Hitler's Last Witness (28 page)

I had had enough of carrying dead bodies out. I remained at my post at the telephone switchboard and put through call after call to Goebbels. When I went out into the corridor later, RSD men had brought out the bodies of Burgdorf and Krebs, probably using the emergency exit to the garden. I had last seen Goebbels's adjutant Günther Schwägermann and the valet Günther Ochs shortly before the generals' suicides and even now there was no sign of them. I assumed they had joined one of Mohnke's break-out groups.

Long after midnight, Goebbels gave me a sudden look as if he were seeing me for the first time. Perhaps the fact that he had to address his last words to a simple SS man of the erstwhile bodyguard humiliated him. ‘The war is lost –
les jeux sont faits
.
[5]
We knew how to live, and now we have to know how to die. I do not need you any longer, Misch. Clear up here.'
[6]
Goebbels took a step towards me, looked steeply up at me again with that odd gaze. Then he gave me his hand, something he had never done before. His handshake was firm; his fingers cold. Without another word he withdrew into his room.

For a moment I felt relief. I thought no more of Goebbels or Hitler. I went back to the switchboard and plucked out all the plugs from the installation correctly, then with both hands tore free the cabling. Right, left, right, left. I could not do it fast enough. I did not overlook a single one, of that I am certain. A great cable salad piled up on the switchboard table. I was not conscious of the symbolic nature of this my last official act at the time, but with every cable I ripped free I felt a little freer myself. It was the end of my captivity in the Führerbunker. I was finally finished here. Now to get out.

1
This was the Hotel Excelsior, according to Joachimsthaler. The negotiations took place in the provisional Tempelhof HQ of the Russians, Schulenburgring 2. See Anton Joachimsthaler,
Hitler's Ende
, Munich 2004 (1st edn 1995) p. 276.

2
In the battle for Berlin, Chuikov was commander-in-chief, Red Army 8.Garde-Army, formerly 62.Army until renamed on 16 April 1943.

3
According to Joachim Fest, the Soviet paper contained these terms for capitulation: ‘1. Berlin capitulates. 2. All weapons to be surrendered. 3. All soldiers and officers are guaranteed their lives. 4. The wounded will receive treatment. 5. The possibility of negotiations with the Allies by radio will be arranged.' See Joachim Fest,
Der Untergang
, Berlin 2002, p. 163.

4
The commandant of the Zitadelle, Mohnke, gave orders that all former members of Hitler's entourage still in the Reich Chancellery cellars and bunkers were to take part in the mass break-out. See Ian Kershaw,
Hitler
1936–1945
, Stuttgart 2000, p. 1,071.

5
A French roulette term; in British casinos
rien ne va plus
means that no more bets can be laid.

6
These ‘parting words' appear in the memoir of Hitler's personal pilot Hans Baur as being addressed to him. According to Misch, Baur knew of them from conversations during their common period of captivity. See Hans Baur,
Mit Mächtigen zwischen Himmel und Erde
, Oldendorf 1971, p. 283.

*
Werner Naumann (1909–1982) was state secretary at the Propaganda Ministry. He reached Argentina in 1946. See Camarasa Jorge,
Los Nazis en la Argentina
, Legasa, Buenos Aires 1992. (TN)

Chapter Sixteen

Break-out and Capture

ON THE EARLY MORNING
of 2 May 1945, the Reich chancellor of the German Reich released me from duty almost exactly five years after I had entered the service of his predecessor. All my thoughts were for my family, to whom I now wanted to make my way. I hoped that perhaps I would be able to reach some of the break-out groups heading for General Rauch in the north of the city. I grabbed my backpack lying ready and went over to Hentschel. ‘Hannes, we are cut off, we should go.' Hannes wanted to stay behind to keep the military hospital supplied with fresh air and electric current. I took my leave of him. We exchanged duplicated letters for our wives to be delivered should one of us not be able to return to his family.

Much later, after my return from captivity, I asked Hentschel what had happened after I left. ‘You were hardly gone five minutes than Goebbels was dead. Two hours later the Russians surfaced. You may not believe it but the first Russians into the Führerbunker were wenches.'
[1]
After that he went on to tell me that Goebbels had killed himself in his room in the bunker, his wife upstairs in the ante-bunker with her murdered children. Nobody wanted to chance dragging Goebbels's body up to the gardens and so an attempt was made to burn them where they lay. Obviously this was doomed to failure as there was not enough oxygen in the bunker to keep the bodies burning for hours. Others maintained that the Goebbels couple committed suicide in the gardens. Hentschel's version seems the plausible one, for in some photos taken by the Russians there are considerable traces of fire in the bunker central corridor. Furthermore, some strips of material are visible on his body in a famous photo. His clothing at least would have been totally destroyed if the bodies had been immolated in the garden. From what I observed in my last hours in the Reich Chancellery, it did not appear to me that husband and wife wanted to die together. After taking his leave of me, Goebbels had withdrawn to his room in the Führerbunker, and Frau Goebbels had long since gone upstairs. I therefore consider it to have been more likely that they were separate when they died.

I went through the ante-bunker to my service room. In indecision I wavered between uniform or civilian dress. One thing was clear – I was not going to wear my immaculate service uniform while fleeing through the Russian lines. It was too elegant, and would have attracted attention; would have betrayed the fact that, despite my low rank, I must have had an important function. I chose my front uniform. This made me look a bit more like a warrior. Since entering Hitler's service I did not have a steel helmet, and my only weapon was my Walther PP 7.65 mm, the same model used by Hitler to shoot himself.

As regards the military situation at this time, I knew little. By my watch it was four in the morning. I descended once more to the cellars and ran through the bomb-damaged Kannenberg-Allee already flooded to a depth of five centimetres. Planks had been laid so that one could pass without getting one's feet wet. Through deserted floors I headed for Schädle's service room in the cellars of the New Reich Chancellery in order to report myself off duty.

‘So here you are at last!' he greeted me, apparently so relieved to see me or anybody at all that he addressed me with the familiar ‘
Du
' instead of ‘
Sie
'. I told him of my release by Goebbels. My commander had no reason to doubt my words. Everybody else was long gone. ‘But quick now.' Schädle indicated that I should follow him, and for the last time I went through the cellar labyrinth of the Reich Chancellery. He talked me through the route I had to go: first through the U-bahn shafts towards Friedrich-Strasse station, then over the Weidendammer Bridge across the Spree river. The others wanted to join up with the troops of General Rauch there; I should also try to.

Schädle had a leg injury and limped ahead of me through the endless corridors. Until a short while ago everywhere had been full of civilians, now gaping emptiness reigned. This seemed to me more eerie than the bunker atmosphere. Finally, we reached a cellar window of the Borsig Palace on the corner of Wilhelm-Strasse and Voss-Strasse. From there I could get out into the open and reach the nearby U-bahn station on Wilhelm-Platz by the most direct route. I gave Schädle a questioning look. He understood what I wanted to know and shook his head: ‘I cannot,' and pointed at his injured leg. He must have decided some time previously not to accompany the groups. We took our leave of each other. My commander wished me all the best. Immediately after helping me out, he shot himself in the New Chancellery.

Pushing rubble aside, I climbed out through the cellar window leading into Wilhelm-Strasse. I left the Borsig Palace on my stomach and moved into Wilhelm-Platz. The morning of 2 May 1945 was already dawning. Smoke rose everywhere from the rubble. A noticeable silence lay over the Platz; only in the distance could I hear dull rumbling, occasionally a round being fired.

Without cover I ran the approximately twenty metres to the entrance of the Kaiserhof U-bahn station.
[2]
On the stairway leading down I turned to look back. I felt that I needed this last look. I looked along Wilhelm-Strasse, then along Voss-Strasse, and finally up to the Reich Chancellery. The New Reich Chancellery had come in for a hammering: the caretaker's apartment was totally destroyed, but the façade of the Reich Chancellery still stood. I turned again and went down the steps into the U-bahn station. While doing so, I had to keep stepping over dead bodies – Russians, Germans, dead everywhere.

In the Tunnel

The station was full of people, all civilians. The scene was indescribable. The wildest rumours were circulating about the things the Russians were said to be up to in the already occupied districts of the city. The strangest thing below was that two young men were playing loud, happy Hawaiian rhythms on guitars. I could not believe it. Berlin was going down, not with drums and trumpets, but with guitar music. It was something totally unreal.

Through almost total darkness I felt my way along the U-bahn lines to Stadtmitte station, after which the line went north to Friedrich-Strasse station. There I met Hitler's former valet Heinz Linge; the caretaker of the New Reich Chancellery Ziegner; then a senior official who had worked for Goebbels – I think his name was Bader; and a colleague from the SS bodyguard, Untersturmführer (junior lieutenant) Helmut Frick. I had known him since 1938 but he had not been with us long. One day he had asked me how he could join the bodyguard. I told him that I could not really help, he should apply to the commander or Adi Dirr. I would soon discover why he wanted to join the bodyguard so urgently.

The group around Linge had broken out of the Reich Chancellery hours before me. We would have liked to have crossed the Weidendamm bridge from the Friedrich-Strasse U-bahn station, but this was out of the question. The bridge was under permanent fire. Russian snipers took aim at everything that moved. On this side of it was a wrecked Tiger tank, in front of it a female secretary from Hitler's private Chancellery, whom I recognised. She was dead. There were corpses everywhere. The fearsome hail of fire made any advance impossible. Weidendamm bridge was no longer an option. There was nothing else for it but to go back down into the U-bahn tunnel, which we had just left. There we met three grenadiers also fleeing northwards and joined up with them. We now had to cross the Spree underground.

On we went through Berlin's underworld heading north. Linge, Frick, the others and I, pack on my back, forced ourselves through a tunnel hatch, which was open by about fifty centimetres. What if the hatches closed when being flooded? I kept feeling for my Walther PP. In the case of flooding I preferred a bullet to drowning.

We came to Stettinerhof station. After a few hundred metres more we reached a spot where the tunnel roof had been penetrated by a bomb. The Russians were above the hole tossing down hand grenades every couple of seconds. These exploded with a stupendous noise. We attempted to estimate the distance in time between each – and then sprinted for it. Live or die, only luck determined which. I looked around. Frick was no longer with us. Strange, he must have set off on his own.

‘Psst.' One of the grenadiers suddenly put a finger to his lips. ‘Germans!' We listened. We heard German voices. On the wall we discovered stairs that led up to a ventilation shaft. This was where the voices were coming from. ‘Right, we'll go up,' said another grenadier. He grasped the rails and went up first. Cautiously he reconnoitred the street through the bars of the shaft. ‘Man, they are our people,' he called out in joyful excitement. General Rauch! I thought at once. Had German troops broken through the Russian encirclement around the government district and linked up with General Rauch's people? I was the last but one to climb up – only Linge was behind me. A moment later, I had scarcely raised my head than I felt a rifle butt poke me in the back. German soldiers who had broken through the Berlin Pocket – not on your life. Hope had been father to the thought. The German voices that had led us to think they were General Rauch's people were those of Germans taken prisoner. It was the end of my break-out attempt. Swiftly I tossed my pistol into the darkness below. We were in the hands of the Russians.

Captivity

The first thing I did was open the strap of my wristwatch. It was an expensive model from Switzerland, a limited edition of 2,000 made for the Foreign Ministry. Diplomat Hewel had presented it to me. They were intended as gifts to guests. I allowed the valuable timepiece to drop to the floor where I trod on it and slowly ground it underfoot. The watch shattered with the crunching. The Russians, whose wrists were graced by many similar pieces of booty, were not going to get this one. Linge tossed his watch away in a high trajectory. ‘There it goes, the boss's watch,' he said. I did not know from this whether he meant that it was Hitler's watch, which he had taken from him at his death, or his own watch, a present from Hitler.
[3]
Just at that moment, as the watch flew through the air, the Russians shooed away an old woman who had wanted to give us some water. The watch landed near her. She bent down, picked it up and, unnoticed by the Russians, who had already turned away from her, tucked it into her pocket.