by Heinz Rein
‘You look completely worn out, Doctor,’ Wiegand says when he sees Dr Böttcher falling heavily onto a chair.
Dr Böttcher takes off his glasses and swings them helplessly back and forth. ‘I wonder’, he says, ‘if it will ever be possible to remove the nervous, physical and psychical damage that human beings have done to themselves with this senseless war.’
‘And what are people saying?’ Wiegand asks.
Dr Böttcher looks up. ‘Most people are apathetic, completely jaded, they don’t even dare open their mouths any more if a Party boss is anywhere in the vicinity, and they won’t do it until the last office steward has literally been replaced by the first Russian soldier. But I learned something that seems so typical that I have to tell you about it. I don’t know if the latest rumour has reached you already …’
‘Has Hermann Göring gone on the attack with a huge reserve army of paratroopers, to get rid of the Führer?’ Schröter asks with a grin.
‘A reserve army under General Wenck is supposed to be on the march,’ Dr Böttcher replies, ‘but before it can intervene in the battle for Berlin it would first have to engage with the Russian troops west of Berlin. According to today’s army report’ – he takes a newspaper out of his pocket and unfolds it – ‘yes, here it is.’
In the battle for Berlin every inch of territory is being fought for. To the south the Soviets are advancing to the line of Babelsberg-Zehlendorf-Neukölln. In the eastern and northern areas of the city violent street battles are being fought. To the west of the city Soviet tank spearheads have reached the area around Nauen and Ketzin. North-west of Oranienburg the northern shore of the Ruppin Canal is being held against fierce attacks.
‘Translated, tank spearheads in the area around Ketzin-Nauen means that the Russians have blocked the last major artery road to the north-west. And here is an article from which I’ll read you some extracts.
“First Rapid-deployment Reserves from the West Have Marched into Berlin this Morning
In the early hours of the morning, the Reich capital experienced with joy and satisfaction the entry of strong rapid-deployment reserves from the west, brought in to reinforce the defence force. Under low-hanging clouds alternating with rain showers, through which the last stars of the passing night blinked, trucks, tanks, guns, utility vehicles and columns of infantry, heavily laden with ammunition and equipment, drove down one of the major access roads of Berlin, one of the supply routes, one of the paths that have not yet been cut off or endangered by the Bolshevik tanks.
The attitude and mood of the people of Berlin just after these images, which became visible before their eyes, has become even calmer and more composed, and has completely overcome the first shock after the incursion of the Bolsheviks into the city zone. We witnessed genuine scenes of joy when reports came in of the entry of these troops into those areas of fighting which have now been in a constant state of combat with their troops. The words of a tank driver with a laughing face early this morning said it all. He came out with the slogan of today and the days to come: ‘Let’s get going, this is where the fun starts.’”
‘I think it’s all bluff. These so-called rapid-deployment reserves who are supposed to have marched in this morning are a total invention; any troops being thrown into the battle right now aren’t coming from the western front, but from Spandau and Döberitz, where they have been assembled in the Adler and Seeckt barracks. These extremely questionable formations are made up of soldiers on leave, convalescent companies, unemployed Luftwaffe ground staff, Volkssturm men from the fourth recruitment drive, Hitler Youth, reserve policemen, works security, factory guards, people drafted into Organisation Todt and finally deserters who took fright at their own courage at the last minute and joined up again, they are badly armed and have hardly any heavy weapons. But I didn’t actually want to talk about that. How did I get on to that?’
‘You were talking about a rumour,’ Lassehn reminds him.
‘Right, the rumour!’ Dr Böttcher shakes his head and smiles for a moment. ‘The rumour is: Germany has signed a truce with England and America, and is joining with them to fight Russia.’
‘Nonsense!’ Schröter shouts excitedly. ‘The idea of taking something like that seriously!’
‘Calm down,’ Dr Böttcher reassures him. ‘I know as well as the rest of you that it’s nonsense, and I’m only mentioning the rumour to show how many – I’m not saying the whole German people – how many Germans are still reacting. I don’t consider this reaction to the rumour to be unimportant, because it gives a deep and telling insight into the mentality of brains numbed by National Socialism.’
‘Let’s not spend too long on the preamble,’ Schröter warns impatiently.
‘I’m getting there, you overheated individual,’ replies Dr Böttcher. ‘You must take me as I am, I’ve got to wash myself down. Where is Klose, by the way?’
‘He’s fetching water,’ Lucie Wiegand replies.
Dr Böttcher receives his answer with a nod. ‘Then I’ll get to the heart of the matter,’ he continues. ‘I was in a cellar, I was examining two children and distributing some medicine, but when I was about to leave the shells were falling so densely that I waited for a while. I listened to what people were saying without expressing my own opinion, and I must say, people were speaking quite frankly, they swore, they used all kinds of delightful epithets for our glorious leaders. “If only that bastard would kick the bucket,” said one woman who was sitting beside me, and another young woman nearby remarked, “If only the Russians were here, so that all this shit would come to an end,” others used similar expressions or nodded energetically. Of course I was only able to observe some of the people, as it was quite a big cellar with lots of twists and turns, but I didn’t hear a single contradictory voice.’
‘What you’re describing isn’t anything special,’ Schröter says. ‘Naturally, people have had it up to here.’
Dr Böttcher looks at him over his glasses with the indulgent look of a teacher at a student who hasn’t learned his lesson well enough. ‘Is it natural?’ he asks. ‘What I am going to tell you now does not make things nearly as unambiguous as you think, and I only described the mood in that cellar to … well, you’ll see in a minute. When people were cursing fit to burst, a man suddenly came rushing in from the street, he wasn’t a soldier or an old fighter, he wasn’t even a Party member (at least he wasn’t wearing an insignia), he was just a civilian, he was in quite a state and his words spilled excitedly out of him. This man brought the rumour of a supposed armistice with the Western Allies and the new coalition against the Soviets.’
Böttcher pants as if he is suddenly out of breath. ‘I must say, the effect of this news was quite startling. Not only did the cursing suddenly fall silent, I could in fact feel a wave of joy running through the people, the same woman who had called Hitler a bastard a few minutes before was suddenly enthusiastic again, she didn’t talk about Hitler but about our Führer, who would save Germany from the Bolsheviks at the last minute, others surrounded the man and wanted to know every single detail, whether the English and the Americans were already on the march, whether their air forces were already bombing the Russians and so on.’
‘Depressing,’ Gregor says. ‘You might get the impression that the German people would still like to win, that they haven’t recognized that only a total defeat can remove Hitler’s dictatorship.’
‘So who says that the great majority of the German people want to be freed of the Nazis? They want to see the war over, how and in what way is of secondary importance, whether with Churchill or against Churchill, whether with Stalin or against Stalin doesn’t matter in the end. If Hitler were still to win the war they’d be happy with that, whatever the internal and external consequences.’
‘Quite right,’ Dr Böttcher says. ‘The scene that I witnessed in that cellar, and which I see as typical, has proven to me once again that our people are rotten to the marrow. It pains me to say it, but unfortunately it’s the trut
h, and history will pronounce it guilty.’
‘Guilt, error and crime have led our people into the abyss,’ Gregor says, ‘even suicide is a crime.’
Schröter, wearing a pair of headphones, has been fiddling with the crystal set. ‘Be quiet now!’ he shouts. ‘BBC London!’ He listens with a tense expression, not a muscle moving, and scribbles a few brief pencil notes down on a piece of paper; when he takes off the headphones he looks around triumphantly. ‘To keep it short,’ he says, ‘the Russians have taken Brünn and Pillau, the British and the Canadians are on the edge of Bremen and Hamburg, the French and the Americans are at the Austrian border with Bavaria, the Americans in Czechoslovakia are reaching Eger, in Italy the Allies have advanced to the Po, and’ – he smiles like someone who wants to give a child a surprise – ‘I’ve saved the best till last: the Russians have reached the Elbe and Torgau, and are united with the First American Army. Now?’
‘Anyone who knows the dynamic of the Allied attacks won’t be so surprised,’ Dr Böttcher says thoughtfully. ‘Today’s army report basically says as much, but in the usual veiled and circumlocutory form, with the clichés about heavy enemy losses, halted advances and successful counter-attacks. Anyone who has familiarized himself with the terminology of Wehrmacht reports could always read between the lines, because by and large they corresponded to the facts, except that unfavourable events were paraphrased or minimized or withheld, and it is a favourite trick of Goebbels to dismiss unpleasant facts with a generous wave of the hand and to put them on ice for a while before either admitting them in instalments or mentioning them in passing as facts that have been known for a long time.’
‘For journalists who have only dared to step away from the prescribed path by so much as a step,’ Gregor says, ‘the gates of the concentration camps were wide open to accept them lovingly behind the barbed wire. But no one dared to do that, or hardly anyone, because nowhere else was servility as great as it was among journalists.’
‘One of the most charming of them is this fellow Dr Otto Kriegk, editorial writer of the Nachtausgabe,’ Wiegand says, and points to the paper that Dr Böttcher has brought with him. ‘Today’s editorial is up with the best of them:
“The Führer Leads the Battle for Berlin in the Most Active Manner
The battle for the Reich capital has reached a crucial point. Yesterday and during the night the Bolshevik attackers attempted, mostly in vain, to push their way from north, east and south deeper into the city. At some crucial points in the battle, with a very large deployment of men and materiel, they achieved some breaches, which the German defence is currently attempting to block. The Bolsheviks have also gained territory in the west around Berlin, attempting to establish a blockade some distance from Berlin. They have encountered heavy resistance from individual combat units.
The tactical behaviour of the Bolsheviks shows that they are slowly coming to understand the extent to which they will soon have to face a significant reinforcement of the German defence.
The German defence of the Reich capital has now deployed all available means and possibilities, so that army, Party and Volkssturm worked excellently together in Berlin. The Führer himself is leading the defence of our Reich capital.
Yesterday Gauleiter Dr Goebbels mentioned in a proclamation that it is a special honour to defend the capital, because the Führer has placed himself at the head of this crucial and heroic battle. The Führer is giving active leadership to the battle and will remain in the capital of the Reich until our goal, driving the Bolsheviks back to the east, has been achieved.”’
‘Even Goebbels could not have been more cynical or deceitful,’ Lassehn says when Wiegand has finished.
‘Oh, you innocent little angel,’ Dr Böttcher says, ‘this is all Goebbels, there is not a single article in Germany that isn’t written precisely according to Goebbels’ directives. Or didn’t you know that the editors of the newspapers and news agencies had to report to Goebbels or Mr Dietrich to take their orders, because as we know we have the freest and best-informed press in the world? Goebbels once personally thanked the members of the press for their loyalty and readiness for duty.’
‘I always find myself thinking of a comparison,’ Wiegand says. ‘If I tug my little dog on the lead behind me and almost choke him, he must follow me because I’m the stronger one, but it doesn’t occur to me to stroke him and tell him he’s a good, loyal little dog who’s following his master like a good boy.’
‘But the press pack, I mean, your good, loyal little dog, follows you even without a leash,’ Dr Böttcher says, ‘it follows you at a glance and cowers as soon as you raise your voice.’
‘Our little dog is very well trained and adds new tricks to the already considerable repertoire of his master,’ Gregor says, smiling faintly and then turning serious again. ‘Our Nazi journalist always finds a twist to add a favourable commentary even to the most shattering facts. The DAZ of 31 January gave me a classic example of that when it wrote:
“Precisely when you are aware that we are now in the third week since the beginning of the Soviet offensive, without operational counter-actions on the large scale having become visible, we must feel confirmed in our view that our leadership are taking counter-measures appropriate to the extent of the enemy attack.”
So it wasn’t our victorious counter-attacks that were the lifeline for this model OKW commentary, it was the fact that they weren’t there.’
‘If you read only the headlines, it would make you feel ill,’ Schröter says. ‘It all sounds so heroic:
“This is how we master the situation”
“Anti-aircraft gunners as anti-tank units”
“Berlin anti-aircraft guns fire on tanks”
“Hitler Youth engage in battle”
“Berlin Police maintains M-Street anti-tank barrier”
“Morale exemplary in the Reich capital”
“Workers’ representative shoots three Soviet tanks”
“Team of political leaders destroys mortar emplacement”
‘Here, this article is particularly telling, it speaks for itself. Listen to this!
“The word of the people.
Not far from Schöneberg S-Bahn station, at the intersection of Hauptstrasse and Tempelhofer Strasse, the population found a soldier hanging from a lamp post on a washing line. He was not wearing his military coat. The people, acting as his judge, fastened to his belt a white cardboard sign with the inscription: ‘I, Senior Lance Corporal Höhne from Berlin, was too cowardly to defend my wife and children.’
This unfamiliar picture in the streets of the Reich capital is profoundly justified at this time. A deserter has been hanged. Only a few metres away from him women and children stand outside the grocers’ shops with bags and nets to collect the special distribution. They have to wait, because there is much work to be done in the shops. At home they have their emergency suitcases ready, but not to escape through the gaps in the front, not to be given preferential treatment and a free pass by talking to the enemy. This traitor hanging there, sentenced by the population, can do us no more harm. The dream of escaping soldierly duty, abandoning his people and knifing our troops in the back is over. Anyone who fears an honourable death will die that death in shame.”’
‘Good grief!’ Wiegand exclaims. ‘Just before their defeat and beyond, the Nazis show once again what they are: murderers of foreign peoples, and of their own people.’
‘I’ve seen that with my own eyes at the Hackescher Markt,’ Lassehn says, ‘but I still persuaded myself that it was only an isolated incident, but after this article no doubt is possible. If it’s even in the newspaper …’
‘Lassehn,’ Schröter says, ‘they’re still the same monsters! Whether they are driving Jews into the gas chambers, hanging their own soldiers or scribbling newspaper articles like this one, they’re just using different weapons, sub-machine guns, the rope or the typewriter, it’s all the same murderous intent!’
‘Schröter has hit the na
il on the head,’ Dr Böttcher says. ‘Barbarism plus modern technology as a vision of the world, that is National Socialism. And there’s someone at the door.’
‘My wife’s in the kitchen,’ Wiegand says as he listens to the knocking. ‘It can’t be Klose, he has a key and he wouldn’t knock like that either.’
‘Maybe it’s that lieutenant of yours, Lassehn,’ Schröter says, ‘coming to get us for our exercise lesson.’
When Lassehn is about to reply, Lucie Wiegand comes into the room. ‘Someone’s knocking, but it isn’t our signal. Shall I open the door?’
The knocking gets louder and more impatient, fists hammer against the door panel.
‘Go to the front, Lucie, to the restaurant,’ Wiegand says quickly, ‘I’ll open up. Come on, pistols at the ready, Lassehn, grab the torch.’
Wiegand walks along the short, dark corridor and opens the door a tiny crack, Schröter, Gregor and Dr Böttcher are standing behind him with guns in their hands. Lassehn aims the beam of his torch at the door.
‘Who is it?’ Wiegand asks.
‘Open up,’ says a deep, growling voice. ‘Something’s happened.’
‘What is it?’ asks Wiegand without opening the door any further.
‘Does that fat pint-puller live here?’ a man’s voice asks.
‘What about it?’ Wiegand asks, still very cautiously.
‘Are you a relative?’ the voice goes on.
‘Yes,’ Wiegand replies, ‘Klose is my brother-in-law. What do you want from him?’
‘Want?’ asks the voice. ‘Nothing at all, no point wanting anything from him any more, he’s … they’ve just got him.’
Wiegand pulls the door open and finds himself facing a big, broad man in a leather jacket. ‘Where is he?’ he asks quickly.
