Hitler's Last Witness (23 page)

After a reception at the New Reich Chancellery in which, among others, Goebbels, Göring, Himmler, the Bormann brothers, Speer, Ribbentrop and some generals such as Wilhelm Burgdorf and Hans Krebs took part, Hitler came down to the bunker and held a situation conference in the map room. There was no trace of any festive spirit – the birthday was finished with.

The only word to describe the military situation was ‘catastrophic'. Days before, the 300,000 men of Army Group B had surrendered in the Ruhr Pocket. Their commander, Field Marshal Walter Model, shot himself shortly afterwards. The British and Americans were at the Elbe, while the Soviets were close to the gates of the Reich capital.

For the imminent division of Germany into a northern and a southern part, Hitler had ordered Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz, commander-in-chief of the Kriegsmarine, to take command of the northern sector, and the commander-in-chief west, Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, to take over the south. The final order was ‘resistance to the last man'. A small assortment of Wehrmacht soldiers and Waffen-SS, Volkssturm pensioners and Hitler Youth against millions of Red Army men – what could be hoped for?

I heard the participants at the situation conference urging Hitler to direct the final struggle from Obersalzberg and leave the bunker while there was still time to get out of Berlin. Until then I had been counting on our going to Berchtesgaden, but Hitler would not be moved – he wanted to remain. Now I had to do some rethinking. I did not succeed. What would it mean for me? All I wanted was what most of the others wanted. You could see it in their eyes; they all wanted to get out of here, out of the bunker, out of Berlin.

Göring, in his effeminate uniform, looked very nervous all day. Apparently, he was worried that he might not be able to get away in time. Finally, he took his leave of Hitler under the pretext that important tasks would be awaiting him in southern Germany. Hitler let him go without raising any objections or passing a remark. He seemed to look upon this
sauve qui peut
mood as if he were a disinterested spectator.

I was hoping that perhaps there might be somebody who could change his decision. My mind was racing, while telephone calls interrupted from time to time. Until this day, Hitler's birthday, on which, under code-word ‘Clausewitz', the State of Alert had been added as a preliminary stage to the declaration of a State of Emergency, I had always gone home to see my wife and daughter after duty. During this State of Alert that was no longer possible. On my advice, Gerda had taken Gitta to her parents' house at Rudow from our marital flat (into which she had moved back). I strained every brain cell trying to think of some way to get my family to safety, away from the Russians. In the bunker, the export-model version of the Volksempfänger radio set was to be found everywhere. Goebbels was speaking through it. I did not listen to what he was saying. If he had known that at home I regularly listened to BBC London . . . Da Da Da Daaaaah . . .!
[1]

In the evening, Eva gathered the remaining guests of the birthday reception upstairs in the Führer-suite. The bunker was almost empty. Only I remained at my work post, and Hitler in his room – the last celebration in the Reich Chancellery took place without the Reich chancellor.

21 April 1945

During the morning, the Reich Chancellery came under heavy artillery fire. In the deep bunker one heard nothing; only when a shell came down near the garden exit did the walls tremble for a second or so.

On this day, I saw Hitler only briefly on a few occasions. Linge had awoken him to report about the shelling. ‘The boss' could still not credit it that the Russians were at the gates. Over the last few months he had grown increasingly distrustful of his entourage, and now, shortly before the defeat, this distrust reached its zenith. Behind every contradiction he detected treachery; everywhere he suspected disinformation. He was fidgety, nervous and looked depressed.

My colleagues and I knew that the fall of Berlin to the Red Army was only a matter of a few days. The Soviets had already fought through to the suburbs, and Bernau, about fifteen kilometres from Berlin, had fallen. Frenzied activity and total apathy alternated. Among ourselves, we spoke openly of our hope that Hitler still might decide to leave Berlin, giving us the chance at the last moment to escape being trapped in the bunker. Only Goebbels kept pouring out his fantastic Final Victory scenarios. I noticed how he kept on at Hitler constantly as if trying to inebriate him one last time using all the tricks of the propaganda trade, something of which even the Führer himself now seemed to be in dire need. It no longer cut any ice with us.

The last months had not passed Hitler by without leaving their mark. Every defeat, every setback, every act of treason – real or imagined – from within his closest circle contributed to his clearly recognisable physical decay. Now his gait was sluggish, and he dragged a leg. The eyes often seemed to have no fixed point, while his sense of balance seemed disturbed. Above all, in his every movement he had slowed, and all in all he looked to me like an old man. His left hand trembled distinctly, something I had not noticed before, and though he did not fumble when accepting despatches, now he always used his right hand. Just as in better times, when he attempted to hide his need for reading glasses, in this case too he tried to conceal the visible signs of weakness by keeping the trembling hand out of sight as much as possible.

As for his physical and mental state, he continued to make a good show of it. Even we, those closest to him, could only assess his general level of morale and mood from the reactions and expressions of the other participants at the situation conferences – it was very rare that we noted anything. He wanted to keep up this discipline which he showed by day, but the rapidly increasing physical burden made it visibly ever more difficult. Morell was no longer able to control the wear and tear and was released after nine years' service: he trudged past me, carrying his packed bags and breathing heavily, on the evening of 21 April. Dr Ludwig Stumpfegger, one of Hitler's travelling physicians, took over his care.

My concern for my wife and daughter grew unceasingly. For some time much of the population of Berlin had taken up residence in the overflowing bunkers. Formerly, I had always been able to ring Gerda at her parents' house. Our private early warning system continued to function there. Some time beforehand, telephone technician Gretz had had some lines laid in the neighbouring houses. When I warned my wife of an alarm, she pressed a button and the neighbouring families knew of an imminent air raid and reacted at once. That was a great advantage in the competition for a place in the bunker. In this way, most still had enough time to reach the bunker before the deadly bombs rained down.

On this 21 April, my attempts to telephone Gerda met with failure. I kept trying until midnight. Around the corner I could hear the sentry at the garden exit snoring. I discovered that something was wrong with the distributor box in the Berlin-Britz telephone exchange, through which calls went to Rudow and Buckow. Gerda's line remained intact but I could not dial it. I had an idea. I rang a colleague I knew well in the Reichspost distributor exchange in Munich. From Munich one could use a broadband cable to Berlin. This cable could handle 280 conversations at the same time. ‘Can you ring a number for me in Berlin?' I asked. At that moment, a female telephone operator who handled trunk calls switched into our conversation: ‘That is no problem. I can connect you at once if you like.' I gave the lady the number and less than a minute later I heard Gerda's voice. She had not slept and was crying softly.

22 April 1945

The date that for me marks the end of the Third Reich was 22 April 1945. It was eight days before Hitler's death, and some time before the unconditional surrender. The German Wehrmacht capitulated on 8 May 1945 – but on 22 April, a Sunday, Hitler capitulated. This day scarred itself into my memory no less than the day in which Hitler took his own life.

Like all days since we began our bunker existence, 22 April 1945 had no beginning. At some time or other, the long sleepless night ended in morning. I had nodded off again and was trying to keep myself awake with cognac and chocolate. The situation was more hopeless with every passing minute. To the north of Berlin, Soviet troops had advanced to Pankow and the frontline already ran along Gesundbrunnen and Bernauer-Strasse. To the east of the city, the Red Army had reached Karlshorst and Friedrichsfelde and had penetrated the inner defensive ring. Hitler's hoped-for breach between the Western Powers and the Russians had not come about, and neither had the attack by General Felix Steiner.
[2]
Around midday, preparations were made for the situation conference. Keitel, Jodl, Krebs, Burgdorf and Bormann were already in the Führerbunker. The commanders-in-chief, who had removed themselves from Berlin, were represented by their adjutants: Dönitz by Vice-Admiral Hans-Erich Voss; Göring by Brigadier Eckhard Christian; Himmler by Major General Hermann Fegelein; and Ribbentrop by diplomat Walther Hewel. I had the commander-in-chief of Ninth Army, General Theodor Busse, on the line, and I connected him to Burgdorf. Busse reported: ‘The bitter fighting has as its hallmark the increasing excessive demands made of the troops and the irreplaceable losses in men and materials.' I listened into the whole conversation – contrary to regulations. I was hoping to find a few sparks of hope, but I found none.

The telephone rang again. Our chief Franz Schädle was on the other end of the line. I had been noting down the main points of reports mentally. For this reason, I extracted only fragments of what he was saying: ‘Machine – fly out – place reserved. Fetch your wife.' Suddenly I was wide awake. A place had been reserved for my wife and daughter in one of the last aircraft to leave Berlin. They could fly out. To Berchtesgaden. It was almost incredible. I was quite overcome; in all the chaos somebody had thought of Misch, the bunker telephonist.

I was released from duty, and a colleague from the motor pool drove me to Rudow. Berlin was deserted; nobody was about. The man drove as fast as the ruined streets allowed. At our flat nobody was at home – doors and windows gaped open. The Russians blew up closed houses at once, they said. I guessed that Gerda and Gitta would be in an air-raid shelter about four hundred metres away. I had myself driven there, looked for them and happily found them very quickly. Gerda fell into my arms straight away. Her reaction to my life-saving news came as a terrible blow to me. She shook her head. No, she could not fly out, she said. Brigitta, our one-year old daughter, had a high fever. Furthermore, she did not want to leave her parents alone in Berlin. I tried to persuade her, mentioned the atrocities committed by the Russians against civilians in East Prussia, of which I had heard. I failed to convince her. ‘It is the last chance, Gerda,' I implored. ‘The very last!' But she had decided. She shook her head sadly and pressed her emergency bag into my hand. ‘Here, take this with you.' I could not remain any longer, got back into the car and tossed the bag onto the back seat – my mind a blank.

It would be many long years before I saw Gerda and Gitta again. I missed the personality of my daughter developing, never heard her first words, missed her schooling, knew nothing of her joys and troubles as a young girl. Gitta was told about her Papa, but not about Misch, Hitler's bunker telephonist. We were never able to regain what we had lost.

Back at the Reich Chancellery, I reported immediately to the chief of the SS bodyguard, Schädle, in the upper region of the cellars: ‘My family won't fly.' He did not pursue the matter, but said merely: ‘Then I must offer the seat elsewhere.' I nodded and resumed my duties. ‘Is there anything for the boss? Anything for me to take down?' Schädle had nothing for Hitler.

There was great activity in the Führerbunker. This surprised me. ‘The boss has released everybody,' Retzbach whispered. What was behind it all? During the situation conference, Hitler had finally uttered the magical sentence, and since then it had been repeated in incredulity to everybody creeping around the bunker: ‘The war is lost.' Those present at the situation conference, the colleagues of the SS bodyguard and RSD, the servants and other personnel – all now knew about it. Hitler had given up. ‘The war is lost.' In 1943, these words had dropped from his lips in a moment of weakness and almost nobody had noticed them, but this time it really did mean the end. Whatever was done from now on was merely preparation for the abdication.

‘The boss is staying in Berlin,' my deputy told me and gave me a penetrating stare. We all knew what that meant. He would kill himself. If the worst came to the worst, then that was an option for him – he had mentioned it several times. ‘All the others can go,' Retzbach went on. ‘Hitler said, “Nobody is now duty-bound to anything.”'

Nobody is now duty-bound to anything. Nobody doubted that Hitler was absolutely in earnest, that he had spoken the final word. The activities attached to this fundamental change tumbled out one after another at once. Hitler himself had various files brought to him, looked at some papers and finally engaged in conversation with chief adjutant Julius Schaub.

I remembered the emergency trunk which I had left upstairs in the cellars of the New Reich Chancellery with Schädle. I went up to him again. Dozens of cases were being carried past me. In curiosity, I asked Unterscharführer Hans Hofbeck of the RSD what they contained. ‘Those are the official papers of the past two months. They are going on the aircraft,' he replied. In these zinc cases were to be found all the transcriptions of the latest situation conferences. A valuable freight. The cases were set aside, piled into imposing towers. I put Gerda's emergency bag somewhere between them. It had to be taken to safety absolutely without fail, but I had no idea what it contained. In my disappointment at Gerda's reaction to the possibility of evacuation I had quite forgotten to ask her, and to this very day I still do not know.