My Immortal The Vampires of Berlin (8 page)

14

General Helmuth Weidling passed through the long dark tunnel from the Reich Chancellery. The newly appointed Commander of the Berlin Defense Area had spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out how to organize and resupply his pitiful forces. With limited resources and no reliable source of heavy weapons, his mission felt more like trying to organize the passengers of the Titanic into a lifeboat than trying to organize the citizens of Berlin into a defense force to take on the Russian bear.

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 The death warrant got rescinded, but when your superior orders you to be shot, your professional relationship tends to change.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

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 back 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.”