by Heinz Rein
‘And why not,’ Wiegand says. ‘Right to the matter at hand. Why did you summon us here?’
‘Unfortunately our group has shrunk,’ Schröter says. ‘A few of our people who work at Knorr-Bremse didn’t come home because they simply weren’t allowed out of the place, the factory is now a workplace, a barracks and a dwelling place all in one.’
‘The Nazi ideal,’ Wiegand suggests.
‘That’s it,’ says Schröter. ‘You’re right there. And as chance has decreed that the works manager had to go on an unpostponable business trip, the megalomaniac shop steward has appointed himself sole ruler, has had rifles and rocket launchers distributed to everyone who is a hundred per cent reliable, or who he considers to be so, and with the help of an SS unit has simply declared martial law, on the basis of some unknown emergency programme. At any rate, right now we can’t bank on these comrades.’
Speaking with both hands propped on the table, Schröter glances out of the window at the carefully raked flower beds and the high scaffold of the beanpoles, but he can’t see either of them, his thoughts are concentrated on what he wants to say now. He slowly turns to look back into the room, pulls the Berliner Morgenpost city map out of his pocket and unfolds it on the table.
‘We assumed the task of protecting our district against an annihilating, murderous battle.’ Schröter is now speaking slowly and collectedly, he puts his words together carefully. ‘We are apparently favoured by fortune, because we have … No,’ he breaks off, shaking his head, ‘first I have to tell you what I mean by our district, namely the area west of the Weissenseer Weg between Roederstrasse and Kniprodestrasse. Here we have three resistance points, first of all the assault guns at the crossing of Thaerstrasse, Oderbruchstrasse, Landsberger Allee and Landsberger Chaussee, the second one at the crossing of Kniprodestrasse and Storkower Strasse, and the third one at the anti-tank barrier just past Landsberger Allee S-Bahn station. The assault guns are presided over by Wehrmacht detachments and a few Volkssturm men, the anti-tank barrier is occupied almost entirely by a combination of Hitler Youth and Volkssturm, and at the bridge over the S-Bahn there is a Wehrmacht unit, the SS haven’t turned up yet. That’s the situation.’
‘And where are the Russians?’ Wiegand asks, leaning over the map.
‘They can’t be far off,’ Schröter replies. ‘If the wind is right you can hear the rumble of their tanks. From what I’ve been told they’re coming from Marzahn via Hohenschönhausen, mostly along the Landsberger Chaussee, Grosse Leegestrasse and Berliner Strasse, their spearheads are already believed to be quite close to the Weissenseer Weg. Our task now’ – Schröter is now choosing his words carefully – ‘is to free up the way for our so-called enemies, so that the three strongpoints I mentioned won’t offer any resistance, because it wouldn’t just be pointless, it would be criminal, it would leave the houses and the remaining summer houses in rubble and ashes, and demand victims among the population, among old people, women and children. We’ve got to prevent that!’ Schröter emphasizes his words with a few blows on the table.
‘Your plan?’ Wiegand asks.
‘I’m coming to that,’ Schröter answers. ‘We have divided our groups into three sub-groups, one with Gregor’ – he looks at the man in the grey uniform – ‘must take out the assault gun on Storkower Strasse, the other, with Münzer, the one on Thaerstrasse and Oderbruchstrasse.’
‘Take out?’ Wiegand asks.
‘Yes, take out, either by persuasion or by force of arms if that’s the only way. It may sound violent, but it really isn’t, of course we’ve already put out feelers with the gun teams and the few Volkssturm men and we’re very clear that they’re fed up, they don’t want to fight any more.’
‘But if there’s an officer or some crazed corporal about, then the whole exercise and all good intentions are blown away in the wind,’ Wiegand objects, ‘obedience is so rooted in the bones of our soldiers that a single order from some little martinet is going to extinguish the will and conscience like a feebly flickering flame.’
‘We know,’ Schröter says. ‘And it’s to prevent such an order at any cost that we are deploying the three sub-groups, because we’re well aware that a single shot from the assault guns or a rocket launcher will bring the whole artillery or a host of tanks or low-flying aircraft attacks down on us. If the Russians don’t encounter any resistance, they won’t shoot.’
‘That’s completely clear,’ Wiegand confirms. ‘And what about the anti-tank barrier at Landsberger Allee Station?’
Schröter sits down and pulls the map across the table. ‘The anti-tank barrier at Landsberger Allee Station is the hardest nut to crack, in a way it’s a double nut, because it isn’t just about the crew at the barrier, a Hitler Youth motorized unit, it’s also about the demolition squad at the bridge over the S-Bahn immediately behind the wholesale meat market. That squad is under the orders of a lieutenant of the engineer corps, and could consist of about a dozen men. So I see our task as being to disarm the Hitler Youth before they can fire a shot, and also prevent the bridge from being blown up.’
‘And you’ve chosen us to do that?’ Wiegand asks, without taking his eyes off the map.
‘That’s how it is,’ Schröter answers, ‘because our group has been decimated, unfortunately I have to …’
‘Fine,’ Dr Böttcher breaks in. ‘Of course we’re at your disposal. There probably isn’t much point talking about it academically and making plans, we need to act on the basis of the immediate circumstances. If I understand you correctly, Comrade Schröter, you want us to be wolves in sheep’s clothing.’
‘Correct,’ Schröter says, ‘that’s exactly the situation.’
‘The problem, in essence, lies less in overwhelming the tank-barrier crew and the demolition squad,’ Wiegand says, ‘than in choosing the right moment. We mustn’t act a moment too late, but also not a second too soon, not too late because we mustn’t let the Hitler Youth and the other soldiers get a chance to fire, because then we’d have the SS or some other Hitler-loyal hangman on our backs. Our true task is to recognize that one minute during which we must hoist the white flag.’
‘I see we understand one another,’ Schröter says, pleased, and looks at his watch. ‘It’s half past five, we should get going.’
‘How many are we?’ Wiegand asks.
‘You three and another two comrades,’ Schröter replies.
‘And me,’ the girl speaks up.
Schröter looks over at her. ‘This isn’t a job for a girl, Redbreast.’
The girl smiles. ‘In fact it is a job for little girls,’ she contradicts him, ‘if the little girl draws the Argus-eyes of the warlike Hitler Youth. I turn their heads …’
‘… and meanwhile the rest of us wring their necks,’ the man in the leather jacket finishes her sentence. ‘She’s right, bring her along.’
Schröter gets to his feet. ‘Then let’s get moving. We’ll go one at a time, it’s true that the summer houses are uninhabited, but better safe than sorry. Münzer and Gregor, you go first.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Good luck, Comrades!’
The men shake each other’s hands firmly, then the man in the leather jacket opens the door and listens. The artillery fire thunders like an approaching storm, isolated machine guns rattle and aircraft engines hum in between. Then they leave the summer house.
IX
22 April
Blowing up the bridges over the Ringbahn is the last chance to hold up the advance of the Russian tanks into the city centre. One of these bridges crosses the railway tracks near Landsberger Allee S-Bahn station. Landsberger Chaussee runs in a straight line from the north-east between the allotment colony and the newly built blocks to the bridge, swings in a gentle curve above the deep crevice of the Ringbahn, and then reappears first as the Landsberger Allee and then as Landsberger Strasse, leading straight into the centre at Alexanderplatz.
The anti-tank barrier assembled from cobblestones, scrap iron and rubble has been set up behind the
bridge, where the street reaches ground level again; there is a gap in the middle just wide enough to let the tram through. On either side of the barrier are a few run-down trucks which are ready to be pushed in front of the bridge when the barrier needs to be closed.
The barrier is crewed by ten people, a mixture of Hitler Youth, Volkssturm men and young anti-aircraft auxiliaries, and is loosely connected via couriers with the two assault guns on Thaerstrasse and Storkower Strasse. They have read the cowboys-and-Indians stories of the propaganda reporters, and received superficial training with rocket launchers, but apart from hunting knives and bayonets they have no weapons, and once they have fired the eight rocket launchers at their disposal they are defenceless. Their leader is a nineteen-year-old section leader who has a lot of goodwill and not a clue, who is firmly resolved to do what has been presented to him as his vital duty, and which he believes is: to fight to the last breath. He is in fact subordinate to the lieutenant of the demolition unit, but he is thrown back on his own devices, because the lieutenant doesn’t care about anything, he has passed on his command to an NCO and withdrawn inside the abattoir, where he has found a case of bottles of vermouth which he is now downing in quick succession. The political leaders who originally ordered the crew to the barrier and issued wild threats in the cellars of the surrounding houses against anyone who so much as mentioned the idea of giving up without a struggle have by now withdrawn to the city centre.
When Schröter, Dr Böttcher, Wiegand, Lassehn and the girl reach the barrier, it is closed apart from a narrow gap for pedestrians. A Volkssturm man paces up and down in front of the barrier with a carbine over his shoulder.
‘I’ve brought you three decent fighters,’ Schröter says, and winks at the sentry.
‘Excellent,’ the sentry says. ‘Squeeze yourselves through.’
Schröter is the first to force his way through the gap, he looks to the right and left behind the barrier and turns halfway back. ‘Everything all right, Hans?’
‘I think so, yes,’ the sentry replies, ‘they’re all sitting in the guardroom apart from the two couriers, who are out and about right now.’
‘And what about the demolition unit?’
‘The lieutenant is drunk again, or still drunk, but the NCO has already put down fuses. The Russians can’t be too far away?’
‘They could be here at any minute. Where are the rocket launchers?’
‘Thieme took them inside with him.’
‘Thieme?’
‘Yes, the section leader.’
Schröter thinks for a moment. ‘Right, everyone through, and once again, the password is Stalingrad. You, Lassehn, listen carefully, don’t go flirting with Redbreast, you can put that off till later.’
Lassehn’s face flushes suddenly. ‘Please, Comrade Schröter …’
‘Fine,’ Schröter says dismissively, ‘I don’t care, do what you want, but for the moment keep your mind on the task at hand. And you, Redbreast …’
‘You old grump,’ the girl laughs. ‘Are you jealous?’
Schröter gives an impatient wave of the hand. ‘Enough of the chit-chat, girl! Let’s go!’
They force their way through the narrow gap. Even though it is the same street, they feel as if they are entering the inner city. Beyond the barrier the Landsberger Allee stands broad and empty, with its four-storey rented blocks, burnt-out and collapsed ruins loom here and there like broken tooth stumps between the houses that have not yet been destroyed or are only damaged. The street looks as if it has died out, only here and there does a shadow dart hastily across it. The rusty tram tracks stretch like dark ribbons, the light haze of early twilight has fallen, the evening is grey and without the glow of a setting sun. The houses stand there, cold and forbidding, each one a self-contained island, the flats are abandoned, only the cellars are teeming like an anthill, dominated by the fear and terror of uncertainty of what is going on up above, 500, 100, 200 metres away, at the gun placements, at the bridge, at the anti-tank barrier, in the one-man trenches at the railway embankment and on the anti-aircraft towers in Friedrichshain. People are no longer ducking away from the dangers that the battle is bringing towards them, the shadow of office administrators, block wardens and cell administrators, the Women’s League leaders, the toadies and informers, but they are breathing a little more easily, in the whirr of aircraft engines and the thundering of artillery the fanfare of freedom is sounding.
Schröter glances at the deserted street. ‘There’s the guardroom,’ he says, and points to a low building of red clinker bricks.
They step inside. The guardroom is the branch office of a bank, tables, benches and chairs stand in the cashier’s office, straw is piled up behind the counter, four figures are sleeping with their coats pulled over their heads, one is busy heating a pot-bellied stove with wood and bundles of documents, two others are opening tins of meat, a Volkssturm man sits in an armchair near the door, his carbine between his knees.
‘So, I’m bringing reinforcements,’ Schröter says, looking around.
‘Heil Hitler, Comrades!’ From a niche in the background a lanky young man with curly blond hair appears, wearing a brown jacket with a cord around it, short brown corduroy trousers, stout boots and socks rolled down to the ankles. Vaulting nimbly over the counter, he holds out his hand to Lassehn, Dr Böttcher and Wiegand. ‘Thieme, Section Leader,’ he says by way of introduction.
Schröter and the others vaguely return his greeting and sit down at the table.
‘Have you closed the barrier?’ Schröter asks.
‘Yes,’ the section leader replies. ‘Anything withdrawing from the east via Hohenschönhausen will head to the north and south, either to Weissensee or to Lichtenberg.’
‘Then we are forced back on our own devices,’ Wiegand says. ‘Or are you expecting reinforcements from the inner city?’
‘Of course,’ the section leader says briskly, ‘we can hardly hold the position all by ourselves.’
‘The reserves should be showing up soon,’ says Schröter.
‘Are you in contact with the military commander? Are you in contact with any of the retreating units?’
‘N … no,’ the section leader says hesitantly.
‘So how do you imagine this defence will go?’ Dr Böttcher asks. ‘Your few rocket launchers will be used up very quickly.’
‘You’re forgetting the demolition squad and the assault guns,’ the section leader replies, ‘and the political leaders who were first deployed here at the barrier promised they would supply reinforcements. But I don’t know …’ He falls silent, embarrassed.
Schröter has been walking around as if lost in thought, and when he discovers the rocket launchers he turns back to the section leader. ‘What about the demolition squad. Have you communicated with the lieutenant?’
The section leader bites his lips. ‘I haven’t … had a chance to yet,’ he says slowly. ‘The lieutenant has severe neuralgic pains … and the NCO doesn’t really know what he wants, he’s only concerned about his bridge …’
‘Everyone gets on with his own routine,’ Wiegand says. ‘Step by step along an already beaten path, an order’s an order, regardless of what kind of order it is, whether it’s lost its purpose (if it ever had a purpose) or if it’s turned into its opposite.’
‘I don’t understand you, Comrade,’ the section leader says, perplexed. ‘Under the motto an order’s an order, Germany has become strong and Greater Germany has been revived.’
‘I don’t know the people of the demolition unit,’ Schröter says, ignoring him, ‘but I do know that you can’t trust them.’
The section leader bites his lips again and then quickly releases them. ‘However that may be,’ he says, ‘we will do our duty for Führer and nation.’
‘Of course we will,’ Schröter says, ‘but right now we want to set about organizing the defence. Or do you have anything like a plan?’
‘Not right now, in fact,’ the section leader replies. ‘So far
we’ve basically just been guarding the barrier, and I was only put in charge early this morning.’
Schröter nods. ‘I understand, you’re a bit inexperienced, and there’s no shame in that, but you won’t mind if we, and we’re old soldiers from the First World War, take the subject in hand a bit?’
‘Of course not, Comrade,’ the section leader answers, visibly flattered by Schröter’s respectful question, ‘I’m even grateful to you for supporting me.’
‘Good!’ Schröter says, glancing quickly at Wiegand and Dr Böttcher. ‘How many men do you have altogether?’
‘When the two couriers come back, twelve.’
‘And there are six of us, that works very well, two of you and one of us, each group gets a rocket launcher, and the two remaining rocket launchers stay in reserve. When the bridge has been blown up we’ll have the demolition squad as well. Agreed?’
The section leader nods. ‘Entirely. Do you want me to divide them up?’
‘That’s probably the best idea,’ Schröter says.
The sleeping men are shaken awake, then the Hitler Youth and air-force auxiliaries arrive. While the section leader delivers a brief speech and divides them up, Lassehn studies the boys’ faces. A hot feeling of rage rises up in him, not against the boys, who have been violently forced to become heroes, and whose thinking was twisted even before they were able to form an independent thought. They still have boyish faces, hardly one of them has fluff on his upper lip, but their eyes are hard and their expressions confident. Have they ever really been young, unburdened by duty and service, cheerful and intellectually curious? Are they still unaware that they are clay in the hands of liars, thinking machines, intellectual machines, that their senses have been dulled and can no longer distinguish between just and unjust, freedom and unfreedom, spirit and unspirit, Christ and Antichrist? Don’t they sense that they are paralysed in their thinking, blind in their recognition, incomplete in their knowledge? How could they feel that? Does an animal born in a cage feel the lack of freedom, of hunting in the wild?’
