by Lee Rudnicki
General Weidling was not particularly happy about having to come to the Führerbunker for the meeting. The journey from his Bendlerblock headquarters had been treacherous; his staff car got raked with gunfire on the way. Besides, he knew what was in store for them. Hitler would rant and rave and point out military units that no longer existed on a map. Then he would accuse everyone of insubordination or incompetence. Maybe he will actually shoot one of us this time, he thought.
The mysterious SS officer who had been at Hitler’s side for the last few weeks blocked the entrance to the Führerbunker. “Give me your sidearm, general,” Heydrich demanded.
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
“Your weapon, please.”
“The account for our sins of past years has arrived,” Weidling muttered under his breath as he reluctantly handed his pistol over to Heydrich.
Normally, Weidling wouldn’t have thought twice about turning in his firearm prior to a staff meeting with Hitler. But then the Führer ordered his execution by firing squad, when he thought that Weidling ordered the LVI Panzer Corps to retreat. The death warrant got rescinded, but when your superior orders you to be shot, your professional relationship tends to change. As a result, he wasn’t fighting for Hitler now. He was fighting for the German people. Or was it self-preservation? Or was it because the rest of the world branded me a war criminal and there is nowhere to run? He chuckled when he realized that he actually had no idea why he stayed in Berlin as the Red Army encircled the city.
In any event, his main concern at that point was not Adolf Hitler, it was the fact that the Russians would eventually find the bunker—he didn’t plan to be around when that circus rolled into town. In fact, General Weidling had no intention of being taken alive. Like Hitler, the possibility terrified him.
In the situation room, SS Brigadeführer Wilhelm Mohnke, Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels, General Hans Krebs and Chief of Staff Martin Bormann stood around a table that was covered with a large map of Germany.
At the head of the table, Adolf Hitler pointed out military units whose location had been carefully plotted on the map. In reality, only two of the German units that were depicted on that map still had anything that could even remotely be considered offensive combat capabilities. The rest had either ceased to exist or were on the run.
General Weidling entered the room, clicked his heels and saluted. General Krebs responded with a nod, but no one else acknowledged his presence. The atmosphere in the damp cement room was quiet and very, very tense.
When the Führer moved into the light, Weidling was immediately struck by how old that he looked—he was hunched over, his hair was completely gray and his left hand trembled incessantly. After the assassination attempt at the Wolfsschanze headquarters in East Prussia, the Führer disappeared from public view. Now he knew why. Von Stauffenberg’s briefcase bomb didn’t kill Adolf Hitler, but it had certainly accelerated his demise.
Despite Hitler’s deteriorating physical appearance, it was General Weidling’s duty to give him an accurate report concerning the defense of the city. “Mein Führer,” he began. “The military situation is far more desperate than it was only twenty-four hours ago. The Red Army has broken through in every sector and our men are dying at an incredible rate. We have no heavy weapons to deploy against the Soviet tanks.”
Hitler nodded. “Your men have fought bravely. Order them to hold their positions.”
Weidling expected that answer, but he was not prepared to accept it. “Mein Führer, intelligence indicates that the Russians will launch their final assault at dawn. However, my men will be out of ammunition well before then. They will have nothing to fight with except the bricks from the rubble. They will be slaughtered.”
There was a nervous murmur in the room, but Hitler remained uncharacteristically calm. “Thank you for your report, General Weidling. We will launch the counterattack soon. Final Victory will be ours.”
Final victory? Weidling was flabbergasted. “But we have no forces for a counterattack. The only reinforcements that we have seen are a small unit of French SS, half of which are wounded or too drunk to fight. It is not a question of if the Russians will overrun Berlin, but when.”
Hitler pointed at General Weidling and narrowed his eyes like a python. “You are not to allow your troops to take one step backwards until we launch Operation Tristan.”
Weidling averted his eyes and tried to summon the courage to continue the discussion. He wasn’t sure of the source of Hitler’s delusional optimism, nor did he know what other last minute ridiculous military scheme the Führer could have dreamed up. Even the V-2 rockets that terrorized the English ultimately had a negligible strategic effect. He wondered if the narcotics that Dr. Morell had been providing to Hitler could explain his belief in a miracle weapon. Too bad Heydrich collected my pistol. I could’ve shot the son-of-a-bitch myself.
General Weidling knew that he was risking a deadly confrontation by pressing his case, but he had a duty to try to save his men’s lives. He took a deep breath and nervously appealed to what was left of Hitler’s sense of reason.
“Mein Führer, please understand. We have implemented your orders to defend Berlin to the fullest extent. We built tank barriers. We flooded the subways, which drowned thousands of civilians. We sent children and old men into the streets to fight in your name and they have been butchered without mercy. All hope is lost—we must try to save German lives now. I respectfully request permission to break out to the west and surrender.”
Rage filled Hitler’s heart. Another pathetic and feeble-minded general had questioned his strategic brilliance. Everyone stepped away when Hitler started grinding his teeth. Then the Führer shook with anger and silently cursed the fact that he had to waste even an ounce of energy to convince General Weidling that victory would soon be theirs. Before he could explode, however, his mysterious SS companion beat him to it.
“The only one who should lose all hope is sitting on his big fat ass in the Kremlin!” Heydrich screamed. “Your orders were clear—your men will hold their positions until Operation Tristan is launched! If you are not capable of carrying out these orders, General Weidling, we will find someone who will!”
The room fell silent. Weidling stared at the floor, thankful that he hadn’t taken a bullet to the head. He wished that he could be anywhere else in the world other than ground zero Berlin.
“Thank you, Heydrich,” the Führer said quietly.
Heydrich responded with a salute. “Heil Hitler!”
15
Berlin Cathedral
Wolf peered through his binoculars at the open grass area that surrounded the cathedral; it was clear of everything but decaying bodies and the wrecked Panther tank that he had commanded until a few hours ago. The Lustgarten gave the defenders a clear field of fire and enabled them to hold off the Russian assaults. However, the holy building that served so well as their citadel had also become their prison. They were completely surrounded. They weren’t going anywhere.
Sebastian saw the wheels working inside Wolf’s head. “There is nowhere to go, Major Kepler. We’re stuck here until the end. But there are worse places to die.”
Wolf was not convinced. “Look, I’m not going to stand here and give you some bullshit speech about how easy it will be to get out of here alive,” he replied. “It’s going to be hard. Probably impossible. But we’ve got to try.”
Sebastian studied his face for a few seconds. “Major, how do you expect to do that? You won’t make it two meters outside that door before you get blasted. The Russians have snipers trained on this building at all times.”
“Maybe we don’t go out. We go down.”
“Down? What are you talking about?”
“When the air raids got bad in 1943, the Führer ordered all of the cellars in Berlin to be connected so people could get out if their building collapsed. These tunnels exist. If they connect to the cathedral, we might be able to access them from the crypts downstairs. We can get b
ack to German lines.”
“If there is anything left of the German lines,” Sebastian replied. He was in no rush to die, but he wasn’t sold on the plan to find a magical tunnel either. Getting back to German lines just tacked a few hours onto the end of your life. Nothing more.
Undeterred, Wolf got up. “Let’s go,” he said.
Rifle at the ready, Sebastian followed him through the cathedral. They were battle-hardened veterans with years of combat experience, but they were both scared out of their minds and very low on ammo.
In front of the altar, Sebastian rolled the body of a dead Waffen-SS trooper over. He recoiled when he saw the big ugly scar that ran the length of the soldier’s cheek. “Jesus. Someone sliced him good.”
“He got off easy,” Wolf responded bitterly. He had no pity for the dead soldier. He hoped that the SS got exactly what they deserved when the war was over; if it was even half of the misery those bastards inflicted on the rest of Europe, it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Sebastian took a bullet clip and wallet from the body and put them into his backpack. Then he spotted a crucifix near the altar. “Look at that. I bet it’s pure silver. That’s probably worth—”
“Nothing,” Wolf interrupted. “It is worth absolutely nothing. Only water and ammo are worth a goddamn thing right now. We don’t need a business plan, my friend, we need an escape route.”
When Wolf was out of sight, Sebastian discretely put the crucifix into his backpack. Water and ammo might be the only currency right now, he reasoned, but that will change when the war ends.
With his treasure safely in place, Sebastian followed Wolf down into the crypts. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and opened a small gold locket. He looked deeply into the eyes of Anna and little Sophie. It was the only photo of them that he still had. Sebastian reflected on how happy life had been in Dresden before the war and wondered how many others had lost everything.
Meanwhile, Wolf searched for the entrance to the tunnels. He didn’t find it, but the dehydrated soldier found the second best thing in a corner crowded with boxes, books and trash. He pried the lid from a barrel, splashed the water on his face and drank greedily from cupped hands. When he couldn’t drink any more, Wolf took his helmet off and dunked his head in. The water was cold, but for someone who hadn’t regularly slept or bathed for the better part of two weeks, the shock to his system was appreciated.
“Do you plan to swim out of Berlin, Major?” Sebastian asked.
Wolf pulled his head out of the water and shook like a dog. Water flew everywhere.
Sebastian’s laughing fit ended abruptly when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped into the air and his rifle went off, sending a bullet exploding into the ceiling and plaster falling down around him. Wolf dove to the floor, desperately scanning the room for the source of the threat.
In front of them stood a young woman, about seventeen or eighteen. She was beautiful. Her high cheekbones and straight burgundy hair gave her a distinctive Eastern European look. Her face gave away no secrets; her distant stare made it seem as if nothing else in the universe existed. Her clothing was minimal; she wore a white ankle-length nightgown and was barefoot, despite the fact that much of the ground in Berlin was covered with broken glass and other dangers. Somehow, her feet were uninjured.
The soldiers remained still, their weapons pointed at their unannounced guest. “They are coming for me,” she whispered. She was clearly afraid of something.
“They are coming for all of us, fräulein,” Sebastian replied, lowering his rifle. The thought of another young woman caught up in the war saddened him. He wondered if she was shell-shocked, a common condition among the civilians who remained in Berlin. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Eeee-va.” The girl spoke slowly and deliberately, as if each syllable was a struggle to get out.
“That’s a nice name. What are you doing here, Eva?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Wolf said. “We’re not bringing her with us.”
Sebastian immediately jumped into the debate. “Look at her, Major. She’s out of it. You may be in no mood to collect refugees, but this poor girl can’t look out for herself right now. We must do the honorable thing and bring her to safety.”
“Safety? What are you talking about? There is no safety in Berlin right now. You would find better safety roaming around a tiger cage with a ham sandwich tied to your fucking leg. And another thing, when did this war become about honor?”
“The night Dresden got hit.”
Narrator: Black knight eliminates white pawn, bishop and rook. All at once. Checkmate.
Wolf sighed loudly. Dresden was where all discussions about the morality of the war began and ended with Sebastian. After he uttered that word, there was nothing else to discuss. The incineration of his home and family by Allied bombers was a terrible wound that would never heal with the young soldier.
As they contemplated their next move, Eva pointed at the bookcase. A leather-bound book shook briefly and then fell to the floor.
The men stared at the book in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Neither one knew what to make of a flying book, but they had seen many strange and inexplicable things in the war. As long as it wasn’t shooting at them, they felt more or less safe.
Finally, Sebastian picked it up. It was a church songbook, nothing unusual. “Maybe it contains a code,” he said, as he curiously flipped through the pages.
“When you get out of the army, don’t apply to be a detective. You’re extremely dumb,” Wolf replied.
Sebastian looked up and smiled. Eva had her arm fully extended, pointing at the bookcase. Subtle, she was not. He dropped the book, grabbed the top of the bookcase and pulled it towards him. He jumped back as the weight shifted and it slammed to the floor.
As it turned out, there was a wooden door behind the bookcase. When he opened it, the men gasped—stairs disappeared down into the darkness!
Sebastian looked at Eva in wide-eyed amazement. “You’re an angel,” he said. “Our guardian angel.”
16
Devil Inside
Two hundred meters from Berlin Cathedral, the remnants of a squad of SS troopers occupied the Hotel Neptune, a small two-story structure just off the Unter den Linden. The bizarre aquatic theme of the second story room that they had called home for two days clashed with their dirty black uniforms and the military music that played incessantly in the background.
Varik peered through binoculars as artillery rumbled in the distance. Next to him sat one of the Nazi’s newest instruments of death, an MG-42 machine gun. The weapon’s incredible 1,200 rounds-per-minute firing rate made it the fastest machine gun of the war; it sounded like a buzz saw when it was fired. Varik had used the weapon to mow down an entire Russian patrol yesterday. Despite that momentary victory, with limited ammunition and no reinforcements, he knew that the next time he fired the weapon would probably be his last.
As Varik kept watch from his perch, Otto the Jackal and Pig Face sat on the couch and drank the night away. The two soldiers had been to hell and back over the course of the war and had become best friends after surviving two days of desperate hand-to-hand fighting in a Lithuanian swamp. They were tired, but not so tired that they couldn’t pass the cognac around. Technically speaking, they were piss drunk and trying to forget that it could be their last night on Earth.
Pig Face stood up and stared at his grotesque pockmarked face in a huge gold-framed mirror. “I’m sick of this weird place. We need to get out of here,” he said. “We can’t hold them off forever.”
“Relax, asshole. Fritz will be back soon,” Otto replied, patting his huge belly. “We still have some time.”
Suddenly, the music stopped. The men grew quiet as the voice of Joseph Goebbels came on the radio.
“At the moment of the war when all forces of hate and destruction gather to give what they mistakenly believe will be the death blow to the German Reich, I speak to Joseph Stalin and the Soviet
Red Army. The Führer demands the immediate withdrawal of Soviet forces from German soil. If you do not comply, a secret weapon more powerful than the sun itself will be unleashed upon the Soviet Red Army. If the Tristan weapon is utilized, there will be no survivors. This is your final warning.”
Otto laughed. “When the Führer unleashes his secret weapon, the Russians won’t know what hit them. We’ll stack their bodies like cordwood.” He had been a proud member of the Nazi party since 1937 and he never stopped believing in Germany’s eventual victory in the war, regardless of how desperate the situation appeared.
“The Americans will soon turn their guns on the communists,” Pig Face added. He believed the rumors that had swept through Berlin in the final weeks of the war; that General Patton was secretly planning to help Germany fight the Soviet Union.
Varik had listened to the men’s indoctrinated ramblings for months, but he finally had enough. Believing in the Fatherland was one thing, but Otto and Pig Face wouldn’t face reality if it hit them in the head. The war was over. Ka-fucking-put. The Nazi generals were jumping off the ship like rats and it was every rat for himself.
“If the Führer had a secret weapon, he would have used it before our capital got turned into a burned out cesspool,” Varik said. “Now, we’re defending the rubble with old men and little kids. It’s over. Turn that shit off.”
Otto turned the radio off and took another mouthful of cognac. His commanding officer lacked fighting spirit, but his defeatist attitude would change when the Führer unleashed his Tristan weapon on the Russians.
You’ll see, he thought. You’ll see.
17
Walk Unafraid
Wolf was on point. He pressed forward through the darkness and shined the flashlight on the strange blood red markings that covered the walls. The tunnel had obviously been there for a long time; it wasn’t just a simple passageway created to help people escape the air raids.