April 29, 1945
It was 02:00 and Hogan was longing for his bed but he could tell it would not be anywhere in his immediate future. Hitler had decided now was the time to dictate his last will and testament. He had ordered all his staff to leave while Hogan was told to stay and take notes.
It was a short will, with Hitler bequeathing all his effects to the Party; or, if it no longer existed, to the state. He paced a little before including one final thought. With a touch of realism he added that should the state also fail to continue, it would be pointless to list any further dispositions as they would be redundant. It was then that Hitler moved on to his political testament.
Hitler paused for a while as he gathered his thoughts. Standing at his usual mid-table place, he turned and leaned on the now bare conference table with both hands, staring at the pad of paper in Hogan's hands. Without warning, Hitler suddenly barked out: "My Political Testament" and began dictating it without notes from start to finish.
The testament was twofold in its contents; one part justification on his views of the Jews, the rest praise for his brave troops' accomplishments. Hitler appointed his successor in Großadmiral Dönitz as President of the Reich. Chancellor of the Reich fell to Dr. Goebbels and Bormann became Party Minister. A few others were specified, covering all aspects of the government from agriculture to the military Commanders in Chief. Hitler's last edict was to expel both Göring and Himmler from the National Socialist Party. Hogan's gut ached from listening to the first part, and his hand cramped by the time Hitler was through with the second.
Hitler indicated Hogan should follow him into his private quarters off the meeting room so Hogan passed off his notes to one of the Führer's remaining secretaries to be typed up in triplicate so they could be notarized. In the lounge area, Hitler's closest friends and their wives waited for him, along with a beaming Eva Braun who was wearing a navy dress and holding a few sprigs of greenery from the Chancellery garden. A few more were woven into her hair.
Hitler addressed the gathering. "During my years of struggle I believed I ought not to engage in marriage; but now my mortal span is at its end I have resolved to take as my wife the woman who came to this city when it was already virtually under siege, after long years of true friendship, to link her fate with my own. It is her wish to go with me to her death, as my wife. This will make up for all I could not give her because of my work on behalf of my people."
It was nearing 04:00 by the time the brief marriage ceremony and meager celebratory meal were over. The secretary had completed the testaments and they were witnessed by Goebbels and Bormann. Three messengers were selected to smuggle the documents out to Dönitz with orders to publicize them on Hitler's orders or confirmation of his death. Afterwards, everyone sat around the conference room waiting news from General Wenck.
There was not much available means of communication to the outside world. Telegrams had dropped off to nothing and the radio hadn't worked in days. Finally it was decided to try calling random telephone numbers to try to gauge the progress of the war outside the bunker. Armed with a map of Berlin and the phone book, Hogan co-ordinated a group of enlisted men who placed calls to different parts of the city and reported back their findings. More often than not, Russian voices answered the phones, leading Hogan to block out the corresponding area as belonging to the enemy. The portion of Berlin still in German hands was woefully small and decreasing rapidly.
Around lunch time two messages made their way to the bunker. One, from Jodl, indicated Wenck was at a standstill. The second, by diplomatic cable, reported the execution the day before of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, his mistress Clara Petacci, and a dozen of his closest leaders. The report detailed the horrible scene in a square in Milan where the bullet ridden corpses were hung up by their feet.
The day dragged on and Hogan grabbed snippets of sleep here and there, nodding off in his chair like everyone else when his eyes became too heavy to remain open. No one really felt the urge to sleep in their beds lest they missed something, and yet the wait was interminable. There was some kind of bond forming between those who sat and passed the time together, killing time until Fate showed what it had in store for those huddled under Berlin.
Hogan was biding his time, keeping his eye on Hitler for when he decided to take the final step to oblivion. Hitler made no bones about his planned destiny; he had spoken numerous times about his intent to commit suicide when no hope remained of Berlin's recovery. He wrote some final letters to some of his friends and closest workers who were not in the bunker, such as his chauffer, to help pass the time.
By 20:00 the Russians were reportedly headed along Wilhelmstraße near Luftwaffe headquarters. Hitler was still trying to get information about Wenck's status, becoming desperate at his silence. Wenck was the last remaining hope for those in the bunker but it was becoming increasingly clear the battle was not being waged to clear a way for Hitler to escape from Berlin. Bormann made sure to specify the Führer was still alive in all his communications in an effort to encourage the troops to do more than just hold the line.
Late in the evening, General Weidling made a dire announcement: there was heavy fighting at the nearby Potsdam Station and there were no bazookas left. Hogan noted the miniscule slump in the Führer's shoulders at the news. A long silence followed Weidling's words. Hitler wearily lifted himself from his chair and turned to leave.
"What should my men do when their ammunition runs out?" asked Weidling at his Führer's retreating form.
Hitler replied, "Your men will have to break out in small groups." There was little else to be said.
It was nearing midnight when the long awaited telegram arrived with an update on Wenck's status. As it was read, any final hope remaining for Berlin held by those gathered around the war table was crushed. Wenck's army was delayed south of Schwielow Lake, leaving the Twelfth Army unable to continue its attack to Berlin. In addition, the majority of the Ninth Army was encircled by the Russians. There were no miracles to be had. Defeat was inevitable; it was only a matter of when.
Surrender was not an option; the word simply was not in Hitler's vocabulary.
"Unter den Linden," read Carter the sign nailed to the corner building. "Sounds like a pretty important street."
"Perhaps," agreed LeBeau. "It looks like a promenade, so wide and lined with trees and fancy lamp posts. What is that awful smell?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
"Smells like rottin' meat. Where you suppose it's comin' from?" asked Newkirk.
The others gave 'I don't know' type gestures and the trio continued down the paved avenue. There was no traffic and not a soul around. They had traveled far today and earlier came to the conclusion they would not be able to return to the location of their stashed car every evening. There was just too much of the city left uncovered beyond the limited radius of a half day's travel out from the car's location as a central hub. If they were going to take a chance with the vehicle being safe all day, they would chance it being just as safe overnight.
It was now turning towards evening, the day having been hinting at spring with the warmth returning to the sunshine at long last. The trees along the street were showing the first signs of budding, nature renewing itself despite mankind's destruction all around. It was the type of day Carter would have preferred sitting on the bench outside the barracks with his tanning pans, soaking up the sunshine and imagining he was back home enjoying the heat of summer in the mid-west.
As they made their way further west along the road, the odor began to increase in intensity. As the buildings dropped behind to give way to a park-like greenbelt, Carter stopped in his tracks and gasped at the ghastly vista before his eyes.
It was like a horror movie come to life, Hallowe'en gone insane, but nothing Carter had seen in the theatres back home could even come close to the atrocities before him. With the trees bare, they looked skeletal in the fading light, but it was what was hanging from the trees which was causing the stench. Decaying bodies – men, women, children! – were swinging in the early evening breeze, decorating the park trees like grisly Christmas ornaments. Carter loved watching horror films back home; their scary scenes and macabre characters had him sitting on the edge of his seat, his stomach clenched in excitement and fear as he munched happily on popcorn. But the gruesome scene before him had a distinctly opposite affect on his stomach as he found himself bent over and emptying its limited contents on the sidewalk beside him. LeBeau wasn't faring much better, and Newkirk had broken out into a sweat and was holding on by sheer willpower alone. No wonder the area was deserted.
"They're…they're…they're civilians!" Newkirk finally managed to get out between swallows to keep his stomach from rebelling. "Bloody 'ell! There must be bloomin' 'undreds of 'em," he added softly. He turned away from the spectacle and focused on his other team members. "Are you okay, mates?" he asked with concern, rubbing LeBeau's back and looking over at Carter.
"I will be, just give me a sec," said Carter with his eyes screwed tightly shut. He was panting slightly and breathing through his mouth, still hunched over and had his arms wrapped around his middle. His face is a little pasty as well, thought Newkirk, keeping his eye on him.
"Oui, mon ami, I have never seen anything like this before, not even when les Boches took over Paris," ground out LeBeau, who was also still bent over at the waist, his hands braced against his knees. He straightened up and took a deep breath, settling himself and getting a grip on the shock they had encountered. "You don't think le Colonel would be…" LeBeau couldn't finish the thought but he waved a hand weakly in the direction of the trees.
"No! No, no, no, no! They're all civilians as far as I can see," said Newkirk adamantly. "I din't know why they're all hanged – too many ta be a conspiracy or somethin' – but there's not a soldier amongst 'em, so no – he's not there. He can't be there. My gut says so."
"Well, your gut's doing better than mine at the moment," said Carter with a rueful smile, "so I'm willing to trust it." He had managed to stand upright by now, although he was continuing to breathe through his mouth to avoid the worst of the stench. "It's getting dark. We need to find shelter for the night," he continued, trying to change the subject and move away from the area.
"Right you are, then. There's a large buildin' just over there which looks undamaged," said Newkirk pointing to a multi-storied structure just past the street beside the park.
"Let's go check it out," said Carter, keeping his eyes averted from the nightmare behind him.
The trio hurried down the avenue, intent on their target in the fading daylight. The sunset was spectacular in its beauty, turning the Berlin sky wondrous shades of red, orange, and purples which mixed and combined as only nature could.
"Hotel Adlon," read Newkirk from the sign over the large wooden doors which led to the lobby. "Bet room service is a lit'le lackin' right now."
"Here's hoping they still have electricity and running water," said LeBeau. "I wouldn't mind a shower, even if it's stone cold!"
The men opened the door and crossed the impressive lobby. They called loudly to see if anyone was still about, but a light coating of dust and nothing but echoes indicated they were alone. LeBeau pointed out the café and they put it on their list of things to check out, hoping to find an alternate food source than their C rations, which were pretty much exhausted.
Newkirk went behind the desk to see if anything interesting had been left behind and to find room keys. He quickly rifled through the papers, knocking a ledger on the floor. The bang as it hit caused Carter and LeBeau to jump and yell at Newkirk for scaring ten years off their lives.
"Sorry about that, mates," he said, picking up the offending book. He flipped through it while he was holding it and realized it was the room booking ledger. Suddenly he gasped as a name leapt off the page at him.
"He was here!" cried Newkirk.
"Who?" asked Carter, looking around and only partially paying attention.
"The gov'na! Right there, bold as brass! Erlich Strauss, Room 214!" Newkirk felt like shouting from the rooftop and swinging from the chandeliers. Finally, they had found some indication of Colonel Hogan in Berlin.
"He was here?" asked LeBeau excitedly, him and Carter gathering around Newkirk as he shared his huge discovery.
"Checked in on April 2nd, two months rent paid upfront…oh no…" said Newkirk, voice falling off as he continued reading.
"What? What is it? What does it say?" LeBeau and Carter badgered Newkirk with questions, urging the Corporal to divulge what he found.
"He checked out on April 20th," replied Newkirk with finality. "Nine days ago! Nine days!" shouted Newkirk, hurling the volume against the wall and watching it ricochet to bounce off the floor once more. The Cockney man had always been quick to anger. "'e could be bloody anywhere by now!"
"Calm down, Pierre," soothed LeBeau. "We are all just as disappointed as you are." He paused, thinking. "Eight days ago was when I had the dream that started us on this journey."
"Wonder if what happened outside made the Colonel check out and disappear?" asked Carter, but he didn't really expect an answer.
In the end, they decided to go up and have a look at Strauss' room, just to feel closer to their missing leader. There was something about being in the same place Colonel Hogan had been only a week or so ago which acted like a balm to their fraying emotions.
The room had not been straightened up after Hogan's departure, so obviously the hotel had been abandoned suddenly shortly after he left. The bed was still unmade, covers haphazardly pulled up to give the appearance of neatness but it was obvious the maids had not been in to change the sheets. The drawers of the highboy were askew as if shut in a hurry and not evenly seated in the chest.
"'ello, 'ello, 'ello-ee, what 'ave we 'ere?" said Newkirk from the bedside table. "Gentlemen, it appears our gov'na 'as been 'avin' 'imself a wee bit o' company."
"What do you mean, Peter?" asked Carter from across the room. "Did you find something?"
"Well unless 'e's grown 'is 'air out, judgin' by these 'air pins by the bed, the gov'na 'ad 'imself some companionship of the female persuasion before 'e disappeared."
Grins broke out on all three faces, all of them being familiar with their leader's penchant for attracting women wherever he went.
LeBeau discovered some food left in the kitchenette which would supplement their dinner at least; the fruit was a decaying, rotten mess but the potatoes and carrots were still usable. The bread had molded long ago but the box of crackers was fine.
"I'm going downstairs to check out the restaurant," said LeBeau, gathering his finds. "I am hoping there will be something in the kitchen which is salvageable for dinner tonight and save the rations. Since we seem to have electricity, I'll be able to use the stove down there. Join me in half an hour or so, okay?"
Carter and Newkirk agreed, feeling it was safe to split up. The place was empty and they hadn't seen another person – alive person – since early in the afternoon. The little Frenchman hurried off down to the kitchen, hoping to be able to cook once more. He had been missing making meals, opening the ration cans just didn't hold the same appeal as creating a dinner from scratch. Cooking was a passion for LeBeau, an outlet for all his pent up emotions and he was praying there would be sufficient foodstuffs remaining in the café's kitchen to allow him to burn off some of the mounting frustrations he'd experienced on this trip.
Meanwhile upstairs, Carter and Newkirk found themselves with little to do until it was time to find out what LeBeau had been up to. They decided to take quick showers while the opportunity presented itself – Carter in Hogan's room and Newkirk in the suite next door. With the last ten minutes before LeBeau's deadline, the pair explored the other rooms on the floor, hoping to find more usable food stashed by other former guests. They found a few items, nothing spectacular, but brought them along to dinner regardless.
The aroma wafting out of the restaurant kitchen was amazing; enough to bowl over the two hungry Allies who were too sick and tired of the repetitive rations for their stomachs to think straight. Salivating at the thought of a real gourmet LeBeau-made meal, they dashed the few remaining feet to the kitchen to find a very happy chef puttering around, banging pots and stirring pans with gusto. Carter helped LeBeau put the finishing touches on dinner while Newkirk set one of the tables near the kitchen door.
The meal was consumed by candlelight – not for its romantic qualities, but to keep the visible light level down lest it attract attention from outside. Using bona fide plates, utensils, napkins, tablecloth, chairs and a table even brought an illusion of pre-war normalcy to the feast. Camaraderie was high, with the men telling stories and sharing laughs like they hadn't in a long time. It was as if Colonel Hogan was watching over them, letting them know this was a safe place; it was good to let go and relax.
There was a brief low moment during the meal when the intense shelling resumed outside. Conversations were suspended while they listened to the pounding happening blocks away. It appeared their area would remain untouched and the banter slowly resumed but with a little less enthusiasm. It was a bit of a wake up call; they weren't out of the woods as yet. There was still a mission to complete; the team was still down one man.
LeBeau grabbed a shower sometime after dinner. Newkirk and Carter even washed the dishes, more out of a sense of prolonging the evening then as an obligation. They bedded down in rooms near Colonel Hogan's, no one wanting to sleep in the bed he had used, just like they preserved his quarters at Stalag 13 after he left.
It was the first decent night's sleep the team had managed to get in a week and their bodies, minds and souls were grateful for it.
A/N: Horror films were extremely popular by the 1930s, with Frankenstein and Dracula both being released in 1931. Produced by James Whale for Universal Studios, their success spawned The Mummy in 1932, The Invisible Man in 1933, Bride of Frankenstein in 1935, and Son of Frankenstein in 1939. I'm afraid Carter probably missed Ghost of Frankenstein as it was released in 1942 and there was a distinct lack of local video stores at the time.
I couldn't find a clear answer on the colour of Eva's wedding dress, much like the colour of Hogan's bomber jacket. Some reports say it was black. In many European countries, it was traditional for the bride to wear dark colours prior to 1840, when Queen Victoria chose to wear white when she married Albert of Saxe-Coburg, Germany. I happened to see a wedding when I was in Coburg and the bride wore navy. Blue was a colour associated with purity.
For Hitler's complete Political Testament, see www (dot) humanitas-international (dot) org/showcase/chronography/documents/htestmnt (dot) htm. It's worth the read but far too long to include in the story. One of the remaining secretaries, Traudl Junge, was the one who really took the dictation and then typed the final document in triplicate.
This is also the day Dachau was liberated by the US 7th Army.