The boy went off on the double and von Berger said, Come on, Karl, and went round to the once-lovely garden, now a wreck, with some trees uprooted, the occasional shell hole. There was a sadness to the place for what once had been and, for a moment, the artillery seemed like only the sound of distant thunder on the horizon. He took out a cigarette case, selected one, and Karl Hoffer gave him a light. A tough, hard young man of twenty-five, Hoffer was a forester from the Barons great estate in the forest of Holstein Heath, the Schwarze Platz, the dark place. Theyd served together for four years.
So, my friend, were in a fine fix, arent we?
We were in Stalingrad, too, but we made it out, Baron.
Not this time, Karl. Im afraid we might have to take up permanent residence. I wonder what its like at home.
He was thinking of Schloss Adler above the village of Neustadt. It had been his family home for seven hundred years, a huge expanse of forest, dark and mysterious, dotted with villages, every inhabitant a member of the extended family of which he was the head.
Have you heard from the Baroness? Hoffer asked.
I had that letter four months ago, but nothing since. And you?
Just that one from my Lotte in February. She mentioned the Baroness, of course. Lotte worked as her maid at the Schloss.
Von Bergers father, a major general, had been killed during the Polish campaign in thirty-nine, elevating Max suddenly to the title of Baron. His mother had died at his birth. The only woman in his life was his beloved Elsa, and they had married early because of the war. Like von Berger, she was twenty-three, and the boy, little Otto, was three years of age.
The young SS guard appeared clutching a bottle and two glasses. Im sorry, Herr Baron, its vodka, Im afraid.
Max von Berger laughed. Id say thats rather appropriate, but youve only brought two glasses.
The boy flushed. Well, I did put one in my pocket, Sturmbahnführer.
The Baron turned to Hoffer. See how well we train them? He took the bottle, jerked off the cork, then poured liberally into one of the glasses and tossed it down. He gasped, God, that hit the spot. The Russians made this one in the backyard. He poured another, which went the same way. Great. Take that for a moment, Karl.
Baron.
Von Berger removed his leather greatcoat and handed it to Hoffer. Suddenly my hip feels fine. He poured a third vodka and gave the boy the bottle back. Now you too.
He got a cigarette out of his case one-handed, the glass of vodka in the other. Hoffer gave him a light and the Baron walked away, enjoying his smoke and sipping the vodka.
Hoffer and the boy had a quick one and poured another. The boy was fascinated by von Berger. My God, his uniform. Ive never seen anything like it.
Hoffer was wearing combat camouflage gear. He shrugged. Ive got the same thing under this lot. Except for the medals. He grinned. The medals are all his.
In spite of his youth, Baron Max von Berger had seen action in Poland, France and Holland with the Waffen SS. Afterward, hed transferred to the 21st SS Paratroop Battalion and been wounded at Malame in Crete. Then had come Rommels Afrika Korps and the Winter War in Russia. He wore a gold badge, which meant he had been wounded five times.
In spite of the silver Deaths Head badge on his service cap and the SS runes and rank badges on his collar, he was all Fallschirmjäger, in flying blouse and jump trousers tucked into paratroop boots Luftwaffe-style, though in field gray.
The gold-and-silver eagle of the paratroopers qualification was pinned to his left breast above the Iron Cross. The Knights Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords hung from his throat.
Karl Hoffer said, Hes special people, the Baron. Weve been through four years of hell together and were still here.
Maybe not for much longer, the boy said.
Who knows? In Stalingrad, we thought wed had it, and then right at the end we both got wounded and they put us on one of the last planes out. Three hundred and fifty thousand men went down the drain, and we made it out.
At that moment, General Mohnke appeared from the garden entrance of the Bunker. He ignored them and moved toward von Berger.
Baron, the Führer wants to see you.
Max von Berger turned, puzzlement on his face. The Führer?
Yes, at once.
Von Berger paused beside Karl and held out his glass. Karl filled it and von Berger toasted him. To us, my friend, and the three hundred and sixty-five men of the battalion who died for whatever. He tossed the drink back and threw the glass away. So, General, he said to Mohnke, lets not keep the Führer waiting.
He followed the general down a flight of steps, the concrete walls damp with moisture. Soldiers, mainly SS, were crammed in every nook and cranny of the apparently endless corridors and passageways. There was a general air of despair more than that, resignation. When people talked, it was in subdued tones against the background of the whirring electric fans that controlled the ventilation system. The soldiers only stopped talking at the surprising sight of Max von Berger in his immaculately tailored uniform, medals aglow.
They passed through the lower levels that housed most of the Führers personal staff, Goebbels and his family, Martin Bormann, and many generals. Mohnke still led the way, but von Berger knew exactly where he was going, for he had been there before.
In the garden bunker was the Führers study, as well as a bedroom, two sitting rooms, bathroom facilities and a map room, close by and convenient for the constant conferences. Mohnke knocked on the door and went in. Von Berger waited. There was a murmur of voices, then Mohnke returned.
The Führer will see you now. He grabbed the young mans hand. Your comrades of the SS are proud of you. Your victory is ours.
A slogan initiated by Goebbels in one of his inspired moments, and the subject of much ribaldry in the ranks of the SS. In any case, von Berger couldnt imagine what he had done to cause such adulation.
Youre too kind, General.
Not at all. Mohnke was sweating and looked slightly dazed. He stood back and von Berger passed into the study.
The Führer sat at his desk, leaning over a map. He seemed shrunken, the uniform jacket too large for him; the face seemed wasted, the eyes dark holes, no life there at all, his cheeks hollow, a man at the end of things. The young woman beside him was an SS auxiliary in uniform. She held a sheaf of documents, which she passed one by one for Hitler to sign with a shaking hand. Her name was Sara Hesser. She was twenty-two years of age and had been pulled in by the Führer himself to act as a relief secretary.
He glanced up at her. Deliver these. Ill see the Baron in the sitting room. You can then bring the special file to me. Is it up to date?
As of last night, my Führer.
Good. He stood up. Follow me, Baron.
He shuffled ahead, opened the door and led the way into the first sitting room. He sat in an armchair by a coffee table.
Baron Max von Berger, Sturmbahnführer of the SS, you took a holy oath to protect your Führer. Repeat it now.
Von Berger clicked his heels together. I will render unconditional obedience to the Führer of the German Reich and People, Adolf Hitler, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, and will be ready, as a brave soldier, to stake my life at any time on this oath.
Hitler nodded in satisfaction. You have a magnificent record for one so young and yet you never joined the Nazi Party. Why not?
It didnt seem appropriate, my Führer.
A typical response from the head of a great family. The aristocrat to the end and yet you served me well. Why was that?
Its a matter of honor, my Führer. I took the oath.
Just what I thought youd say. Youre a remarkable young man. I sensed that when I decorated you with the Swords. Thats why I made you an aide. I was saving you. Youd be no use to me dead and thats what would have happened if youd returned to the front.
Max von Berger took a deep breath. What would you have me do, my Führer?
The most important task left to anyone in this Bunker. The Russians are coming. They want to cage me, and I cant have that. My wife and I will commit suicide no, no, dont look like that, von Berger. The important thing is my work must continue, and you will play a part in that, the most important part.
By his wife, he was, of course, referring to his mistress, Eva Braun, whom he had married around midnight on the 28th.
We must see that National Socialism survives, that is essential. We have vast sums of money, not only in Switzerland, but in South American countries sympathetic to our cause. Many of my emissaries are already in the Argentine and Brazil. We must maintain the Kameradenwerk, the Action for Comrades.
There was a knock at the door and Sara Hesser came in, a briefcase in one hand. Hitler waved her to one side. I have no secrets from Sara, as you will see.
So where do I fit in, my Führer?
Hitler raised a hand. The Führer Directive.
Sara Hesser opened the briefcase, extracted a sheet of paper and passed it to von Berger, who read it with some astonishment. It was explicit:
The Führer Bunker, April 30, 1945.
The bearer of this pass, an aide on my staff, is Sturmbahnführer Baron Max von Berger, on a personal assignment from me. All personnel, civil and military, will render him every assistance.
Adolf Hitler
This may help you, Hitler said.
For Max von Berger, the implications were breathtaking. But in what way, my Führer?
To get through whatever happens to you in the next few days. To help you get home, to survive and prepare yourself for your inevitable capture by the Americans or British.
Von Berger was bewildered. But there are no Americans here, my Führer, only Russians.
You dont understand. Listen. During the last few days, many planes have flown in from Gatow and Rechlin, using streets such as the East West Avenue near the Brandenburger Tor as runways. Field Marshal von Greim came in the other day in a Fieseler Storch.
Max von Berger struggled to control himself. The only reason for von Greim to come to Berlin was to be promoted to head of the Luftwaffe. The Führer, of course, could have told him on the telephone. Instead, von Greim had flown in from Munich escorted by fifty fighters, and forty of them had been shot down.