Five Days That Shocked the World: Eyewitness Accounts from Europe at the End of World War II (27 page)

Instead, burdened with her terrible secret, she made her way to the room that she shared with several others. Her suitcases were there, packed and ready to go. Junge flung herself down on her camp bed, angry at Hitler for deserting them all, furious with him for killing himself and leaving everyone else behind. She lay on her bed wishing that she could feel the wind again and breathe some fresh air, hear the trees rustling in the breeze. Freedom, peace, and calm were all she wanted, an end to all the strife and discord. But freedom, peace, and calm were far out of reach as Junge lay on her bed, tossing and turning distractedly. It was still only early evening as she fell into an exhausted sleep.

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THE BODIES
took until nightfall to burn. SS men emerged at intervals to keep the fire going. The doors to the garden had been locked to prevent anyone seeing, but various bunker guards spotted what was happening and watched discreetly as the men stoked the flames and poured on more gasoline. They all had different memories when they recounted it later.

Harry Mengershausen claimed to have seen Hitler’s feet burned off as far as the midcalves, while the rest of him was still recognizable. Herman Karnau claimed to have witnessed the bodies at 5:00 p.m.: “I saw that both corpses had burned down to skeletons. There were no more flames to be seen, but there were still flakes of white ash blowing upwards. Intending to consign the remains to the earth in a crater a meter away and half a meter deep, I tried to shove them in with my foot. At the first touch both skeletons crumbled. I then had to abandon the attempt because very heavy artillery fire set in again.”
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Karnau changed his story later, saying he had seen no bones, only ash. But Erich Mansfeld, who joined him at 6:00 p.m., remembered more than ash: “We went to the site of the fire. There we saw two charred and shrunken corpses that were no longer identifiable.”
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The one thing they all agreed on was that Hitler had been reduced to a pile of ash by the end, leaving no identifiable remains that his enemies could disinter. Others suspected that enough of him had survived to be wrapped in a tarpaulin, or perhaps the bloodstained rug from the bunker, and buried in the garden after dark, by the light of burning buildings. There was talk of Hitler’s skull surviving, or at least the bones of his jaw, identified later by their gold and porcelain bridges. Otto Günsche admitted that Hitler had not completely disappeared by nightfall, but he was adamant that what little remained had been scattered across the garden and then dispersed by shellfire. The truth is that nobody really knew or cared anymore. With Hitler gone and the Russians closing in, they were all far more concerned with their own futures, wondering how they were going to get safely out of the bunker and make their escape, now that they were free to leave at last.

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A MEETING
was held to discuss it. Gathering in the conference room, Göbbels, Bormann, and Generals Krebs, Mohnke, and Burgdorf debated what to do now that Hitler was gone. They lit cigarettes as they did so. Hitler had always forbidden smoking in his presence, but the rule had been relaxed in the past few days, and now it didn’t apply at all. His henchmen were free at last to do as they pleased and address the situation as they thought fit, dealing with it calmly and rationally without any ranting from the Führer.

The first question was the succession. Dönitz was in command of the nation, now that Hitler was gone. But they didn’t need reminding that the new Führer was in Plön, far removed from Berlin. There was no one to take the lead in the bunker as Hitler’s followers, rudderless and distraught, dragged on their cigarettes and wondered where they went from here.

Bormann was for breaking out immediately, getting several hundred troops together and fighting through the Russian lines that night under cover of darkness. But the generals poured scorn on the idea, knowing it would never work. They understood all too well that they were trapped where they were, with no possibility of escape.

After a long discussion, they decided that their only hope of survival was to approach the Russians, who didn’t know that Hitler was dead, and try to make a deal of some kind, one sovereign government talking to another. Under the terms of Hitler’s will, Göbbels and Bormann were still both members of the government. If they offered to surrender Germany to the Russians, perhaps the Russians would allow them safe conduct to Plön, to have the offer ratified by Dönitz.

It was a slim prospect, but it was all they had. After further discussion, it was decided that General Krebs would be the best person to make contact with the Russians. As a former military attaché in Moscow, Hans Krebs spoke the language and had once been publicly hugged by Stalin, an event recorded on newsreel for German viewers. The Soviet leader had told him that Germany and Russia should stand together and always be friends.

A call was put through to Colonel Refior at the army’s Bendlerblock headquarters in the Tiergarten. He was ordered to send a radio message to Red Army command, asking if they would be prepared to receive a representative of the German government. The Russians took a while to respond, but proved agreeable. A messenger went through their lines to discuss the details, after which a temporary cease-fire was arranged in the sector south of the Chancellery, near what remained of the Anhalter station.

Krebs took an interpreter with him and a staff officer, Colonel von Dufving. Carrying a white flag, the three of them set off after midnight, walking cautiously forward until they came at about 2:00 a.m. to the Excelsior Hotel, across the road from the station. Russian soldiers met them there and led them to the command post of the 102nd Guards Rifle Regiment. A few minutes later, after refusing to surrender their personal weapons, Krebs and his companions crossed the suspension bridge over the Landwehr Canal and were taken in a Jeep to meet General Chuikov at his forward headquarters near Tempelhof airport.

PART FOUR

TUESDAY, MAY 1, 1945

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THE GERMANS WANT TO TALK

CHUIKOV’S COMMAND POST WAS A FIVE-STORY
apartment building off Belle-Alliancestrasse, named for the Anglo-German victory over Napoleon at Waterloo. It was an ugly place, with smashed windows and a cement eagle over the entrance, carrying a swastika in its claws. Chuikov’s men had installed field telephones in one of the dining rooms and laid out a large map of Berlin on the table. The hall was adorned with a pair of large black pillars. It was here that Chuikov waited in the early hours of May Day for the German surrender party to arrive.

He was not alone as he paced the room. War correspondent Vsevolod Vishnevsky had persuaded him that there ought to be some journalists present to record the scene. Vishnevsky had joined him with Yevgeni Dolmatovski, a poet in civilian life, and Matveï Blanter, a composer who was in Berlin to write an anthem for the forthcoming victory.

Blanter wasn’t in uniform, so he was told to hide in the cupboard when the Germans appeared. The other two correspondents stood with Chuikov’s aide-de-camp and posed as a trio of important-looking staff officers advising their boss. It was thus that Krebs and his party found them when they arrived at ten minutes to four that morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten in the east.

Chuikov was the hero of Stalingrad, the man who had masterminded the single biggest defeat in German history, but he did not introduce himself when Krebs was shown in. He had decided beforehand to play his cards very close to his chest, giving nothing away and showing no surprise at anything Krebs might say. The bemedaled German gave the Nazi salute with one hand and proffered his service book with the other, to show who he was. Chuikov said little in return, an anonymous Russian peasant keeping his own counsel and deliberately failing to respond in kind.

Krebs saw that he would have to do the talking He didn’t mind, because he had a scoop that he knew would shake Chuikov out of his reticence. He delivered it with a flourish: “I shall speak of exceptionally secret matters,” he announced grandly. “You are the first foreigner to whom I give the information that on 30 April Hitler passed from us of his own free will, ending his life by suicide.”
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Krebs paused dramatically, expecting astonishment on all sides. But Chuikov wasn’t impressed.

“We know this,” he lied.

Krebs was visibly taken aback. Chuikov let him stew for a bit before asking how it had happened. Krebs told him and then produced Hitler’s will and a letter from Göbbels requesting peace negotiations.

“Do these documents relate to Berlin or to the whole of Germany?” Chuikov demanded.

Krebs said he could only speak for the army. Dönitz was the new head of state, the man the Russians must deal with to end the war.

Chuikov decided to consult Marshal Zhukov. Going to another room, he rang his superior at Strausberg, just outside Berlin, and told him that Hitler was dead and the Germans wanted to parley. Telling Chuikov to remain on the line, Zhukov in turn got in touch with Moscow. It was beginning to get light in the Russian capital, but Stalin had only just gone to bed at his dacha in Kuntsevo, snatching a few hours’ sleep before the May Day parade. Zhukov told the duty officer to get him up again.

Coming to the phone, Stalin was happy to hear of Hitler’s death.

“So that’s the end of the bastard. Pity he couldn’t be taken alive. Where’s his body?”

“Krebs says it was burned.”
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Stalin wanted to know when Hitler had died. Zhukov put the question to Chuikov, who put it to Krebs. Krebs said half past three on the afternoon of April 30. The information was relayed back to Stalin. Then came another question: “Ask Krebs whether they want to lay down their arms and surrender, or just want to start talking.”

After much obfuscation, Krebs decided that the Germans were seeking a temporary cease-fire in order to conduct peace talks. But that wasn’t good enough for Stalin.

“There can be no negotiations,” he told Zhukov. “Only unconditional surrender. No talks either with Krebs or any other Hitler types. Unless anything else happens, don’t call me again until morning. I need to get some sleep before the parade.”

Stalin went back to bed while the discussions continued. To concentrate the Germans’ minds, Zhukov announced that he would unleash all the firepower at his disposal if they hadn’t agreed to unconditional surrender by 10:00 a.m. But Krebs was adamant that he had no power to surrender. Instead, he urged the Russians to recognize the new German government and then negotiate a peace agreement, perhaps excluding the British and Americans. Chuikov replied that there would be no negotiations and no separate peace. Unconditional surrender was Germany’s only option.

The talking continued well into the morning, while Vishnevsky scribbled in his notebook. A breakfast of tea and sandwiches was served, with a glass of cognac for Krebs, which he drank with shaking hands. He had learned by now that his host was Chuikov, the victor of Stalingrad. Toward the end of the meeting, the composer Blanter collapsed and fell out of the cupboard, having apparently fainted from lack of air. What Krebs made of an unknown civilian being carried out of the room in the middle of the discussion is a secret that died with him.

Chuikov was relaying every word back to Moscow, where the final decisions would be taken. But there was unlikely to be a swift response, with Stalin asleep and the May Day parade occupying everyone’s thoughts. Chuikov decided to take advantage of the lull by setting up a telephone line between his headquarters and the Chancellery, so that he would be able to speak directly to Göbbels and Bormann when the time came. It was arranged that von Dufving and Lieutenant Neilandis, the two officers who had accompanied Krebs, should return to the German side of the line with two Russian signalers and a length of telephone cable to make the connection. They set off soon after first light with a white flag, leaving Chuikov and Krebs to continue talking at Chuikov’s headquarters. Neither man was prepared to give an inch as Krebs kept refusing to surrender and Chuikov waited for confirmation from Moscow that Krebs’s stance was unacceptable and only unconditional surrender would do.

*   *   *

WHILE KREBS
talked to Chuikov, other Germans were also seeking peace, quite independently of anything going on at the bunker. At four thirty that morning, a German radio station calling itself the “headquarters for the defense of Berlin” sent a message to the Russians asking for a Soviet officer to come to the northeast corner of the Zoological Gardens. Representatives of the Wehrmacht would meet him there to discuss the terms for a cease-fire.

A Major Bersenev duly presented himself. Carrying a flag of truce and a demand for unconditional surrender, he reached the zoo at 5:00 a.m. and stood waiting for twenty minutes, uncomfortably aware that the Germans had him in their sights but had promised not to shoot. Bersenev was bitter about what happened next:

At last I saw two Germans with a white flag come round the corner of the street about two hundred metres away, and walk towards me.

I took a few steps forward, towards them. Suddenly one of them dropped, and straight away I heard shots, bullets were whistling round me. The firing was coming from the Germans’ direction. I felt a blow in my left hip and in my knee, and I fell. As I fell I hit my head hard against the pavement, and lost consciousness.

I came to near my car. My orderly had risked his life to drag me out of range, and then he and my driver lifted me into the car. My leg was hanging limp and my head was ringing. I just said, “Take me to the Divisional Commander,” and then lost consciousness again.
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It was a familiar story. Some Germans wanted to surrender, but others wouldn’t let them. Much the same happened to Neilandis and von Dufving as they tried to run their cable to the Chancellery. They had reached Prinz-Albrechtstrasse, waving a white flag and yelling at their own people not to fire, when the Russian officer unrolling the telephone line was shot in the head. Neilandis picked up the extension reel and carried on, while von Dufving went ahead with the flag. But the firing continued from the German side, making it impossible for them to cross. Von Dufving therefore remained with the Russians at the front while Neilandis hurried back to Chuikov’s headquarters to complain. They got across eventually, but it was lunchtime before they managed to establish a telephone link with the Chancellery.