva Braun. I could see her face. It looked peaceful. Also, I could see her feet in her Ferragamo shoes outside the blanket. They lowered her corpse into the trench beside Hitler. Immediately, nine of them came out of the bunker to watch in the windy afternoon. I recognized Linge, Goebbels, and Bormann, also Dr. Stumpfegger." Vogel winced at the memory of those moments. "Two of the SS men came forward with jerricans, and started dumping gasoline on the bodies—I would guess about fifty gallons. Linge tried to light something and set the bodies aflame, but a series of shell bursts drove them back into the bunker emergency exit. At last, Linge managed to light an improvised torch, either some paper twisted into a cone or a rag, and he came forward and succeeded in throwing it on the doused bodies. Instantly, there was a blue flame and smoke. The nine witnesses who had retreated all lifted their arms in the old Nazi salute. The flames grew higher. The witnesses went back into the bunker and I crept back to my post."
"The cremation was over?"
"Not quite. It was not easy to burn two bodies in a shallow trench. Orders had been given to continue pouring gasoline on the bodies. So for three or four hours SS guards kept returning to the trench to pour more and more jerricans of gasoline on the cadavers. Then, before nightfall, while it was still light, I decided to have a look for myself."
"And you saw the remains of Hitler and Braun."
Vogel nodded. "No one was in sight, so I sneaked over to the trench. The flames were simmering down. I thought I could make out the contours of Hitler's face. It was terribly hot. Both bodies were steaming, the flesh on each boiled away. The lower part of Hitler had burned completely. I could only see his shinbones. As for Eva Braun's body, you couldn't recognize her, only that it was the charred body of a female. I turned aside and vomited. After that, I learned, the two bodies were buried."
"Did anyone tell you where?" Emily asked.
"I was told that SS Brigadeführer Johann Rattenhuber, chief of bunker security, ordered three other SS guards to remove the corpses from the shallow trench and bury them nearby. The SS guards got a piece of canvas tent, somehow placed what was left of the bodies, the bones and ashes, on the canvas and dragged it to a deeper shell crater not far away. They covered the crater with loose earth and rubble, and pounded the earth down with either a wooden rammer or shovel. I heard that Axmann had joined them and asked the guards to scoop up some of Hitler's ashes and put them in a box, which he carried away, God knows to where. Following that, the others in the bunker broke out, trying to save their lives. I was ordered to stay behind, along with three more SS guards, to dispose of any security leftovers inside the bunker. We all drank and slept a little, and then by morning the first Russians appeared in the bunker. They were from the NKVD. They wanted to know about Hitler. I told them what I've just told you. They wanted to see the burial site. One of our men led them to the dirt-filled crater. Shortly after, the Russians dug it up and from the pit came up with Hitler's jawbone. They managed to match the teeth to X rays of Hitler's teeth found in a dental file. They were satisfied that Hitler had died, and later been buried in the Führerbunker garden. There you have it, Fräulein Ashcroft."
Emily sat very still, resting her cramped writing hand. It sounded so real, so authentic, as if it were an event beyond all possible doubt.
Still, Emily had her job, her father's job, and she found herself blurting out, "The remains—the jawbone—could it have been that of anyone but Hitler?"
Momentarily, Vogel looked startled. "How could it have been anyone else?"
Emily reminded herself that Hitler's suicide had been the central point of Vogel's life, his entire life, this oft-told story, and that he would never suspect it or give it up.
And it sounded true. This she had to admit to her-self. There had been so many witnesses, so many. Could all of them have agreed to lie? Impossible. Or been misled? Unlikely. Or had they wanted to believe .because it had been, as it was for Vogel, a great historical moment in their lives, and they had wanted it to be true? Had it all really happened as just recited, and was it the full truth?
Emily wondered whether this was truer than the suspicions of one possibly crackpot dentist. Unless she saw the dentist and he was absolutely persuasive, she would have to buy Vogel's story, the accepted version, for the climax of the book. It was possible her fa
ther had been wrong, had been taken in. It was probable that what she had just heard was the whole truth, and that she did not need to pry further. She could safely finish the book with this account.
But the dissent still nagged at her. She had always respected her father, his diligence, his steadiness, his objectivity, and there had been something that disturbed him about the historical version. Besides, the reporter Nitz had warned her: Don't let Vogel discourage you too much. . . . After you've heard him out, go after your reluctant informant even harder. Use the straight stuff you learn from Vogel to bait your dissenter.
She realized that she must go on a step farther. One more step was demanded. If that was not the truth, then this was.
She was on her feet thanking Vogel, and promising to send him one of the first copies of the book.
Back in her suite at the Kempinski, Emily found herself wavering once more.
Ernst Vogel had been so convincing about the certainty of Hitler's death and burial in 1945 that any effort to refute it seemed utter foolishness. Perhaps her father's last quest in Berlin had been quixotic, a slippage from his normal stability, the sign of an inexplicable desire to produce a sensation in his waning years. Perhaps she, like most daughters, was automatically acting out the Freudian relationship that tied daughters to fathers. The father could do no wrong. In this civil war of uncertainty, she was almost prepared to retreat. Pack her bags, get out of Berlin, return to Oxford and finish the damn book.
But still the paternal ghost was watching her. She hesitated. It was difficult to disown her heritage so abruptly.
Although filled with doubt, she walked slowly into the bedroom, picked up the file of recent correspondence she had carried from Oxford, sat on the edge of the bed and leafed through it. She pulled out the letter to her father that had started all this—the letter from the dentist, Dr. Max Thiel of West Berlin. She began to reread it. "All histories to date on Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun may have been wrong in one major respect. It is quite possible that Hitler and Braun did not commit suicide in the Führerbunker in 1945. Both may very well have survived. I believe I have the evidence to prove it." She fingered the letter and recalled that her father had met with Dr. Thiel, and had been impressed enough to arrange to dig in the area of the Führerbunker for new evidence overlooked until now.
The Seventh Secret Page 9