Twilight of Gutenberg

by Hitoshi Goto

  Suddenly he took his eyes off the road and turned to me.

  “As the naval attaché in Berlin, I have decided to temporarily appoint one more official contact for the Germans attached to the embassy. And that is you.”

  †

  Setsuko was angry with me, but also couldn’t hide her delight at seeing me again. Although she was shocked to hear that I had married and already had a child, she gave me her blessing. On the other hand, she was adamantly opposed to my staying behind alone in Berlin after they left. Kenichi appeared resigned to it though, and explained some of the circumstances to her, but she wouldn’t budge and the argument went on until dawn without getting any nearer to resolution.

  The morning of 13 April came. There was something I still had to do, and I importuned Kenichi to lend me the car. I also took some carpentry tools and a torch out of the shed attached to the garage, and promised to be back within two hours.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Setsuko asked suspiciously, but I didn’t answer.

  With a map in hand, I drove westwards. Eventually I came to a place that I remembered: the Guest House I’d visited one year earlier. Fortunately there was no sign of anyone around, so I parked outside.

  The door to the bunker was open, so I went inside and turned on the switch. The lights came on. Unlike last year, there were signs the place had been lived in, so it had probably been used a number of times during air raids. Some empty cardboard boxes and beer bottles had been thrown away in one corner of the room. The blue carpet was also a little mud stained.

  As before, the walls were of bare concrete. The large fan was still lying on the floor on the far right side of the room as it had been last time.

  I went over to the bathroom on the far left side.

  I looked around to make sure nobody was there behind me, then squatted down on the floor beside the washbasin and began tapping the surface of the bricks with a hammer, listening to the sound it made.

  There!

  It was as I’d thought; there was an area about half a metre square where the sound was slightly different. I started stripping away the plaster around it with a hammer and chisel. Finally I could see a square shape made up of eight bricks, two across and four down. Carefully I stuck the chisel in the edge then pressed down hard using it as a lever. There was a crack.

  This too was as I’d expected. The eight bricks had been stuck onto a wooden cover, which I now lifted up. Inside was pitch black, and I couldn’t see a thing. I felt queasy and had a bad premonition, but now was not the time to hesitate.

  I switched on the torch and shone it inside.

  I’d been right. I couldn’t take my eyes off the gruesome spectacle inside the hole. I suddenly felt a chill and I couldn’t stop shivering.

  †

  The next day, 14 April, Ambassador Oshima and most of the embassy staff, as well as Kenichi and Setsuko, evacuated to the south of Germany. Only Vice Admiral Abe and Captain Taniguchi of the tripartite alliance committee were left in the Naval Attaché office.

  Setsuko was determined to take me with them right up to the last moment, but I promised her that I would definitely leave Berlin before it became really dangerous, and she ended up leaving in tears.

  I went back to the Adlon Hotel, but I also had permission to join those holding the fort in the embassy if necessary. Kenichi had already introduced me to them, explaining that since I was in Switzerland after my release and he had been ordered to leave, he had requested I go to Berlin in his place. Since I wasn’t in the military and was quite a well-known artist in Europe, I probably wouldn’t be treated roughly, plus I was also acquainted with Armaments Minister Speer, a fellow artist, as well as a top official of the SS, so I could be of use to them in gathering information.

  This would never have been allowed in normal circumstances, but given that Berlin was expected to be a war zone very soon and they could do with some extra help, I was given the official go-ahead. And so I became a locally deployed diplomat. My duties included assisting in gathering intelligence from the German side.

  The remaining staff in the embassy welcomed me at this critical time, and I was given a room in the embassy and the car that Kenichi had been using.

  There was plenty of Italian rice, canned food, alcohol, and tobacco stockpiled in the embassy, and the underground shelter could apparently withstand the blast from a one-ton bomb. If it came to the crunch, we could always hole ourselves up in there, and given that diplomats were expected to be treated well whether it was the Soviets or the Allied forces who eventually took Berlin, the atmosphere was surprisingly buoyant.

  But although I was the one who had chosen to stay, once Kenichi and Setsuko left Berlin I was overcome with a crushing loneliness.

  13-15 April 1945

  The Battle of the River Oder

  In one of the major European wars of the 18th century that lasted seven years, practically all of the great European powers saw the Prussians as the enemy. They were fighting on both fronts, thought to be strategically inadvisable. France to the west and Russia to the east were both enemy countries, as was Austria to the southeast. Of course Prussia fought hard, the national power was exhausted, and the fate of Friedrich II hung in the balance any number of times. However, on 5 January 1762, six years after it started, the course of the war took a major turn following the death of Catherine the Great of Russia when Russia withdrew from the war. This incredibly enabled Friedrich II to achieve victory.

  A hundred and eighty-three years later, by a curious coincidence, there was another war in its sixth year. Germany was in the same adverse situation as Prussia had been then, squaring off against the American and British forces to the west and south, and the Soviet army to the east. In the early morning of Friday 13 April, the news that President Roosevelt of the United States had suddenly died reached the Führerbunker, the underground bunker beneath the Reich Chancellery. Propaganda Minister Göbbels was exultant, insisting that the turning point had long last come, and broke out the finest champagne.

  However, that very same day, the Soviet Army announced their occupation of Vienna, celebrated in Moscow with a gun salute of 24 rounds fired by 324 guns. The miraculous comeback never happened.

  15 April was a balmy Sunday in Berlin with a hint of spring in the air. With no sign of the allied bombers for the past five days, people were doing their best to forget about the approaching Soviet forces as they queued for their rations.

  That day Hitler’s lover, Eva Braun, moved into the Führerbunker.

  In charge of defending Berlin, which was now the biggest military objective for the Soviets, was the Army Group Vistula located some tens of kilometres to the east.

  What had prompted the German military to strengthen their defence of Berlin was the fact that the Soviet forces had reached the River Oder in January. They hurriedly constructed a defensive barrier in an arc 20-50 km outside the city, although it was nothing more than trenches, artillery, and hastily assembled pillboxes at intervals along it.

  A second line of resistance was constructed in the city, in the form of a barrier extending some 96 km around the suburbs. Old railway carriages, collapsed walls, air raid shelters, rivers and small lakes were all used in an effort to make it a continuous line of defence. Inside that there was yet another defensive line with a circumference of 40 km, and the rail network was converted into antitank ditches.

  Should these defensive rings be broken, there was one last line of resistance called the fortress. This was in the heart of the city sandwiched between the River Spree and the Landwehr Canal, where the Reich Chancellery, the Aviation Ministry, the Gestapo HQ, the remains of the Reichstag, the Brandenburg Gate and the Imperial Embassy of Japan were all located.

  Beneath the Reich Chancellery in particular was a huge underground fortress. The lowest level of the bunker was seventeen metres below ground, and the bunker was covered with a five
-metre layer of concrete that could withstand a direct bomb hit. This was further covered with four and a half metres of earth. The air was damp and it wasn’t comfortable, but it was fitted with ventilators and it was currently the safest place in Berlin.

  Nevertheless, General Gotthard Heinrici, commander of the Army Group Vistula, had no intention of relying on a miracle or of dying together with Hitler in Berlin.

  The General had a small build, and was now 60 years of age. He had inherited military blood on his mother’s side, and had a brilliant record in defence rather than attack. Having fought a tough defensive war against the overwhelmingly superior Soviet forces, he believed a decisive battle in the city of Berlin would be impossible to win.

  It was very different from the battle for Moscow three and a half years earlier. Of course the tables had now been turned, since that time the Soviets had been defending their city. Then, as now, an exorbitant number of ordinary citizens had been sacrificed, but at that time the Soviets held on until winter when many reinforcements came down from Siberia. Time had been on the side of the defenders. However, the situation now was completely different. This time there would be no reinforcements.

  Victory, therefore, depended on the last line of defence, the River Oder frontline. If they failed to suppress the overwhelmingly dominant enemy at that point, he intended to immediately withdraw to the River Elbe. The Allied forces were attacking them from behind there, but even now they could escape from their advance. At least it was a much better option than going to a Soviet prisoner of war camp.

  In any case, the Soviet offensive on Berlin would probably start within a few days. He only had two exhausted armies under his command, General Busse’s 9th Army with 14 divisions and General von Manteuffel’s 3rd Panzer Army with 11 divisions. The Soviets’ estimate of their numbers was of a million troops and 1,500 tanks and self-propelled artillery, whereas in truth they had less than half a million soldiers—and they were in poor condition

  The Soviet army they were facing included the 2nd Belorussian Front, the 1st Belorrussian Front, and the 1st Ukrainian Front, with combined troops of 2.5 million, 6,250 tanks, 41,600 cannons, and 7,500 aircraft.

  Heinrici had received a number of intelligence reports, all of which suggested they would soon attack. He stood up and clasped his hands behind is back, and paced around the room. Suddenly he stopped walking. All his staff turned to look at him.

  “I believe the attack will come early tomorrow morning,” he said quietly. Without losing his calm, he ordered General Busse, whose troops were to take the brunt of this attack, to secretly withdraw from the frontline and set up their base on the second line of defence.”

  When the Soviet’s launched their attack on the first line of defence, it would be unmanned. This was a tactic that he’d had success with a number of times before. Heinrici looked at the clock: 20:45.

  There were seven hours and fifteen minutes until the start of the last battle for Berlin.

  16 April 1945

  The River Oder Front

  East of Berlin

  Monday 16 April. The 1st Belorussian Front under the command of Marshal Zhukov melted into the deep darkness of the forest. Hidden under camouflaged nets were artillery guns, Katyusha rocket launchers, mortars, tanks, and a large number of searchlights that would sweep the area in order to blind the German soldiers. It was as if the huge dragon had risen from the mythical world and was stretching its long body out over many kilometres.

  Now all the soldiers were waiting for 04:00 hours. The silent stillness deepened as the critical moment approached.

  04:00 A succession of red flares were launched into the dark, lit up the sky, glittered on the River Oder, and dyed the darkness crimson. A moment later, huge air defence searchlights illuminated the German army positions. Finally three green flares rose up high in the sky.

  Upon this signal, guns all fired at once with a tremendous roar that shook the earth.

  It felt just like an earthquake. The fire hammer of an angry God struck the German positions. This was a bombardment the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the start of the Great Fatherland’s War four years earlier. It seemed the German countryside, exposed in the unrelenting brilliance of the searchlights, would disappear from the face of the earth in the wall of exploding shells. Earth, concrete, steel, and trees were blown up into the air, and in the distance the forest began to burn. Arrows of light tore through the darkness, flying one after another like firecrackers, while countless shells hammered into the target.

  Explosions rocked the earth, while strange gusts rose up in the turbulent air and blew through the forest, felling young trees and sending splintered objects up into the sky. Old people and women came running out from villages behind the front line. Woken from sleep, they were still in their nightclothes. More shells rained down behind them.

  Amidst the roar of the bombardment, Zukhov’s troops began to advance. He was confident of success.

  In the forest north of Berlin, Heinrici was still pacing around the room in the frontline HQ. Whenever the telephone rang, the staff member who answered it would hurriedly write the information on the large strategy map spread out on the table in the centre of the room. The red lines were rapidly pressing onto the blue lines.

  The reports coming in from the frontline were all about the fierce bombardment by Soviet forces.

  But Heinrici remained calm. The troops that had withdrawn from the first line of defence the night before had taken up a position west of Küstrin and the Seelow Heights. Spread out below them was a valley with soft geology called the Oder Marsh. The Soviet Army would have to pass through this swamp when they advanced from the Oder River. As far as Heinrici was concerned this would be their only chance to hold the frontline against Zukhov’s onslaught. He had also decided on this strategy to make use of his troops’ training. By withdrawing them the night before, most were still uninjured. His aim was to deliver a crushing blow to the Soviet troops when they passed through here. At least it should buy time for many people to reach the Allies’ side in the west.

  The problem was that he lacked guns, tanks, and sufficient troops. Still with his hands clasped behind his back, Heinrici continued to pace between two points in the room without saying anything.

  His troops had aligned the anti-aircraft gun barrels for ground battle, and laid landmines and obstacles at the foot of the highland. Now they were waiting with bated breath.

  At last there was a faint sound of engines far in the distance. Gradually the Soviet tanks came into view. In the trenches, alongside the young soldiers from Hitler Youth, Heinz Preisendorfer, who had been drafted from his job as a restaurant manager in Munich, once again gripped a Panzer Faust in his hands.

  Memorandum

  At noon on 16 April, I met the Swedish art dealer in the Tiergarten. The once-beautiful park had been completely destroyed by the air raids and lack of maintenance. Even so, the designated bench shaded by trees was a serene spot where one could forget the war for a brief time.

  Today was our second meeting, but our first time to talk about art together. He had been living in Berlin since quite some time before the war started, sending young German artists out into the world and selling artworks from various places to a wealthy German clientele.

  “Before Hitler came along, Berlin was a gay, highly cultured city you know,” he said nostalgically.

  It was unclear how he’d come to be a spy for the Allies in the German capital. But he must have been determined to continue this work despite never knowing when he might be arrested by the Gestapo.

  “I’ve never handled your works, although I have had some inquiries from a number of German clients,” he told me. “I’m delighted beyond words that you are here with me today.”

  I asked him to clarify the meaning of some words I’d found on the back of the trapdoor lid in the Guest House. I also told him about the escape by submarine
that Kenichi had told me about.

  “So it’s to be a contact from the Reich Chancellery? Is the guest of honour to be Romulus, I wonder—or even Hitler himself?”

  So he knew about Romulus.

  He asked me to keep him informed in any further developments in the plan, then abruptly as if he had suddenly remembered, he said “The Soviet offensive apparently started early this morning.”

  “It did?”

  Involuntarily I stood up and looked over at the eastern horizon. I couldn’t see anything to suggest there was currently a battle in progress.

  “According to the information I heard before coming to meet you, the Soviets are currently halted at the River Oder. I suppose there is a little time before Berlin’s death sentence is carried out.”

  We decided on the time and place of our next meeting, the stood up and went our separate ways.

  At 11:00 on 17 April, I went with Secretary Niiseki from the embassy to the Reich Chancellery. Secretary Niiseki had been instructed to present Hitler with a gift of a hanging scroll sansui landscape painting and a sword.

  I was extremely surprised to see that the Reich Chancellery itself had miraculously escaped a direct bomb hit. We were met by an affable bureaucrat by the name of Meissner, who expressed his thanks for the gifts. From his mild manners you would have thought the war was happening far away.

  Once the courtesies were over, I showed him the reference letter issued by the Naval Attaché office.

  Another official called Meyer led me down some stairs and through some complex underground passages. I felt somewhat suffocated, and in the artificial light it felt rather like being in a submarine. The air was rank with the smell of damp concrete and the animal-like body odour given off by the people in there.