The Berkut (9 page)

"Wonderful," Beard said sarcastically. "More character building.
Brumm smiled. The
sergeant major had always referred to difficu
lt
missions as character builders.

While Beard descended the stairs, Brumm searched for Waller. Sh
e
was in a doorway to his right. "Get your people into that room," h
e
said, pointing to the door behind her
. She gathered the women quickly,
their weapons rattling as they filed past him. Brumm signaled for Waller to join them; she did as she was told
,
but before she closed the door her eyes caught his and held them. Her look had a message
,
but he was not in the mood to translate it.

Hitler was shaking badly when he reached the second floor. Beard looked at his colonel and shook his head. Brumm took the man's other arm and helped him along the hall to the door.

"Wait," Brumm ordered the sergeant. "Cover." Beard nodded and slid into a shadow. The SS colonel entered the room. The women were on their knees
_t
obviously tired
_t
their eyes red from lack of sleep. In their tattered clothing they looked like waifs
_t
their youth showing through the caked dirt. They smiled at him
,
happy to see a friendly face; for the moment they could relax their guard. Brumm saw that psychologically they were in poor shape; for the first timet terror showed in their eyes. "I've brought someone I want you to meet/' he told them as he swung open the door.

Hitler's back was to the door
,
and the s
ound of it opening caused the Fü
hrer to turn awkwardly and stare in puzzlement at the girls on the floor. He shuffled inside with small steps and stood stoop-shouldered in front of them
,
staring down. Only once did he glance at Brumm
,
but when no explanation was forthcoming
,
he looked back at the floor.

"Is this another of your men?" one of the girls asked.

Brumm remained silent
,
watching. It was said that Hitler had a special power over women. They were said to collapse
,
even to swoon
,
under the intensity of his eyes. But the eyes now peering out at the girls were nearly swollen shut and radiated nothing. In only a moment the women lost interest in the old man and slipped back into a daze. Only Waller continued to study him.

"I told you that I had a special mission
,
a mission of the utmost importance to the Reich." The girls looked at Brumm.

He removed Hitler's glasses. The girls still didn't see it; Brumm was satisfied. He took one of his black gloves
,
pinched off the end of a finger and
held it below the tip of Hitler’s
nose. The Fuhrer slapped the glove awa
y
sneezed and glared angrily at the colonel.

Waller was the first to understand. She gasped loudly t struggled to her feet
_t
bent her head and said in a barely audible whisper
, "My Fü
hrer." The other girls loo
ked at her as if she were crazy,
then at the man
,
and jumped to their feet. One of them dropped her Schmeisser loudly to the floor
,
pushed her hands against her ears and began to
sob loudly. A smile emerged on Hitler's face, and he held out his right hand in a gracious gesture. The girls moved to him and held themselves against him. Brumm could see the power exerting itself and was amazed
by
it.

"Waller." She snapped to attention. "Help Herr Wolf." He let the name sink in. "You," he said to three of the girls, touching them on their heads, "resume your watches and tell Beard to come in."

As the girls gathered their weapons and moved out, Hitler found a place by the wall and was helped to sit down by Waller. Immediately he curled into a ball and went to sleep. Waller covered him with a curtain from the flat.

When Beard entered, Brumm sat him down beside Waller. "We have a lot to talk about."

The flames of a large fire snapped loudly as they burned unchecked in a nearby building. A lone rifle cracked somewhere in the streets outside.

14 – May 2, 1945, 11:50 P.M.

Vasily Petrov always began at the beginning. While his patterns of thought were fast, his methods of investigation were not. He took his time and paid attention to details-all the details. It was not that he tried to do everything by himself. He knew how to delegate, but he always made sure that his subordinates knew exactly what they were supposed to do and the results he expected. Then he checked periodically to be sure that his orders were being followed. It was a matter of control. Over time he had built his staff to four, all of them different in personality but similar in motivation. Each man was fanatically dedicated to the unit's mission, and each of them was physically robust, with great reserves of stamina and the persistence of a well-trained hunting dog.

The four men felt a distant fondness for their leader. He was hard to know, cold and logical in approach and secretive in nature. But whereas their admiration for Petrov the man was somewhat subdued, their respect for Petrov the leader was strong and genuine. Comrade Petrov was not a demonstrative man, but all of them knew when he was satisfied with their work. They trusted him and learned from him. Yet with all this, t
hey feared him, too, for Petrov, code name: The Berkut,
gave no quarter and countenanced no incompetence. To fail meant death; this was the rule of the Special Operations Group.

It was just before midnight on May 2. Petrov and his men moved slowly through what remained of the darkened halls of the Reich Chancellery. Petrov had intended to reach this destination earlier, but after nearly being caught in the mine ambush, they had been pinned down by stubborn German civilians-old men and adolescents with automatic weapons and stick grenades-and had been forced to wait until an infantry unit arrived to help them eliminate the opposition. Petrov loathed the delay, but he accepted it. His men were fully capable of doing the job, but to have committed them to it might have cost lives, and these were reserved for a higher need.

They entered the Chancellery rubble from the north end, through a shattered window frame. They climbed a pile of stones and jumped into what had once been the lavish interior of the building. They had been told by Soviet intelligence that Berlin was entirely under Russian control, but they had seen for themselves that there remained pockets of resistance, and in making their way into the Chancellery, they were cautious. The Chancellery, they had been told, had been taken by their military comrades during the early hours of May 2. Now Petrov was intent on finding some kind of Soviet military command post. The Special Operations Group was eager to begin its work. Officially they would have no role in the investigation to come-at least not in the work that the Russian SMERSH units would perform. Their mandate was quite different.

On the second floor of the Chancellery, in a large hall the Nazis had called the Blue Room, they found a temporary army control center. Nearly a hundred soldiers were in the room, most of them asleep. A few stood in small groups talking quietly; others were seated on wooden ammunition boxes or working at tables made from doors. Most of the light in the area was supplied by crude pitch torches or flashlights. Three or four large fires were built on smooth spots cleared of debris. Petrov studied the collection of people for a moment, then approached a group of officers near the south end of the hall. "What unit is this?" Petrov inquired.

"Who wants to know?"

"Petrov, Special Operations Group-Moscow." He let the
I word sink in.

"Seventy-ninth Rifle Corps, Fifth Shock Army," one of the offic
er
said proudly.

"Where is the number one Nazi war criminal?" Petrov asked stif
fly.
His men nudged one another and smiled. It had begun: no forepl no small talk, right to the target. The Berkut was aloft, searching its prey.

"Who?"

"Hitler. Where is he?"

"Dead. That's what the Nazis said on the radio," one of the offic
ers
said.

"Where is the body?"

The officers shrugged.

"There is a bunker under this building. Have you located bunker?"

"Anybody know anything about a bunker?" one of the offic
ers
called out to the group. Again they all shrugged. A couple of th
em
laughed. Who was this bizarre little stranger?

"I was in the basement," one of them said. "It's filled with wound
ed
four or five hundred of them. It smells."

"Have you moved the wounded? Have you taken their names
?
What has been done?"

"Nothing," the senior officer, a
thick-necked colonel, said incred
ulously. "We've just fought our way across a thousand miles,
and
now we're going to take the ni
ght off. The basement under here is
crisscrossed with tunnels. Seems like all the government buildings connected underground. No doubt those damned Nazis have left lots of booby traps. We'll organize ourselves tomorrow when it's li
ght
and sweep it clean. As for the wounded Nazi bastards the others behind, they can wait, too. After all, they're only Nazis. My men going to sleep tonight. I am Ashiroff. I command here."

"I am Petrov. Come, Colonel, I want to speak to you in privat
e.
As the two walked off to a corner of the darkened hall, Petre men grinned expectantly while thei
r leader showed the colonel a doc
ument. In seconds the pair was back;
the colonel's attitude had changed
dramatically. "Georgi," he shoute
d. "Roust the men. I want a perim
eter around this building. I want a man in every possible exit, b
oth
above and underground. The prisoners in the basement are to be ta
ken
care of immediately. First find out who they are, then get them to
an aid station. Records are to be kept of where each of them is taken. Yuri, you see to the prisoners. You're responsible for the list. Alexi, get your men into the basement. All of you listen to me," he shouted nervously to his men and officers. "Be alert, and when Comrade Petrov here asks for help, give it to him. Go!"

The group disbanded with a rush. The officers went among the sleepers, rousing them. In less than five minutes no more than a dozen people were left in the huge room.

"Do you have a scout team that can be assigned?" The colonel nodded. "Several."

"I want the best one," Petrov said.

"They're all the best," the colonel snapped defensively. "The ineffective ones died along the way."

Petrov pursed his lips. "Then get me the one that had the fewest number of replacements."

When the twelve-man scout team arrived, Petrov briefed them on what he expected. Then the twelve, Petrov and his four men descended into the basement of the Chancellery while the Soviet colonel went off to take care of his duties.

Standing amid the hundreds of wounded who were packed together tightly, Petrov removed his revolver from its holster, cocked the weapon, walked to the center of the room and stood so that all could see him. Silence crept over the Germans; even the critically wounded, sensing danger, stopped moaning. "Where is Hitler?" Petrov said slowly in perfect German.

There was no answer. He repeated the question. Still no answer.

He looked around the assemblage and pointed to a tall, gaunt sergeant whose arms were wrapped in soiled bandages. Petrov motioned the man to step forward.

The German stood at attention. "Where is Hitler?" Petrov asked again.

"I don't know," the soldier said defiantly.

Petrov raised the revolver to the man's heart. "Where is Hitler?" he repeated. The German shook his head angrily. Petrov fired a bullet through his heart. The impact sent the body backward onto a litter, and a wounded man shrieked. as the body fell on top of him.

Petrov pointed to another soldier, who came forward trembling.

"Where is Hitler?" Petrov's voice was still quiet, controlled.

The man tried to respond, but he was too frightened. He began to cry, begging for mercy. Again the revolver came up slowly and
exploded, sending the German soldier backward to the floor near the first one.