The Road to Liberation: Trials and Triumphs of WWII

by Marion Kummerow

  The refugees scattered.

  The plane finished its run. Inge’s screams, mingled with everyone else’s, was drowned out by the pounding of the anti-aircraft gun.

  Then the plane turned in the sky and came back.

  This time it strafed along the edge of the stadium. Inge and Martha made themselves as small as they could. Martha threw her body over Inge’s and prayed.

  When the raid was over, Martha asked Inge if she was hurt.

  “I’ve hurt my ankle,” said Inge, her slight frame shivering all over.

  Martha examined Inge’s ankle. It was nothing more serious than a sprain, but it was painful to walk on.

  They surveyed the scene. Dead and injured refugees littered the grass all around the stadium. Martha tried – rather half-heartedly – to help the injured, but there was nothing she could do.

  It took them a little over two hours to make it back to Gretchen and Hans’s block, Martha providing support for Inge’s injured ankle. Martha hammered on Gretchen’s door and she let them in. They were both exhausted and shivering from shock and the cold.

  Gretchen put a cold cloth on Inge’s ankle. Then she put some damp wood on the fire. After Inge had gone to bed, Martha described their journey and the attack by the RAF plane.

  “We got as far as the Olympic Stadium. When the planes attacked us with bullets, I knew it was hopeless. You should have seen the number of dead and injured, all innocent civilians brutally killed by the RAF.” Martha’s hands trembled and her voice shook as she spoke.

  “But you survived. You weren’t injured. Couldn’t you have carried on?”

  Martha shook her head. “We had no choice, Gretchen. It was too cold, and Inge would never have made it to Luckenwalde on that ankle.”

  45

  The bombing continued. Every day and every night for a month the city was pounded by Allied bombers. Hans, Gretchen, Oskar, Martha and Inge took to sheltering in the U-Bahn station. Anyone who asked was told that Inge was Martha’s niece. She’d lost her papers when Martha’s block had been bombed. Gretchen kept the few small things she treasured in a bag that she carried everywhere.

  Food became scarcer and scarcer, and people began to starve. Hans kept them going by foraging for vegetables among the ruins of the allotments.

  Every day they tuned in to listen to the regular broadcasts of Dr Joseph Goebbels, Berlin’s plucky Gauleiter. He remained stubbornly defiant. The spirit of the German people would never be broken by a few bombs. Berlin was secure against the criminal invaders. It would continue to be defended by the brave Wehrmacht and young and old of the Volkssturm. “Even as our bodies are covered in cuts and bruises, we will remain ever defiant, proud and honored to serve our Fatherland and our Führer.”

  Gretchen searched the faces of the men building barricades and tank traps in the streets. She found no traces of pride or honor, only fear and abject misery.

  Every morning, after the last bomber had left the skies, they went foraging for food. The scenes of destruction shocked Gretchen to the core, as fewer and fewer of Berlin’s buildings were left standing. Blackened walls of offices, shops, homes and churches resembled dead bodies sliced open under the scalpel of a deranged forensic surgeon. And everywhere she looked were mountains of rubble, lines of streetlamps where there were no streets anymore, and electricity poles tottering at crazy angles, held in place by the few lifeless cables still attached.

  Kaiser Wilhelm block 2 led a charmed life; it survived the bombs until it was hit on April 7. There was no fire, but the block simply disintegrated. After that, the U-Bahn station became their home.

  Once they were living permanently among strangers, Gretchen and Martha found it impossible to shield Inge from the stories about the Russian soldiers’ mistreatment of civilians – men and women. Inge became increasingly nervous and continued to pester Gretchen and Martha into coming up with a new escape plan.

  Gretchen pestered Hans in turn. “You said you needed a few days. Where’s your wonderful new escape plan?”

  Hans shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do until the bombing stops.”

  “And when the bombing stops, what then?”

  “As I said before, I have a plan that should work.”

  Part VI

  46

  On April 12, the electricity supply finally died. From that date, carbide lamps and candles were used to light the U-Bahn stations. The smoke from the lamps made all their eyes water, and as more and more people decided to leave and take their chances on the refugee trail, the shelter became colder and colder.

  They all moved to Hans’s allotment. Gretchen went first. “You don’t mind, do you, Hans.” She blushed. “The underground station is no longer habitable.”

  “No, I don’t mind. You are most welcome. I’ll see what I can do to fix you up with some sort of bed.”

  “We’ll need one for Oskar too,” she said.

  “Of course. Yes, Oskar, of course.”

  “And Inge, the young Jewish girl…”

  “That’s rather a lot,” he said. “There’s not much room in here, as you can see.”

  “And my friend Martha.”

  “Is that everyone?” he said.

  “That’s everyone.”

  They did what they could with the space they had. Hans looked less than happy to have his private space invaded by so many people. They had no way of washing bodies or clothes and no toilet. The cabin soon became unbearably smelly, and everyone had fleas. Gretchen could see how unpleasant he found it, but Gretchen pointed out that they would need to be together in one place for Hans’s new plan to work.

  “You are still thinking about that new escape plan?” she asked him.

  “Yes, yes. As soon as the bombing stops, I’ll be able to sort that out. Trust me.”

  In a trench at Seelow Heights, the Hitler Youth leader Ludwig was paired with master baker Herr Korn. They were equipped with a Panzerfaust 100 and 25 anti-tank warheads.

  On April 16, following a week of sustained artillery bombardment, the Red Army began to advance.

  “Wait for the order. Make every shot count!” shouted a Wehrmacht Hauptmann.

  Herr Korn watched the advancing Russian infantry and tanks through a narrow gap in the sandbags. Ludwig’s hands were sweating, but he held the weapon steady, loaded and ready to fire.

  “One hundred and fifty meters,” said the master baker. Then, “One hundred and twenty-five.”

  Ludwig regulated his breathing as he’d been taught in training.

  “One hundred,” said Herr Korn. “Hold your fire. Wait for the order.”

  An agonizing minute passed before the order came. “FIRE!”

  A thunderous roar erupted from the trenches as 200 Panzerfaust 100s opened fire. Ludwig saw three Russian T34 tanks hit. One lost a track and slewed to a halt, the other two burst into flames, their crews leaping to safety from the turrets. Thirty Russian tanks continued to advance. Korn reloaded Ludwig’s weapon and he fired again.

  “I hit one!” he shouted.

  Some of the Russian tanks fired their cannons. One incoming shell exploded behind Ludwig’s trench, spraying them with a half-ton of loose soil, but doing no damage.

  The defenders fired again, taking out six or seven more T34s. The tanks and infantry stopped their advance, then began to retreat.

  “Cease firing!” came the order.

  A great cheer rose from the trenches.

  Ludwig lit a cigarette. He offered the packet to his companion, but Herr Korn declined. “You shouldn’t smoke at your age,” he said. “It’s not good for your health.”

  They both laughed.

  The next three waves were more determined. The tanks moved faster, coming toward the trenches from the flanks as well as the front. It took a more sustained response from the defenders to repel them. Each wave lasted an hour before the Russians drew back.

  Herr Korn counted their warheads. They had seven left.

  “We’re going to need more,�
� said Ludwig.

  The baker left the trench to search for more warheads. He came back with three.

  “That’s not enough,” said Ludwig.

  Herr Korn placed the warheads with the others. “There aren’t any more.”

  47

  At midday on Tuesday April 17, a flying squad of SS-Feldjägerkorps swept into the district in search of new Volkssturm volunteers. They seized three boys, all under the age of 12 – one only eight years old – and an old soldier with an iron leg foraging for food in the Ruhwald allotments.

  Hans objected strenuously, but the SS-men insisted that as long as he was able to fire a weapon he could help to defend the city.

  “I’ll need a uniform,” said Hans. “I’m a soldier. If I am to fight for my country again, you must let me wear a uniform.”

  The head-hunters laughed at him. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of spare uniforms. What we don’t have is men to fill them.”

  They manhandled him into their Kübelwagen and drove him and the boys straight to the eastern battle front at Seelow Heights.

  Once again, Hans insisted on a uniform, and he was given one. The boys were kitted out as well, in uniforms far too big for them and helmets that fell down over their eyes. They were issued with VG1-5 rifles that they could barely lift.

  “Do any of them even know how to fire a rifle?” said Hans.

  “They’ll learn quick enough,” was the reply.

  Martha and Gretchen searched the allotments for stray vegetables, anything they could find to feed Oskar and Inge. Gretchen was desolate. Hans was their only hope for escaping the city. He had been hatching some plan that he never shared with her. Without him and his plan, there would be no escape. She didn’t care what happened to herself, but she dreaded what would become of Inge and Martha. They would have to face the full fury of a vengeful Red Army. She despaired for them. There would be no last-minute miraculous escape for either of them.

  She thought about finding a hiding place for the two young women. Maybe Dora could suggest somewhere. But where was Dora? Gretchen hadn’t seen her for a month. No, their situation was entirely hopeless, their prospects grim.

  When they returned to the cabin, they found Inge in an agitated state. Oskar was missing.

  “Where’s Oskar?” said Gretchen.

  “He wandered off,” said Inge. “I tried to stop him.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  Inge pointed.

  Gretchen nodded. “He’s trying to go home. I’ll find him and bring him back.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Martha.

  “No, Martha, stay here with Inge. I won’t be long.”

  Gretchen hurried back toward the ruins of the Kaiser Wilhelm blocks.

  At Seelow Heights, the battle was in recess, the soldiers and Volkssturm ‘volunteers’ taking on food and water and removing the dead bodies from the trenches.

  Because he’d shown an interest in the boys, a sergeant placed them in Hans’s care. He took them to a stand of trees behind a line of trucks, where the latrines were located, and began to teach them how to aim and fire their weapons. After 30 minutes of training without ammunition, he gave each boy a single bullet and showed them how to load their guns. The final lesson was how to fire a live round, to hold the gun steady and anticipate the recoil. He used his bayonet to cut an X in the bark of a tree and told them to see if they could hit it from a distance of 20 meters. The three boys fired a single round each, not one bullet hit the tree.

  The sound of the shots brought the sergeant running from the trenches with a stern face. He shouted, “Who gave you orders to fire?”

  “I was training these recruits,” said Hans.

  “Who gave you that order?”

  Hans couldn’t think of a reply.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Klein, Hans Klein.”

  “Well, Gefreiter Klein, if you’ve shown them how to aim and load their rifles, that’s enough.” He waved a finger in Hans’s face. “They will have to find out how to shoot by aiming at the enemy in the trenches. We need every bullet.”

  Hans had seen the Russian army in the distance. Now he looked at them more carefully, and what he saw turned his stomach. They were facing a vast army and attempting to hold them back with a handful of trained soldiers and the remnants of the Volkssturm. Old men and boys were no match for the Russians. They wouldn’t last a day. The city would fall soon after that. His thoughts turned to Inge and Martha – and to Gretchen – and a desperate plan began to form in his mind.

  The sergeant gathered the boys together. “Time to take your stations.”

  “You too,” he said to Hans.

  They made their way toward the trenches. The sergeant found places for each of the boys. Finally, he stopped and pointed down into a trench. “This is yours, Klein,” he said.

  The trench was deep, with no ladder for access. He would have to jump into it, and he would never be able to climb out. “Latrine,” he said.

  “All right, be quick. I’ll expect to see you on station in five minutes,” said the sergeant, and he hurried away.

  Swinging his leg as fast as he could, Hans hurried back behind the line of trucks. He made a beeline for a Kübelwagen.

  A lone soldier stood guard over the vehicles. He unslung his carbine from his shoulder. “Where are you going, soldier? This area is off-limits.”

  Hans stood his ground, and the guard came up to face him.

  “This area is off-limits. The battle is that way.” He pointed with his gun.

  “Latrine, urgent,” said Hans, providing a facial expression to match.

  The soldier laughed. “The latrines are over there.” He lowered his weapon. Hans swung his leg with all his strength, taking the legs from under the guard, poleaxing him. He followed up with a roundhouse punch that knocked the guard senseless.

  Climbing on board the Kübelwagen, he stripped the wires and fired up the engine. Within seconds he had swung it around and was heading toward the city at speed.

  48

  Gretchen searched the remains of the Kaiser Wilhelm blocks. She found no sign of Oskar anywhere. Frantic with worry, she made her way back along Bolivarallee poking about in the rubble, called his name…

  Hans’s initial progress was slow. The grass had been churned into mud by the military traffic and his wheels spun. By the time he reached the paved road, the Kübelwagen and Hans were covered in mud.

  As he sped down the road toward the city center, he checked the fuel gauge. He had half a tank. Probably not enough for the whole journey, but he hoped it would get them out of the city.

  His iron leg was fine for accelerating, but braking was difficult. The center of the city was a wilderness of rubble, the streets only recognizable by the skeletons of high-rise buildings standing in rows, like silent, charred sentries. Weaving his way around the obstacles, he drew close to the Brandenburg Gate, still standing, defiant, surrounded by smoldering ruins. Huge fires burning on both sides of Charlottenburger Chaussee made it impassable. He had to take a detour south of the Tiergarten, but once he reached Neue Kantstrasse the going got easier.

  He slammed the brakes on outside allotment F17. Inge and Martha emerged. The worried frowns on their faces transformed to delighted smiles when they saw who was driving the Kübelwagen.

  “All aboard,” he shouted. “Next stop Luckenwalde.”

  Martha and Inge climbed aboard.

  “Where’s Gretchen?”

  “She went looking for Oskar,” said Inge.

  “Which way did she go?”

  “Back toward the apartment blocks,” said Martha.

  Hans wrenched the wheel around and set off down Bolivarallee. He drove slowly, watching out for Gretchen.

  “There she is,” cried Inge, pointing at the remains of a block of flats.

  Hans brought the Kübelwagen to a screeching halt.

  “Come on, Gretchen,” he shouted. “It’s time to leave.”

  Gr
etchen shook her head emphatically. “I’ve lost Oskar. I’m not leaving without him.”

  Leaving the engine running, he climbed out and grabbed Gretchen by the elbows.

  “You have to come with us, Gretchen. This is your one and only chance to make it out of the horrible war alive.”

  “I can’t leave Oskar.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “There’s nothing left of Oskar, Gretchen.” Hans’s voice cracked with anxiety. “He has no idea what day it is. Does he even know who you are?”

  She shook her head. “He still has good days. Not many, but I can’t abandon him.”

  Hans tightened his grip on her arms. “Listen to me, Gretchen. You have to leave him. You have to save yourself and come with me. The war will be over soon. We will be able to make a life together, you and me.”

  “What would we live on?”

  “I can work. There are lots of things I could do.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Hans, but Oskar is my husband. I have to honor my wedding vows. Now go before it’s too late.”

  Hans hesitated. What more could he say? This woman had a beautiful soul. He would willingly sacrifice his own life to save her, but she wasn’t going to change her mind.

  He pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. She kissed him back.

  “I’ll come back for you. As soon as Inge and Martha are safe, I’ll come back.”

  It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but he knew it could be an impossible promise to keep.

  She touched his face. “Please don’t, Hans. Don’t come back. Stay safe and live a full life.”