After Hitler: The Last Ten Days of World War II in Europe (33 page)

A
T RHEIMS, THE
weather on 5 May was poor. General Dwight Eisenhower’s naval aide, Captain Harry Butcher, began to draw up contingency plans in case the German delegation had to be diverted to another airfield. Supreme Allied Headquarters was engaged in a waiting game. Eisenhower’s driver, Kay Summersby, caught the atmosphere:

‘There wasn’t much work being done in our red schoolhouse when I arrived the following morning. Most of us sat around taking about the surrender ceremony … Just before noon we learnt that the German party’s plane had been diverted by bad weather and had landed at Brussels. They would come on to Rheims by car, arriving about five o’clock.’

The place chosen for the surrender was the ‘War Room’, where Eisenhower normally met with his top commanders and staff. Captain Butcher set the scene:

The room is about thirty feet square and has pale blue walls covered with battle maps showing the disposition of forces on all fronts. There are charts showing the current day’s air operations, casualty lists, records of supplies landed, railway and communications systems and today’s, tomorrow’s and the next day’s weather. On one wall there was a thermometer, mounted on a background of swastikas, showing the mounting thousands of German prisoners now in allied hands.

Now a mass of photographers had arrived and were waiting expectantly. But the arrival of the German delegation proved to be an anti-climax. Admiral Georg von Friedeburg claimed he had authority only to discuss terms and not to sign a final surrender document, adding that he had no means of communicating directly with Dönitz back in Flensburg.

The surrender document itself had been drawn up at speed – and purposefully kept simple. John Counsell, serving in SHAEF’s Historical Section, had been summoned to a meeting with General Bull, the American chief of operations, two days earlier. Counsell suggested that the existing Instrument of Surrender – drawn up after months of consultation by a committee representing Britain, America and Russia – not be used, as it existed only in draft form, and did not include alterations suggested by France. Instead he proposed that a simple act be drawn up to bring about an end to the fighting. The articles that followed were largely copied from the terms of surrender of the German armies in Italy. Counsell named it the ‘Act of Military Surrender’. The Russians had never seen it before.

Now these terms were officially adopted by Allied Supreme Command. This was a surprising choice. General Walter Bedell Smith – in a response to the US State Department – claimed to have forgotten about the existence of the earlier draft surrender. The Allied Supreme Command was focusing on bringing about a surrender on the Western and Eastern Fronts as quickly as possible. When Friedeburg claimed he did not have the power to sign, Eisenhower’s chief of staff, General Bedell Smith, suspected delaying tactics and was blunt:

‘The Germans are our enemies and will remain our enemies until the surrender,’ he told Von Friedeburg, adding that ‘either he should straight way receive from Dönitz full and complete authority to make an unconditional surrender or someone else should be sent, a commander-in-chief, who held the necessary power to do so’. A communication link was eventually raised to Flensburg and the assembled newsmen were told there would be a postponement.

A SHAEF report summarised the situation as follows:

Admiral Friedeburg arrived at Supreme Headquarters at 17.30 hours this evening. The stated object of his journey was to clarify a number of points. He was told that nothing less than unconditional surrender was acceptable. He replied that he had no power to sign any document of surrender.

The hopelessness of the German military situation was pointed out to him and he was urged to consider whether he should not obtain authority to sign. Admiral Friedeburg was then given the act of military surrender to study and he is now drafting a cable to Admiral Dönitz which we believe contains the suggestion that he should receive authorisation to sign.

These diplomatic reports provide a vital backdrop to events – and are essential for an understanding of what was to happen over the surrender ceremony. This one concluded: ‘General Susloparov is being kept in touch.’

Major General Ivan Susloparov, the commander of the Soviet liaison mission with the Allied Expeditionary Force and French government, was to play an important role in the surrender ceremony. Susloparov had fought with the Bolsheviks in the Russian civil war and graduated from the Kiev Military School in 1925 and the Artillery Section of the Dzherzhinsky Academy in 1938. The following year he was appointed Soviet military attaché in Paris, in charge of the Russian intelligence network in western Europe. After Germany’s invasion of Russia he served as artillery commander of the Soviet 10th Army and in the summer of 1944, after the liberation of Paris, was transferred to the French capital as chief of the Soviet mission there.

George Bailey, who served in the SHAEF intelligence section at Rheims, recalled of Susloparov: ‘He was a major general of artillery and he talked a fine bombardment. And he did not neglect to lob in some politics: “The communist system comes down to this – if you work well, you eat well.” Susloparov had obviously worked very well: he was a huge, round-faced, jovial man. In fact, he was one of the few really big Russian generals I have met.’

Bailey first got to know Susloparov during discussions with the German occupation force in western Holland. A truce had come into effect – to which the Soviet Union had agreed – in order to allow Allied food drops to the the starving Dutch population. Negotiations were carried out between the Nazi high commissioner, Arthur von Seyss-Inquart, and General Walter Bedell Smith, with Susloparov, General François Sevez (deputy chief of staff of the French army) and Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands. Bailey remembered that whenever Bernhard stepped out of the church building used for these proceedings, the assembled townsmen – wearing orange streamers, ribbons and sashes – would strike up the Dutch national anthem.

The main discussions were between Bedell Smith and Seyss-Inquart, although during the breaks Prince Bernhard took a lively interest in the Russian and, with Bailey acting as interpreter, quizzed him about the Soviet partisan movement. Bernhard grew quite animated and told Susloparov he would put his own plane at the Red Army’s disposal to assist in supply drops. All Russian lands had long since been liberated from the Germans, but a bemused Susloparov thanked him nonetheless, expressing the view that the partisan movement was well organised and would be able to take care of itself. When the prince fled inside to escape another rendition of the national anthem, Susloparov turned to Bailey and said: ‘What’s up with him – the war’s almost over!’

From 5 May, Bailey would carry messages from Bedell Smith, in SHAEF’s red schoolhouse HQ, to Susloparov at the nearby Hôtel Lion d’Or. Eisenhower was determined that the German surrender would be unconditional – and wanted to reassure Russia that no partial surrender would ever be considered. Bailey recalled:

Susloparov was in effect an intermediary in these matters – he could do nothing more than send and receive signals to and from Moscow on the radio transmitter the Russians always carried around with them. Whenever I appeared at the Lion d’Or with questions or answers for Susloparov, he would begin by saying: ‘I have just sent a telegram to Moscow.’ But to the best of my recollection, he never once said that he had received a message from Moscow. I began to think that the receiver had broken down and that he was too proud to admit it.

Initially, all had seemed well with Susloparov’s mandate. Eisenhower had kept General Antonov, chief of staff of the Soviet High Command, fully informed of developments. On 4 May he had briefed Antonov on the German surrender at Lüneburg Heath. He had also told him that representatives of Admiral Dönitz were proceeding to his headquarters the following day (the 5th) to arrange further surrenders. Eisenhower said he intended to inform the German delegation that surrenders on the Eastern and Western Fronts were to be made simultaneously, and asked, as a matter of urgency, whether this was satisfactory to the Russian High Command.

Eisenhower added that he felt it best if these happened as quickly as possible, in the interest of saving lives, but he would wait for a response from the Soviet High Command before proceeding with negotiations. He also said that Major General Susloparov would be invited to attend and if the Russians would like to send other representatives to his headquarters, fully empowered to act for them, he would be most happy to receive them.

General Antonov received this message – orally and in writing – late on 4 May and he responded immediately – stating shortly after midnight that Eisenhower’s plan was in principle acceptable. He asked that should Dönitz refuse to accept the condition of a simultaneous German surrender on Western and Russian fronts, negotiations should be broken off. He also authorised Major General Susloparov to participate in the surrender negotiations, since there would not be time to send alternative representatives.

While there was a lull in surrender negotiations at Rheims, at Breslau General Hermann Niehoff had now resolved to give up the city to the Red Army. He had met with a group of Breslau’s clergy – the Catholic bishop, Joseph Ferche, and his canon, Joseph Kramer, along with two Protestants, Joachim Konrad and Ernst Hornig. Niehoff and two of his staff officers received the delegation in the basement of the municipal library, which had been transformed into their army headquarters. Ferche introduced his colleagues and then addressed Niehoff directly.

‘Herr General, we do not have the right to intervene in your decisions. But we regard it as our duty, before God and before our people, to ask you whether you can still take responsibility for continuing the struggle.’ Protestant clergyman Ernst Hornig then spoke. ‘The plight of the city’s civilians is pitiful,’ he said. ‘Every day I am asked if everyone is supposed to die beneath the bombs and flames. And for what? Every day faith in the Party is waning. People no longer see any sense in defending Breslau. Perhaps in a few days they will no longer follow orders. In these circumstances, can you answer to God for continuing to defend the city?’

There was silence in the bunker. Niehoff lowered his head for a full minute. It was as if a spell was being broken. Then he looked up at the clergymen. ‘Your concerns are my concerns,’ he said.

The following day Niehoff broke off all telephone links with Field Marshal Schörner. Gauleiter [Regional Party Leader] Karl Hanke stormed into his command post and threatened to arrest him. Niehoff looked around at his soldiers and then said slowly: ‘If anyone is going to do any arresting, Gauleiter, it will be me.’ There was a long silence and Hanke, the party bully who had executed thousands of civilians for desertion, seemed to deflate before the general’s eyes. ‘Forgive my threat,’ Hanke said eventually, ‘it was not meant as such. But what should I do?’ Niehoff regarded him coldly: ‘Take your own life,’ he suggested. Hanke did not have the courage. He would flee the city that night by plane.

On 6 May General Niehoff summoned his staff. ‘It is time to end the struggle,’ he began.

I have called you together for a final roll-call. What has been achieved by you, by our men and the civilian population, needs no words. One day history will pass judgment.

Hitler is dead. Berlin has fallen. The eastern and western allies have shaken hands in the heart of Germany. There is no longer any reason to continue the struggle for Breslau. Any further sacrifice is a crime. I have decided to end the fighting and offer to surrender the city and the garrison to the enemy on honourable terms. We have fired our last round. We have done our duty.

Every man agreed except Otto Herzog, commander of the
Volkssturm
and an inveterate Nazi. ‘In a few weeks the western allies and the Soviet Union will be at war, and the German army will be needed again,’ he exclaimed to Niehoff as he left the room. Herzog could not countenance surrender to the Red Army. An hour later he had shot himself.

At 3.00 p.m. on 6 May Niehoff received two Soviet negotiators in his command post. The discussions were amicable. Unsure whether they had proper authority to draw up surrender terms, he decided to seek out his opposite number, the Soviet commander of the 6th Army, General Vladimir Gluzdovski.

Hermann Niehoff was driven under Red Army escort to the south-western edge of the city. Here, in the Villa Colonia, a smart detached house, Gluzdovski had made his headquarters. Staff officers stood smartly to attention as the German general passed them. He was shown into a room where a number of Soviet officers were standing around a large table, Gluzdovski among them. An orderly brought in a tray of glasses and schnapps, and Gluzdovski invited the German to drink. Niehoff refused. Gluzdovski looked at him quizzically, wondering whether Niehoff thought it was poisoned. The distrust between the two sides was deeply entrenched. He took the glass and drained it. Niehoff nodded and then emptied the fresh glass offered to him. Everyone smiled.

Gluzdovski’s deputy, General Panov, brought in articles of surrender. The sick would receive medical assistance. Civilians would be protected. Soldiers would be fed, treated properly and allowed to keep personal possessions. The terms were reasonable. Niehoff looked through them and then signed. It was 6.00 p.m.

The terms were certainly reasonable, and may have been genuinely offered, but they were not kept. Red Army soldiers marched into Breslau on 7 May and the German garrison trudged out in the opposite direction. Most Wehrmacht soldiers were relieved of all their property. That night rapes began in the city. And yet the alternative – to carry on fighting – would have caused even more suffering.

At Rheims, Sunday, 6 May began uneventfully. In the afternoon Bedell Smith supervised the layout of microphones and cameras in the ‘War Room’ – everything was kept simple. Bedell Smith and Susloparov haggled over two points in the surrender treaty: the definition of ‘property’, the Russians plumping for the widest possible interpretation with an eye to reparations, and the question of whether Susloparov was able or could be empowered by Moscow to sign the articles on behalf of the Soviet High Command. George Bailey said: ‘the first point was settled pretty much in the Russians’ favour, the second, to the best of my knowledge, was never cleared up’.