The Last Battle: The Classic History of the Battle for Berlin

by Cornelius Ryan

  The rest of the patrol came up, and the Lieutenant jumped back into his jeep. They sped on toward the Elbe, and then, just before they reached the river, Albert Kotzebue made history. In the village of Leckwitz he saw a strange-looking man in an unusual uniform astride a pony. The man swung around in the saddle and looked at Kotzebue. The Lieutenant looked back. Kotzebue and the man on the horse had fought across half a world for this moment. It seemed to Kotzebue that he had met the first Russian.

  Someone who spoke Russian questioned the horseman. Yes, he was a Russian, he said. “Where’s his unit?” asked Kotzebue. The man answered curtly, “On the Elbe.” The patrol set out again for the river. The man watched them go. At the river Kotzebue and a few others found a rowboat and crossed to the other bank, using their rifles as oars. As they stepped out of the boat, Kotzebue saw that the shore for hundreds of yards was covered with dead civilians—men, women and children. There were overturned wagons and carts; baggage and clothing were strewn everywhere. There was nothing to indicate how or why the slaughter had occurred. A few moments later the Americans met the first group of Russians. Kotzebue saluted. So did the Soviet soldiers. There was no joyful meeting, no back-slapping or hugging. They just stood there looking at each other. The time was 1:30 P.M. on April 25. The Western and Eastern allies had joined at the little town of Strehla.

  At 4:40 P.M. at Torgau on the Elbe, about twenty miles to the north, Lieutenant William D. Robinson, also of the 69th Division, encountered some other Russians. He brought four Soviet soldiers back with him to his headquarters. His meeting would go into history books as the official link-up. In any case, whether at 1:30 or 4:40, Hitler’s Reich had been cut in half by the men of General Hodges’ U. S. First Army and Marshal Koniev’s First Ukrainians. And on this same day—no one seems sure of the exact time—Berlin was encircled.

  The entire northern flank of the Ninth Army had collapsed. Totally encircled, the Ninth was being hammered night and day by Russian bombers. The supply situation was critical. The Luftwaffe tried an air drop, but everything went wrong. There were not enough planes for the job and not enough gasoline for the planes—and such drops as were made landed in the wrong places. Yet, despite everything, the Ninth was doggedly battling toward Wenck’s Twelfth Army.

  But now Heinrici knew the truth about Wenck: contrary to what Krebs had said, the Twelfth Army had almost no strength. Bitterly he had phoned Krebs and accused him of deliberately giving false information. “It’s a phantom army,” Heinrici raged. “It simply does not have the strength to drive toward the Ninth, join with it and head north to relieve Berlin. There’ll be little left of either army by the time they meet—and you know it!”

  Von Manteuffel’s Third Panzer Army was, in effect, all that was left of the Army Group Vistula. Von Manteuffel was holding tenaciously, but the center of his line bulged in ominously. Worse, Zhukov’s tanks, driving along the southern flank, were now in position to swing north and encircle Von Manteuffel. The only force that stood in their way was the rag-tag group of SS General Felix Steiner.

  Hitler’s plan for the relief of Berlin called for Steiner to attack southward across the path of the Russians from one side of the city, while the Ninth and Twelfth together drove northward from the other side. Theoretically it was a workable plan. Actually it stood no chance of success. Steiner was one of the drawbacks. “He kept finding all sorts of excuses not to attack,” Heinrici said. “Gradually I got the impression that something was wrong.”

  The Vistula commander knew that Steiner did not have sufficient forces to reach Spandau, as Hitler was demanding, but Heinrici wanted the attack to take place just the same. Steiner was at least strong enough to blunt Zhukov’s drive. If he could manage that, he might prevent the Russians from encircling Von Manteuffel’s army. That would give Heinrici the time he needed to withdraw Von Manteuffel’s forces step by step to the Elbe. There was nothing left to do now but try to save his men; the complete collapse of the Reich was clearly inevitable within days. Heinrici kept a map on which he had drawn five north-to-south retreat lines, running from the Oder back to the west. The first was called “Wotan,” the next, “Uecker”; the remainder were numbered. The lines were fifteen to twenty miles apart. Von Manteuffel was now on the Wotan line. The question was how long he could last there.

  On the morning of the twenty-fifth, Heinrici visited Von Manteuffel. They walked in the little garden behind Von Manteuffel’s headquarters, and the Third Panzer commander said quietly, “I cannot hold any longer.” His face was set. “Without panzers, without anti-tank guns and with inexperienced troops already out on their feet, how can anybody expect me to hold any longer?”

  “How long can you hold?”

  Von Manteuffel shook his head.

  “Maybe another day.”

  Through the smoke of the fires and shell bursts, the leaflets came fluttering down from the plane that flew back and forth over the ravaged city. In Wilmersdorf Charlotte Richter picked one of them up. It read: “Persevere! General Wenck and General Steiner are coming to the aid of Berlin.”

  Now it was essential to find out what Steiner was up to. Heinrici found him at the headquarters of the 25th Panzer Grenadier Division at Nassenheide. With Steiner was Jodl. They had already discussed how Steiner’s attack should be made. Now everyone went over it once again. Then Steiner began to talk about the condition of his troops. “Have any of you seen them?” he asked.

  Jodl said: “They’re in first-rate condition. Their morale is very good.”

  Steiner looked at Jodl in amazement.

  Heinrici asked quietly, “Steiner, why aren’t you attacking? Why are you postponing again?”

  “It’s very simple,” said Steiner. “I just don’t have the troops. I don’t have the slightest chance of succeeding.”

  “What do you have?” asked Heinrici patiently.

  Steiner explained that his total forces consisted of six battalions, including some from an SS police division, plus the 5th Panzer Division and the 3rd Navy Division. “The Navy men I can forget about,” said Steiner. “I bet they’re great on ships, but they’ve never been trained for this kind of fighting. I have hardly any artillery, very few panzers and only a few anti-aircraft guns.” He paused. “I’ll tell you what I have: a completely mixed-up heap that will never reach Spandau from Germendorf.”

  “Well, Steiner,” said Heinrici coldly, “you have to attack for your Führer.” Steiner glared at him. “He’s your Führer, too!” he yelled.

  It was clear to Heinrici, as he and Jodl left, that Steiner had no intention whatever of attacking.

  A few hours later the phone rang at the Vistula headquarters in Birkenhain. Heinrici picked it up. It was Von Manteuffel, and he sounded desperate. “I must have your permission to withdraw from Stettin and Schwedt. I cannot hold any longer. If we don’t pull out now we’ll be encircled.”

  For just a moment, Heinrici remembered the order issued by Hitler in January to his senior generals. They were “personally responsible to Hitler” and could not withdraw troops or give up positions without notifying Hitler in advance so that he could make the decision. Now Heinrici said: “Retreat. Did you hear me? I said, Retreat. And listen, Manteuffel. Give up the Stettin fortress at the same time.”

  In his sheepskin coat and his World War I leggings, he stood by his desk thinking over what he had done. He had been in the army exactly forty years and he knew now that even if he was not shot his career was over. Then he called Colonel Eismann and his Chief of Staff. “Inform the OKW,” he said, “that I have ordered the Third Army to retreat.” He thought for a moment. Then he said, “By the time they get the message it will be too late for them to countermand it.”

  He looked at Von Trotha, the earnest Hitlerite, and at his old friend Eismann, and explained exactly what his policy was going to be from now on: never again would he leave troops exposed unnecessarily; he would sooner retreat than throw men’s lives away needlessly. “What’s your opinion?” he asked the
m. Eismann promptly suggested that the order should be given “to retreat behind the Uecker line, remain at the Mecklenburg lakes and wait for capitulation.” Von Trotha jumped at the word. “It is against the honor of a soldier to even think of capitulation, to even use the word capitulation,” Von Trotha spluttered. “It’s not up to us; it’s up to the OKW to give the orders.”

  Heinrici said quietly: “I refuse to carry out these suicidal orders any longer. It is my responsibility on behalf of my troops to refuse these orders, and I intend to do so. It is also my responsibility to account for my actions to the German people.” Then he added, “And above all, Trotha, to God.

  “Good night, gentlemen.”

  It took Keitel just forty-eight hours to learn that Heinrici had ordered Von Manteuffel to retreat. He saw the withdrawal for himself. Driving through the Third Panzer’s area he was amazed to see troops pulling back everywhere. Furious, he ordered both Heinrici and Von Manteuffel to meet him for a conference at a crossroads near Fürstenberg.

  When Von Manteuffel’s Chief of Staff, General Burkhart Müller-Hillebrand, learned of the arrangement he looked startled, then concerned. Why at a crossroads? Why out in the open? He hurried out to find his staff officers.

  At the crossroads, when Heinrici and Von Manteuffel got out of their cars they saw that Keitel had already arrived with his entourage. Hitler’s Chief of Staff was a picture of barely contained fury, his face grim, his marshal’s baton pounding again and again into the palm of his gloved hand. Von Manteuffel greeted him. Heinrici saluted. Keitel immediately began to yell. “Why did you give the order to move back? You were told to stay on the Oder! Hitler ordered you to hold! He ordered you not to move!” He pointed at Heinrici. “Yet you! You ordered the retreat!”

  Heinrici said nothing. When the outburst had ended, according to Von Manteuffel, “Heinrici very quietly explained the situation and his arguments were completely logical.” Heinrici said: “I tell you, Marshal Keitel, that I cannot hold the Oder with the troops I have. I do not intend to sacrifice their lives. What’s more, we’ll have to retreat even farther back.”

  Von Manteuffel then broke in. He tried to explain the tactical situation that had led to the withdrawal. “I regret to tell you,” he concluded, “that General Heinrici is right. I will have to withdraw even farther unless I get reinforcements. I’m here to find out whether I get them or not.”

  Keitel exploded. “There are no reserves left!” he shouted. “This is the Führer’s order!” He hit his gloved palm with his baton. “You will hold your positions where they are!” He hit his palm again. “You will turn your army around here and now!”

  “Marshal Keitel,” said Heinrici, “as long as I am in command I will not issue that order to Von Manteuffel.”

  Von Manteuffel said: “Marshal Keitel, the Third Panzer Army listens to General Hasso von Manteuffel.”

  At this point Keitel lost control completely. “He went into such a tantrum,” recalls Von Manteuffel, “that neither Heinrici nor myself could understand what he was saying.” Finally he yelled, “You will have to take the responsibility of this action before history!”

  Von Manteuffel suddenly lost his temper. “The Von Manteuffels have worked for Prussia for two hundred years and have always taken the responsibility for their actions. I, Hasso von Manteuffel, gladly accept this responsibility.”

  Keitel wheeled on Heinrici. “You are the one!” he said. “You!”

  Heinrici turned and, pointing to the road where Von Manteuffel’s troops were retreating, replied: “I can only say, Marshal Keitel, that if you want these men sent back to be shot and killed, why don’t you do it?”

  Keitel, it appeared to Von Manteuffel, “seemed to take a threatening step toward Heinrici.” Then he rapped out: “Colonel General Heinrici, as of this moment you are relieved as commander of the Army Group Vistula. You will return to your headquarters and await your successor.”

  With that, Keitel stalked away, climbed into his car and drove off.

  At that moment General Müller-Hillebrand and his staff came out of the woods. Each man had a machine pistol. “We thought there was going to be a little trouble,” he explained.

  Von Manteuffel still thought there might be. He offered to guard Heinrici “until the end,” but Heinrici declined. He saluted the officers and got into his car. After forty years in the army, in the very last hours of the war he had been dismissed in disgrace. He turned up the collar of his old sheepskin coat and told the driver to return to headquarters.

  The Russians swarmed in everywhere. District after district fell as the city’s slender defense forces were beaten back. In some places, meagerly armed Home Guardsmen simply turned and ran. Hitler Youths, Home Guards, police and fire units fought side by side, but under different commanders. They fought to hold the same objective, but their orders were often contradictory. Many men, in fact, had no idea who their officers were. The new Berlin Commandant, General Weidling, had spread the few remaining veterans of his battered 56th Panzers through the defense areas to bolster the Volkssturm and Hitler Youths, but it was of little use.

  Zehlendorf fell almost instantly. Hitler Youths and Home Guardsmen trying to make a stand before the town hall were annihilated; the mayor hung out a white flag and then committed suicide. In Weissensee, which had been a predominately Communist district before the rise of Hitler, many neighborhoods capitulated immediately, and red flags appeared—many showing tattletale areas where black swastikas had been hastily removed. Pankow held out for two days, Wedding for three. Small pockets of Germans fought tenaciously to the end, but there was no consistent defense anywhere.

  Street barricades were smashed like matchwood. Russian tanks, moving fast, blew up buildings rather than send soldiers in after snipers. The Red Army was wasting no time. Some obstacles, like tramcars and rock-filled wagons, were demolished by guns firing at point-blank range. Where more sturdy defenses were encountered, the Russians went around them. In Wilmersdorf and Schöneberg, Soviet troops encountering resistance entered houses on either side of the blocked streets and blasted their way from cellar to cellar with bazookas. Then they emerged behind the Germans and wiped them out.

  Phalanxes of artillery razed the central districts yard by yard. As fast as areas were captured, the Russians rushed in the great formations of guns and Stalin Organs used on the Oder and the Neisse. On the Tempelhof and Gatow airports, guns were lined up barrel to barrel. It was the same in the Grünewald, in the Tegel forest, in the parks and open spaces—even in apartment house gardens. Lines of Stalin Organs crowded main thoroughfares, pouring out a continuous stream of phosphorous shells that set whole areas ablaze. “There were so many fires that there was no night,” Home Guardsman Edmund Heckscher remembers. “You could have read a newspaper if you had one.” Dr. Wilhelm Nolte, a chemist pressed into the Fire Protection Service,* saw Soviet artillery-spotting planes directing barrages onto his workers as they tried to put out the fires. Hermann Hellriegel, recently drawn into the Volkssturm, was lifted off his feet by a shell blast and thrown into a nearby crater. To Hellriegel’s horror, he landed on top of three dead soldiers. The 58-year-old Home Guardsman, a former traveling salesman, scrambled out of the hole and sprinted for his home.

  As the Russians drove deeper into the city, uniforms and arm bands lay discarded in the streets as Home Guardsmen began to disappear. Some units were deliberately disbanded by their commanders. In the Reichssportfeld’s Olympic Stadium, Volkssturm battalion leader Karl Ritter von Halt called together the survivors of a bitter fight and told them to go home. Half the men were useless anyway; they had been issued Italian ammunition for their German rifles. “Letting them return home was about all there was left to do,” Von Halt said. “It was either that, or throw stones at the Russians.”

  Soldiers all over the city began to desert. Sergeant Helmut Volk saw no reason to give his life for the Führer. An accountant for the Abwehr, the German intelligence service, Volk had suddenly been given a rifle an
d put on guard duty in the Grünewald. When he heard that his unit had been ordered to the Reichskanzlei area, Volk set off instead for his home on the Uhlandstrasse. His family was not too happy to see him; his uniform endangered them all. Volk quickly took it off, changed into civilian clothes and hid the uniform in the cellar. He was just in time; the Russians overran the area within the hour.

  In the command post near the Frey Bridge, Private Willi Thamm had heard something that made him decide to stay with his unit to the end. A lieutenant came in to report to Thamm’s captain and, over a cup of coffee and a glass of schnapps, remarked: “Just think! The infantrymen everywhere want to desert. Today three went absent without leave on me.” Thamm’s captain looked at him. “What did you do?” he asked. The lieutenant sipped his coffee and said, “I shot them.”

  Marauding gangs of SS men, roving the city in search of deserters, were taking justice into their own hands. They were halting nearly everyone in uniform and checking identities and units. Any man suspected of bolting his company was summarily shot, or was hanged from a tree or lamp post as an example to others. Sixteen-year-old Aribert Schulz, a member of the Hitler Youth, reporting to his headquarters in a disused cinema at Spittelmarkt, saw a lanky red-haired SS trooper with a rifle marching a man into the street. Schulz asked what was happening and was told that the man was a Wehrmacht sergeant who had been found wearing civilian clothes. With Schulz following along behind, the SS man marched the sergeant down Leipzigerstrasse. Suddenly he gave the Wehrmacht soldier a violent shove. As the sergeant struggled to keep his balance the SS man shot him in the back.

  That night Schulz saw the red-haired SS man again. Along with other boys in his unit, Schulz was standing watch by a barricade when he saw a Soviet T-34 tank coming along Kurstrasse. The tank was slowly turning its turret when it got a direct hit and blew up. The only survivor was immediately captured. In the Russian’s pockets the boys found photographs of key Berlin landmarks. At headquarters the Red Army tanker was interrogated and then turned over to a man with a rifle. It was the same SS man. Again he walked his prisoner outside, but this time he patted the Russian fraternally and motioned for him to go. The Russian grinned and started to leave, and the SS man shot him, too, in the back. It dawned on young Schulz that the lanky marksman was the headquarters’ official executioner.