In the meantime, Ruger, as Hans had guessed, had taken his company into the Tiergarten woods and reached the aid station just minutes before the Spartacans attacked. Those idiots had not given thought to what Ruger would do and were caught totally by surprise. The firefight was intense, bloody, and hard-fought, but it delayed the Spartacans long enough for the two companies from Second Battalion to arrive. When they saw the troops coming, the Spartacans threw down their weapons and ran, leaving the ground around the monument littered with the dead and the wounded.
What had been a near victory for the Spartacans became a total rout.
But it was not without its cost. The First Battalion had seventeen dead, including Lieutenant Sisam, who had caught a bullet in the neck as he defended the front entrance to the aid station. There were also more than fifty wounded. One of those was Colonel Stefan von Schiller. He had been shot in the upper leg, and the bullet had half severed his femoral artery. With bullets flying around them, a surgeon and two nurses had rushed in, stanched the bleeding, and rushed the colonel off to the field hospital in Republic Plaza. That had left a pall over the entire battalion. Two hours later he was still in surgery, and the chances of his recovery were questionable.
Sporadic gunfire could still be heard as various platoons moved through the streets looking for snipers. Farther off, they could hear the rumble of light artillery.
Major Ott watched as the doctor put the last strip of tape on Hans. “You gonna be all right?”
“Yes, sir. I think I may have shaved about five pounds off my rear end, and I’ve got Corporal Jürgens out trying to find me a new uniform. But my ribs are not as bad off as I thought.”
The doctor looked up. “Next time, Sergeant, you might try falling on your head. Your men all seem to think it’s a lot harder than your tail.”
Chapter Notes
In his history of the German Revolution of 1919, Bouton records that on Thursday, January 7, after their seizure of several newspaper publishing buildings the day before, Liebknecht’s Spartacans launched numerous attacks around the central part of Berlin. “There was much promiscuous shooting in various parts of the city. Spartacans fired on unarmed government supporters in front of the war ministry building, killing one man and wounding two. There were also bloody clashes at Wilhelm Plaza, Potsdamer Plaza and in Unter den Linden. . . . The Spartacans succeeded in driving the government troops from the Brandenburger Tor (Brandenburg Gate), but after a short time were in turn driven out” (German Revolution, 227).
No details are given of specific units involved on either side, how the fighting progressed, or the number of casualties suffered, so the details in this chapter are of my own making.
People familiar with Berlin may be puzzled by the mention of a street named Königgrätzer in central Berlin. There is no such street there now, but there was in early 1919. The government changed its name to Budapester Strasse a short time after the World War I ended. Today it is known as Ebertstrasse.
January 17, 1919, 6:55 p.m.—Battalion Headquarters Tent, near Brandenburg Gate
For reasons that he couldn’t explain now, Hans had at first found Major Rolf Ott, Colonel von Schiller’s adjutant, annoying. He was too arrogant, too pleased with himself, too concerned about his looks, and a bit disdainful of the battalion’s only sergeant major.
Ott was slender, like a marathon runner, with a sharp tongue that could flay the flesh of an enlisted man if he did something deemed stupid in the major’s eyes. He was very German in his looks, with light blond hair that had a gentle wave in it. His eyes were a light blue but rarely rested on anything for more than a moment or two. He was from Hamburg, a port on the North Sea, and spoke with a heavy North German accent.
Now, as Ott began the briefing, Hans realized those feelings were gone. He was growing more and more impressed with Major Ott in his role as acting battalion commander as the day wore on.
Major Ott strode into the room, smiling and nodding as the men snapped to attention. Corporal Jürgens was right behind him, as attentive to Ott as he had been to von Schiller.
“At ease, men,” the major called, shucking off his overcoat. Jürgens was instantly there to take it from him. Ott looked around, waiting for the men to get seated, and then he jumped right in. “Good news, men. On several fronts. First, we just came from the field hospital. Colonel von Schiller is out of surgery and out of danger.”
The group erupted with applause and cries of pleasure.
“He was still a bit groggy from the anesthesia, but he was alert enough that he wanted a full report of how things went today. And though he was saddened by our losses, he was deeply pleased that we prevailed. He asked me to convey his personal appreciation and commendations to each and every one of you. In his words, ‘A job well done.’”
“Any idea of how soon he’ll be up and around?” Captain Ruger called out.
“Anxious to get the adjutant back in his rightful place, Captain?” Major Ott asked dryly.
Ruger’s face flushed, much to the amusement of his comrades. “No, sir, I just. . . .”
“I know, I know,” Ott said, growing more serious. “We’re all anxious to have him back, me most of all. But it’ll be at least two weeks. Maybe more.”
“Any permanent damage?” Sergeant Diehls asked.
“The lead surgeon says the colonel may have a limp, but nothing that will restrict him from continuing to serve.”
That got a warm response too.
“But that’s not the only reason Corporal Jürgens and I are so happy, eh, Corporal?”
Hans couldn’t resist. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Corporal Jürgens actually smile, sir. How do you know for sure that he’s happy?”
Jürgens shot Hans a dirty look as everyone, including the major, hooted at that.
Major Ott quickly sobered. “Before I went to see the colonel, all battalion commanders were called to the Reichstag to meet with the cabinet ministers, including Gustav Noske, and the generals of the regular army.”
Men straightened or leaned forward in their chairs. This was what they were waiting to hear.
“They, of course, knew about what happened here today and were deeply shocked by it. But, it turns out that we actually had one of the lighter encounters.”
He went on quickly as the men glared at him. “The battle over in the newspaper district has been fierce. There have also been other major battles throughout the city today. Witnesses say that the grounds in front of the forest were strewn with the wounded and dead. There were pitched battles this afternoon around the Herrenhous and Wertheim’s department stores, with customers huddling under counters and desks for safety.
Ott shot them a grim smile. “However, the good news is that with all that has happened, the cabinet, and even the People’s Council, understand that this is not just a political issue anymore.”
He stopped for breath, and several hands came up. Major Ott pointed at Ruger. “Yes, Captain.”
“What exactly does that mean? Are we going to be allowed to take the gloves off?”
“Yes. The cabinet and People’s Council have finally recognized that parades and demonstrations are not expressions of free speech but are used as excuses to incite rebellion. Therefore, as of tonight, all such gatherings are declared illegal, and government forces are charged to inform such gatherings that they are breaking the law.”
“And if they just laugh at us?” someone else called.
“If they do not immediately disband, you have a ‘shoot-to-kill’ order,” he said soberly.
The men nodded their approval, and some of them began applauding.
“Second, the government has authorized the use of heavy weapons to put down the rebellion. Even as we speak, artillery pieces are being put on top of the patent office, where they have a clear field of fire against some of the occupied buildings. Seven-centimeter cannons are being placed where they have a clear field of fire at police headquarters and Eichhorn and his goons.
“
Third, machine-gun companies are on their way here in armored cars, with a tank accompanying them. Machine guns will be placed atop Brandenburg Gate, as well as all around its base.”
The men were stunned, almost too overjoyed to react.
“Fourth, those machine-gun companies will be accompanied by troops carrying flamethrowers. Tomorrow morning, those three hundred Spartacans who are hiding behind the barricades in front of the Vorwärts plant will be looking down the barrels of three ten-centimeter field pieces and a mine thrower that can hurl a hundred pounds of explosives over a hundred yards.”
The men could be restrained no longer. They shouted and whistled and clapped and cheered. Ott watched, nearly as pleased as they were. Finally, he cut them off. “Question. If you had your choice of where to fight tomorrow—which we don’t, this is strictly a hypothetical question—where would you choose?” That caught the men off guard, and they looked at each other. To Hans’s surprise, the first hand up was Sergeant Diehls’s.
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Police headquarters.”
“And why is that?”
“The others leaders are bad,” he said. “There’s no question about that. Liebknecht, Luxemburg, and the others. But that pig Eichhorn is still holed up in the building, and he’s arming anyone who will carry a gun and come against us—criminals, deserters, teenage hooligans, even young girls. We fought some of them today. I say it’s time to put an end to it.”
A slow smile stole across the major’s face. “Those are almost exactly the same words I used with Noske tonight.”
Hans’s head came up. “And?” he asked, holding his breath.
“We’re moving out at oh-five-hundred hours. We’ll link up with Third Battalion. Our assigned objective? Police headquarters and the capture of Emil Eichhorn.”
The last sentence was barely heard as the men leaped to their feet again and exploded in a frenzy of celebration.
7:25 p.m.
When the group finally began to break up, Hans joined Diehls and began talking strategy as they moved toward the door of the tent. Major Ott was near the door, shaking hands and accepting congratulations. As Hans approached, Ott broke off his conversation with Captain Ruger. “Eckhardt?”
He stopped. “Sir?”
“A word, please.” Then to Ruger: “I’ll only be a minute.”
Puzzled, Hans nodded and stepped back. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said to Diehls.
Hans assumed it was something about tomorrow, so Major Ott’s first words knocked Hans completely off balance. “Eckhardt, Colonel von Schiller would like to see you.”
“Me, sir? Now?”
He smiled and nodded. “Yes to both. I can have Jürgens get you a driver.”
“Uh . . . no. I’m fine. The hospital’s only a block or so.”
“You sure? Jürgens is working on getting you another bike. You sure your ribs are all right?”
“Sore, but better than expected, sir.”
“Gut. We need you at full strength tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Uh . . . Major, do you know what the colonel wants?”
“If I did know, I couldn’t tell you. But I don’t. And he didn’t ask me to have you bring anything. Get back here as soon as you can. We’ve got a lot to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Hans saluted and left.
7:33 p.m.—Field hospital, Königsplatz, near the Reichstag building
The colonel’s eyes were closed when the nurse escorted Hans to his bedside. Hans shot her a questioning look. She smiled. “He said to wake him.”
And with that, the colonel’s eyes opened. “Ah, Eckhardt. Thank you for coming.”
Hans moved closer. “It’s good to see you, sir. You had a lot of us pretty scared today.”
Von Schiller dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Nurse?”
It was as if she had expected him to have a request. “Yes, Colonel?”
“Can you get the surgeon, please?”
“Yes, sir.” She spun on the balls of her feet and walked away. The tent, which was fifty or sixty feet long, was filled with beds, and more than half of them were full, but the nurse left the tent through a side door, which led outside.
Von Schiller pointed to a metal folding chair beside the bed. Hans sat down, fighting not to stare at him. His face was as pale as the sheets, and he looked exhausted. His eyes closed for a moment and then opened again. “I understand you abandoned that motorbike, Eckhardt.”
“Uh . . . yes, sir. Kind of.”
A weak smile came and went, and then the colonel reached down and laid his hand on his left leg. It was elevated with pillows underneath it. “I understand you came pretty close to ending up with one of these too.”
“Yes, sir. The one shot missed my leg by about two inches. I was lucky. I’m sorry you weren’t.”
Von Schiller acknowledged the comment with a barely perceptible nod. “Eckhardt, you interested in a career in the army?”
Hans’s mouth fell open, then clamped shut again.
Von Schiller actually laughed softly. “Thought that might get your attention.”
“I . . .” Hans didn’t know what to say.
“I told Major Ott to draft the paperwork to get you a field commission. I’d like to make you a lieutenant junior grade and officially make you the commanding officer of C Company.”
This time Hans’s mouth fell open and stayed that way.
“It would be a good start to a successful career.”
“Whoa. I didn’t expect that, sir. Uh . . . can I think about it?”
“Of course. I heard you’ve got a girl waiting for you.”
Another shocker. How did he know that? Hans had told no one in his unit about Emilee.
The colonel continued. “Why don’t you talk to her about it when this is over?”
“I . . .” Hans decided he had to be honest. “To tell you the truth, sir, she’s not talking to me right now.”
The colonel smiled fully now, actually enjoying Hans’s discomfort. “Yep, that’s what I heard. Found out about that little drinking binge you went on, did she?”
The only word that Hans seemed to be able to come up with was uh. “Uh . . . yeah. Kind of.”
“Don’t blame her for being disappointed. It was a stupid thing to do. Almost as stupid as trying to rob my wife.” Von Schiller lay back and closed his eyes. “Well, some things can be fixed and some can’t. Takes a wise man to know the difference.”
As he was searching for an answer to that, Hans saw the nurse come back into the tent. A man in a white coat was walking just a few feet behind her. “Sir?”
The colonel opened his eyes.
“The surgeon’s here, Colonel,” Hans said. “I’d best be going.”
Von Schiller laughed, which was barely a whisper of sound. “Oh, he’s not here to see me.”
Hans jerked around, staring at the two figures coming down the aisle toward them. As they passed under one of the hanging lights, the man’s face was fully illuminated. Hans gasped and then leaped to his feet. The man was looking at him, smiling broadly now. He waved a hand.
“Dr. Schnebling! What are you doing here?”
Schnebling laughed in delight. “That’s odd. That was exactly the same question I was going to ask you.”
Chapter Note
In addition to Houton’s excellent history, the New York Times published a summary of the final days of the German Revolution, giving additional details such as the placement of artillery and other heavier weapons, the locations of some of the key buildings, and so on (see German Revolution, 225–230, and “When Revolution Stalks Streets of Berlin: Tourist Landmarks Converted into Fortresses, and Battered with Heavy Guns, as Spartacides, in Armed Revolt, Attempt the Overthrow of the Ebert Regime,” New York Times, January 19, 1919).
January 18, 1919, 6:47 a.m.—Police headquarters building, Alexander Plaza, Berlin
As first light gradually stole over the central area of Berlin, it revealed a warren of deserted
streets and silent buildings. Unlike the night before, there was no sound of gunfire, no rumble of artillery, no crack of sniper’s rifles from the roofs and upper floors of buildings.
Though the First Battalion had decisively put an end to what the men were now calling “The Battle for the Brandenburg Gate,” fighting in other parts of the city had raged on well into the night. Spartacans had stormed the government troops holding the Potsdamer and Anhalt railroad stations several times but were driven back. Reports said there were heavy losses on both sides, but the government forces had prevailed.
Now, as dawn broke, First Battalion was on the rooftops of several buildings along the south side of Alexander Plaza, waiting for the final signal to move. Soldiers sat beneath the parapet smoking, drinking weak coffee, and talking quietly.
Major Ott had secured three field pieces along with about three dozen 10.5-centimeter shells—each about three inches in diameter and two feet long. Now the artillery officer was sighting them on the building across the square.
Hans stood off to one side with Captain Ruger and Sergeant Diehls, gripping their canteens filled with hot coffee to keep their hands warm. The sky was clear and the cold was numbing. Their breath hung in the air. While they waited for Major Ott to return, the three of them talked strategy for the coming battle.
The Central Police Headquarters was a huge five-story building that sprawled across the entire front of Alexander Plaza. It, and the jail it contained, filled almost a whole city block. Built of stones and brick, it was more of a fortress than an office building and, in spite of his conviction that they would take it, Hans knew it wasn’t going to come easy. The battalion had roughly a thousand men, but the building had somewhere over a hundred rooms, and every one of them was going to have to cleared. This was not going to be a walk in the park.
Ruger took one last draw on his cigarette and then flipped it over the side of the building. “What are the chances that the building has fire escapes on the back side?” he asked.
Fire and Steel, Volume 2 Page 36