Berlin Finale (Penguin Modern Classics)

by Heinz Rein

  We stand with him, as he stands with us – in Germanic loyalty as we have sworn, as we shall fulfil. We do not need to tell him, for he knows and must know: Führer command! We will follow! We feel him in us and around us. God give him strength and health and preserve him from every danger. We will do the rest.

  Germany is still the land of loyalty. It will celebrate its greatest triumphs in the midst of danger. Never will history record that in these days a people deserted its Führer or a Führer deserted his people. And that is victory. We have often wished the Führer in happy times our best on this evening. Today in the midst of suffering and danger, our greeting is much deeper and more profound. May he remain what he is to us and always was – our Hitler!

  Silence falls for a few seconds.

  ‘So, now you know,’ Klose says, and turns off the radio as the first notes of the Badenweiler March sound.

  In spite of the time of the evening and the approaching air-raid warning, Klose’s restaurant is quite full, but these are not random guests, not locals or passing trade. The houses in the immediate surroundings have been destroyed, and only someone with urgent business to attend to would be out and about. As no one tends to live in the ruined houses, and people who are on the road and already have the wail of the sirens ringing in their ears do not take the time to drink a glass of stale wartime beer, Oskar Klose’s spring of Schultheiss beer on the street called Am Schlesischen Bahnhof should actually be empty.

  It isn’t. Klose leans on the bar with his arms folded and lets his eye wander around, but it is not the dismissive eye of a business-minded landlord, mentally adding up the number of pints poured and wondering whether it’s time to change the barrel, as the pressure in the tap is already weak, and neither is it the impatient eye of a tired and haggard businessman who wishes his guests would clear the hell out so that he can close the place up and have a bit of rest, no: Klose looks at his guests like a father at his successful children who have gathered around him once again.

  Sitting at the tables on the right-hand side of the restaurant are Dr Böttcher, Wiegand, Schröter, Lassehn, Lucie Wiegand and six other people, the light-blonde hair of a young girl being particularly striking.

  ‘Having heard’, Dr Böttcher says, leaning back in his chair, ‘that victory will be ours because we have the Führer, let us now discuss the measures that we must take. We understand that our forces are far too weak to form an organized counter-movement, we lack weapons, we lack people, and above all we lack knowledge about how many resistance groups there are in Berlin. The obstacles in the way of sharing information or collaborating on a larger scale are too great to be overcome in the present circumstances. Today we do have a comrade from another group among us, Comrade Rumpelstiltskin, but the connection with him and his group has only come into being by chance, and even in the future we have no option but to go on working in isolation and deliberately restricting ourselves.

  ‘We are very well aware that we will not bring about the fall of the regime, that the push that throws Nazism from the throne must come from without. It has been clear to us for a long time that leadership can no longer come from within, and that realization, which began to dawn on many of us long before the war, has shifted the focus of our work, it could no longer be aimed directly at the removal of Hitler’s dictatorship, as the balance of power was too unequal. The German people as a whole was sadly not an echo chamber for our efforts, it did not have the political insight to recognize where the politics of the so-called Third Reich was headed. The war has changed little about that, the hope that many placed in the army was misplaced, not a single case of mutiny or the insubordination of a closed unit is known to us. This bitter realization has led some to withdraw in a spirit of resignation, but we, continuing our illegal struggle, have had to settle for the paralysis of very small parts of the Party’s power apparatus. It was clear that our few flyers were not a match for the million-strong editions of the newspapers, and we were also aware that badly installed and inadequately equipped short-wave transmitters, constantly pursued by the Gestapo detector vans, could not drown out the big transmitters of the state propaganda machine. But we may claim on our own behalf that our work has not been entirely in vain. Every flyer, every broadcast, every word has been a thorn in the confidence, the self-certainty of the bourgeoisie, it has led many a worker to reduce his performance, it has weakened the fighting power of many a soldier. I would like to compare our work with the labour of termites, which can hollow out a wooden house from the ground up and from within, and make it ready for collapse.

  ‘If you ask me why I am talking about this now, and also touching upon the past, even though the present is a matter of urgency, my answer is this: because we have reached a crucial turning point. We are in the last phase of the war, the Russians are about to launch a thrust against Berlin, and there is no doubt that they will reach our city in a few days. Here is the Nachtausgabe with today’s Wehrmacht report:

  “From the Führer’s headquarters, 19 April

  Supreme Command of the Wehrmacht reports:

  On the third day of the big defensive battle outside Berlin, the Bolsheviks threw men and materiel into the battle on a scale never previously known. Our brave troops, following the example of their officers, have withstood the mass charge by the enemy and thwarted all attempts to break through. South of Frankfurt our units maintained their positions against far superior Soviet forces. The Bolsheviks who had advanced on both sides of Seelow to the east of Müncheberg were blocked by immediate counter-thrusts. South of Wriezen our troops halted the attacking enemy after serious fighting. According to incomplete reports 218 tanks were destroyed yesterday.

  West of the Lausitzer Neisse attacked the Bolsheviks with all available forces. In spite of stubborn resistance by our divisions, after heavy fighting with the loss of numerous tanks north of Görlitz and north-west of Weisswasser the enemy was able to drive narrow wedges into the space east of Bautzen and past the Spree on either side of Spremberg.”

  ‘I assume you hold the map of the Brandenburg Marches in your head, to know what that means. Wriezen and Müncheberg are only about fifty kilometres from the city centre, only twenty-five kilometres from the edge of the city, Bautzen and Spremberg means that Berlin is surrounded from the south. In five and a half years of war we have had ample opportunities to study the terminology of the Wehrmacht reports. From the history of the eastern, western and African campaigns we know exactly what turns of phrase such as “big defensive battle”, “men and materiel on a scale never previously known” and “superior Soviet forces” should be taken to mean. As we can no longer use the expanse of territory as an operational weapon and – to quote Goebbels – can no longer use it like a boxer for footwork, it is clear what this means: the end. To show that the High Command has not only too optimistic a view of the situation but might be said to be deliberately falsifying it, I need only mention one example.’

  Dr Böttcher pauses for a few seconds and takes a copy of the Völkischer Beobachter out of his pocket. ‘A commentary on the Wehrmacht report says among other things: “Overall the enemy has lost over 260 tanks on the first day of the attack, or more than half of its deployment.” More than half of its deployment, that would mean that the Russians entered the battle for Berlin with about five hundred tanks.’

  Dr Böttcher curls his lips into a little smile and folds up the paper again. ‘From a reliable source – namely Radio Moscow – I know that in the battle for Berlin the Russians have not more than five hundred tanks, but more than four thousand, that they have over four thousand fighter planes, that they began the battle with barrage fire from twenty-two thousand cannon, and that two army groups are attacking, the Zhukov Group, which is advancing frontally on Berlin, and the Konev Group, which is thrusting past Berlin to the south. That is the situation.’

  ‘And what conclusions do we draw from that?’ Schröter exclaims.

  ‘I was about to come to that,’ Dr Böttcher replies. ‘I see o
ur task as being to make the fighting troops, above all the Volkssturm, understand the futility of any further resistance, and even, where possible, of forming active resistance groups against the SS to avoid street battles. Unfortunately we must expect that the slogan of “fighting to the last knife” will find resonance among the Hitler Youth. If not many Hitler Youth follow that slogan, we must always bear in mind that a single rocket launcher can attract massive artillery or mortar fire. In such cases we should attempt to disarm the Hitler Youth, by force if necessary.’

  Dr Böttcher clears his throat and looks from one to the other.

  ‘Comrades! The hour of liberation approaches, but the few days that still separate us from it may well be the most difficult of our entire underground struggle. We must be on our guard against Gestapo spies and the hunters of the military police, we should expect desperate acts by the Nazi high-ups. The artillery fire, the bombs and the machine-gun bullets of our liberators threaten us just as much as anyone else, so we are doubly exposed to danger, but that should not keep us for a minute from carrying out all the things we have recognized as our duty. Afterwards Comrade Wiegand will assign you your special tasks.’

  Klose draws attention to himself by pointing at the floor.

  Dr Böttcher nods to him. ‘Yes, correct. Until further notice the group will meet here at Klose’s, since my flat seems to be under observation. As soon as the street battles begin, Klose has a well-built cellar at his disposal, our Comrade Klose has also, as a precautionary measure, set by a not inconsiderable supply of food, and also has places for us to sleep.’

  ‘I still can’t believe,’ the blonde girl says, ‘that there is going to be a battle for Berlin.’

  ‘My dear Comrade Poeschke,’ Wiegand says, ‘consideration is a word missing from the vocabulary of the National Socialists, and neither do they use it towards the herd animals that they call national comrades.’

  ‘But the people must wake up at last!’ the blonde girl says in despair. ‘When you hear people talking round about the place …’

  Schröter waves a dismissive hand and looks at her almost with anger. ‘Talking, talking,’ he says violently, ‘yes, people are talking, but that’s all they do. When someone appears wearing the Party insignia, or some snot-nosed youth with a swastika armband, they immediately become small and ugly, they always start looking around for the nearest mouse hole, or else they smile politely, raise their hands and say “Heil Hitler!” No, no, my dear Comrade … what was your name?’

  ‘Lotte Poeschke,’ the blonde girl replies.

  ‘No, my dear Comrade Poeschke,’ Schröter continues, ‘we cannot depend on the activity of the masses. It’s possible that one or other will come out when he sees us in action, but most of them will be crouching in their cellars, just as they did during the bombing raids, and even if they no longer believe in victory, they will go on shouting “Heil Hitler” and carrying out every order, and they won’t stop until the first Russian is standing in front of them in the flesh. You’ll see, that’s exactly what will happen.’

  ‘It’s desperate!’ the blonde girl says, and looks rigidly in front of her.

  ‘There’s only one thing I don’t like,’ says a grey-haired man who has until now been sitting there quietly, ‘it’s that the Americans and the British are being so calm along the Elbe. I could imagine them really letting go now, to organize a race to Berlin, and instead …’ He takes a newspaper out of his pocket and unfolds it. ‘DAZ says this today, for example:

  “In fact we need only carefully read the daily reports from Wehrmacht High Command from the last eight days, whose precision and manly openness are beyond dispute. Two things become clear: in many areas at present the same towns and spaces appear to be the target of fighting, but are still undefeated by the enemy; in other naturally significant areas the enemy is pushing successfully ahead, but, against deft and obdurate resistance, is having to beat back severe counter-attacks, and is in this way being worn down to such a degree and at such a rate that an uprising in the hinterland could be doubly dangerous. The consequences are already apparent: the outbreak of the Soviet offensive coincides with the moment when our Western enemies are showing the first traces of breathlessness.”’

  ‘Damn it all,’ Schröter says furiously, and brings his fist crashing down on the table. ‘That you should believe so much of what these people say! Sometimes they call it breathlessness, sometimes it’s last reserves, sometimes differences between the Allies and sometimes running out of time, but it’s always a fraud, whether it’s delivered an octave higher or lower.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be so severe,’ Wiegand says reassuringly. ‘The suggestive power of the Nazi method is so great that it doesn’t even leave us untouched. There are moments when you simply can’t escape it, so …’

  Wiegand says nothing. The door has opened and a man in a blue railwayman’s uniform has come in, he walks up to the bar and orders a pint, drains it in one and orders another.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Klose asks. ‘Christ, you look exhausted.’

  The railwayman pulls a chair up to the bar and drops heavily onto it. ‘What sort of association is this?’ he asks quietly and points over his shoulder with his thumb.

  ‘Oh, it’s a little birthday party,’ Klose says indifferently. ‘So what’s up with you? You look like a bridegroom after a long wedding night.’

  ‘I’ve just come from Strausberg,’ the railwayman replies, and takes a deep breath. ‘Oh man, Klose …’ He shakes his head like someone who doesn’t want to acknowledge an unbelievable truth.

  ‘Are the Russians in Strausberg already?’ Klose asks excitedly.

  ‘Not far away,’ the railwayman replies, taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘Their tanks are already on the ring road. It’s all finished, it’s over.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Klose asks.

  ‘Of course,’ the railwayman whispers with a shy glance behind him. ‘I work the Küstrin line. We couldn’t get past Müncheberg even last night, they’re in there already, Jeez, and the planes, they’re over you like a swarm of bees, they practically take the chimney off the engine. And that’s some artillery the Russkies have got, they’re flattening everything.’

  ‘And the mood?’ Klose asks.

  ‘Really bad,’ the railwayman says, and finishes his beer. ‘Give me another one, Oskar. You know, when our lads were still at Seelow, there was a kind of order in it, but that’s all gone now. Man, they’re not fighting troops any more. Wehrmacht, Volkssturm, OT work battalions, the Party, the Hitler Youth and behind it all the SS.’ He shakes his head. ‘And then you’ve got the Russians, fresh, rested, young fellows, well dressed, well fed, shiny guns and excellent training.’ He pauses for a moment and adds almost apologetically, ‘The things you hear, you know?’

  Klose nods. ‘And this is the enemy that Adolf said, in October forty-one, was on the floor and would never get up again.’

  ‘And we believed him,’ the railwayman says with a sigh.

  ‘We did?’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  Klose shakes his head. ‘And what are you doing now?’

  ‘How do you mean, Oskar?’

  ‘Are you going to get back in your train and head east?’

  The railwayman shrugs, a movement of helplessness and resignation. ‘What else am I supposed to do?’ he asks.

  Schröter has risen to his feet and crept almost silently up to the railwayman. ‘A bit of sand in the crosshead and the steering wouldn’t be too bad,’ he says thoughtfully.

  The railwayman turns round, startled. ‘What’s the point of that?’ he shouts.

  ‘And what’s the point of your keeping going?’ Schröter asks him back.

  ‘Who are you anyway? Poking your nose into someone’s conversation …’

  ‘I’m Otto Schulze, Gauleiter of Stralau-Rummelsburg,’ Schröter replies and grins across his whole face. ‘But to be serious for a moment, pal, have you ever thought about wh
ether there’s a point to your work?’

  ‘Why should I care about the point of it,’ the railwayman replies. ‘I just get on with my job.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Schröter says, and smiles thoughtfully, ‘your brain’s been dried out by the heat in the driver’s cab, if you can talk that kind of nonsense. If your train is out of operation it can’t bring ammunition to the front, if you can’t bring ammunition to the front they can soon call it a day down there, and once they call it a day the war’s over.’

  ‘Yes, and then the Bolsheviks will come!’

  ‘They’ll come anyway,’ Schröter says quickly. ‘You’ll never stop them, whether you head over there or not.’

  ‘Then it doesn’t matter if …’

  ‘Christ, are you really that stupid or are you just pretending? It does matter, pal, the sooner it comes to an end the better. Or do you think that’s going to be fun: street battles in Berlin, tank advance averted on Frankfurter Allee, incursion thwarted on Thaerstrasse, attempted breakthrough thwarted on Warschauer Bridge, Ostkreuz Station firmly in our hands …’

  ‘For God’s sake, stop it!’

  ‘That’s what’s coming, pal, just that. And why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell you: because you knuckleheads do your duty to the very last …’

  ‘If you’ll allow me …’ the railwayman says angrily.

  ‘I won’t allow you anything,’ Schröter goes on talking undeterred. ‘Because you’re forever shitting your pants.’

  ‘I have to think of my family,’ the railwayman objects, running his right hand between his neck and his collar as if his collar was suddenly too tight for him.

  ‘At last some good sense,’ Schröter says approvingly. ‘If you really are thinking about your family, then you must also do something to ensure that this damned war comes to an end before the battle reaches Berlin. Or do you want your wife and children, if you have them, to get a shell on the head right at the end, after they’ve survived the war from the air?’